Agnith's Promise: The Vildecaz Talents, Book 3 (18 page)

“More or less,” he answered. “We can make that our goal for this evening, if you like. There are three acceptable inns there, and our safe conduct should secure us some kind of accommodations, no matter how much damage the town sustained.” As he said this, he kept his reservations to himself, for he suspected many towns would not welcome anyone from Riast’s Court with kindness, not after the conjure-storm.

“Let’s wait until after our mid-day meal to decide,” said Erianthee, and went on as if her talent included reading his mind. “I haven’t been on the roads since we arrived, and I can’t anticipate what we’re likely to encounter. Who knows how far the conjure-storm caused ruin, and what has been done about it?” She pointed to a truncated windmill, its sails broken and hanging. “Look at that. And the orchard, just to the left of it. All the trees are torn. The barn’s roof – over there – is being rebuilt.” She pressed her lips together, her attention on the wreckage spread out around them.

“True enough,” said Kloveon, feeling very uncomfortable.

“So far all the messengers bring news of devastation, and with it, great unrest. More than property was damaged by the conjure-storm. The Emperor is deeply distressed to have so much destruction throughout the Empire,” Erianthee said as if she knew they were overheard. “The Emperor asked me if I could envision the scope
of the destruction, but I can’t, and so I told him. He wasn’t much pleased.”

“Was that what your last meeting was about?” Kloveon asked, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“Part of it,” said Erianthee, and went quiet for a dozen heartbeats. “There were other things the Emperor requested – visions he wanted to see – that I regretfully had to refuse to do.”

“Why?” Kloveon asked.

She shook her head and took a little time to frame her answer. “Because they are beyond the scope of my talents, and I am afraid that anything I might provide could be corrupted by spells and I’d be unaware of it. If that happened, I would be held responsible for any error – I don’t want to provide him misinformation, not in these times. It could go hard for Vildecaz.”

“That sounds ominous,” said Kloveon, making no apology for the severity of his demeanor. “Will you tell me later what it was about – all of it?”

“I’ll try to,” she answered, shading her eyes to watch the road ahead. “Those thin clouds make it hard to see — everything is glare.”

“Truly, and likely to get worse throughout the day,” said Kloveon, then shouted to the scout, still at the rear of the company, “Quaenach! Take up the advance, but stay within sight.”

“Mirkal!” Quaenach shouted back in acknowledgment of his order. He clapped his heels to his horse’s sides, cantering along the line of escort, saluting as he passed Kloveon, and continued on ahead for a third of a league, where he slowed to a jog-trot like the rest of the company.

They went along in silence, then Erianthee gestured toward Quaenach. “What do you know of him? Do you trust him?”

“I want to trust him,” said Kloveon, “but I’ve only just met him, and that worries me. I’d like to think he has dedication to me, but I’m not sure of it. Why should he? He has come from Riast’s own Company of Scouts, and that means he’s the Emperor’s man. Quaenach won’t forget that.”

“That’s troubling,” she allowed. “Considering he’ll report to Riast when he returns from Vildecaz.”

“That’s what the Emperor wants, more than our safe passage. Why else would Riast send him with us? I have scouts of my own, and if it comes to that, I could hire one.” Kloveon shrugged. “If Riast is determined to send one of his men with us, why should I protest? At least Quaenach is useful.”

“Are you certain of that?”

“Enough to send him out ahead of us,” Kloveon said with a single chuckle. “They say there are many robbers about – men whose homes were ruined but who still have families to feed.”

“Small wonder that they take to robbery,” said Erianthee. “But I would prefer not to be robbed, myself.”

“That’s why we need this scout,” Kloveon pointed out.

“Might he be a tool in Riast’s hand – a means of keeping us from a quick journey?” Erianthee felt a fist clench inside her at the very thought. “He’ll put Riast’s instructions first.”

“I’m certain he knows the best way – I talked to him about the roads: which were in the best repair, which were safest, so far as is known. We can rely on him,” Kloveon said as if to convince himself.

“So you don’t entirely trust him?” She stared ahead to the man ahead of them on the gently curving road.

