The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (65 page)

“And some of those places are haunted,” he said. “This might be one of them. Some kind of magic must be holding it together.”

“I want to have a look,” she said firmly.

Doms made a sign to ward off malefic influences. “It may be risky.”

“I’ll bear that in mind,” she said and swung out of the saddle, then handed Jenshaz’s reins and Danliree’s lead to Doms. “I won’t be long.”

“Old places like this can be dangerous,” he warned. “Not magically only – structurally.”

“I’ll be careful,” she said as she trudged through the snow toward the ancient gate.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, knowing what her answer would be. “I will if you like.”

“No. I have my sleeve-wand with me, and my dagger. I should be able to fend for myself. Look at the place – I can hardly get lost in it. If I call to you, then come in, but if I don’t – ” She was almost to the gate. The planks were as weathered and discolored as the stone, but still seeming intact, with great straps of iron holding them in place. She grasped the rusty closing and tried to move it, without success. The metal moaned but the massive latch wouldn’t budge.

“Would you like me to – “ Doms began.

“No,” she answered. “One of us needs to stay outside – in case.” She pushed on one of the huge, grey planks that made the door, and stepped back as it fell apart, leaving a hole wide enough for her to get through. The heap of rotted wood that had fallen provided enough sound footing for Ninianee to climb into the tower without also sinking into the snow. She stood on the inside for a short time, taking her bearings, and getting used to the musty odor. The style of the decoration in the large vault of the structure was unfamiliar to her, a reminder of how old the place was, for the entire interior was festooned with webs and dust. She took out her sleeve-wand and made the space a little brighter. There were a few cracks in the roof overhead, and the patches of sunlight they provided weren’t sufficient to make the place easy to see. The extra light she conjured revealed a number of oddities about the tower, including three hanging fixtures that might once have held lamps or places to make offerings to the gods and goddesses of that lost time. She was fascinated by what she saw, inspecting everything that she could reach.

Off to the side of the oval room she noticed an antechamber, and after a moment of hesitation, she approached it, curious about what it might contain. She pulled open the sagging door, half-expecting it to come apart in her hands. But it was made of some material she didn’t recognize, a smooth, hard surface like glass but dark as Haverartbin tiles, wonderfully intact after the passage of centuries. She felt one of the hinges break, and she proceeded with greater caution than she had shown until now.

The room was small, with a single, large table set in the middle of it, four stools drawn up around it. The table-top was clean and glossy, nothing marring its surface or dimming its shine. In the center of the table was a diamond-folded parchment, as fresh as the polish on the table. Ninianee stared at it, then went to look more closely. She saw there was writing on it, in an angular, old-fashioned hand, and she leaned over the table so that she could read it. The Researchery of Cynee it read. Baffled, she resisted the urge to open the parchment. What could the great school on Fah have to do with this ancient place, she wondered? Why should this parchment be here, in this abandoned room? Not that the magicians and priests who studied at the Researchery weren’t skilled enough to conjure a message like this one half a world away, but it seemed so unlike them to bother themselves with a puzzle like this – it was like a prank, or an amusement, or, more sinisterly, a trap. Belatedly she realized she had exposed herself to magical influences when she entered this anteroom. A chill went through her and she felt gooseflesh on her arms. She tried to move back from the table but felt herself held by invisible bonds.

“Bontaj!” she swore as she struggled with the restraints that had seized her, twisting and thrashing as much as she could, and becoming more enmeshed with every effort to be free. “Fool!” she castigated herself. “You shouldn’t have come in here.” That was obvious and useless to say this now, she thought. What was needed was a way to get out. She stopped her purposeful convulsing, for that only served to tighten the trammels that held her, and she put away her sleeve-wand so that she wouldn’t lose any more energy to powering its light. At once the room darkened. Now she tried to relax, to ease out of the invisible shackles. She told herself she wouldn’t call for Doms, since he might also fall into the snare that held her, and that wouldn’t help either of them. This she had to do on her own, and quickly, even though haste was the enemy. Again she forced herself to breathe slowly and stand in her awkward, bent-over posture with as much repose as she could. Gradually she felt the energetic bands begin to loosen. In measured increments she freed herself, first her arms and shoulders, then her torso and legs, being careful not to do anything suddenly. She moved back toward the door unhurriedly, so as not to activate the spell again. As she slid toward the door, she saw the parchment flutter on an invisible draft that set it moving toward her, tantalizing in its nearness.

