The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (8 page)

The man paled and shrank back. “No, Duzna,” he said with a hurried respect. “I am afraid my playing would not satisfy you. I am only of moderate skill.”

She was about to question him, thinking his clothes denoted otherwise, when a moderately tall man in his late twenties, sturdily built, in dark green hunting dolaj and long leather brikes came up to her in a loose-limbed stride, making a surprisingly graceful respect as he approached her. When he met her brown eyes with his ice-blue ones, a faint smile touched his expressive mouth. “Duzna Erianthee. I trust I see you well?” His voice was deep and quiet, yet it carried everywhere. “It has been some time since we met.”

Erianthee stared at him. “Doms Guyon,” she said, trying to recover herself. “I thought . . . that is, my sister said you had left Vildecaz on First Day.”

“She is right: I had intended to, but, as I recall, First Day brought a day of sleet and blustery winds, once I left Vildecaz; the ship I had taken was forced to turn back, so I thought it wisest to remain for a time. The seas are unpredictable at the best of times, and the weather was fierce. The Drowned World has not suffered by my absence.” His manner was smooth and his smile showed no trace of unhappiness, but it was also entirely apparent that his cordiality had its limits.

“Does Ninianee know you’re still here?” Erianthee asked, thinking back to the tempestuous interlude Ninianee had enjoyed with him back at the dark of the year.

“Why should she?” Doms countered, as if it meant nothing to him one way or the other.

Erianthee looked about in some confusion. “Then I don’t suppose you would want to – “

”Entertain?” Doms inquired politely. “I am at your service, if you truly have need of such a magician as I am.” He flourished a bouquet of paper flowers that had suddenly blossomed in his hands. “Simple sleight-of-hand, no magic of your kind,” he said, a bit apologetically.

“It should be useful, assuming you want to appear,” Erianthee said, trying to think of how she would tell Ninianee that Doms Guyon had not left after all. “It could be – ”

“Yes, there could be awkwardness, I agree.” Doms eyes glinted, but whether in sympathy or sarcasm was hard to discern. “It may be trying for your sister to have me at Vildecaz Castle again. I would not want to cause her distress.”

“But are you saying you will entertain or not?” Erianthee asked, disgusted with herself for letting her confusion show.

“I am saying I will do as you wish,” said Doms, smiling lightly. “By the way, the fellow with the lute is a spy from the Kingdom of Waniat.”

The man shrank back still farther, muttering “Gremmi bontaj,” as he went.

“Poor man,” said Erianthee, laughing a bit. “You have quite ruined his work.”

Doms waved his hand. “Everyone knew it. The man talks in his sleep.” His chuckle was echoed throughout the room.

Erianthee laughed a bit breathlessly. “That is a failing in a spy. Why such a poor choice on King Toivanoch’s part? He must be wholly useless.”

“So he is,” Doms agreed. “I know a pair of Ymiljesain contortionists. They’re staying at the Crag-Lion, and they would be over-joyed to have the opportunity to perform for Duz Nimuar and his guests.”

Realizing that Doms had shifted their conversation into safer subjects, Erianthee said, “They sound interesting. Ymiljesain, you say?”

Doms nodded. “Cousins, they claim. They are quite astonishing.” He folded his arms. “I could fetch them for you.”

“They’re not spies, are they?” Erianthee asked, smiling to show she wasn’t serious.

“No more than I am,” said Doms, respecting her again in spite of his unsatisfactory answer. “I will be back shortly.” He pointed to Rimdoch. “Don’t try dicing today, youngster.”

Rimdoch looked up from his notebook. “No, I wouldn’t.”

Doms chuckled his disbelief as he strolled out of the taproom and across the large courtyard.

Watching him go, Erianthee could not decide what she should tell Ninianee. “Whatever I say, it must not be tonight,” she whispered to herself. She would not ask Doms to perform this evening, just in case he should arrive before Ninianee absented herself. “Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Duzna?” the landlord asked hesitantly.

“Nothing to the point,” said Erianthee, and raised her voice. “Is there anyone else here who would like to perform this afternoon?”