“I don’t distrust him,” Kloveon hedged.

“And that,” Erianthee told him, “is not an answer.”

* * *

Above the canyon, the sky was beginning to lighten, turning the river slatey and sinister. “We’ll have to put in at the next good harbor,” Onpoleneraz said from his place in the stern of the barge. “We all need rest, and we have to obtain reports from down-river.”

“That we do,” Ferzal seconded before Doms or Ninianee could speak. “We’ve seen two landslides since we passed through the Locks of the Farmentij Rapids, and that increases our danger.”

“There’s a small fishing village ahead. I’ve stopped there before. We should be there by an hour after mid-afternoon. They’ll let us tie up for the night. You can let your animals graze – they’ll be glad of the exercise, and you’ll be able to get some rest without having to be up with them half the night. You know yourselves how restive they’ve become.” Onpoleneraz rubbed his stubbled chin. “And I could use a bath and a night in a bed, not a hammock.”

“You know this place well?” Ninianee asked, wary of such a pat opportunity.

“As well as my hand,” answered Onpoleneraz.

“I’ve been there, as well,” said Ferzal, not quite as heartily as Onpoleneraz.

“It’s a short way up a secondary canyon on the south side,” said Onpoleneraz. “You can’t stumble upon it by accident.”

That description alarmed Ninianee, and she saw a similar wariness in Doms’ light-blue eyes. “They’re hidden?” she asked.

“Unless you know where they are, you can’t find them,” said Ferzal. “They’re one of the few places where you don’t have to worry about river-pirates.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good place,” said Doms, his expression guarded. Hidden places worried him, and none more than this remote village.

“I wouldn’t tell you about it if I thought it would bring trouble,” Onpoleneraz grumbled. “They’re your animals, and it’s your property. I wouldn’t take a chance with them, but if you decide to move on without giving them a rest, it’s your choice to make. You’re paying.”

Ninianee could see Doms bristle, and she intervened. “You wouldn’t think much of us if we didn’t question you on such a point, would you? You’d think we were inexperienced travelers, and gullible.”

Onpoleneraz harrumphed. “Nothing like that: it sounds as if you don’t think I know my business.”

“That’s hardly the point,” said Doms. “I want to be sure of our situation, and what we may have to deal with.”

“You’ll have to deal with a small village of fisherfolk. They live in fourteen houses and they have thirty-eight boats. There are nine large families in all, and about one hundred-twenty people all told. They’ve been there for many generations, and are content to have it so.” Onpoleneraz reported this with an air of undisguised umbrage that bordered on resentment. “There isn’t much else on this stretch of the river.”

“What is this place called?” Ninianee asked.

“Xerizan,” said Ferzal. “It’s my home.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Ninianee said, “It would be an honor to visit your home.” She rounded on Doms. “Wouldn’t it?”

“Yes,” he responded neutrally.

“Then it’s settled,” said Onpoleneraz.

* * *

Shortly before mid-afternoon the river began to look like the scales of a gigantic snake twisting along the bottom of the canyon, almost iridescent. There was growing power in its every move, and a reminder that it would take little for this serpent to crush them. Onpoleneraz frowned and spoke to Ferzal in the baffling dialect of the river-men. “That’s smaik, that is.”

Ferzal nodded. “And turning nodi.”

“I wish I understood what they’re saying,” Ninianee said to Doms as quietly as the river’s clamor would allow. They were finishing removing the nose-bags from the ponies and mules. “Jenshaz is off his feed.”

“But they don’t want you to understand. That’s why they speak it,” Doms explained. “Is Jenshaz ill?”

“I don’t think so – it’s the river. This kind of travel is hard on them – having to stand all day and half the night on a surface that is never steady underfoot,” said Ninianee, giving the two ponies and two mules a thorough perusal.

“They’re none of them eating right. You’re right. It’s the long hours on the barge,” said Doms.

“Ganprit pari,” Onpoleneraz called out emphatically, making no apology for using the jargon of the river-men.

“Aporit,” Ferzal agreed.

