Agnith's Promise: The Vildecaz Talents, Book 3 (7 page)

Doms paused in the doorway. “Ninianee?”

“It’s just the cold catching up with me,” she said, determined to make light of her continuing malaise.

“The bath-houses will be heated – for ten gaylings – and a table will be set aside for our use in the dining room below – another five gaylings. They say they’ll be serving in little over an hour. The building across the chasm is some kind of school, according to the under-cook.” He came in, paying as little attention as possible to her shivering, aware that she considered it a weakness. “The porter will bring our things from the stable – another five gaylings – and we’ll be able to restore ourselves for the next two days.”

She sighed. “If you’ll set the watch-spell, I’ll thank you for it.”

“Wouldn’t you rather do it?” he asked.

“You’re better at that kind of spell than I am,” she conceded. “I’ll try a revelation-spell in the morning, to see if we can determine why this place feels so very strange. I don’t want to be surprised tonight by whatever is causing so much unease.” She stared into the flames. “I wish I could read them – Erianthee can, sometimes, but I don’t possess that talent.”

“Do you want that talent?” Doms asked.

“Not really,” she admitted, and watched him take out his magical kit to begin the watch-spell. She told herself she would soon lose this perturbation of spirit that still unnerved her, and even as she tried to convince herself, she felt her surety slipping away. The flavor of this inn, and this town, was wrong, like the smell of cheese that had gone off. But there was nowhere else they might go, not within a two-day ride. They would rest here or not rest at all. Still she knew to the core of her that the days spent in Jampersi-Ayo would be an ordeal – and she had no idea why that should be so.

* * *

Poyneilum Zhanf stared at the rotating pierced sphere of refulgent gold that hung in the air just out of his reach, concentrating all his attention on its rotation. From the tone it hummed as it whirled to the angle of its spin, every nuance of its action carried some significance, and Zhanf was determined to see them all. He continued his ritual chanting, making an occasional gesture to maintain the gyration. He saw his servant, Chormi Van, enter the room from the servants’ corridor and motion to him. “Shortly,” he said, and went back to chanting.

“I apologize for this interruption, Magsto, but I fear it’s urgent. A messenger has just arrived from Tiumboj.” He waited a moment, then added, “The letter is sealed with blue wax.”

“Zlatz! And zlatz again! Blue for most urgent!” exclaimed Zhanf, hurrying to end his conjuration. “I’ll have to wait upon this messenger at once. Blue wax! and from Tiumboj! Well, there’s nothing to be done.” The pierced sphere sank onto the nearest table, its brilliance fading as it came to rest. “All right, Van, tell me. A messenger from Tiumboj – from Duzeon Erianthee?”

“No. From the Emperor himself,” said Van, doing his best not to sound impressed. “It bears the mark of Riast II – the case the messenger carries.”

“The Emperor? How very perplexing. What would he want us to know? Don’t say it can only be bad news, if you please. There’s no reason to assume the worst.” Zhanf adjusted the long, square sleeves of his gaihups. “Does Pareo know?”

“I don’t know,” said Van. “I didn’t stop to tell him. The messenger was dispatched to Duzeon Ninianee, so – “

”So you determined to come to me. What a sensible man you are, Van,” approved Zhanf. “And speaking of Pareo, where is he?”

“In his quarters, I believe. Since Hoftstan Ruch was killed, Pareo’s been hiding out, as if he’s afraid the same may happen to him. He has a high enough opinion of himself that he is convinced he is next at risk. Yesterday I found him inspecting the root cellar. To hear him speak, you’d think the Castle was a haven of the Night Priests of Ayon-Tur.”

“Why should they bother with Vildecaz – assuming they had reestablished their Order? What good would this Duzky offer them – if good is the word to choose for them – Vildecaz is nothing compared to the Porzalk Empire.” Zhanf made himself stop, knowing he had to present himself to the messenger as quickly as possible. He ceased his unanswerable questions and chose one Van could answer. “Where is this messenger?”

“In the smaller Reception Hall. General Rocazin is attending to him. She has ordered a proper meal for him. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, not with blue wax seals.”

