The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (50 page)

“I found it under a pile of loose stones where the wall has been repaired. I wanted to see how well the repairs are holding. I saw a crack in the mortar and that inclined me to inspect the area more closely, in case there should be more cracks or other damage. I had no idea that I would find anything like this.” He made a sign to ward off misfortune. “By the way, where’s that man of yours – Van?”

“I sent him to Valdihovee on an errand. He’ll be back before nightfall.” Zhanf peered at the sack. “Let me have a closer look.”

Obediently Hoftstan brought the sack closer to the stool on which Zhanf was perched. “It’s pretty foul.”

“So it is. That’s troubling,” said Zhanf as he opened the top of the sack, sniffed, and added, “This needs nullification.” With that, he dropped a little salt from a dark-blue crystal vial he had in his sleeve onto whatever was inside. A puff of sulphurous smoke came out, yellow and stinking. “Yes, probably a spell-mummy. They use honey and sulphur to preserve them. Sublimating salts will cancel whatever magic the spell-mummy carries.”

“Aren’t such salts dangerous?” Hoftstan looked askance at Zhanf.

“They can be, if one isn’t trained to handle them properly. Fortunately, I’ve dealt with a number of spell-mummies before now, and assuming this is one, I will have no trouble stopping its spells.” Zhanf secured the neck of the sack again, then called out to Drux, “Will you be good enough to go and fetch an old sheet? One that no one will use again, but as clean as possible. I want to have a closer look at this spell-mummy and I don’t want to turn it out on the floor. That could be dangerous, if the secondary spell remains strong.”

From the other end of the library, Drux called back, “At once, Magsto. I shouldn’t be long.”

As the door closed, Zhanf turned to Hoftstan. “Now tell me all about how you came to discover this. Be careful in your account. Leave nothing out. If I have a questions, I’ll stop you.”

Hoftstan was startled by Zhanf’s abrupt order, but put his mind to answering. “I told you how I came to be out by the repairs on the wall? that I wanted to see if they were holding.”

“Yes. Why did you decide to go there?”

“When Senijer ae-Miratdien came off his duty shortly after dawn, he told me one of his Night Guards had tripped while on his rounds at that end of the wall. He claimed there was a break in the repairs. I thought I had better take a look, in case there had been more trouble with the wall.”

Zhanf pursed his lips. “I thought the wall was sound again.”

“It seemed to be. There was no sign of cracking last week.”

“Where did you find this, exactly?” Zhanf put the vial of salt back into his capacious sleeve.

“At the edge of the repaired section of the wall. There was a small heap of rubble, left over from the previous failures of the wall, and some more recent stones that the masons rejected in the rebuilding. You know how such detritus accumulates around building sites. Most of the clutter was away from the wall, but this one was stacked up against it. And the pile looked . . . different than the others – “

”Why? What made you think it was different?’

“Other than its location – right next to the wall – I don’t precisely know. The heap of stones and litter had a more – I suppose you could say – disordered appearance than the rest of the oddments, although . . . I don’t know how much the rubble was disturbed, or what made me aware of its irregularity. Such piles as that one are easy to ignore, so I can’t determine if the spell-mummy was under the stones all along, from the first time the wall collapsed, or was put there since the repairs were made. Either possibility is worrisome.” He bit his lower lip, then made himself go on. “I used a lever to move some of the rubble and when I had cleared most of it away, I dug down with a spade, to see if anything was there to account for the heap. That’s when I realized that this . . . body . . . was laid against the wall, so I dug farther, to get the spell-mummy out of the ground. The casket called apart then.” Hoftstan paused. “I thought I would authorize the Castle masons to inspect the wall, and then send Burinar down to Valdihovee to ask Master Bridgebuilder Macklei to come and explain why the wall is failing. I didn’t see any signs of chisels or mallets, or obvious, deliberate damage.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, not with this at the base of the wall. Whenever the wall is repaired, this spell-mummy will bring it down again, so long as it is in place and undetected.” Zhanf pulled at his lower lip. “Which means that someone is renewing the spell-mummy’s power fairly frequently, or the spell would have wound down by now, even a replicating spell.”

