Agnith's Promise: The Vildecaz Talents, Book 3 (17 page)

“What do you suppose will happen?” Erianthee asked reluctantly.

“The Court magicians may be kept from the performance, but that doesn’t mean they won’t manipulate you and the Spirits of the Outer Air. Since they cast the protective spells, they have ample opportunity to make you reveal whatever they want revealed, even if it is all a lie.”

Erianthee thought over what she’d just heard, and became steadily more edgy. “Are you sure the magicians will make an attempt to control my performance?”

“If you mean have I been told directly? No; of course not. But what I’ve found out makes it likely that they’ll do something, although I don’t know what. They certainly did their best to distort your previous manifestation, and to deprive you of your talent through exhausting it.” She got up and went to the window, staring out into the small garden that showed no signs of awakening for spring yet. “I don’t want to see you and your talents become tools of the Court magicians. You got me out of the conjure-storm with only cuts and a broken ankle – much less than I would have suffered had you not been there.”

“If I hadn’t been there, neither would you have been,” said Erianthee with feeling. “You were there on my account. Had you been in your own quarters – “

”I would have been crushed when the wing collapsed,” said Dantogorin. “No matter what you may want to believe, you kept me alive, Duzeon, and I would be remiss if I permitted you to enter into danger that might have been avoided.”

“Would Riast believe any of this?” Erianthee asked.

“He might, or he might not,” said Dantogorin. “I’m not going to tell him. You may if you think you must, but I wouldn’t advise it.”

“Why is that?” Erianthee asked.

“Because half of Riast’s advisors are magicians, and they wouldn’t be likely to endorse your revelations.” Dantogorin came away from the window. “I would advise you to go home as soon as you may. You’ve already been here longer than agreed. Say your sister needs your help for spring, or some such thing. He can’t reasonably expect you to remain here indefinitely.”

“Perhaps not,” said Erianthee, thinking that Riast expected just that. “I’ll broach the matter with Godrienee. She should have an idea how I can present the matter to the Emperor.”

Dantogorin looked doubtful, but she said, “Keep in mind that she will support her son first and foremost.”

“No doubt,” said Erianthee. She took a deep breath and let the air out slowly, restoring herself. “I have been away from Vildecaz too long. I know that.”

“Then go home, while the Emperor is still willing to let you go,” said Dantogorin.“And what if he isn’t willing?” Erianthee felt herself go cold.

“Then you’ll be in a very hazardous position,” said Dantogorin. “And I can’t think who will be able to help you.”

“Not even you?” Erianthee asked with a simulated lightness.

“Not even I,” Dantogorin answered somberly, and turned away as Rygnee came into the room with a tray holding a basket of butter-cakes and two mugs of hot, spiced wine.

An escort of nine men waited for Erianthee in the courtyard of the sally-port of Tiumboj Castle, each of the four wagons driven by an experienced coachman and drawn by pairs of mules. There were fourteen reserve horses and mules tied to the wagons with lead-ropes, all of them lightly blanketed against the scudding wind. Kloveon of Fauthsku, in his most sensible sajah, was at their head on a handsome blood-bay with an elegant neck and strong haunches. Kloveon held the reins of a strong copper-dun, saddled and waiting for Erianthee. He was doing his best to mask his growing impatience to be gone. It would be folly, he told himself for the fiftieth or hundredth time, to hurry Riast in his farewells; he couldn’t shake himself free of the fear that any delay would bring the possibility of another long postponement of their departure. He stared up at the clouds, and said in an off-handed way. “Rain, do you think?”

Rakin Moricaz glanced up at the sky. “Tomorrow, not today. I’ll try to keep us as dry as possible.”

“I have no doubt,” said Kloveon. He was nervous, his attention fixed on the door from which Erianthee would – he told himself – soon emerge. He patted the blood-bay’s neck as the horse tossed his head in response to Kloveon’s increasing anxiety. “She’ll be out shortly, Gajbehr.” he assured the horse, then worried for another third of an hour. He was about to dismount and enter the Castle when the door opened and three Imperial Guards stepped out, the leader making a respect. Kloveon’s heart slammed in his chest, but he returned the courtesy and tried not to gasp for air as he studied the Imperial Guards.

