Agnith's Promise: The Vildecaz Talents, Book 3 (23 page)

“Vercaz-Old-Fortress?” Ninianee asked, startled. “How long will it take us to get to it?”

“If the weather stays clear, we’ll be there in two days’ time.” He paused. “Assuming the full moon doesn’t create too much of a problem.”

Ninianee flinched. “How can I know what will become of me,” she rejoined with an edge in her tone. “Or what kind of a problem the Change will present.”

Doms held up one hand. “I didn’t intend to impose any assumptions on you. But you will agree, if you Change into a moon-hound or an Aon-bear it would be more difficult to deal with than a redcoon or a very large tisslet. Or perhaps a thimble-pig – a remarkably big one, but still – ”

Her spurt of laughter startled her – she rarely found her Changing amusing. “But I could be a drouch or a Pomig frost-leopard. They would be more than difficult.”

“While you’re at it, what about a zyriha-cat? Aren’t they more dangerous than frost-leopards or drouches? Even at a third their grown size, you could be hard to handle.” He took another, smaller case off his saddle. “Here. You’ll want this.”

“What is it?” She held up the case, puzzled.

“Ympara-oil and salt, and three porcelain vessels for offerings. I doubt you’ve been observing any Traveling Rites since you climbed out of the river.” He waited a long moment. “You may want a little extra protection at the full moon.”

She opened the case and saw that it contained the items he had described. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He came to her side, speaking gently. “I’ll do what I can for you, but until we find out what we’re dealing with – ”

”I know. I know.” She went back to the chest with the food. “Smoked venison? It should be all right with the cheese-and-bread. Nothing fancy, but it’ll hold us through the night and into the morning.” Saying that, she bent down to keep the melted cheese from scorching. “I have a wooden bowl. We can share it, or I can eat
from the pot, and you from the bowl.”

“Or we can use the small platter in the case,” he suggested. “Then we can share more easily.”

She nodded and wrapped the frayed end of her sleeve around her hand in order to pick up her cooking pot by its stubby handle. Something struck her as she set the pot down on a small stump. “You aren’t frightened, are you?” she asked incredulously. “I mean, of my Change?”

“The only thing that frightens me about it is that you may be hurt while you’re Changed,” he said with complete sincerity. “And that is fear enough for me.”

She stared at him as if seeing something in him she hadn’t noticed until now. “You don’t worry about what I might do while Changed?”

“A little, but not as much as I fear for your safety, particularly on the first night, when the animal is at its strongest.” He pulled out the platter. “Here. The cheese should be poured out while it’s still soft.”

Baffled and elated for reasons she couldn’t entirely comprehend, she accepted the platter and gladly turned her attention to the mundane task of serving their evening meal.

* * *

The Blue Hound lay half-a-league off the main road at the edge of a wilderness preserve belonging to the Priests of Dallan-Noj where they kept one of their many retreats. Kloveon and his men and wagons had traveled all night and half the following day after their battle to reach it, and all of them were shocked at the sight that greeted them upon their arrival. Until the conjure-storm the inn had boasted thirty apartments under its roof, two public dining rooms, and a large tap-room. Now it had only two rooms suitable for habitation, but the landlord offered them at once when he read the safe-passage from the Emperor. “There’s bunks in the barn for your men,” he went on to Kloveon. “But the lady – ”

”The Duzeon,” Kloveon corrected him. He rubbed the cut and bruise on his cheek, and inadvertently made it bleed again. The gesture showed his skinned knuckles and two badly torn fingernails.

“Yes, yes.” He glanced at the improvised stretcher on which Erianthee lay, pale and still as if in a trace. “I can summon one of the priests at the wilderness, if you like. They can perform the Rites for the Lost. They should be able to provide you solace and arrange for – ”

“She’s not dead, and we’re not in mourning, thank you anyway,” said Kloveon a bit testily.

“Then she is under a spell – it could be one of Malefic Intention,” the landlord said, his voice rising.