A number of voices answered, and Erianthee signaled Rimdoch to get the names and skills of those volunteering while she took a long moment to restore her calm, wondering as she did, what Doms Guyon’s presence would mean to Ninianee.

Approaching the Main Gate of Vildecaz Castle, Erianthee noticed a second visitor’s flag was flying from the battlements above the drawbridge alongside Yulko Bihn’s. It only took her a moment to recognize the red, semi-mythical, stag-headed sphinx on a silver field. “Oh, zlatz,” she burst out, and felt her cheeks grow rosy at her use of such a vulgarity. “That’s a xanji, red on silver. This is Bontis’ Luck!”

“Duzna?” Rimdoch Ruch sat up straight on his horse, his sulks banished by her exclamation. “Is something the matter?”

“I think something may be,” Erianthee said tightly.

“At the Castle?” Rimdoch asked, moving his horse a bit closer to hers. “What is it?”

Erianthee set her jaw, and then cried out, “The xanji is Kloveon’s device. What is he doing here?” She flung her hand at the new visitor’s flag. “Kloveon!”

“Of Fauthsku?” Rimdoch asked, impressed in spite of himself.

“Well, that’s his flag, so he, or his messenger, is here,” said Erianthee, more brusquely than was her habit, her annoyance increasing to edginess. “This is just like him! It’s bad enough that Doms Guyon is in Valdihovee, but to have Kloveon . . . “ She could find no words to finish her sentiments, for she had a sudden thought that Yulko Bihn’s presence might be more than an occasion to disparage Nimuar; it could be that Bihn was working spells designed to perturb the whole household: she wouldn’t blame Kloveon – not yet, but she would be more alert to his behavior. If he tried anything against Nimuar, she would be ready.

“He’ll have an escort, won’t he?” Rimdoch asked, his expression brightening. “He’ll have at least four men accompanying him, don’t you think?”

“Kloveon, you mean?” Erianthee swung around in her saddle. “I won’t have you fleecing every man who comes to Vildecaz Castle.”

“Oh, I won’t,” said Rimdoch, adding slyly, “Not every man.”

“Rimdoch Ruch!” Erianthee made his name a chastisement.

“All right. All right.” He was dangerously near pouting as they crossed the drawbridge over the narrow chasm of Hevomaj Stream, said to be the sweat of the god of the Valdishan Escarpment; today that possibility seemed more likely than usual, for the water ran high and urgently, indicating there had been rain farther up the mountains.

“Are you planning to do anything before the banquet?” Erianthee asked as she and Rimdoch turned their mounts toward the stable.

“Aside from change clothes and assist my father and brothers in setting up the Great Hall? No, I don’t think so. Unless there is something you wish me to do?” He beamed at her with patently false good-will. “Otherwise I will attend my father and brothers – for an hour or so.”

She paid no attention to his impertinence. “Then you will be able to find General Rocazin and tell her who will be entertaining at the banquet. I must go prepare.”

“All right,” said Rimdoch, now growing curious.

“And remind Burinar that he will have to go down to Valdihovee to bring our entertainers to the castle, preferably just after mid-day.”

“Yes, my Duzna,” said Rimdoch dutifully.

Erianthee handed her reins to the nearest groom, and called after Rimdoch, who was striding off toward his father’s house set against the inner wall, “Do not fail me, Rimdoch Ruch.”

The youth paused long enough to make the suggestion of a respect and continued on his way, starting to whistle as he went.

Watching him go, Erianthee had to stop herself from adding to her instructions to him. “He will do his duty,” she said to herself, and tried to believe it; she went toward the eastern entrance to the keep, where she found Ver Mindicaz in the open doorway of the reserve pantry, taking stock of what she had on hand. “Is there a problem, Major-Cook?”

Ver jumped visibly as she caught sight of Erianthee. “Ah!” she exclaimed, putting her hand to her throat. “Zlatz – pardon me, Duzna.”

“Of course,” said Erianthee. “What troubles you?”

Giving an exasperated little sigh, Ver planted her hands on her hips and said, “I had planned the banquet to be ample, but now, there are seven more to eat with us – Fauthsku and his escorts, and two extra servants. I hadn’t planned for so many more.”