Hoftstan scowled. “You’re right. There must be someone – “

”Yes, but there’s no telling if the accomplice is in the Castle, or only near-by. There is a great deal of contact between the Castle and Valdihovee. Someone bringing goods up from the harbor regularly could re-energize the spell-mummy.” Zhanf mulled all this over in silence.

“It seems more likely that the one powering the spell-mummy must be inside the Castle. The spell-mummy must have been well-shielded, and that bespeaks a constant presence, someone who would be able to maintain the spell-mummy’s protection. It also indicates that this was intended as an on-going plan of destruction, or there would be no need to refresh the spell the mummy contains.” He took a deep breath. “There is one other consideration that suggests our enemy is within the Castle walls – if this mummy contains spells, why didn’t the spell-hounds find it? They should have found traces of it, shouldn’t they?” Hoftstan asked, his eyes flicking nervously. “Unless the spell-mummy has some kind of powerful block.”

“Now that is a question,” said Zhanf. “Yes, indeed. They should have found it, but since they didn’t, we must suppose there is more going on than a simple intention to cause damage. Or,” he added, “it could mean that whoever put the spell-mummy at the base of the wall has an ally in the Castle, who would keep the spell-hounds from flushing the spell-mummy, someone who could disguise the spell-mummy for an old repair spell. We could be dealing with more than one culprit here.”

After a short, potent silence, Hoftstan said, “That had occurred to me, as well, though I hope we are being overly cautious. I would like to think that it’s merely my nerves speaking, not a true cause for worry.”

“But you are worried,” Zhanf observed.

“I am,” Hoftstan admitted.

“Is it more than just the spell-mummy?”

“In a way. I have been wondering as I brought this to you, if there might be more of them, still undiscovered. I could have the masons of the household look for more of them, if you think it would be useful.” He looked at Zhanf, making no attempt to conceal his anxiety.

“Are you ready to search for more of them? – assuming you think there may be more.”

Hoftstan shook his head. “Not until I know what we’re dealing with, which is why I brought this to you. But I reckon there may be another about.”

“A well-considered answer. I agree.”

“I fear that someone in this household had some knowledge of this spell-mummy and its purpose.” He sounded ashamed as he spoke. “I don’t want to think ill of anyone in the Castle, but I believe I must, until this is resolved.”

“A difficult position to be in,” Zhanf observed.

“It is.” He glared at the sack, accusing it with his eyes.

“Whom do you suspect?” Zhanf asked suddenly. “Don’t think, just tell me what man comes first to mind.”

“I can’t think, though I’ve tried.” Hoftstan rubbed his face with his big hands. “This is much too sudden. Much as I would like to suspect Rai Pareo, he didn’t arrive until long after the wall broke.”

“What of Yulko Bihn?” Zhanf suggested. “He came shortly after the wall failed the first time, and he may have taken advantage of the problem. But I agree that it is difficult to accuse him of putting the mummy in place. That had to be done by others. Do you think it possible that Pareo is in league with the culprits?”

Before Hoftstan could answer, Drux returned with a threadbare and stained sheet. “Merinex has declared it free of spells.”

Zhanf’s frown came and went so quickly that it was difficult to know if it had actually happened. “Did you tell him of its purpose?”

“Only that it was wanted for an examination, but of what, I couldn’t say. He was very curious, and attempted to find out everything I knew. I thought it was appropriate not to impart too much information to him,” he replied with formidable dignity.

“Was he annoyed when you wouldn’t tell him all he wanted to know?” asked Zhanf.

“Certainly he was. He tried to coax information from me, expressing concern about the safety of the Castle. But as I professed ignorance of what you planned to do, there was little he could find out from me.” For an instant, mischief winked in his eyes. “Ignorance can be a useful tactic in such situations.” Then his amusement vanished. “There is no reason to bring him into this, and I am sure he would insist on being included in your inquiries.”

“Likely,” Hoftstan agreed. “He’s a nosey fellow.”

“Very sensible of you, Drux,” said Zhanf.

