The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (49 page)

“That may turn me from my task.“

”A delay of two days? Surely you can spare that time. There’s a storm rising, and we may have to spend two days at least waiting for it to pass.”

Ninianee frowned, not wanting to admit he was right. “Let’s see how severe the storm is. Then we can decide what to do.” She stared at him, her light-green eyes filled with determination. “Doms, try to understand. I must continue my search for my father. I need to find him, to return him to Vildecaz if I can, or see he is given to The Silent One with due ceremony. I have a duty to Vildecaz to do this, but that isn’t the whole of it. One way or another, I have to know what has become of him.” She felt somewhat embarrassed to interject this reminder of her purpose. “You needn’t come with – “

He touched her lips with two fingers. “Do you want me to repeat my pledge to you, Ninianee? I will stay with you wherever you go.”

“But . . . “ She was again at a loss for words.

“Tomorrow evening, when we are away from here and the storm is closing in, we will find a place to stay for a day or two, and after those two days, we’ll set out in whatever direction you choose. We will manage better after we have a little time to ourselves.” He threw back the covers and got out of bed, hurrying to get their clothes. “For now, let’s do our best to be well-mannered for Hircaj Chogrun.” He tossed her the skin-clothes and zenft. “Go on, Duzeon. Get dressed.”

* * *

Erianthee’s most recent Shadowshow had been well-received but had left her feeling worn out – three Shadowshows in four days was exhausting, and there was still one to go tonight, making it four performances in five days. In order to prepare for the latest Shadowshow, she had spent most of the day in her rooms, her mind on things that had little to do with the Court. Today she missed Vildecaz more than she usually did, and she felt uneasy for Ninianee, wondering how she had come through the second full moon since she had left the Castle. Rygnee had gone to fetch a mass of laundry, and then would have the remaining part of the evening to herself. So it was Rygnee whom Erianthee thought knocked on her door in mid-afternoon. She rose from her sling-chair and went to the door to open it.

“Will you let me in, Erianthee? Please,” Kloveon of Fauthsku, in a bronze-and-gold iridescent hupslan and wearing his official coronet and pectoral, asked her, his request accompanied by a respect. Despite his elegant appearance, he seemed disquieted. “I’m sorry to drag you into this. But we must talk. I know you’re alone, but what we need to discuss is private.”

Puzzled, she said, “There is a good chance that someone is listening.”

“I’ll take that chance. I can cast a privacy spell that should last for the time I’m here.” He pressed his lips together nervously. “There is no one I can rely on but you, not here at Court.”

“Nothing at Court is private, spells notwithstanding,” said Erianthee as she respected him and stood aside for him to enter. In her simple gaunel of pale-blue-green irytex-wool, she felt a bit too casually dressed, but she decided not to change clothes. After all, she thought, she and Kloveon had seen each other with wet clothes and muddy boots – the gaunel was not as bedraggled as anything she wore while traveling with him. “There is a comfortable chair by the fire; I’m using the Fahnine sling-chair.”

“You’re tired,” he said as if he had just noticed. “Would you rather meet later? It would be more dangerous than this, but if you – ”

“This is a good time for me. If you want privacy, now would be better than later.” She stopped, watching him withdraw a spell-parchment and begin the casting ritual. “I’m being brusque, and I apologize. You’re right. I am tired. But I welcome your company.”

Kloveon folded up the spell-parchment and tucked it away in his sleeve, frowning. He went to the chair but didn’t sit down for a short while. “I owe you an explanation, Duzeon,” he said at last. “For including you in my audience with Riast. I want you to know how grateful I am.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said.

“It is,” he said, forlorn.

“Very well – if you must.”

“It’s as much for your protection as for my benefit,” he told her. “I owe you that much: protection.”

“If you think you must, then tell me what you must.” She continued to watch him while he ordered his thoughts.

“I know you’re aware that I wasn’t entirely candid while we were with Riast. I know you sensed it, and you said nothing, for which I thank you. When I explain, you’ll know why I had to withhold certain matters from Riast.” He seemed unable to go on. “I found out something about the rebellion almost a month ago.” Again he fell silent. “I found out about it from Bozidar.”

