The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (7 page)

“Hoftstan isn’t going to like this,” said Erianthee.

“No; and I can’t blame him for that,” said Ninianee. She tugged on the bell-pull and went to the tube that ran down from her apartments to the servants’ assignment room, “I need hot water for my bath.” There was a muffled response, one which Ninianee seemed to understand. “No. I don’t want the bath-house, I want a the tub brought to my dressing room and filled with hot water.” She glanced over at Erianthee. “Tell Papa I’ll be ready to help you with plans for this evening in an hour or so.”

“If you like,” said Erianthee, feeling a sudden touch of lethargy, and realized it was the effect of a spell – if only she could determine whose it was and why she had responded to it.

“Are you all right?” Ninianee asked, aware that Erianthee was uncomfortable.

“Yes,” said Erianthee. “I think so.”

Ninianee was not completely convinced. “If you say so.”

“Really. I’m fine. But I am concerned about you – with the banquet starting three hours before dark, you may find that it will not be easy to be away from the Great Hall.”

“Don’t worry, Eri. I’ll make sure no one expects me at the banquet this afternoon. I’ll make sure the General knows I’m not to be disturbed.” She lifted her head. “How many guests will be here, do you know?”

“Twenty-two according to General Rocazin,” said Erianthee. “The kitchens are busy as an ant-hill.”

“All the more reason to be out of the castle for three or four hours.” She stretched. “I will join you in an hour, as soon as I am washed and dressed.”

“I’ll wait for you in the Family Withdrawing Room,” said Erianthee. “I need to have a word or two with Rimdoch.”

“I’ll wear riding clothes, and I’ll want to ride the red mare. Have the groom put my saddle on her.” She stretched and began to unfasten her dolaj, scratching the various small welts and bites that her doe-self had acquired in her dash through the woods.

“Do you want any help?” Erianthee asked.

“No. I can manage, thanks.” Suddenly Ninianee yawned, and looked over at her sister. “It should be quite a morning. When is the banquet scheduled, do you recall?”

“Of course. Ver Mindicaz insisted last night that Papa give her a time so she could prepare – you know how carefully she plans. At four hours past mid-day was the time they agreed upon to begin the banquet, two hours later than usual for such an occasion,” said Erianthee. “Papa ordered this morning that the dining should begin as promptly as possible, with the entertainment to follow at once, and continue for as long as the guests want to watch.”

“You’ll have quite an evening laid out for you,” said Ninianee, ironic and wistful at once.

Erianthee shrugged. “No we won’t; not if you don’t hurry.”

“Oh, all right.” Ninianee flung her dolaj across the room and went off toward her dressing room, unfastening the belt of her brikes as she went.

* * *

When Ninianee presented herself, properly dressed in a sea-green gaunel over an ivory guin, in the Family Withdrawing Room, she found Nimuar waiting for her, a gazing-cup in his hand. She checked herself on the threshold, then went to touch her father’s cheek with her own. “Where’s Erianthee and Rimdoch Ruch?” she asked without preamble.

“On the road to Valdihovee. I sent them on without you. I hope you are not displeased,” he said, not as flustered as Ninianee expected him to be.

“I assume you have other work for me,” said Ninianee, a suggestion of a query in her voice.

“I do. Yes. That I do,” said Nimuar. “I must rely on your complete discretion, Ninianee.” He looked around, saying, “I hope my muffling spell works; it should quiet everything we say for a quarter hour so long as we don’t shout. I don’t want to have another clash with Bihn.”

“I should think not,” said Ninianee, more urgently than she intended. She watched her father closely and had the oddest impression that some of his distracted manner was assumed, as if the mazes had at last begun to fade from his mind, but he was not yet ready to declare it. A moment later, she saw Nimuar turn a little too quickly and knock over a small, round table holding a thirteen-branched candelabra, and she reached out to steady them both.

Nimuar righted himself and glanced at her, his face somber. “Not for the reason you suppose,” he went on. “But I thank you for your concern.”

