The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (15 page)

“Not worried – say rather, a bit apprehensive,” she answered carefully, holding out her goblet as one of the pages bore a ewer of wine to her. “Yes, if you would.”

The lad filled her goblet, then looked to Doms. “Noble guest?”

“Much appreciated,” said Doms, offering his goblet; while the page did his task, Doms added, “I can understand why you might be, Duzna.”

“I will leave this ewer on the table and go fetch a second one,” the youngster declared, and set actions to his words.

As soon as the lad was gone, Ninianee said, “I suppose I should thank you for what you’ve done, helping us this evening as you have pledged to do.”

“You may do so when I am done,” he responded.

Ninianee glanced away. “But I may not still be here when your performance is over.”

“Surely you don’t dislike me so much that you would ignore my entertainments,” he protested.

“I wish I could remain,” said Ninianee, with such sincerity that Doms’ full attention was caught by it. “I have . . . a pressing engagement that I must keep. I apologize for not being able to remain, for, truly, I would like to hear your songs and see what astonishing things you may do.”

“All without magic, only with practice and skill,” Doms reminded her with an easy, elegant gesture of his hand that ended in him offering her a red-silk flower. He lowered his voice, and said, softly and quickly so only she could hear, “If it is my talents you wish to know, you have some knowledge of them before now: I am a finder. Keep that in mind, Duzna. You are fixed in me as a scent is in the nose of a Boarthine wolf; do not hope to elude me, Ninianee. You will never go so far that I cannot find you.”

She felt her pulse race and for a long moment she said nothing while she made sure she would not give herself away. “Do try the wine,” she told him when she was fully in control of herself again. “I think you will find it most satisfactory. It is nine years old, and at the peak of its vintage.”

“No doubt,” he said, accepting her rebuff with a hint of amusement. “The wine and fruits of Vildecaz are known throughout Theninzalk, and prized on all Six Worlds.” His smile made it plain that he was in no way bothered by her abrupt change of subject.

“It’s thanks to our wines and our preserved fruits that my sister and I can afford to dress well, and our duzky is still independent,” said Ninianee, making this remark a toast. “And thanks to our wines and fruits means thanks to Hevomaj, the Stalwart, and Lorjoran, the Provider. Also to Shandreij, who is goddess of Vildecaz’s orchards.” She lifted her goblet and held it out to him as their custom demanded, all the while trying to make as little contact with him by touch or glance as she could without openly rebuffing him.

“Your duzky, although small, is a rich one,” said Doms, doing his utmost to make polite dinner conversation. “You are very fortunate to have such a prosperous homeland.”

“So I am.” She regarded him for a long moment, distrusting the emotions that the impact of his gaze stirred in her.

“I am glad that the storm drove me back to Valdihovee, so that I might once again have the opportunity – “

“How pleasant to see you again, Doms Guyon,” said Erianthee as she came to take her place on the other side of the duzine chair. “You are doing us a great service.”

“You are gracious to say so,” Doms responded, respecting her. He nodded to Kloveon.

“This is a fine occasion,” Kloveon declared as he sat beside Erianthee. “I am honored to be part of it.”

“You are most welcome here, Kloveon,” said Ninianee when Erianthee remained silent a little too long.

“I thank you, Duzna. And, Duzna Erianthee, I am grateful that you will receive me so handsomely.”

“You are here in your office of Imperial Courier,” said Erianthee cautiously. “I would be intolerably lax if I did not show you the regard your office commands.”

“And, I would hope,” said Kloveon with practiced smoothness, “with the kindness of friendship.”

“Of course,” said Erianthee, hoping she did not appear as confused as she felt. Why did this man always find the one way to fluster her? She flashed him her best smile and was relieved when he answered with one of his own.

The first of the waiters appeared, bearing the start of the feast: fried cheese with Nyth-root, puff-bread and new butter. Maeshar stood for the Meal Rite for Visitors, and, when General Rocazin was through, added his own benediction to the occasion. “For the Porzalk Empire, may this duzky remain as prosperous and bountiful in future as it has been through decades past. May all who visit here prosper and thrive. May the favor of the gods never leave you. May Agnith, the Preternatural, continue to guide and protect Vildecaz.”

