The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (34 page)

“Just as you like,” said Elet indifferently. He finished his wine and poured more, this time not bothering to offer her any. “As soon as we’re through here, I’ll post the night-guard.”

“Very good,” said Erianthee.

“It may be a windy night,” said Elet, staring up at the cloudy sky. “You can see how fast they run, the children of Aubindimei.”

“I will order my servants to set extra lines to hold my tent. Thank you for the recommendation.” She had another bite of the puff-bread, though it seemed dry and flat to her taste.

“Will you mind eating in the saddle?” asked Elet. “If we break our fast here, it will delay our starting.”

“I will gladly eat in the saddle,” she said, willing to do almost anything in order to move on.

“Very good, Duzeon.” He drank the last of his wine. “That’s enough for tonight. Tomorrow we will purchase more at Janailee.”

“And some of the butter-wine from Pomig, if there is any.” She didn’t bother to smile with this request.

“Whatever you like, Duzeon. I’ll tell you’re cook we’re through here.” He spat into the fire, then made a reverence. “May Kylomotarch, the Forgetter, keep us from harm, and bank our fires tonight.”

“May Atakirath be kind and wise,” said Erianthee, offering a reverence of her own since she knew some kind of invocation was required of her, and the goddess of the waxing moon seemed a reasonable choice as any of the gods and goddesses. She looked at the Nach-boar on the spit. “I’ll have my cook put a preservation spell on it and bring it with us in the morning. In case we should not have a chance to hunt at mid-day.”

Elet laughed. “We’ll be in Janailee tomorrow night. Why bother? Leave it here for the creatures to eat.”

Doing her utmost to maintain a reasonable tone, Erianthee said, “I think it may be wise to take it with us, in case there is another delay in our travels. If we don’t reach Janailee tomorrow, we may be hungry, and if the rain returns, there will be little opportunity to hunt.”

He shrugged. “If you insist. You are a Duzeon, and the guest of Riast II. I am only a Goriach, and subject to you both.” He stalked away, his big shoulders carried stiff and high.

Erianthee did her best to hold her tongue, but the effort left her with a spark of anger in her that she found upsetting. Increasingly Elet irritated her, fraying her temper with his boorish conduct and ill-concealed resentment of her position. The journey was testing the limits of her capacity to deal with Elet. She carefully ate the last of her puff-bread and put her trencher aside, and her cup. Rising, she strolled off toward her tent, shivering a little as the wind frolicked over the hills. Already the promise of winter was in the air, and she quivered, trying not to anticipate the worst. The possibility of early snow persisted in her thoughts, like a pebble in a shoe, and she couldn’t ignore it. She wished she still had Kloveon’s Rakin Moricaz with them – they could use someone with weather-witch talents.

“Duzeon,” said Rygnee as Erianthee lifted the flap of her tent. She offered Erianthee a respect, then indicated the larnija she had taken out for her. “If you wish to undress, your nightwear is ready.”

“Not just yet, thank you,” said Erianthee. “If you have a moment, tell me how you’re faring. This journey has been a demanding one, hasn’t it?”

“That it has,” said Rygnee with a dramatic sigh. She was almost the same age as Erianthee – twenty to Erianthee’s twenty-two, a sturdy young woman with a fresh, open face and neatly braided light-brown hair. She had a taste for the theatrical and was keenly aware of nuances of formal dress, which was why she was accompanying Erianthee to Court.

“Has the pace been too demanding for you?”

“It is not easy to keep such speeds, but there is good reason for it. If you can endure it, so can I.” There was a petulant curve to her mouth and she frowned as she spoke.

“Is Fithnoj able to accommodate the pace?” Erianthee inquired while she added aromatic conifer-pods to the coals in one of the three large braziers giving heat and some light to the interior of the tent.

“He is a man and a cook. Everything disaccommodates him,” said Rygnee said with a grand, fatalistic gesture. “But so far the meals have been adequate, no matter what he may think.”

“Then, inconvenient though things may be, there is little to bother you beyond the exigencies of travel.”

Rygnee’s shrug was filled with implications. “I wouldn’t say that, Duzeon.”

“Have any of Elet’s men given you trouble?” Erianthee wasn’t sure why she asked, but she could see by the toss Rygnee gave her head, that something must have happened.