Kloveon held up the safe-passage from Riast, and said, “Whatever her condition, the Emperor enjoins you to house and protect her.” His face lost some of its handsomeness as he leaned forward. “I have pledged to guard her with my life. Can you refuse her so little as a bed?”

This sudden assertion shook the landlord, who stepped back. “She may stay here, but none of my people will attend her.”

Kloveon accepted his terms. “All right. Her maid will look after her, as will I. We’ll need only standard service from your staff – that they bring food and firewood and attend to the room, not to the Duzeon.” He paused, considering another request. “If the Priests of Dallan-Noj have a physician at their center, a few of my men were injured yesterday driving off men in masks, and the magic we’ve used to treat them is wearing off. And I’d like a healing-plaster for this.” He touched his face along the trail of blood.

“I’ll send a messenger at once, Mirkal.” The landlord respected him deeply as if to make up for his original suspicious reception. “How bad are the injuries? Do you need a nurse as well as a physician?”

“Two are fairly severe, one is more painful than dangerous, one has a number of bruises, and one man was struck a heavy blow on the side of the head and is still having problems. The physician can decide if nursing is needed in addition to whatever treatment is offered.” Kloveon thought that weighing how badly outnumbered they had been against how they had fared, their over-all condition was better than he had any right to expect. He also knew that without the manifestation of Zaythomaj, the Retributionist, most, if not all, of them would have perished at the hands of the twenty-seven masked men they had engaged on the road.

“Would spells help?” the landlord inquired.

“For a short time, probably. We’re used a few just to get here. But the men need proper treatment, and soon. Magic doesn’t last long with such injuries. The men must have medicine.” Kloveon didn’t bother to offer his usual, ingratiating smile, but
met the landlord’s gaze sternly. “Soon,” he repeated.

“Of course, of course,” said the landlord, and struck a small silver gong with a mallet. “Konemaz! Take the little carriage over to the Priests of Dallan-Noj. Tell them we need their physician, and quickly.”

A youth with a cast in one eye appeared and said, “When?” in a tone of voice that suggested any request made of him was an imposition.

“Now. At once!” The landlord made shooing motions to hurry him on his way. “No lollygagging.”

“I’ll go,” said the lad with no curiosity, and ambled out into the inn-yard. “Too bad about the woman.”

“She’s not dead!” Kloveon shouted, and turned back to the landlord without apology. “Where are the rooms you have for us?”

“In the south wing, here. Above us.” He pointed at the ceiling. “The stairs are on your left at the end of the corridor. They’re a little rickety just now, so you’ll have to watch your step going up. There are two doors on the corridor. Both are available to you.”

“Very good. We’ll get her upstairs, then.” He signaled to the men bearing the stretcher. “Take her up and put her in the more comfortable bedroom of the two – which would that be?”

“That will be the one above the smaller dining room,” said the landlord.

Kloveon made a small respect to the landlord. “You heard him, escort. I’ll fetch Rygnee. And landlord, the maid and I will take our evening meal upstairs. See that we don’t have to wait long.”

The escort soldiers did as they were ordered, moving as carefully as they could. They picked their way up the wobbly stairs and chose the room on the west for Erianthee since it had the larger bed and it was warmer than the room on the east. They had barely finished moving Erianthee into the bed when Rygnee rushed in and took over caring for her.

“Don’t be rough with her. She has to be handled gently. Gently.” She pulled one of the soldiers back from the bed, frowning portentously. “I can manage now, thank you.” Giving the men a minor respect as a dismissal, she set to work covering Erianthee with the vast comforter that lay folded across the end of the bed. She shook it out to fluff up the down inside it, and draped it over Erianthee’s recumbent form, trying to keep from fussing over her. At last Rygnee was satisfied with Erianthee’s
repose, and stepped out of the bedroom into the sitting room to see if the chests and trunks had been carried up yet. She found one trunk and Kloveon standing near the fireplace.

“They’ll bring wood up shortly,” he said to Rygnee. “How is she doing?”

