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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  Bihn looked directly at her sling. “I hope I do not find you injured?”

  “Nothing to merit concern. I wrenched my shoulder while on my chores in Valdihovee.” She took a goblet of hot wine from the serving tray. “This will ease my discomfort.”

  “I should think so,” said Nimuar, his brows drawn down in worry. “Do you need a spell to heal it? Or anything?”

  ”No, Papa. I will excuse myself early this evening and I should be improved in the morning.” Ninianee achieved a look of calm resignation which she sustained until she saw Dinvee; at the sight of the sensuous young woman, Ninianee became wary, which she masked immediately with polite curiosity. “I don’t believe I know your companion, Magsto.”

  Bihn offered a possessive smile. “This is my student.”

  “Dinvee ae-Semilgai,” she said, giving the most minor of respects, showing that she considered herself in company undeserving of her good opinion. “I am most thankful to my teacher for bringing me with him. I have so much to learn.” Her voice was low, musical, with a breathless quality that demanded attention.

  “I should think so,” said Nimuar, a bit nervously.

  Into the burgeoning silence came Hoftstan Ruch, the seneschal of Vildecaz Castle, and Duz Nimuar’s most trusted associate. “I beg your pardon for my tardiness, Magsto Bihn, Duz Nimuar. My wife is Justice in Valdihovee, and she returned later than usual from her duties. I was preparing to send one of my sons in my stead, at least until my wife was safely home, but that turned out not to be necessary. I apologize for any discommodation? I may have caused.” Hoftstan Ruch was a man of middle height, sturdily built, and sensibly dressed in a dark-green hupslan of drugh-ox wool and high, leg-fitting boots, appropriate garments for this occasion. His face was intelligent, showing he had spent his forty-two years prudently, and his light-brown eyes were kindly. “What an example your arrival provides us all, Magsto. I am sure all of us will benefit from your presence.” The hint of a barb in his last remarks were heard by no one but Erianthee.

  Dinvee’s eyes flicked over Ruch as if to peel all cloth from his body; her mouth turned upwards and showed a gleam of teeth as the tip of her tongue flicked over her lips. “You are steward here?” she purred, and licked the rim of her tankard with slow deliberation.

  “No,” said Nimuar firmly. “This is my seneschal and pursuivant herald, a man of good Vildecazin birth.”

  “I remember you from my last visit,” said Bihn as if conferring a great honor. “You arranged a hunt for me?”

  “That I did; you brought back three Roba elk, one Challim-deer, and a grey bear from the woods, and two Boarth wild-sheep from the upper slopes,” said Ruch. He took a tankard of wine and looked about. “I have been informed that the mid-day meal is almost ready, though it is past mid-day.”

  “Two hours late, in fact,” murmured Dinvee.

  “Better that than have to wait until after sundown for a meal,” said Ninianee, who had moved closer to her father; a suggestion of irony tinged her voice intended for her sister and father only.

  Dinvee laughed deliciously. “Oh, no doubt, Duzna.” She slipped her arm around Bihn’s shoulder, eased onto the arm of the chair he occupied, and seemed to adhere to him where they touched; her smile was like a great cat showing its teeth. “After a long journey, it is always good to refresh oneself.” The possibilities imbued in her remark were almost overwhelming.

  Erianthee concealed a quick scowl. “You will be glad, then, that we will not hold a real celebration until tomorrow night. You’ll be able to – “

  ”Enjoy myself?” Dinvee suggested, shifting her body suggestively and smiling with a satisfaction that bordered on smug. “I do hope so.” The look she gave Hoftstan Ruch was so blatant that he, usually composed and self-possessed, all but choked on his wine.

  There was a sudden blare from the gallery as the two household trumpeters played the traditional Welcome the Guests fanfare in a simple arrangement that lacked the usual third trumpet and standing drum: Vildecaz Castle did not keep its own consort of musicians. The clamor, while startling, gave all those gathered in the Great Hall a little time to gather their thoughts without gracelessness, for it was impossible to speak over the echoing din. After a second repetition of the welcome, the two trumpeters came to the gallery-rail and looked down, offering respects to all those below just as Heijot Merinex arrived in his gaihups-and-sash, doing his best to appear as impressive and magical as possible.

