Agnith's Promise: The Vildecaz Talents, Book 3 (15 page)

She sighed in aggravation. “It really is nothing important. That’s what’s so infuriating. It’s really minor. But I’m so . . . annoyed!”

“Then it isn’t nothing,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder and drawing her close to him. “You’re not a woman to magnify nothing into something dreadful.”

“He was so . . . so supercilious and rancorous. The gall of him! I knew him to be proud and ungracious, but this was much more. He was intent upon injuring me with his accusation.” She looked up at Kloveon. “I don’t like him. I can’t like him.”

“Who is this unfortunate?” he asked.

“Yulko Bihn. The one who deceived my father in a spell-duel twenty years ago, making his attack in advance of the agreed hour, winning by treachery, as everyone knows, though almost no one says it aloud. He is a loathsome worm and a dishonorable one at that. But I haven’t gone about saying he caused the conjure-storm. I don’t think he had anything to do with it. He hasn’t the talent for it, and he isn’t allied with anyone who might have such concerted power,” she said slowly. “So why would he accuse me as he did unless someone has said that I’ve blamed him, at least in part, for the conjure-storm?”

“Why would anyone say that?” Kloveon wondered. “You’ve been very careful to cast no aspersions on anyone at Court.”

“I know. That’s what perturbs me the most.” She tapped her fingers together. “The conjure-storm has vexed us all. It’s like fighting with a Fahnine veari – changing shape constantly so no firm purchase may be had.”

“A veari – I agree. And it means you can’t be sure of any identification you may make of those involved.”

“That’s the worst part of it,” said Erianthee.

“Do you think this is . . . “ He paused to consider how to express himself best. “Do you think Bihn is attempting to distract you? – to goad you into directing your attention on him and not on those who were part of the storm? That would be like him, from what you’ve said. Do you think you may be getting close to discovering who controlled the magic behind the storm?”

“It’s possible that I am closer to something that I know, though I have no sense of what I can be. But why would Bihn be party to it? It would be foolish, and Bihn is a coward and a cheat, but he’s no fool.” Erianthee was perplexed. She caught her lower lip in her teeth while she pondered, then said, “He’s a Court magician – an Imperial Magician, if you want to be specific. He’s been a fixture here ever since he usurped my father’s position, and he has gloried in it, and in his so-called triumph over him. The Court is his life. I can’t imagine he’d ally himself with any group seeking to damage the Empire, for he would only harm himself in doing so. No matter what else he may be, he is a loyal subject of Riast and the Porzalk Empire.” This concession troubled her, but she had at least been fair to him now, which was more than he had been to her.

“But you’re worried,” he observed. “About Bihn.”

“I am. There is something . . . askew about him. I can’t define it more than that, but it’s . . . just under the surface with him. I think he’s afraid of something, but I can’t tell what.”

“Discovery of some sort, perhaps?” Rygnee suggested.

“Probably, but I can’t determine what manner of discovery he’s afraid of.”

“Do you suppose his fear really might be connected to the conjure-storm? Might he know more than he’s telling about it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Do you think he knows something about your father, then?” He posed the question carefully, his face turning emotionless.

“I didn’t think so, but I wouldn’t say it’s impossible – I’d have difficulty discerning such fears, having so many of my own to contend with,” she said, speaking very slowly. “But why would he do this? Why is he risking so much? What does he hope to gain?”

“Would you like me to ask him for you?” Kloveon offered.

“I don’t think so,” she said as she considered the offer, adding, “Not yet, in any case.”

“Then you would like to find out something,” Kloveon said.

“Yes. I would.” She moved away from him toward the bed. “I need to have a better sense of what I want to know. It really is a veari, and I’m tired of wrestling with it.” She offered him a wobbly smile. “I apologize for being weary, but I fear I am. I need a nap.”

