Agnith's Promise: The Vildecaz Talents, Book 3 (11 page)

Those seated in the audience were wriggling with discomfort. This wasn’t the kind of entertainment they had anticipated, and none of them knew how to react. The violence and wickedness that the Spirits of the Outer Air depicted now was nothing like the folk-tales and legends that Duzeon Erianthee had brought to life before. This was entirely different, and it disturbed them all. In vain they looked around them, trying to discern how they were expected to respond, but all they found was their own confusion mirrored back at them. Riast himself was no help, for he sat with his expression carefully blank, only the impatient tapping of his toe indicating anything of his state of mind.

Spirits of the Outer Air hacked, broke, ruined, raped, tortured, pillaged, looted, razed, and burned while the god and goddess looked on, until Garinekoree turned to Kylomotarch, the Forgetter, and asked with a sinister smile, “Is this enough, or do you require more?”

“They can be all these things, and in time no one will remember good or ill about them,” said the Forgetter.

“Then they will be more vile still.” Garinekoree snapped her fingers and the people of Eivenlijee sank into bestiality and incest. Infants were spitted on the swords of their parents, grotesque hybrids of man and animal were created and destroyed, the few people striving to keep the city safe were attacked and flayed, their skins hung from the battlements like banners.

The narration had got away from her for a long moment, and now Erianthee struggled to regain it. “For generations the city of Eivenlijee was given over to the worst that its people had within them, and increasingly they suffered and despaired. Those who appealed to Garinekoree found their supplications answered with increasing ferocity, and those who implored the other gods and goddesses for mercy went unheard by any but Kylomotarch, the Forgetter.” As she spoke, Erianthee began to feel disoriented and a bit queasy. She forced herself to continue, telling herself that this was what she had been striving for. “Fires sprang up within the city’s walls and small figures ran through the streets, calling in vain for help. Where the fires had ravaged, weeds and vice took hold, and soon greater ills aro – “

Then something formed over the main gate of the conjured city, something as large as the ceremonial seal over the entrance to Tiumboj – a face neither young nor old, pale as mist and remote, as if it was some distance away and not hanging over the dais and the conjurations of Duzeon Erianthee. The face wasn’t well enough defined to be identified, but there was something familiar about it, and when it spoke, all those listening were dumbfounded, for the voice the image used was deep and musical, rich and persuasive, an instrument of subtlety used by a master, seeming to be the epitome of the qualities of great orators. “Riast and the Court of Riast,” the vision said, the salutation ringing like the deep chimes in the Western Tower. “You seek to know your enemies, so that you won’t inadvertently strike at your friends in your time of adversity. Your enemies are many, and not all of them are known to you, as some have suspected. Many are hidden, but there are some who are in your Councils and the Court.” The voice fell silent.

“Well?” Riast prompted when nothing more was offered.

“You fear your son is in open revolt against you. You’ve known this for some time, but have chosen to ignore it as an error of youth, and in that you may have shown wisdom. Ambitious Bozidar may be, but he only plays at treason. He hasn’t the stomach for all-out war against you, nor do most of his comrades. Bozidar wants to show his authority and capacity for authority. He chafes at your concern for him, thinking that you are willfully keeping him a child, which in turn hampers him from fulfilling his place in the world. If you give him real work to do, he will not spend his idle days yearning for power. Most of those pledged to him would be reconciled to you and the Empire if they were received with dignity. Those who would not be reconciled will reveal themselves with time, and you may deal with them as you decide.” The vision flickered and seemed about to dissolve, but then gathered together again, although the wondrous voice began to fade. “Your son has shown you where there is discontent, which is useful information, since it gives you tools you need to reclaim your position and the strength of your Empire. You can still turn that pervasive discontent to your advantage . . . if you will address the concerns of these men and women you may spare the Empire growing conflicts, and if you do this, you will be stronger for it. There are others, though . . . some of whom claim to want to assist him, and you, who are planning to take the Empire, and you, Riast, and your son Bozidar, and be rid of you and your Court . . . so that theirs may be installed. These are powerful, dedicated men . . . and women who have been trained to work . . . in the shadows, to smile and plot devastation . . . at the same time.”