“We are ordered to tell you that Duzeon Erianthee of Vildecaz is coming shortly,” said the leader. “The Emperor asks your indulgence of a quarter hour more, so that there will be no need to recall her to the Court this year.”

“If the Emperor asks, who am I to refuse?” Kloveon responded as graciously as he could. “I’ll let my men have a little time to walk, since we’ll have hours in the saddle ahead of us.”

“The Duzeon’s maid, Rygnee Tsandej, is with us, and we will release her to your care now, so that all last-minute preparations may be concluded,” said the Guard leader, nodding his head to have his men part, making a narrow path for her.

Rygnee, sensibly dressed for travel, hurried forward, offered Kloveon a respect, and went to the wagon which held all Erianthee’s chests and trunks. She watched while Kloveon dismounted and respected her, then came toward her to assist her into the third wagon. “My Duzeon asks me to tell you not to fret, Mirkal,” she said as Kloveon approached. “She says she won’t be much longer – perhaps a quarter or third of an hour. There are some questions the Emperor wishes to ask before we leave – nothing too demanding.”

Behind them the Imperial Guards withdrew into the Castle.

“That’s kind of her, to let me know,” said Kloveon, paying no attention to the Guards. “I’ll do my best to accommodate her.” He prepared to lift her over the big, iron-rimmed wheel into the body of the wagon. “Your driver is Farnoxon Berianaj. He’s from Vildecaz.”

“Good to know,” said Rygnee, and felt herself hoisted up into the wagon. “He’ll be eager to get home. As will we all.”

“Do you need anything for the first hours of travel? There’s a water-bottle and a wineskin for you, as well as road-loaf.”

“They’ll suffice, thank you, Mirkal.” She was about to climb into the interior of the wagon when she hesitated.

This suggestion raised his worry to a higher degree. “That’s good of her,” he said grimly.

“Don’t worry, Mirkal,” said Rygnee. “They really are discussing some minor details, and will shortly be done. Erianthee has agreed to certain conditions that establish what circumstances can be deemed sufficient to recall her to Court. They are making a record of these so that there will be no disputes in that regard.”

“Oh,” said Kloveon, then deliberately changed the subject. “I understand Erianthee’s travel-cook is remaining here?”

Rygnee gave an affronted sniff. “Yes. Fithnoj was offered a position by the Cook-Major of the Castle, for all he did to help keep everyone fed in the days following the conjure-storm. He kept field-kitchens going in the ruins, you know. He has a taste for Court life, so he’s staying. We’ll have to manage without him.”

“I’m sorry,” said Kloveon, unable to summon up any more cogent consolation.

“It’s his decision,” said Rygnee. “I said I wouldn’t question anything he chose to do, and I won’t.” She settled herself on the one seat in the wagon, which was upholstered in leather and large enough for two. “Never mind. I’ll be more
comfortable this way, not sharing the wagon.”

Kloveon nodded without speaking and went back to his horse, but didn’t mount. He held onto the reins as if to keep himself from pacing as the time dragged on. Finally, when he was about to declaim his dissatisfaction to the newly reconstructed walls, he saw the door open again, and the Imperial Guards return.

“The Duzeon Erianthee of Vildecaz,” the leader announced, and stood aside for her.

Erianthee was dressed for traveling, her glorious golden hair tied back and clubbed, her pelgar made of sensible Lenj triple-ply linen the color of moss, her long brikes of sturdy bark-brown drugh-ox wool, her short boots of wallow-moj leather. Her expression was stormy, but it lightened as soon as she caught sight of him. “By Ixfeon, I’m glad to see you,” she said in a rush.

“And I you,” Kloveon answered, and stepped up to respect her, although he wanted to take her in his arms – that would be for later, when they were well away from Tiumboj. He was very surprised to hear her invoke the god of reliability and fealty, and it gave him a sense of hope.

She returned the respect. “I see we’re ready to go.”

“Your business is concluded?” he asked for the sake of the Imperial Guards behind her.