  Nimuar greeted his castle-magician with a motion of his hands that looked a bit like a respect. “Merinex! Have some wine! You remember Magsto Bihn, don’t you?” he asked, being deliberately vague.

  “Oh, I do. Most certainly,” said Merinex with a hasty reverence. “It is an honor to see you at Vildecaz once again.”

  Bihn gave Merinex a quick, comprehensive glance, his nostrils flaring as he noticed the castle-magician’s sash. “The Dyskeleoc School; I never remember,” he sniffed, making it clear that the Dyskeleoc School wasn’t worth remembering; just to emphasize his meaning, he added, “Well, I suppose that it’s better than the Fah-Harej School, at least.”

  Realizing how thoroughly he had been condemned with that intended slight, Merinex reached for a goblet of wine and shrank back a few steps as if to put himself out of range of other contumely. He glanced at the tall, narrow windows. “A fine afternoon so far.”

  “It will rain at night,” said Ninianee, drinking again. “Nothing too stormy, I hope.”

  “Oh, no; I should think not,” said Merinex.

  “Papa still minds the weather well enough,” Erianthee added, keeping her voice low.

  “I believe it is so,” Merinex said, beginning to flounder. He drank another long draught of wine and tried to think of something appropriate to say.

  “Your castle-magician looks to be a . . . a disappointment, even to you, Duz Nimuar,” said Dinvee with a vulpine smile.

  “He knows how to do his work,” said Erianthee, in a tone that was at once blighting and cordial.

  Merinex was spared greater embarrassment by the arrival of Dochanee Rocazin, the housekeeper-general of the castle, a grey-haired woman of forty-eight who had filled her office for twenty-six years. General Rocazin was in full regalia: a gaunel with a train in heavy deep-green tassel-cloth, and a Goptoun-satin bydoga over it with the arms of all the Duzes of Vildecaz embroidered on its long panels. She carried her staff of office and spoke with a faint suggestion of Rocaz, the duzky of her birth, in her carrying voice. “Duz Nimuar, Duznas Ninianee and Erianthee, Seneschal Ruch, Castle-wizard Merinex, guests of Vildecaz Castle, Ver Mindicaz, the Major-Cook, asks that you be informed that your mid-day meal is being brought from the kitchens even now, borne by the pages and footmen whose work it is to make you welcome.” Tapping her staff on the slate floor, she led the way to the Grand Table at the far end of the Great Hall, going to its head to point out the seats of the diners.

  The table was at its shortest length, but still was a bit over-long for the eight persons gathering; neither Nimuar nor Merinex had thought to magic it shorter. Still, Rocazin managed to place everyone so that no-one was at a greater distance from the rest than anyone else. Satisfied with her arrangement, Rocazin sat down in the one place left, tucking her staff under her chair, her right foot resting on it to keep it from rolling.

  Two footmen carrying large carafes of wine came first, and set these down on the table, then Ver Mindicaz herself, grand even in her long cooking-smock, appeared to announce the meal.

  “Guests of Vildecaz, the Duz and his daughters and household: the wine of Vildecaz and four kinds of bread from our fields and mills and butter from our cows and churns.” She clapped her hands and two more footmen brought covered baskets of new-baked breads to the table, and small tubs of butter. “A soup of chopped herbs and mashed peas in broth and cream; hedge-chickens stuffed with dates from Fah and button-onions; a stew of harvest vegetables, cowl-fish, and scallops; suckling pig basted in wine, ginger, garlic, and mashed fen-berrie
s; two kinds of squash filled with pureed trumpet-mushrooms and ground Aon-nuts from the Drowned World; a selection of cheeses from Vildecaz and Otsinmohr; candied flowers and sweet Jenri cordial to finish.” She gave a profound respect to the eight at the table.

  Nimuar made the traditional gesture of approval. Ver went on as courtesy required. “May Lorjoran, The Provider, god of planting and harvest, of hunting and fishing, of spices and herbs, of kitchens and cooking, give you good appetites and much enjoyment. May Hevomaj, The Stalwart, god of the Valdishan Escarpment, give welcome and shelter to all.” She raised a small saucer on her thumb and two fingers, poured a few drops of wine onto it, and held it up. “For all here.” Having completed the Meal Rite for Visitors, she put the saucer on the mantle of the small hearth at this end of the Great Hall, clapped her hands to her staff again, and made a majestic retreat

  “An impressive menu,” said Bihn, who, as guest, had to say something.