“Riast’s son?” Erianthee had begun to feel comfortable again, easing back in the sling-chair and cushions, but this brought her full upright aghast. “Is he involved in it? Are you sure?”

“Not as sure as I’d like to be,” he admitted.

“Is there good reason to think he might be?”

“Yes,” said Kloveon, then continued as if under compulsion to talk. “He came to Fauthsku, to Dyreijalu where I was meeting with the local town council. He claimed his mission was unofficial, but I doubted it. Bozidar told me he had been to Niegee, Udugan, and Lenj, covering most of the south-eastern quadrant of the Empire. He claimed to be making an inspection of the provinces, but he also wished to know if I had any reason to be discontented with the Empire, and Riast.”

“Wouldn’t a good administrator do that? My father, for all his incapacities, has done two annual progresses throughout Vildecaz to address problems and complaints. I can’t recall a year when he didn’t make such progresses.” Erianthee felt a rush of foreboding.

“That’s not Bozidar’s nature, tending to merchants and farmers. I thought at first he was testing me, trying to determine how loyal I was to Porzalk, but then I began to wonder if he meant something else.” He rested his elbows on his knees and joined his hands between them. “I decided to send one of my most reliable couriers to find out with whom Bozidar was meeting. Morcoz Havelon, the courier I had dispatched, had a talent for observing and . . . well, spying. I had two reports from him, both seeming to implicate Bozidar in the conspiracy. One of the names Havelon gave me before he died was Bozidar.”

“Bontaj,” said Erianthee quietly. “And you didn’t tell Riast?”

“I’m trying to make up my mind if I should tell Riast about this. Bozidar is his heir. Their House has ruled the Porzalk Empire for ten generations. If I am mistaken in my assessment of Bozidar’s role in this, I will bring misfortune on Fauthsku and disgrace upon my House. I was hoping you would advise me, Erianthee.” He looked toward her for the first time. “I don’t know what I should do. If Bozidar is indeed betraying Porzalk and his father, then I must inform the Emperor, but if Bozidar is being made to look like one of the treasonists
when he is not, then I would be to blame for his compromise.”

“Your courier – Havelon?” She saw him nod. “Would he have any reason to help such a conspiracy?”

“He never gave any indication of being such,” said Kloveon. “And he died for doing my bidding. He brought back his information the day before I left – that much of what I told Riast is accurate. He had been tortured and suffered horribly – he had been beaten with mallets and magic, and he was more diejinee than man, and he wasn’t diejinee for very long.”

“Did you believe him? Did you accept his report?” Erianthee asked.

“Enough to come here. What troubles me the most is that I don’t know what form their attack will take. Havelon said that it he thought it would be soon. If something happens in the next few days, Riast may be willing to listen to what I was told about Bozidar, but if nothing happens, then I fear it will be my loyalty that will be questioned.” He rubbed along his jaw, and took a deep, unsteady breath. “I don’t want to accuse Bozidar – I have only the report of a dying man who was delirious some of the time, and it may be that his information was incorrect or distorted, although he was convinced that his news was unerring.”

“Are you confident that Havelon was committed to you and Fauthsku? You say you found him reliable, but are you sure he wasn’t – Was he trustworthy or subtle? Could he have been working with the traitors, or could he have wanted to prove his heroism by making it appear there was a conspiracy, which he would reveal as a way to gain a glowing reputation? Would he want you to provide misinformation so that the traitors could work unimpeded because the notion of a threat to the Empire had been shown to be unfounded? That would make you seem a fool and irresponsible, as well as provide the conspirators with the appearance of triviality, which only serves their purposes.” Although these notions were not persuasive to Erianthee, she could see that they had already occurred to Kloveon.