Ninianee cocked her head. “You’ve done more than cast a spell, I suppose, since spells can be foiled, or turned against their – “ She stopped herself before she caused her father any more distress, for it was just such a reversal that Yulko Bihn’s trickery had made possible, twenty years ago.

“Just so.” Nimuar covered the awkward silence with a gentle cough. “I’ve had Lomcoz Terichovee bring Senkei and Foluch into the castle, as a precaution. They are the best in the pack.”

“Two spell-hounds,” said Ninianee, thinking this a bit distrustful, but as protective as any host could be expected to be.

“And another two outside, and Merinex’s spells besides,” Nimuar said as if to reassure them both.

“You keep us as safe as the Emperor’s Palace.” Ninianee wondered what his intentions were.

“Oh, more so, I hope,” said Nimuar. “For that reason – safety – I would like you to keep an eye on Dinvee. She’s after Hoftstan, and it’s making him miserable, to say nothing of whatever other roguery she may be up to.”

“All right,” said Ninianee. “Is that why you asked me to stay home?”

“One of the reasons, yes. I also want to make arrangements for tonight, so you will not have so close a call as you did last night.” He went over to the projecting bulge of the fireplace and chimney, holding his hands toward the bright flames. “There will be more guests, and a greater disarray, which will make your situation more difficult.”

“I will find a way,” said Ninianee.

“You might, but I believe this ought to be settled in advance, and an alternative decided upon.” He coughed. “I believe that the old bay coach-horse – “

”Sanma?” Ninianee asked, worried what might have been done to the fine, fifteen-year-old gelding.

“One of the grooms has said that he is doing poorly. Not just stall-sour, but down-hearted. Since everyone knows you have primary care of the stables, no one will think it strange that you excuse yourself to work there. I can mention your concern when we gather again.” Nimuar rubbed his hands together in the warmth from the fireplace.

“I suppose it would be one thing to do,” said Ninianee. “But if that is my device, I had best go out to the stables shortly, so my absence will not be remarked upon.” After she changed clothes again, she thought.

“To arrange for stalls for the animals of the performers Erianthee and Rimdoch will bring from Valdihovee,” Nimuar said, nodding encouragement.

“The grooms will ask me to look at Sanma, won’t they?” she went on.

“Of course they will,” said Nimuar as if he had thought of it first. “And they will not wonder if you take time to study the horse. Just as no one will think it odd if you remain with Sanma through the evening. That way, you can keep to the stable if you deem it prudent, once you’ve Changed. A pity the old stall won’t be adequate any more. Four years ago, you could have stayed in the barn and remained unnoticed.”

“A doe in the stables would be too unusual not to be talked about, and guesses made that might prove difficult to address,” said Ninianee rather drily. “That could prove awkward. Yulko Bihn would learn of it, without doubt, and would use his knowledge for more mischief against you.”

“True enough,” said Nimuar, the vagueness coming over him again. “Then you may wish to turn Sanma out into a field to graze, and you may stay in the pastures. Deer often come there.”

“Not when Ver is looking for meat for another banquet; matters are awkward enough without someone hoping to make a meal out of me,” said Ninianee. “No, I’m going to the game preserve.” She did not add the reason for her decision; she was certain her father would not approve of her spying on Maeshar of Otsinmohr.

“Be sure you put a change of clothes in a safe place so you needn’t have to slip back into the castle naked.” He looked away. “That wouldn’t do, not with Bihn and his woman here. You could find yourself in a difficult situation.”

“I will prepare completely,” Ninianee assured him. “And I won’t tell you where I put the clothes, Papa.”

“No; you probably shouldn’t,” he said, sounding sad.

“I’ll leave either from the stables or from the pasture, and I’ll come back by the northeast gate.” She felt better now that she had hit upon a strategy for the night. “No one will be going home by that gate, and the guests won’t come that way, either.”

“Probably not,” said Nimuar. “There’re mountains and forests out that road, and the Library of Duz Kinzyrach, but nothing more until you reach Cazboarth. I expect no guests from that direction: none have been invited.”