“Then rest. You always view matters more clearly when you’ve slept.” He stepped up to the bed, blowing her a kiss as he reached for her hand. “I’ll see to it
you’re not disturbed.” His smile brought out the deep crinkles around his eyes, and the admiration in his gaze.

“Yes, I want to lie down, if you don’t mind. If I nap, I may come upon something useful. I hope Analahor, the Inspirational, will visit my dreams and show me what I seek, or provide insight, so that I can at last come at the problem with an uncluttered mind.” She watched him for a long moment. “You’re good to me, Kloveon. You don’t ask me to explain what I can’t explain.”

“I’m pleased you are cognizant of it.” He nodded at once. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

“Helping to put in the new windows,” she said, relishing the idea. “Unlikely work for a Mirkal.”

He laughed. “My father thought that any leader must know how to do the work of his men – without magic. So I can pitch a tent, hunt and gut game, cut trees, build a cabin or a bridge, repair a wall or a window, cook a meal, smelt metals, and shoe horses. Not that I do them as well as those whose work it is, but I’m not an entire incompetent, either.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, and was about to stretch out on the bed when another thought struck her. “Your weather-witch – “

”Rakin Moricaz, you mean?”

“That’s the one,” she said. “What does he think about the conjure-storm?”

“He said only that he had only a very short period of anticipation before it struck. Usually he can sense storms at least a day ahead of their arrival, but this one he became aware of only an hour before it struck.”

“Then I wonder if its coming had been cloaked in some way. It would take a number of talented conjurers to hide such a storm, but the storm itself was the work of many. The Court magicians haven’t agreed about it, some saying it was cloaked and took days to summon up, and others saying it was a shared, sudden effort that brought it on so abruptly. What they disagree about the most is who did the spells for it, and why. Because that could mean that we can’t discern what should be obvious because our thoughts are muddied by spells.” She felt something twist within her, a unsavory echo of the visceral response her Shadowshows often gave her. “If we can’t discover the instigators of the storm directly, then we must do it indirectly.”

“I don’t know why you should bother to do it at all. It clearly wears on you,” said Kloveon.

“Because until I have some kind of answer for him, the Emperor won’t let me go home,” she said, a desolate note in her tone.

“Then I’ll talk to Moricaz this evening,” he promised as he closed the door and left her to her nap.

* * *

The clamor from Worjinranth Falls behind them was loud enough to make it necessary for Ninianee to shout in order to be heard. “Is it always this bad?” She wiped away the fine mist that clung to her skin, clear and cold. Around them the steep walls of the canyon stretched up to the luminous afternoon sky, its shadows all the deeper for the brilliance above them. After the long climb down from the rim, the darkness at the foot of the falls was as engulfing as the roar of the water.

“No, this is about the worst,” Doms bellowed back. “It’s the ice. More than water breaks on the stones at this time of year – look. You can see another – there it goes!” A section of ice about twice as long as Doms was tall and more than his height wide came sailing down the long drop from the rim above to crash on the shining, worn rocks at the base of the falls. A hundred heartbeats later, another, larger segment of ice fell. “This will go on until the end of the First Month – perhaps longer if the winter’s been hard. A month ago, the Falls would have had much less water in them, and there would have been ice all around the rim.” He pointed out the road they had just descended, a long series of switchbacks and hairpin turns that had required all the morning and half the afternoon to negotiate. “That’s the worst of what we have between us and Vildecaz. The Locks of Farmentij Rapids will get us around them without trouble.”

“What?” she yelled, squinting with her effort to hear.

He motioned to her, indicating the broad road leading off to the south. He nudged his pony and mule into motion, and she did the same with hers, putting distance between them and the falls. When the noise had fallen to acceptable levels, he repeated what he had said. “There’s a inlet along the river a short distance from here. There’s a harbor of sorts, and inns. We can engage a barge and a river-man to take us to Valdihovee.”

“How much will it cost?” she asked, aware that her sack of gaylings was becoming more empty than she would like.