“One or two have been . . . impertinent, but they have done little more than talk. Fithnoj has been more upset about it that I have. I’ve told him more than once to hold his peace. We don’t need our cook getting into fights.” Rygnee glared at the tent-flap. “These men of Elet’s are not a kindly lot.”

“No, nor is their master,” said Erianthee.

Again Rygnee sighed. “But you must have this escort, according to the Emperor, so complaint is useless.”

“Perhaps,” said Erianthee, thinking of the Emperor’s mother.

“It certainly is for now,” Rygnee added, prompting Erianthee to say more.

“So it would seem,” said Erianthee, and offered no more explanation. She shivered as the wind picked up. “Tomorrow, will you lay out the barlo-cloak as well as my usual clothing? It looks to be windy, and colder. Oh, and these brikes and boots need cleaning. Mud gets on everything.”

“So I have noticed. Even riding in the wagon, there is mud. It seems as if I am forever cleaning my gaunel. My shoes will need to be replaced.” Rygnee studied Erianthee’s clothes and added, “These will need some repair when we reach Tiumboj.”

“So they will.” She held up her sleeve, and the frayed cuff of the dolaj. “No wonder Elet thinks I’m a hoyden.”

“Has he had the audacity to say so?” Rygnee demanded.

“Not directly, but it is plain he thinks me one.” And worse, Erianthee added to herself as she stretched abruptly, and yawned. “A long day.”

“So it has been,” said Rygnee.

“And a long day again tomorrow, I suspect. The Goriach wants to be away at dawn.”

Rygnee laughed. “Well, at least it is the darker part of the year. We have longer nights and can get enough sleep.”

“True,” Erianthee said, thinking that morning would still come very early. “If the rain holds off, we could make fairly good time, and arrive at Janailee well before sundown.”

“You hope we do, in any case,” said Rygnee.

“All right – I hope we do. We’re all in need of a little comfort and rest.”

This time Rygnee’s laugh was knowing, almost cynical. She made no apology for it. “I’ve put the Aon-bear skin on your cot. We don’t need a weather-witch to tell us it’s going to be cold tonight.”

* * *

Shortly before dawn, Ninianee met in the stable of Vildecaz Castle with Hoftstan Ruch and Poyneilum Zhanf. It was a sere morning, and as they talked, their breath made ghosts in the air, shining in the lantern-light, a reminder that autumn was giving way to winter faster than usual. She busied herself saddling her toughest pony – a thirteen-hand, stiff-maned, taffy-colored gelding called Jenshaz – as the other two secured her chests, cases, and bags to the pack-saddle already on the jenny-mule, Danliree.

“Are you sure you want to give the Oracle the ivory gift-cup? It is a fine, rare offering, to be sure, but that makes it a precarious thing to take on such a journey, don’t you think? Mightn’t a book make a better gift, one you might carry more safely?” Hoftstan asked as he strapped the stout leather case that held it to the pack-saddle. “What if you should lose it?”

“I’ve put a spell on the case,” said Ninianee, aware of the mule’s annoyance at being tacked up so early in the morning, and of Jenshaz’s determination to get as much grain as he could before they left the stable. “I won’t lose it. Also, as you see, the case it’s in is padded and banded. It is safer than a book could be, for size alone.” She began to buckle the billets to the girth, giving Jenshaz time to exhale before she tightened the girth the last two holes on the billets, fixing the saddle from slippage. Then she offered him another handful of oats.

“You will meet your guide shortly.” Hoftstan picked up the heavy canvas tarpaulin and draped it over the pack-saddle. The mule put her long ears back but stood still.

“He knows where you want to go, and tells me he can get you there.”

“I should hope so,” said Ninianee. “This isn’t the time of year to go blundering about the Boarthine Peninsula, looking for the Golozath Oracle’s tower. If it really is a tower.” She patted Jenshaz’s shoulder.

“I hope you won’t take too many risks. You’re a strong woman, but traveling alone is dangerous, so I’ve asked Umver to be careful with you, not to take too many chances.” Hoftstan continued to tie down the tarpaulin.