Onpoleneraz looked over at Doms. “I’m going to steer toward the center of the river – the current is rising and we could be dashed on the rocks if I don’t put some distance between us and the banks. There is half a league of this ahead. It will mean a harder passage and possible trouble, but it’s safer than taking a chance of breaking up on the rock. We’ll pick up speed at mid-stream, but that could be advantageous, from your point of view. We’ll cover more distance.”

“It’s also risky,” said Ferzal. “You’ll have to help us pay attention.”

Jenshaz was beginning to paw in his open stall, tossing his head in distress. Ninianee went to soothe him and to try to find out what worried him so. Rising water and bright bouquets of spray, noise, barge shifting beneath hooves, the water all around them, the pony thrashing against it as it rose, wanting to be free. The other animals caught his nervousness and fussed in their stalls, pulling on their lead-ropes and making distressed whickers.

“Keep those creatures quiet,” Onpoleneraz ordered. “Go toward the bow and keep watch for things in the water.”

“What things?” Ninianee asked, moving gingerly toward the front of the barge.

“Logs, rocks, dead animals, parts of boats, anything that isn’t water,” was his answer. He picked up a sweep-oar and thrust it at Doms. “Get anything out of our way.”

Doms took the sweep-oar without protest, going to the bow and standing next to Ninianee. “Do you think this is going to be trouble?” he inquired softly.

“I think it already is trouble,” she replied, staring at the roiling river. “And there’s not much we can do to change it.”

“Then we’d best be observant,” said Doms, and signaled his readiness to Onpoleneraz as he swung the sweep-oar forward.

The barge rushed along, Onpoleneraz leaning heavily on the steering-oar to hold it on course. The noise of the water got louder, making a continual boom like a high wind, and the canyon echoed its roar. Ninianee scanned the surface until her eyes ached, and Doms used the sweep-oar to get all manner of floating detritus away from the barge, doing his best to minimize the impact on the sides of the barge, but not always succeeding – the sound of object bouncing along the hull added to the din of the river. After about an hour, the barge began to wallow, its port side listing, bringing water rushing across the deck.

“Something’s got snagged under us,” Onpoleneraz said, leaning heavily against the steering-oar.

“What can you do?” Doms asked, shoving yet another twisted tree-limb out of the way.

“Nothing until we make safe harbor,” he admitted unhappily.

“And when will that be?” Ninianee tried to sound confident, but her effort failed.

“We’ll take the turning to Xerizan in about an hour. We should be able to manage until then,” Onpoleneraz said with more bluster than conviction. “Once we’re tied up, I’ll summon a Dej-sturgeon to pull away whatever we’ve got on us. Useful fish, Dej-sturgeons.”

“Isn’t there a spell that could help us?” Ninianee asked, watching the banks, worry in her eyes.

“Spells can go eishek when the river is this wild,” said Ferzal. “Best not to try one.”

“We’ll be safe enough,” said Onpoleneraz.

The barge lurched as if in disagreement with its owner, its broad deck now almost completely awash, and all the holding-nets showing signs of weakening. The mules and ponies whinnied, brayed, and pulled at their restraints, the whites of their eyes showing. Ferzal grabbed the railing and steadied herself while Onpoleneraz wrestled with the steering-oar to keep the barge from overturning. The water undulated by them, shining opaquely. In less than a thousand heartbeats, the barge lurched again, this time as if trying to climb a hill, then slapped down on the water with such force that one of Doms’ and Ninianee’s chests broke free of its netting and fell off into the roaring current.

“That’s our cooking supplies,” Ninianee exclaimed as she watched the chest slide away from them, rocking in the current before being pulled down and away from the barge.

“We can replace them,” said Doms.

“Not out here,” said Ninianee.

Ferzal left her position and went to check the rest of the netting. She avoided the terrified animals, taking no chance of being injured by a hoof or a bite. Two more lunges almost tipped her into the River Dej. She clung to one of the tie-posts, shouting, “It’s a kuatiree! I know it is!” These water-spirits were known to be most dangerous in winter, and although rare on this river, could still prove to be a serious hazard.