  “We have had a good harvest and Ver Mindicaz is a superior cook,” said Nimuar, allowing himself to smile.

  Ninianee exchanged quick looks with Erianthee: this meal could last well after sunset, and that would be a problem. “I’ll think of something,” she whispered as much to herself as her sister as she took a slice of sweet, black Horbenech-bread from the basket Erianthee held out to her.

  2. Reapers’ Moon

  On the next-to-last step, Ninianee almost stumbled again: her feet were beginning to Change. She could feel her bones and muscles shifting under her skin, and her fine clothes seemed no longer suitable to her body. As she hastened toward her apartments, she struggled to loosen her lacings before they broke, or the seams of her gaunel gave way completely. Sunset was almost upon her, and she was struggling to keep as much of her rightful form as she could. “Prey, not predator; prey, not predator,” she repeated over and over as she slammed the door behind her and struggled out of her clothes, letting them fall as she pulled free of them. This was increasingly difficult as her hands began to fuse into hooves, not paws ending in the sheathed scimitars of cats, or the rasps of wolves, bears and other hunters, creatures who would be hunted down by the household guards and very possibly killed as a danger to the people who lived in the Castle. “Prey, thank Hyneimoj,” she muttered through altered lips as she saw the hooves clearly and realized she was turning into a doe of some sort.

  There was a knock on the door, and Ninianee leaped four feet into the air, nearly collapsing as she landed on her strange new legs.

  “Nin, it’s Eri,” said the soft voice on the other side of the door.

  Ninianee gave an odd little shriek of alarm, and skittered toward the door.

  “I’ve come to help you get out of the castle. May I come in?” The answer Ninianee gave was not truly a word, but Erianthee took it to mean yes, and came through the door, pausing to make sure it was safe before closing the door behind her. “A Challim deer,” she went on. “It could be worse.”

  “But not something we could cage in a stall and hope no one noticed.”

  “No,” said Erianthee. “Not that. Not anymore.”

  Ninianee nodded emphatically, and felt a bit dizzy from the unfamiliar set of her head.

  “They’re just starting the cheeses, and they have the cordial and candied flowers yet to go,” Erianthee reported as she gathered up Ninianee’s discarded clothing and piled it neatly on the low chest under the largest window. “I told them I needed a little time to prepare to do a Shadowshow. It’s almost true, but I’m taking advantage of it.” She held out her hand to the doe. “Come with me. I can get you out by the northwestern door and from there you should be able to reach the inner wall without being seen. The magic mend on the west wall is starting to break down, and you can get beyond the castle there.”

  It was frustrating not to be able to speak, but at least Ninianee did not lose words and have only images and patterns of sound, the way true animals did; she kept her words and her thoughts in spite of the animal form she acquired. She tapped her hoof three times, using the code they had worked out eight years ago; it indicated she had something she wanted to try to tell Erianthee.

  “What is it? Is it about your going out?”

  Ninianee tapped her hoof again, once.

  “Is it about getting out of the castle?” Erianthee guessed.

  Two taps meant no.

  “Is it about anyone in the castle?”

  Again two taps.

  “Then it is about the outside of the castle?” Erianthee laid her hand on the doe’s shoulder. “Is it where you’re planning to return?”

  One tap – yes.

  “You want me to meet you?”

  Two taps.

  “Do you want me to put clothes out for you?”

  One loud tap.

  “Brikes and your dolaj, and boots?” Erianthee guessed.

  A final, single tap.

  “So you can say you were out riding or inspecting if anyone sees you. Yes. I will. In the arming room in the northwestern tower? Will that do?” Erianthee was growing nervous as the time slipped by. She didn’t wait for a tap, but promised, “Yes. When everyone’s asleep, I will.”

  Ninianee ducked her head and minced toward the door.

  “Wait while I take a look, in case,” said Erianthee, easing the door open and peering out into the corridor. “Most of the servants are in their dining room, having their meal, too. That’s useful.”