“The same,” said Rygnee, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of futility. “If they’ll bring up a tub of hot water, I’ll bathe her. That may help. She often bathes after a Shadowshow.”

“Then she’ll have her bath,” said Kloveon, but faltered as he saw the distress in Rygnee’s eyes. “What worries you so much?”

Rygnee looked away from him. “I’m afraid she might not waken, or if she does, she’ll be . . . different than she was. More like her father. Less than she was. Not herself.”

“She’ll be Erianthee,” said Kloveon with a certainty that went beyond what he actually felt.

“But . . . if she isn’t . . . what then?” Rygnee asked, so tentatively that Kloveon realized how deep her distress went.

“When the physician gets here, I’ll have him examine her,” said Kloveon. “He may have a suggestion or two to make. For now, we have to wait – keep her warm and clean and fed, and trust that she will be herself again. She’ll wake up when she’s rested enough.”

Rygnee clearly wanted to press the argument, but she remained quiet, her face showing nothing but a slight frown of concern. “Do you want to keep guard over her tonight, or shall I?”

“You need rest. I’ll take the first half of the night, and if I become too tired, I’ll wake you later.” He stared down at her. “She’s so pale.”

“As she often is after a Shadowshow, which is why I think she needs a hot bath,” said Rygnee. “It always troubles me, when she turns pale.”

“Hardly surprising,” said Kloveon. “I know we all owe much to her – if not our lives, our freedom. But I hope the cost hasn’t been as high as I fear it may be.”

“Then you are anxious about her condition,” Rygnee said.

“Of course I am,” he answered sharply. “Most of the most accomplished master magicians can’t manifest gods or goddesses without serious consequences for themselves, and she hasn’t had the training for such acts. I’ve no doubt her talents can support a manifestation, but she hasn’t been trained, and it’s taken a toll on her.”
He reached down and smoothed a stray tendril of hair from her face. “It was a most selfless act – bringing The Retributionist to protect us. Now I must put her welfare uppermost in all I do.”

Rygnee was torn between admiring his dedication and being dilatory in accepting this fulsome pledge – she understood now why Erianthee had had reservations about Kloveon. She remembered Erianthee’s reluctance in accepting Kloveon’s declarations at face value, and her recognition that he had more motives than love to keep her favor. Rygnee sighed. “I should tend to her, Mirkal. And I’ll have her bathed and in her night-things before our dinner arrives.” She could smell aromas from the kitchen, and knew that there was at least an hour more cooking to be done.

“Then I’ll go down and see that all her trunks and chests are brought in, and order the tub sent up. You’ll know best what she’ll need.” He made an elegant respect that managed to include both Rygnee and Erianthee in its sweep. He stood still for ten heartbeats, then turned on his heel and left the two women alone.

* * *

The healing-plaster on Kloveon’s cheek was itching – annoying but a good sign. He had donned his jalai and stretched out beside Erianthee, the heavy comforter wrapped around them both. He was still thinking of the physician’s remarks about her: “She should recover completely, given sufficient time, but she’ll need to use her talents sparingly for some while. She overextended herself badly, and it’s left her depleted.” It had been hard for Kloveon to keep from castigating the physician for speaking the obvious, but he had held his tongue, thanking the woman and giving her a pouch filled with gaylings for her services. Now, as the night wore on, his thoughts kept turning to how long it might take Erianthee to recover, and how much he felt he owed her for saving them all. He fought against the urge to sleep, reminding himself that it was his responsibility to look after her. He set himself the task of recalling the fight with the twenty-seven masked me in every detail, and then to recollect all the demands of their travel from the time they left Tiumboj until this evening. Yet despite his best intentions, his eyes closed slowly and he drifted into a semi-slumber – one light enough for him to waken instantly when he felt cool fingers on his face. He caught the hand in his, wondering if he had dreamed the touch, and realizing at the same moment that he hadn’t, that Erianthee was no longer sunk in her stupor, but coming back to herself, and to him.

“Kloveon,” Erianthee breathed, her eyes opening slowly. “You?”