This was greeted by shouts of agreement, and one of Maeshar’s guests shoved himself so far back in his chair that he and it fell over. Hollers of laughter met this mishap, and as the raillery spread, Kloveon whispered to Erianthee, “You must not be distressed, Duzna. They are Maeshar’s guests, not yours. Any bad cess that comes from his act does not accrue to you.”

Torn between gratitude and indignation, Erianthee swallowed her pride and murmured, “That’s kind of you, Mirkal.”

“I’ve offended you,” Kloveon said softly. “I had no such intention.”

“No, not offended,” she said, and touched his hand, so briefly that it might have been an accident. As Erianthee sat down again, there was a call of trumpets from the gallery, and the meal was officially underway.

* * *

As the meal came to an end, Ninianee rose and addressed the gathering in the Great Hall; the guests were now quite boisterous and it took a long moment for the room to quiet enough for her to be heard. “Most honored visitors to Vildecaz Castle: I regret that I cannot stay for the entertainments arranged for your delight. I leave you in my sister’s capable hands, and I know you will have a far more enjoyable time than I will. I ask you to pardon the necessity that calls me away, and not to lessen your delights on my account.” She respected the gathering and then stepped away from the dais, grateful that she had almost half an hour to sundown. Starting for her apartments, she saw one of Maeshar’s company – a whipcord fellow of perhaps thirty with dissolute features and a leer of a smile in an expensive but old-fashioned hupslan and sajah – slip furtively into one of the withdrawing rooms near the Great Hall, his clothes somewhat in disarray, his weapons-belt still holding two short-swords, against all courteous conduct. The man’s presence bothered her enough that when she reached her apartments she said to Giuynee, “One of Maeshar’s guests went into the Blue Salon. He may not be alone. Could you find out the reason for it for me?”

Giuynee looked startled. “You want me to do this – not a page or a guard?”

“You don’t need to speak to him; just tell him that, as he is new to the Castle, you were concerned, and you are offering your assistance.” Ninianee rubbed the front of her gaunel and tried to decide where to store it so that it would attract no notice. Giuynee took good care of her clothes, and she would look askance at Ninianee’s getting undressed while there were so many guests at Vildecaz Castle. She wished she had contrived to spill some wine on it, which would account for her actions. But she had used that ploy before, not two months ago, and she didn’t want to repeat her device again quite so soon. She finally settled on a few bruises, tokens from the night before, and a collection of scratches along her flank. She had just removed her gaunel when Giuynee returned, her color slightly heightened.

“I know why he wanted privacy,” said Giuynee in a stifled tone.

“What’s the matter, Giuynee?” Ninianee asked, unused to seeing Giuynee shocked.

“He is Rothireon Dachdoj, Firnij of Lenj. He was occupied with two of Ver’s assistants – one boy, one girl.” She shook her head.

“That shouldn’t astonish you,” said Ninianee, puzzled by her dismay. Lenj was known for its acceptance of sexual experimentation.

“It wasn’t what you’d expect; he was working spells on them, not enjoying their bodies. He had both of them behaving very strangely. One of them was using a long kitchen knife to ruin a pillow.”

Ninianee blinked in astonishment. “Why would he abuse our hospitality so egregiously? Using our servants to work his magic!”

“He told me that in Lenj such is the custom,” said Giuynee in patent disbelief.

“Then Lenj must be a much odder place than it is reputed to be,” said Ninianee. “Not that there are not some peculiar customs in the Porzalk Empire.” She felt the passing day as a kind of under-the-skin itch, and she realized she would begin her Change shortly, so she said, “I need to be alone. These bruises are aching and I will need to be left to myself if I am to heal them. No one is to enter my rooms until morning.” Briefly, she wondered if this Rothireon Dachdoj was one of the men who had accosted her, and decided it was much too easy to think so.

“I shall inform General Rocazin,” said Giuynee.