“I thank you for arranging things with him for me,” said Ninianee. She unbuckled the halter and slipped the bridle into place, taking care to warm the bit in her hand first. “If I must have a guide at all.”

“He’s a bit of a rogue, as all guides are. He will undoubtedly ask for more money than the agreed price, which I have already provided, and additional money for expenses on the journey. You’re not to pay him anymore. He swore by Womotomaj that he would not increase his charges, but since the god governs lies as well as bridges and roads, I am not easy about him.”

“Then why did you ask him to accompany the Duzeon?” asked Zhanf, more curious than indignant.

“Because of his talent that keeps him from getting lost,” said Hoftstan at once. “I would like to think that he is no worse than many and better than most, or so I have been told by reliable persons, including my wife.”

“Then she has dealt with him in her court?” Ninianee asked.

“Not directly, but often enough to be certain he will not take advantage of you. He has guided traders and hunters and scholars from the tip of the Boarthine Peninsula to the Crag, to the borders of the Kingdom of Waniat and Harro-ae, and has only lost two of his clients,” said Hoftstan. “She has sent him a writ from her magisterial bench requiring that he provide a full, truth-spelled account of his dealings with you before the third month of the new year.”

Poyneilum Zhanf shook his head. “I don’t know if such a long time is reasonable. He could do any amount of mischief by then.”

“But if snow catches them in a remote part of the Cazboarth Range, then it will be spring before he will be able to lead them out,” said Hoftstan reasonably. “We must allow time for winter.”

Ninianee shook her head. “If you intend to discourage me, you two, this isn’t the way to do it. You insisted that I have a guide, and I agreed. Casting doubts on the man now will not dissuade me. I know something of Sinj Umver, and I am satisfied in your choice.” She saw the two men exchange a quick, appetent glance, even while she began to chafe under their hovering. “I have had some dealings with him in the past, you know, in my wardenship of the forests around the Castle.”

“So that’s how you know him. I tend to forget you meet more than foresters in that work. Yes, Sinj Umver will guide you, and you will need to be alert when dealing with him, but you won’t be in danger from him. He’s honorable enough in that respect. His reputation for not getting lost is better than all the rest. He is said to be resistant to deceptive spells that lead travelers astray.” Hoftstan sighed. “I wish I could dissuade you from going, Duzeon Ninianee.”

She turned to look at the seneschal. “Alas.”

“Are you fully prepared?” Zhanf asked her.

“Probably not, but I have food for me and the animals to last for three weeks. I have four changes of clothing. I have extra matches and wicks. I have a sack of gaylings, which should be enough to pay for anything I may need from anyone who is selling. Gaylings are accepted everywhere.” The coins had low value but were resistant to spells, and so were welcome throughout the Great World. “I have weapons and a tent and two cooking pots and three heavy cloaks as well as another pair of boots and four lanterns. Under the circumstances, I am as prepared as I can be and travel with just one pack-mule.” She hoped her provisions would be sufficient to see her through her next Change. “I will try to send word back to you as I travel, and I will be careful to whom I entrust any messages. Although it isn’t much good for determining location, I have a spell for ensorceling animals to carry messages, and will use it if my need is urgent.”

“It is the best I can hope for,” said Hoftstan.

“I’ll fix an emergency spell to you, to be released if you come to harm,” said Zhanf.

“Don’t bother,” Ninianee recommended. “You know how unpredictable they are.”

Zhanf shrugged. “If you tell me not to, Duzeon, I must accept your decision. No emergency spells will be attached to you.”

Had she known Zhanf better, Ninianee might have found his quick concession suspicious, but she wasn’t familiar with his character and so didn’t think to doubt him.

“Thank you, Magsto,” she said.

“You know your own mind,” said Zhanf, and handed her a pair of riding crops. “Take the second, just in case.”

“Thank you,” she said again. “I’ll go out through the paddocks and pastures, so we won’t have to open the main gate. I would announce to all Vildecaz I was leaving if I opened the main gate at this hour. Umver is supposed to be waiting in the spinny near the old hives. When my footman Yrich arranged our meeting-place, Umver said he didn’t want to come inside the walls, and I agreed to his request. If you’ll tell the Night Guards not to stop me, Hoftstan, I will be most appreciative.”