“I’ve got enough to pay for whatever the river-man may require,” said Doms, and added before she could protest, “I would have to pay for such services in any case, so I’m not indulging you. You may pay half the amount to me when we return to Vildecaz Castle if you like. Or if you would rather walk on narrow trails all the way to Vildecaz, do so with my good-will, but it will take you more than twice as long as going by river. I, for one, want to travel quickly and comfortably.”

She couldn’t hold back a spurt of laughter. “You disarm me.”

“Good,” he said, and continued along the broad road. “You may want to keep alert. It’s a little early for robbers, but they might be abroad.”

“And there are pirates farther down the river, aren’t there?” she asked, knowing the answer.

“Not a great many, but enough. They’re at their height in the late summer, when traffic on the river is heaviest. We’ll want to keep guard against them, but not as we would have to in summer.” He pointed to a stone wall ahead. “This is Pajmin’s Landing. We’ll spend the night here.”

“Shouldn’t we press on? We have three more hours of light yet.”

“And spend the night in the open? With the wind rising?” He shrugged. “If that’s what you wish.”

“No, I don’t wish it,” she said. “But I want to make the most speed possible. It’s time I was home again.”

“I know – you’re worried,” said Doms.

“I am.” She fretted, adding, “If we could engage a barge and river-man this afternoon, and be on our way before nightfa – “

”By mid-morning. No river-man will set out at this time of day, or too early. The canyon is all in shadow now, as it is for two hours after dawn, and there are dangers that you can’t see under the water when the sun is hidden by the walls of the canyon. They prefer having as much direct sunlight as possible, in order to keep from damaging their barges,” Doms pulled up at the gate to Pajmin’s Landing. “You and I can have a good meal and a wash, and our ponies and mules can have a night in a well-bedded stall and maybe even an apple or two. Then tomorrow, when we’re fresh, we can start down the river.”

“On a barge,” she said, making no apology for her dubiety.

“River-men spend their time here at the inns on the docks. They aren’t very prepossessing as a group, but we’ll find one to our liking. You should know that they
have a dialect all their own. You can understand them most of the time, but their jargon is opaque, at least to me. They can’t – or they won’t – explain it to me, or anyone else I know of.” He rang the small gong to summon the watch, identified himself and Ninianee, paid the entry tax, and went through toward the cluster of buildings between the village and the edge of the river. “The village is away from the riverbank, the travelers’ inns are at the docks.”

“Which inn should we choose?” she asked, noticing out of the tail of her eye one of the watchmen hurrying away toward the village.

“They’re all of a piece. The Piebald-Crane is about the best – or it was four years ago.” He indicated the inn with the blue roof and the sign with a white-beaked and white-feathered head on it. “If you’re willing, so am I.”

She knew he was teasing her, daring her to choose another place. But she liked as much of the inn as she could see, and she believed that all four inns were similar. “Why not?” she asked as she overtook him and led him and his animals into the small courtyard of the inn.

* * *

In the end they waited until morning to find a river-man. Shortly before dawn Ninianee and Doms left their bedchamber for the tap-room where they had been assured by the landlord they would be able to find a reliable river-man with a barge seeking to be hired, for this was one of the places those wanting employment gathered in order to make their services available to travelers.

This morning the tap-room smelled of grilled bacon and cooking millet with onions. Eight men and one woman were at the long bench in front of the fireplace, most of them in the long, boiled-wool brikes and heavy canvas zenfts that were the identifying garments of their trade, along with the clubbed hair and chapped hands of their work. Their ages ranged from about twenty to the late forties. All but two looked up as Doms and Erianthee came into the room. They offered no greeting and made no respect.

“Good morning,” said Doms cordially, respecting the eight men.

“You’re the ones needing a barge?” asked the nearest of the eight. He was short and blocky, his face permanently sun-burnt. His vowels were broader than most and his endings were slurred or dropped altogether.