“Read the letter,” a voice sighed in the tower, and Ninianee stopped, for the voice sounded like her father’s.

“Why?” She took out her sleeve-wand again and tried to alleviate the gloom around her, all the while wanting to believe that it was her desire that made the voice sound like Duz Nimuar, not the actual voice itself. “Who are you? What do you want?” she demanded of the shadows. It took all her nerve to keep from bolting from the tower.

“Read the letter,” the voice repeated.

Ninianee stood very still, listening as intently as she could. There was the soft moan of wind through the small holes in the roof, a sound of dripping water that might well come from melting snow, and a strange, barely audible clicking, like the scuttling of beetles. A shiver passed through her, and she frowned as she strove to penetrate the shadows, which she realized were not wholly physical. She held her sleeve-wand more tightly. “Who are you?” This time she made the question an accusation. “Why do you speak to me?”

“Read the letter, Ninianee.” The voice soughed like the unruly wind.

“Papa?” she whispered to the darkness, thinking she was addled to speak to the voice. It could be a deception, or her own wishes catching up with her. “Papa?” she repeated. There was no answer beyond the rustling of the folded parchment as it sailed toward her. She reached up and took hold of the letter, chiding herself for bothering with this missive. “It could be anything, from anyone.” Saying it aloud almost convinced her, but she couldn’t bring herself to drop the parchment, so folding it into her sleeve, she made her way back toward the gate, emerging into the shattering winter sunlight to find Doms waiting next to the crumbled plank.

“What was it like in there?” Doms asked.

“Different than I had expected,” she said, and before she could stop herself, she told him about the antechamber and the letter. “If the voice hadn’t sounded like my father, I wouldn’t have bothered with it, but” – she drew it out of her sleeve – “I couldn’t leave it.”

“It could have been your imagination, the voice sounding like Duz Nimuar,” said Doms.

“I know. But when the letter flew at me, I . . . I thought I should keep it.”

Doms took it carefully. “Do you want to open it now, or wait until we can conjure up some protection in case it isn’t what it appears to be?”

“Best to read it now. You can use a sealing-spell so that any ill intent will remain within the parchment. You only need salt to do it.” She went back to her mule and took a small package from the pack-saddle. “Use my salt, if you like.”

“Thanks,” said Doms, accepting her offer as he recited the spell, flicking salt onto the parchment from time to time until the letter made a sizzling sound. “All right. You can open it.”

Ninianee broke the wax seal with care, and pulled back the points, shading her eyes with one hand so she could read the message in a spidery hand:

Duzeon Ninianee,

Take the Dej River Road back to Vildecaz. You are needed there.

Be careful on your journey, for there is great danger.

There was no signature, no seal, no indication of the author.

“I’d feel more sanguine if we knew who wrote it,” said Doms.

“I’d feel less troubled if my name weren’t on it,” said Ninianee at almost the same instant. She refolded the parchment and peered at the tower. “What do you think? Do we go back?”

“The Dej River Road is southwest from here, and leads back to Vildecaz,” said Doms, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his dagger. “There are travelers’ huts along the way, and a fair number of towns.” He tried to catch her eye. “So, do we turn north or south?”

Ninianee paused, then spoke her thoughts as they came to her. “If this is a true communication from one who seeks to warn me, then it would be best to do as it says. If there is trouble in Vildecaz, I have a duty to be there. But if it’s from an enemy, someone seeking to keep me from finding my father, then I should ignore it and press on to the Kingdom of Waniat.”