“There are still Byton-fowl in the poultry pen,” said Erianthee. “Six of them should help you to feed the unexpected guests.”

“Did no one know they were coming so soon?” Ver asked in frustration.

“No. They weren’t expected for five more days,” said Erianthee, frowning as she said it. Why was Kloveon here early?

Misreading her expression, Ver glanced quickly at Erianthee. “Don’t tell me you have found a vast number of entertainers, or I shall scream. I do not like serving magically conjured food to guests.”

Erianthee chuckled. “No, Ver, there will be five of them, one fewer than we planned for.” She put her hand on Ver’s shoulder. “You will do excellently. You always do.”

This time her sigh was slower and more eloquent. “It’s just the not knowing that makes it so difficult.”

“Well, ask General Rocazin to help you. She can requisition whatever extra foodstuffs you need.”

“But your father doesn’t approve of requisitioning,” Ver reminded Erianthee. “He wouldn’t encourage us to – “

“Yes, very true. But he is also being put at a distinct disadvantage by so many unexpected guests,” said Erianthee.

“We usually have the Imperial Courier deliver your official invitation to Court during the Reaper’s Moon,” Ver said.

“The Imperial Courier?” Erianthee burst out. “You mean that Kloveon of Fauthsku is the Imperial Courier this year?” No wonder he had come early. How, she wondered, had he contrived to get that mission for himself?

“So his escorts say,” Ver told her.

“Where is he?” Erianthee asked.

“In the Imperial Suite, of course. His escorts are in the Imperial Soldiers’ House, adjoining the stable.” Ver stepped into the pantry and took out two smoked geese. “This should satisfy the lower tables.”

“Smoked goose? I would think so,” said Erianthee. “How many courses are you serving?”

“I had planned six, but with the Imperial Courier here, I will have to contrive eight. I’ve taken all the eggs I can find, and I will make a souffle, and for the High Table, I have Badrei-fish stuffed with crab and prawns in soft cheese with ground almonds and garlic; the lower tables will have these geese. Shajdoch knows what I’ll find for stuffing.” As if immediately inspired by the kitchen-god she had invoked, she went on, “Walnuts and dates, perhaps, or sausage. The bakers are putting together sweet tarts for desert, and two of my assistants have gone to the creamery to get some of the best and ripest soft cheeses for the end of the meal, and we have dried apricots.” Ver closed her eyes for a long moment, then nodded. “Yes. I have enough now. Nothing magical need be served – all real food and from this duzky, or most of it. The wine-cellar is getting low on bottles. But that’s to be remedied later. I’ll work out what to offer at the late supper while dinner is being served. I seem to recall that there is still some game in the smokehouse, and a two elk with the butcher.”

“You’ll manage superbly. You are always able to – “ Erianthee began.

“Yes, yes; that’s why I’m Major-Cook” said Ver impatiently. “By the way, the big coach-horse is ailing. You know, Sanma. Your sister is in the stables, treating him even now.”

“It
is
her responsibility,” Erianthee said.

“And your father is off in his study, all his attention on that new research of his,” Ver went on. “If I have any questions, I fear I must direct them all to you.”

“If you must, then you must,” said Erianthee. “But Hoftstan Ruch should be able to answer most questions you may have.”

“He’s being hounded by the magician’s strumpet,” said Ver bluntly. “He has all he can do to remain at his assigned tasks.”

Erianthee shook her head. “Why is she doing this? And why Hoftstan, of all men? He has done nothing to encourage her – quite the contrary, from what I could see. She has been told he has a wife.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m glad I sent Rimdoch to help him. Where are Kazhtal and Jenebij? Can’t they remain with their father?”

“They’re putting the Imperial Soldiers’ House in order; Hoftstan sent them to attend to it.” Ver paused. “I must get back to the kitchen. There is so much more to do, Duzna.”

“Yes; there is,” Erianthee agreed, moving aside so Ver could pass with her arms laden with smoked geese. She closed the pantry door, and then continued on into the heart of the keep, hoping to find her father before his duties of host rendered private conversation with him impossible.