“True enough,” said Zhanf, and smoothed the front of his clothing. “Am I suitably dressed to greet an Imperial messenger? I do wish Duzeon Ninianee were here to deal with him.”

“You’ll do it well enough, Magsto,” said Van. “And General Rocazin will show him every courtesy this Castle can extend to him.”

Zhanf was already heading out the door, motioning to Van to follow him. “Very good. Whatever message he brings, we must receive it with respect and dignity.”

“As you say.” Van trotted behind him, matching his pace to the Magsto’s long stride.

“It is a shame that Duzeon Ninianee should still be gone, but that is how it has come about.” He ducked into the stairwell and descended rapidly toward the center of the Castle, two floors below, his gaihups billowing behind him, his embroidered house-shoes tapping softly on the granite treads.

The messenger was drinking from a pot-tankard of mead when Zhanf entered the room and offered him a profound respect. Hastily he rose and did the same. “I am Imperial Messenger Gavviz Yatsoleon, come to Vildecaz with a letter for Duzeon Ninianee, penned by the hand of Riast II himself.” He paused and coughed. “I understand Duzeon Ninianee is away from Vildecaz? That you are her deputy?” he said, his manner entirely polite.

“Yes,” said Zhanf. “She has gone north.” He volunteered no more than what was generally known in the Castle.

“That makes my mission awkward. To whom should I speak in her absence? The message I carry needs immediate attention from her.”

“Unfortunately, the seneschal . . . um . . . died a few days ago, so I believe it must be my task to receive the letter. I have been serving in the Duzeons’ stead while they’re gone, and have verification on this from them both. I can produce confirmation of my claim if you – “

The messenger waved his hand. “General Rocazin has explained matters to me, and is providing me with refreshment. She said there’s more to come.”

“Always the stickler for form, is General Rocazin.” Zhanf approached Yatsoleon but stopped at an appropriate distance from him. “May I see the letter?”

“Of course you may,” he said, picking up the large, flat satchel that lay under the chair in which he’d been sitting, and held it up with a ceremonious flourish. The leather was embossed with the arms of Tiumboj and the Imperial standard, and Yatsoleon was careful to touch neither ornamentation. He flipped back the covering flap and pulled out a diamond-folded sheet of parchment, sealed in three places with blue wax in which was impressed the personal arms of the Porzalk Emperor. Zhanf set the letter on the table, then both Zhanf and Yatsoleon respected the letter, after which the messenger handed it to Zhanf. “Be sure you break the seals when opening them. We want no duplication of them.”

“I know how to break a seal,” said Zhanf, and made a show of deliberately cracking each seal in turn as he pulled back the triangular sections of parchment, opening it into a square. He looked at the elaborate, courtly hand of the salutation of the letter and recognized the work of one of the Imperial scribes, but the rest of the parchment was blank, with only a few bits of wax showing on its surface.

The Imperial messenger recited a spell and words blossomed on the square page.

To
the most respected Duzeon, Ninianee of Vildecaz, the urgent greetings of the Emperor Riast II of Porzalk, Protector of the Kingdom of Waniat, co-Regent of the Kingdom of Harro-ae, and Honorary Goriach of Pirkenee:

It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your sister, the Duzeon Erianthee, has been detained in Tiumboj and will remain here indefinitely, or until such time as it is deemed safe to return her to her home. I have come to this decision after much cogitation and reflection, which have served to convince me that I am making a prudent decision.

By now you must know that the Empire has endured a magical attack, which has disrupted trade and travel throughout my territories. It has also devastated many regions of the Empire, causing misery and deprivation for many of my people. Daily reports bring more distressing news of unsafe conditions, and we see evidence all around us of the malign intent of the instigators of the assault. For these reasons, I have had to restrict travel in much of the Empire.

This decision to keep Duzeon Erianthee with the Court has been reached most reluctantly, but as all of Porzalk is reeling still from the conjure-storm that wreaked such destruction throughout the Empire, I cannot ensure the Duzeon’s escort, nor can I provide adequately for her protection anywhere but here in Tiumboj. As you love your sister, you must share my concerns for her safety, and support my decision. I have entrusted her to the care of my mother, to ensure her continued security while in the capital.