“I believe so,” she answered, and continued on toward the escort, walking rapidly and purposefully. “Take me home, Kloveon – please take me home.”

“I will,” he said earnestly, aware of Erianthee’s intense emotion.

“I have to get back to Vildecaz,” she whispered, continuing on toward the wagons and their horses.

“The copper-dun is yours,” he said, keeping up with her. “He’s said to have an easy trot.”

“That’s good,” she said, and reached for the reins, preparing to swing up into the saddle. “The morning is advanced.” She looked back at the four wagons.

“That it is,” he responded, and stood next to her horse as she mounted. “We’ll be underway at once.” He put his foot in the stirrup and stepped up, setting himself without fuss. “Guards?” He half-expected that the Imperial Guards would keep them from leaving, but he did his best to keep that anxiety from his demeanor.

The leader bawled out, “Open the gate for the Emperor’s departing guests!”

The sally-port gate groaned with its weight as it swung back and the chains of the portcullis clanked as it was raised, creating a nerve-wracking counterpoint that made the horses and mules lay back their ears and sidle on close-held reins. The Guards on the battlements signaled to Kloveon to set out, while a single trumpeter sounded the Farewell to Guests. As the small party moved forward, Kloveon took his position at the head of the company, signaling to his new scout, Hoperinaz Quaenach, to take up the rear position until they were out of the battered city, lying like jetsam around the Castle. They moved slowly, for most of the streets were still lined with stacks of rubble waiting to be carted away, and the pavement was uneven or missing altogether. Half the houses stood broken or damaged, many with upper floors open to the sky, though they were still lived-in, with makeshift rooms and unreliably magical walls shored up with bits of masonry taken from the Castle. Gangs of children, some quite young, others older, roamed the wreckage and threw small stones at Kloveon’s party as they passed.

“They’re angry,” said Erianthee, riding immediately behind Kloveon. “And who can blame them?”

“They could become dangerous,” said Kloveon, his expression stoic. “Once we’re out of sight of the battlements, we’ll have to be alert to attack.”

Erianthee made a gesture and recited the spell for a protective bubble around them all. “We don’t need any more delays,” she announced.

This was so near to what Kloveon had been thinking that he swung around in the saddle to stare at her. “I know what you mean,” he said to cover his astonishment.

She chuckled without mirth. “I’ll be arriving home more than a month late. Ninianee will be frantic.”

“I can’t imagine your sister frantic,” said Kloveon, to keep their conversation going.

“You don’t know her as well as I do,” said Erianthee.

Before he could think of a rejoinder, Kloveon saw the city gates ahead, almost repaired but looking a bit flimsy, revealing that the repairs were magical. He reached into the sleeve of his dust-colored pelgar underneath his sajah to pull out the safe passage Riast had provided, holding it so the royal seal was visible. As they reached the gate, he offered it to the Captain, who studied it in skeptical silence while he waited for the signal for them to pass through the gate.

“On you go, then, Mirkal,” said the Captain as he handed back the safe passage and offered a half-hearted respect. “Four wagons and an escort.”

“Thank you,” said Kloveon, nodding slightly. He lifted his hand to signal his company to move forward, out into the rolling hills of Porcaz Province. Around them the devastation of the conjure-storm was very much apparent, with teams of workmen still clearing debris from the roadside and stacking all that was burnable for Last Night bonfires. The sound of saws and axes blended with the steady beat of mallets on new paving-stones.

“How many leagues can we make today?” Erianthee asked when the city gate was two leagues behind them, and the work crews were fewer and farther apart, shoring up the roads. “Assuming we have clear passage and no more detention of any kind?”

“I’d say we can cover six leagues, perhaps a little more. Assuming, as you said, we aren’t detained.” He paused, listening to the sound of the horses’ and mules’ hoofbeats and the groan of the wagon-wheels. “We don’t want to go too fast while we’re close to Tiumboj – it could ben seen as an attempt at escape, and that could be a problem.”

“Six leagues. That would put us near Perswipareon, wouldn’t it?” she asked, trying to picture the map they had studied two nights ago.