  Coming up behind Erianthee, Ninianee nudged her with her nose.

  “In a moment,” Erianthee cautioned her. “I’m going down to the gallery. If the trumpeters are there, you’ll have to use the outer stairs. Just be careful the guards don’t see you. They’re apt to take a shot at you.” She stepped out into the hallway and carefully went down toward the gallery. After a cautious perusal of the various points of access, she motioned to Ninianee to come after her. “The northwestern door out should be unprotected just now; the guards are posted to the main gate, for appearances sake, so that Magsto Bihn can feel deserving. When you reach the side-court door, you can work the latch with your hoof. No one will pay any attention to that door, or the northeastern door, for that matter, but the slope there is steeper.” She frowned in thought. “If you can, stay clear of the servants; I know you’re careful about that, but just now, it’s more important. Oh! and the door. Be sure to lean on it to close it, or someone might decide to post a watch on it for the night.”

  Ninianee put her nose into Erianthee’s hand as a sign of gratitude, then picked her way warily toward the northwestern staircase, getting better balanced with every step. She looked back once, and then disappeared down the narrow, curving staircase.

  As soon as Ninianee had gone, Erianthee hurried off to her own apartments, in case someone should send for her – it would not do to be absent.

  * * *

  Ninianee slipped out of the northwest door, then rushed into the shadows, and made a point of keeping within their protection as she worked her way around the kitchen-garden to the uneven place in the wall. She could feel the spell holding the stones, and could tell it was wearing down; the work-crew would have to tend to it in the next two days. Looking around for any possible watchers, she approached the wall stealthily, then sprang over it, landing well on the far side. It was now twenty rods to the outer wall, and once over it, she would be able to reach the outskirts of the woods without too much difficulty, particularly if she cut through the newly mown field between the walls where the sheep and goats were grazing. Satisfied with this plan, Ninianee bounded toward the field, anticipating a demanding night ahead of her.

  There were, among the flocks in the field, a number of sheep she had communicated with in the past, and she sensed their general satisfaction at grazing in this field which would lie fallow for the next year. Three of the ewes were already pregnant, and would deliver at the end of the Thirteenth Month at the tag-end of winter’s heart, the very first of the coming year’s lambs. Their general contentment struck Ninianee with a wistful remind
er that she would celebrate her twenty-fourth birthday on the next First Day. Being born on Last Day or First Day was said to be a good omen, but Ninianee thought it hadn’t been so for her, at least not thus far. If only she might – She stopped herself imagining so unfruitfully. Leaping over the wooden fence, she dashed across the open slope toward the outer wall, a stout structure of logs and stones. With a rush, she cleared the broad top of the wall, and slid on the loose gravel on the far side of it. She scrabbled to her feet and made for the line of trees, some seven or eight rods away.

  “Hey!” came the shout from the watchtower as she sprinted by. “Deer!”

  “Get a bow!” yelled another.

  “It’‘ll be gone before you can fetch a bow,” said a third guard. “Look at him run.”

  “Her run,” the first corrected. “No horns. Doe.”

  Then Ninianee was in the trees, the dappled moonlight turning everything unusual. She slowed to a walk and made for the heart of the forest, all the while watching the sky through the branches as the first of the rain-clouds blew across the face of the moon; she would have to rely on the color of the eastern horizon to be back at Vildecaz Castle before dawn. She was getting the feel of this new body and found it supple and strong; she planned to enjoy the night.

  * * *

  Erianthee checked her reflection one last time before going from her apartments to the Great Hall. She had put on her jeweled bracelets that helped her to confine the Spirits of the Outer Air during her Shadowshows, and now she took a moment to straighten her hair, then hurried back to the Great Hall, putting her thoughts to how she would entertain the company tonight. She remembered the old story of Womotomaj’s Courtship of Svalen-Tu, and thought that such a tale of duplicity might suit the evening very well – it was just indirect enough to allow her to needle Yulko Bihn on her father’s behalf without the risk of offending the Magsto. Beyond that, she would need to conjure only five Spirits of the Outer Air in order to present the legend, and that would let her husband her energy for the following night’s more ambitious entertainments. As she made her way down the Grand Staircase, she began the soft chanting that would summon the Spirits of the Outer Air to do her bidding.