“Which do you want to do?” Doms asked after she had been silent for a dozen heartbeats.

“I wish I could decide,” she said, feeling morose at this admission. “The letter makes me think we should go back, but that may be its purpose. And this is the last night of the full moon – I don’t want to be in the open when it rises.”

“No, nor I,” said Doms. “I wouldn’t like to spend the night chasing a wallow-moj through the snow.”

“Tonight you wouldn’t have to,” said Ninianee. “Tonight I’ll be far more human than I was last night, or the night before.”

“It’s all to the good,” said Doms. “Whichever way we go, better to have the wallow-moj behind us.”

“After tonight – “ She stopped. “If we take the Dej River Road, how long will it take us to get back to Vildecaz?”

Doms shrugged. “Depending on the weather, twenty to twenty-five days, barring disruptions. Once we’re downstream of the Worjinranth Falls, we can hire passage on a barge, which would save us as many as nine days, though the animals might not like it.” He could sense her indecision, so he added, “If you think this letter is a ploy to turn you from your search for Duz Nimuar, you may always resume your search in spring; traveling would be less demanding then. I’ll come with you, wherever you go.”

Ninianee nodded, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts. “Thank you. I’d be glad of your company.”

That concession startled Doms, who was careful to hide the elation her few words had wakened in him. He kept his response simple, although he wanted to tell her how overjoyed he was. “It will be my honor to accompany you anywhere, Ninianee.”

She sighed abruptly and went to Jenshaz, preparing to mount. “Then let us take the road to the south, so we can come to the Dej River Road. It’s time I attended to Vildecaz.” With that she swung up into the saddle and turned her pony and mule away from the tower and toward the road home.

“Who is the Captain of the Day Guard for the Thirteenth Month?” asked Rai Pareo, turning to look at Poyneilum Zhanf. “I can’t seem to remember.”

“Machrin Jeth – why?” The two were in the library, at opposite ends of a long trestle table. Between them stood stacks of books and rolls of parchment, along with registers and logs from the Guards and Watch. It was mid-afternoon but the lamps had been lit and a minor spell added to increase their brightness, for it was a blustery, sleety day and all the Boarthine Peninsula was dim.

“His Guard company is the Moon-hounds, isn’t it?” Pareo reached for his black Borz-raven feather that served him as a pen.

“Yes,” said Zhanf.

“And it was the Gaz-owl company in the Twelfth Month? With what Captain?” Pareo held his pen at the ready.

“The Gaz-owls are under Wixerin Berianoroz, and they served in the Eleventh Month. It was Galiaj Darnoz and his Jeneie company. They always do the Twelfth Month rotation. Why?” This time when he asked he was more forceful. “Is it important for you to know?”

“I am preparing a report for my employer,” said Pareo haughtily, lifting his standish of kaimon-ink. “He hasn’t had one from me in over a month. I have been very lax in my duties.”

“Why would he want to know the identity of the Captain of the Day Guard here? or the name of his guard company? Isn’t it enough to know that the day guards rotate by companies each month and the Nigh Guard doesn’t?” Zhanf asked. He was annoyed with Pareo already and this kind of inquiry only made matters worse.

“He wants a full account of the current state of Vildecaz.”

“For what reason?” Zhanf persisted.

“He wishes to be fully informed,” Pareo said with a huff.

“But he’s said he isn’t planning to come here. What use is the name of the day guard Captain? Or which company is standing day-guard this month? Or last month? Or any time? The information has no use for him. Why do you think it would have? What with the disaster of the conjure-storm, isn’t he determined to remain at the Imperial Library and School in Tiumboj? I thought that’s what your letter from him said – that he would be unable to visit Vildecaz for at least a year. The Day Guard companies and their Captains’ names are hardly crucial to your report. Unless there is someone else who benefits from what you’re saying.” He put aside the book he had been reading and took the time to study Pareo. “Is there someone else using the intelligence you provide?”