Drux respected the seneschal and Magsto, then shoved two chairs aside to clear a space on the floor large enough to accommodate the sheet. “Shall I open it for you, Magsto?”

“If you would, Drux,” Zhanf answered, stepping back to provide more room for the sheet.

Drux spread the sheet and weighted down the corners with stacks of books. When he was done, he stood up and respected Zhanf and then Hoftstan. “If there is anything more?”

“If you’d bring some hot spiced wine, we’d both be grateful,” said Zhanf as he set the sack down in the middle of the sheet. “Oh, and a pomander. I fear the room will soon reek of sulphur.”

“Isn’t there a spell that would be more effective? You could be rid of the stench at once, couldn’t you?” Drux asked, not to avoid the task, but curious why the magician would want such a mundane thing as a pomander.

“Magic against real sulphur? It could disperse the odor for a while, but it would return. The pomander is slower to lessen the stink, but its results are dependable and enduring.” He indicated the sack. “And we don’t know what kinds of spells may linger, waiting to attach to other magical rites. Spell-mummies are notorious for such contrivances. I don’t want to inadvertently strengthen anything that the spell-mummy might contain.”

Drux saw the wisdom in this, and withdrew to get hot spiced wine for them, muttering as he went about spies and enemies everywhere.

“Spies and enemies,” Zhanf repeated as he heard the door close with more force than usual. “I suppose it’s possible.” He picked up a hefty volume from the nearest table and opened it, not to read, but to give his hands something to do. “We will need to be very careful, I think. Little as I want to regard anyone here as an enemy, we may have to do this, at least while both Duzeons are gone, and Duz Nimuar remains missing. We mustn’t allow Vildecaz to be destroyed from within, which is a much greater hazard than being destroyed from without. No? Don’t you think that an attacking army is more readily identified than two or three enemies within a household? The armies are prepared for war and they are outside the walls, the enemies within – well, who can say who among all the household, is its betrayer?” He regarded Hoftstan narrowly as he replaced the book, and then reached for a jar on the nearest shelf, opening it as he went on. “If we take no precautions, then all manner of misfortunes could befall us, and we will pay a high price for our inactivity. But if we employ a degree of circumspection, then we may have a chance to preserve the Duzky.” He began to tap small amounts of a substance that looked something like sand and something like ash around the edge of the sheet.

“I take your point,” said Hoftstan. “But I don’t like having to look upon my friends and associates as pawns of our enemies, enlisted in the effort to weaken Vildecaz.”

“It is very difficult,” Zhanf agreed, finishing his task and putting the lid back on the jar and returning it to the shelf.

“But if I must, I must.” Hoftstan rubbed his face with his hand. “I wish I knew what I had to do. I wish the Duzeons were here to make final decisions about the spell-mummy. It’s their responsibility, and I don’t want to mis-serve them. If we’re wrong about the spell-mummy, then I’ll . . . “ He let his thoughts unravel with his words, too distressed to say anything more.

Zhanf picked up the bag again and opened it carefully. “It is time we found out what we’re dealing with. Once we have a look at the thing, we’ll have a better idea about what we should do. The more we know of this spell-mummy, the more we’re likely to know who placed it under the wall, and why.” He stepped back so that he could empty the contents of the sack onto the middle of the sheet. “Best keep a little distance. We don’t know how much power may yet remain in it, or what will trigger it to more power. This may be tricky.”

“Whatever you like.” Obediently, Hoftstan took three steps back from the sheet, his face going pale.

“Thank you,” said Zhanf as he deliberately up-ended the sack and eased the contents into the sheet. “Spell-mummy – look at the seals and the skin-sack. A very old one. You’re right about that.” He leaned a little closer to the leathered skin and rotted linen. “You can see the amulet, can’t you? It was on a braided cord of silk around the neck.”

Hoftstan looked at the small bronze image of Womotomaj, the Fabricator with the Knot of Vitiation surrounding the god’s image. He gasped at the malefic influences such a charm invoked. “Spell-mummy,” he said as if to confirm his fears.