Riast had gone pale. He stared at the dais where the face was once more crumbling. “Of whom do you speak? Who has done these things?”

“There are . . . Those who . . . No one . . . false friends . . . The Silent One knows . . . who have the names . . . and trouble . . . implications the . . . deeds . . . ” said the vision, the voice a hollow echo of itself as the face rippled like a pond into which a pebble had fallen. A sound that might have been a sigh passed through the Reception Hall, and the face changed again, now almost transparent, the features like a blur of mist.

There was a soft thud in the hushed room, followed by stifled exclamations from the audience.

“The Duzeon must know who these traitors are. She must reveal what she knows!”

“Of course she does! She knows all names!” Riast burst out, his voice shrill with
ire. “Tell me!”

“ . . . not where they . . . were . . . No one knows . . .
there . . . except those . . . oaths . . . silence . . . Let not . . . surrender . . . no one . . . Priests . . . imp . . . ” The vision broke apart and attenuated to nothing. For a dozen heartbeats the whole Reception Room was frighteningly silent.

Then the conjured Spirits of the Outer Air on the dais began to move again, but no longer with the fluid grace of breathing life – with odd, jerking motions and stiff gestures that alarmed the Court.

“Duzeon Erianthee!” Riast shouted. “Duzeon!” There was no answer. At once there was a buzz of quiet outbursts from the courtiers, and the gathering turned anxious.

“Do something,” Dowager Empress Godrienee said to her son. “Erianthee may be hurt.”

As if awakened from a dream, Riast muttered, “They’ll be a mob if they have no answers. We need to clear this room quickly, and we must get the Duzeon to safety.” He gestured to three of his Imperial Guards to go behind the screen, stamping his foot as the men hesitated. “Go.”

Five of the Imperial Guards complied and found Erianthee stretched out on the floor of the dais, unconscious.

“Fetch Kloveon of Fauthsku. He is in the Yellow Antechamber. The Duzeon said that if she collapsed, he would know what to do,” Godrienee told her son. “Whatever you may think of Kloveon, you can’t doubt his devotion to Erianthee.”

Riast glowered. “He is one who troubles me,” he said to his mother, not so softly that he wouldn’t be heard. “Ever since he brought me word of the conspirators, there has been nothing but trouble.”

“For Yenotomaj, think of what you’re saying,” Godrienee hissed at him. “They’re listening.”

“So am I,” said Empress Aiolenee in a tone Riast had never heard from her before. “If you continue to flail as you have done, I’ll have to inform my father. That could bring more difficulties, which no one in Tiumboj would like, so be discreet. Keep your suspicions to yourself, and give no one reason to join with your enemies against you.” She respected him but with a sharp look in her pretty eyes that Riast had never noticed until now. “I’ll be in my apartments, Emperor, if you should have news for me. I’ll keep my own company tonight.”

Staggered by Aiolenee’s firm assertions, Riast respected her and nodded dumbly. He could see the men and women of his Court milling about, all of them trying to tell someone about how the vision had affected him or her. He knew he had to direct them, or the evening would become a focal point for more than a magical inquiry. He straightened up and stepped in front of the curtain on the performance platform. “Duzeon Erianthee is alive, but she has fainted. No doubt she will recover in time. In order to help her, I and my Councillors will see her safely to her apartments, and then meet in the Jasper Chamber to try to grasp what took place here tonight, I ask that each of you returns to his or her rooms and immediately writes a full account of the evening as you witnessed it. Do not speak to one another concerning this event. Tell only what you saw and heard. Leave nothing out. Add nothing. When all your reports are compared, the Duzeon should be able to evaluate the importance of the manifestation we all saw and heard.” He offered a general respect, and stood aside as Kloveon ran into the Reception Hall, two Imperial Guards close behind him. “And you, Mirkal. Come here. I understand you know what to do to help her.”

“I hope so, Emperor,” Kloveon answered as he gathered Erianthee into his arms and carried her out of the Reception Hall, trailed by the Emperor and his mother.