“Don’t fret, Papa. I have been through this every full moon since I was fourteen; I know what must be done. Let me arrange things. You have other problems to occupy your thoughts.” She paced away from the fire, then came back toward it. “I won’t cause any fuss, and you can entertain your guests tonight without worry for me. Put your attention on whomever Erianthee can find to perform for you on such short notice. Don’t let my . . . situation . . . distract you.”

Nimuar regarded her steadily. “If you think it best.”

“Oh, I do, Papa,” she said, and went to give him a hug. “For all our sakes.”

“Then I suppose I must accept your decision,” said Nimuar, looking into her face. “I wish I could remember your mother – I suspect you’re very like her.”

Ninianee forced herself to smile. “I hope so, Papa,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.

* * *

Rimdoch Ruch pointed out the tavern with the largest courtyard, using his small notebook as a pointer. “There’s a stage at the south end,” he said to Erianthee. “There should be players of some sort here. Some women, too, if you need women for the guests.” He was in a jaunty mood, and he moved with the confidence of familiarity with the place as his eyes brightened.

“Not that you’ve been here before.” Erianthee said with uncondemning sarcasm. She was glad she was wearing her coronet, for otherwise she would be reluctant to enter this place, which was busy and loud, as if the people there had more on their minds than traveling. “Do you know where I can find the landlord?”

“He may be in the taproom,” Rimdoch ventured, as if this was the best guess he could offer.

“May,” she repeated suspiciously as two ostlers came to help her dismount. She handed over the reins as she dropped to the ground. “Then let us start there.” After she gave the ostlers a brass gayling apiece for their trouble, she made sure Rimdoch had his notebook and then prepared to enter the taproom, Rimdoch trailing after her, trying to appear far more innocent than he was.

The taproom was fairly large and boisterous, men sitting at long benches, tankards in their hands, and sweat on their faces from the hot, smoking fire. They were all startled at the sight of Erianthee among them. Several got to their feet – a few more steadily than others – and respected her.

“The Duzna Erianthee of Vildecaz,” said Rimdoch, a little too loudly and a heartbeat too late.

A barrel-chested man shoved his way through the crush to offer his respect to Erianthee. “Gracious Duzna. Come in, come in. Pardon these raucous men.” He paddled his arm toward his patrons to silence them. “You, Duzna, are more than welcome to the Yew Tree,” he declared, making another sweeping gesture to punctuate his hospitality. “If there is anything anyone at my poor hostelry may do to be of service . . .?”

“There is,” said Erianthee. “And I will want to go into your Women’s Parlor when I am done here,” she added.

“Of course, Duzna, of course,” said the landlord, widening his smile.

Erianthee ignored his unctuousness. “You have probably heard there are guests at the castle, who have arrived unexpectedly. It is fitting that they should receive a fine evening, with food and amusements. This has made it necessary for me to discover those who can entertain them.” She paused to let the men sort out what she had said. “Is there anyone here who can perform for a banquet at Vildecaz Castle beginning in the late afternoon? You will be compensated for your performance, well-fed, and housed for the night.”

One tall, stringy man stepped forward. “My sister and I – she’s in the Women’s Parlor – do juggling and rope walking. No magic, just skills.”

“That may be interesting,” said Erianthee, pointing to Rimdoch. “Speak to my escort here, and he’ll give you instructions. Is there anyone else?”

The juggler sauntered over to Rimdoch, trying to appear used to such distinction, but revealing in his rapid, nervous gestures, that most of his audiences were to be found in market squares, not Great Halls. “I am Blaugrex of the Drowned World; my sister is Gleimai. Our home is on Tirin-Dzur.”

“I have a knife-thrower here,” the landlord ventured.

“I think not,” Erianthee said, trying not to smile. She noticed a guileful man in very good clothes – a short hupslan of Niegee-satin over damask brikes that were gathered at his knees and tucked into tall boots – with a leather lute-case slung across his back. He had the appearance of one used to higher company. “You! Lute-player! Come here!”