“Anything is possible. I thought Havelon had fealty to Fauthsku, but he may not have had. I thought Bozidar was trying to determine my fealty to the Porzalk Empire, but that turned out not to be the case. I never expected to be caught between so many forces as I am now, and I can’t see my way.” Kloveon coughed nervously. “I want to protect Fauthsku and the Empire, but I could fail to do both, and all because I misunderstood who the enemies were.”

“Or if there are enemies,” Erianthee ventured.

“That as well. I’d have fewer suspicions had Havelon not died. The fact that he was killed has driven me to act. And I have also wondered if there may be provinces that are determined to undermine Fauthsku for reasons of their own. We have had trouble with Udugan over the last few months, for reasons that are not entirely clear, but I wouldn’t have thought they would do anything so malicious as this level of deception reveals, if that malice and deception really exist.” He rose from the chair and began to pace. “If I err, in any fashion that I might err, I will be contemptible to all Theninzalk. Yet I don’t know what an error might be.”

Erianthee watched him, seeing his distress as well as his perplexity. She tried to think of something to say that would comfort him without making light of his circumstances. “There’s nothing you can do at the moment, is there?”

“What can I do?” He went to the largest window and stared out at the flank of Tiumboj Castle. “I’ve done what I thought I must do – I have warned Riast of what I have learned – as much as I can reveal without hazard to Fauthsku, but I don’t know if I’ve been useful or nothing more than an alarmist. If I could be more sure of what I’ve been told, then I wouldn’t be so . . . so restless. I would know I had done what was needed and useful. But I’m not sure it is.”

“But you do think there is some kind of scheme afoot, and it is directed at the Porzalk Empire,” she said.

“Yes, I think it, but I’m not wholly persuaded.” He put his hand on the windowsill, his face turned away from her. “I had doubts from the first, and now that I have made my report to the Emperor, those doubts have redoubled.” Very softly, he asked, “Erianthee, what am I to do?”

She left her sling-chair and went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

He moved out of her embrace but only to take her away from the window. “Privacy spell or not, I don’t want you to be seen with me, not this way.” He led her to the fireplace and took her in his arms, his hands spread across her back. “You have faith in me, Erianthee, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, “I believe you,” and hoped it was true.

Hoftstan Ruch hurried up to Duz Nimuar’s library, where he hoped to find Poyneilum Zhanf. He carried a large sack which he held away from his body as if unwilling to have any contact with what it contained. His face was pale, his breath came hard and fast, and his eyes showed more white than usual. As he reached the library, he tapped lightly on the door, hoping that Zhanf was inside. He rapped on the door and saw it open.

Neilach Drux, Duz Nimuar’s valet, respected Hoftstan even as he eyed the bag he carried with dubiety. “Come in, Hoftstan Ruch,” he said. “Magsto Zhanf is at the rear of the room, among the charts the Duz compiled.”

Ordinarily this would have piqued Hoftstan’s curiosity, but his mission was too urgent to be distracted now. “I must speak to him. At once. You needn’t announce me. I’ll – ”

“It is no imposition.” Drux respected Hoftstan once again, and motioned to him. “Follow me.” He set off through the jumble of bookcases, map-cases, display cases, occasional tables and chairs that were placed haphazardly in the L-shaped room. “He’s at the table under the window.”

And so he was. Zhanf was sitting on a stool facing a large, angled table on which slanting surface he had unrolled a chart so long that it fell over two sides of the table. He was frowning, but whether because of what he was seeing in the chart or the glare from the window was impossible to determine. He sat up and made a semi-respect from his stool as he heard Hoftstan approaching. “So, Hoftstan Ruch, from the look of you, something is the matter – what troubles you?”

Hoftstan returned the respect awkwardly, for the sack he carried was heavy and hard to balance. “You should look at this, Magsto,” he said.

“What is it?” Zhanf asked as he reached for the sack.

“A spell-mummy, I think,” said Hoftstan, making a protective gesture. “It is some kind of dessicated, shrouded corpse. It was in a flimsy casket. Hardly weighs more than a load of twigs.”

“Really?” Zhanf handled the sack gingerly. “What makes you think it is a spell-mummy?”