I am most truly apologetic to have to do this, but you must agree that it were better to keep Duzeon Erianthee safe than to expose her to the perils as they presently exist on the roads of the Empire, even if I could provide an appropriate escort. While she remains within Tiumboj Castle, I will be pleased to send regular reports regarding the Duzeon Erianthee’s situation carried by one of the Imperial messengers. Be assured that once I am persuaded that she may leave without undue risk, that she will be returned to you as rapidly as man and beast may carry her to you.

With every pledge of my sincere regard for you and the Duzky of Vildecaz, I am most devotedly

Riast II

Emperor of Porzalk, etc. etc.

“A conjure-storm – a very powerful one,” said Zhanf as he refolded the parchment.

“Yes. I witnessed it myself, in Tiumboj. Never have I seen weather shaped so ruthlessly before. Most of the Castle sustained serious damage, but all the Empire was effected. I saw damage all the way here.” Yatsoleon gave Zhanf a long, pointed look. “Such an accomplished magician as you are, you must have known what was happening.”

“I realized there was a magical disruption in the weather – the aftermath of it is still with us,” said Zhanf. “But I had no notion it was on the scale described here.” He set the parchment down. “This is hard news, Yatsoleon. I won’t deny that I was hoping to learn that Duzeon Erianthee would soon be with us. But now – ” He indicated the parchment. “Who knows when she will return.”

“The Emperor asked me to assure Duzeon Ninianee that her sister is in no immediate danger, that she came through the conjure-storm unscathed, and is now in
the care of Dowager Empress Godrienee. Aside from the hardships every other man and woman at Court has had to endure, she is well. Also her servants are unharmed. There is no reason to worry on her behalf so long as she is at Tiumboj.” He saw one of the kitchen-waiters coming with a large tray laden with covered plates and bowls with a basket of fresh tube-bread. “This is most welcome,” he enthused. “The last two days on the road, I had little to eat but magical food. I can tell from the aroma that nothing on the tray was conjured.”

Zhanf saw Heijot Merinex appear in the side-door. He held a small leather-bound book in his hands. “I heard a messenger – ?”

Zhanf waved him to silence. “True enough. Housekeeper-General Rocazin prides herself on maintaining the household without unnecessary magic, and Cook Major Mindicaz says magic should stay out of the kitchen.” He picked up the letter again and put it into his capacious sleeve. “I will have to discuss this with several senior household officials, including our Castle magician.” He offered Merinex a respect. “They all need to know what’s happened, and we must start to plan how to care for the Duzky with both Duzeons gone, and no sure time of their return to guide us.”

Yatsoleon sat down again and gestured to the kitchen-waiter to bring the tray to him. “I’ll be here for a while. I’m told General Rocazin will assign me quarters. Day after tomorrow, I must return.”

“Day after?” Zhanf repeated.

“Yes. I’m allowed one day of rest since I was under orders to travel from dawn to sunset each day, and to change horses four times a day. That wasn’t always possible, and I’m a day behind schedule, but I’ll still rest for a day, so I can make good progress on my return ride.” He didn’t smile but there was a softening of his expression. “If you have anything you wish me to carry back to Tiumboj, you have until tomorrow evening to entrust it to me.”

“That’s most gracious of you,” said Zhanf. “I’ll have a message for the Duzeon, if that’s permissible.”

“So long as you understand that it’s likely to be read by an Imperial scribe before it’s handed to the Duzeon, then it would be my honor. You must not use codes or spells in the letter, or suggest that she defy the wishes of Riast II. I think she would appreciate news of her home.” He lifted the lid on the nearest bowl and inhaled deeply. “Dej-sturgeon chowder. Wonderful.”

“Enjoy it,” said Zhanf, and made a respect before he withdrew, the Emperor’s letter still in his hand. He discover Van standing near the main staircase, his hands tucked in the sleeves of his hupslan. “Ah, Van. I have an errand for you.”

Van respected him, so compliantly that Zhanf was startled. “Anything, Magsto.”