* * *

The east-facing window was growing pale with the first light of dawn, the fire had burned down to embers, and Rygnee had fallen asleep in the chair by the wardrobe. Only Kloveon remained awake, sitting on the side of Erianthee’s bed, her hand in his, while he waited for her long swoon to end. For several hours Kloveon had spoken to her, hoping the sound of his voice would awaken her, but now he was content to wait for her to decide when she would return to the world. Most of the Castle around them was silent, although the first clarion from the rubble of the main gate had sounded as the full moon had dipped below the mountain range of the western horizon. A faint aroma of baking bread floated on the early morning air, a reminder that many were awake in the Castle already, and that Erianthee was not the sole concern of its occupants.

Finally Erianthee stirred, giving a little stretch, yawning, and blinking slowly as she looked around. “How . . . ”

”I brought you here,” Kloveon said, tightening his grip on her hand. “I wouldn’t
let them turn you over to the magicians or even to a physician.” His smile was painful to see.

“What day is it?” A faint line deepened between her brows. She still felt as if she were floating. The sensation wasn’t entirely pleasant.

“The morning after your Shadowshow,” he said.

“The third night of the full moon is . . . “

”Tonight,” Kloveon said, wanting to reassure her. “You slept like a stone, but haven’t lost a day.”

“That’s a relief – sometimes when the visions overwhelm me, I sleep for a night and a day and a night.” Erianthee took a long breath. “Was it . . . successful?” She noticed she was still dressed for Court in her elaborate serinel, although her Duzeon’s coronet had been removed.

“The Shadowshow?” Kloveon kissed the palm of her hand and held it to his face as he went on. “Yes. It was. Or so I’ve been told.”

“What was it like?” She rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “How was it received?”

“It was disturbing – that’s my impression anyway. I wasn’t permitted to attend.” He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done anything so risky.”

“Not risky,” she said. “Necessary. Something had to be done. You should be free of suspicion – that’s what matters.” With that she pushed herself up on her elbow and reached out to him. “So long as you’re not mistrusted any longer, the rest is nothing.”

“I don’t know if I am or not,” said Kloveon, his face showing renewed worry. “There’s a guard at the door, which I’m told is to protect you.”

“Zlatz,” said Erianthee, pausing to kiss Kloveon’s upper lip. She sucked it into her mouth and flicked it with her tongue. “Very nice,” she approved. “Tell me everything you’ve heard.”

“It hasn’t been very much to hear. Riast himself is being closed-mouthed about the event,” said Kloveon, pulling her up to him and pressing his face to her hair. “The Emperor ordered that everyone who witnessed your Shadowshow should write down an account of what they saw. Almost no one has said much about it yet. They’ve been busy complying with Riast’s order, but by this afternoon, the whole of the Castle should be abuzz.”

“How can I find out – “ she began only to have him interrupt her.

“I was told that Riast expects you to compare all the accounts in order to arrive at an accurate description of the manifestation that took place, and then to meet with him and tell him all you have discerned, including who among his courtiers might have been favoring the rebellion,” said Kloveon.

“How am I to do that?” she asked, startled by the suggestion.

“I don’t know, but it’s plain that the Emperor is set on learning who is against him. He hoped to find that out last night.” He paused, then went determinedly on, “Riast and the Dowager Empress were in this room for more than an hour last night, hoping you would return to consciousness. She has given the whole of these apartments up to you for the duration of your stay, and has removed to the old ballroom near the spice-garden. That was done during the Shadowshow – her servants came and took all her things, then set up furniture for you, and a room for me. Godrienee told me that she had decided during all your preparations for the Shadowshow that you needed the place to yourself, and that you wouldn’t be disturbed while you recovered yourself, so I brought you here where there is no noise or confusion. The Dowager Empress, too, left strict instructions. I’ll try to – ” He made a sudden, disquieted gesture. “I must tell the page to let the Emperor know you’re awake.” He stared at her. “You won’t mind, will you, if I tell the page?”