“And if you will, tell her I would like to keep you as my waiting-woman for another month. If this does not upset her rotation too much, that is,” said Ninianee, offering Giuynee as much of a smile as she could muster.

“This is a great honor, Duzna,” said Guiynee, and added, “I will see to it that you are undisturbed until morning.”

“I thank you,” said Ninianee, then said, “If you are able, find out what this Rothireon Dachdoj, Firnij of Lenj has done to our servants, and for what reason. Custom or not in his homeland, it is offensive here, and as such, we ought to have an explanation for his behavior. Ask the servants if they can recall anything, and let me know what they say.”

“This evening or tomorrow morning?” asked Giuynee.

“Tomorrow morning is as good a time as any,” said Ninianee as a slippery chill ran up her spine. “I must retire,” she told Giuynee and made a gesture of dismissal. “If you will excuse me?”

“Thank you again, Duzna,” said Giuynee, leaving Ninianee alone in the room.

* * *

The outer gardens of Vildecaz Castle were elegant little wildernesses, with artfully meandering brooks and lovely little grottos where one could have the illusion of being far from other humans, for these were designed to have no direct view of the castle. The grounds were planted with flowering shrubs and a number of exotic trees, making them all the more admired. The full moon poured down its radiance on these gardens, making them appear truly enchanted. In the depths of the spinneys, martens, stoats, and redcoons hunted mice, unwary birds, and each other; rare Gaz-owls hooted in the trees and hung on silent wings over the gardens.

At another time, Ninianee might have admired the splendid evening, but now, in her Challim deer form, she could only look for shadows where she could hide until dawn. She picked her way among the trees, her ears turning at every hint of sound, which was how she came to notice the sound of voices coming from the grotto dedicated to Lorjoran, the Provider. She held her position and listened.

“ – do you think it will take?” The voice was male, filled with urgency, some of which was sexual, some of which was more sinister. “We have to find it.”

“I know, I know,” said the woman, making this simple acknowledgment intensely seductive.

“If Nimuar isn’t here, then – “

”Shussh,” she admonished him caressingly. “There’s time enough for that later.” Then, a bit petulantly, “Don’t tug – you’ll tear it.”

“If I can reach you all the sooner, so be it,” said the man. “Will the seneschal tell you what he knows?” The last was a bit rushed. “You’ve had long enough to work on him, haven’t you? Don’t hurry me. Not yet.”

“How can I tell?” the woman responded, ending on a gasp of pleasure. “That’s very good. Very, very good.”

Curious and wary, Ninianee froze in place, all her attention on the conversation coming from the grotto.

“You should know,” said the man, his tone a little more abrupt. There was a whisper of fabric discarded and a long, sensual sigh.

“He’s stubborn,” said the woman, and fell silent for a long moment. Then, her words trembling, she went on, “I haven’t . . . had . . . time alone . . . with him.”

The man’s response was a guttural moan of satisfaction.

Ninianee moved nearer, and saw Yulko Bihn lying back on a stone bench, Dinvee ae-Semilgai straddling him, her lithe, naked body moving exquisitely, beautifully as any dancer could. Gradually, her slow movements became faster and more frenzied until she collapsed on his chest, panting and half-laughing, sliding over his body as if her bones had softened.

For some little while, both of them were still, then Yulko Bihn disentangled himself from Dinvee, and handed her the garments she had cast aside. “Cover yourself, woman,” he said with strange primness. “Anyone would think you a courtesan.”

If Dinvee found this slight insulting, she said nothing; smiling she pulled on her guin and then her gaunel, saying only, “If you dislike my body so much, you have a most unusual way of showing it, Magsto. You have allowed my flesh so many ways to serve you.”

“You should guard your tongue, my student,” said Yulko Bihn, setting his own garments to rights.

“Only with you would I speak my thoughts,” she said with an intensity of devotion that startled Ninianee. “You want to see Vildecaz brought into the Empire and the Duz to be deprived of position and power. Very well. I will do my utmost to bring that about, but I will not engage in meaningless seductions. I have my own powers to train, and – “