From her position up the hill from all this merriment, Ninianee watched, using a forester’s hut to shield herself from discovery. When the hunt moved in her direction, she retreated up the slope, picking her way with care, certain that the hunters would be more likely to follow rapid flight than deliberate movement. She was well-aware that these men were in no condition to provide concerted pursuit, but they were reckless enough to be dangerous in their impulsivity; she resolved to maintain a strict distance from the hunt, and to communicate with the hounds that they were not to pursue her while she kept a vigilant watch on the hunters.
The hunt went on for most of the night, until the men grew too tired and too drunk to continue. Finally, in the ninth hour of the night, they met in the Glade of Tsampaj, ready to return to Maeshar’s hunting lodge.
“No boar about tonight,” said one of the guests; his accent was of the Flejiraz region, on the southeast side of the Porzalk Empire.
“Just as . . . as well,” slurred another.
Ninianee was far enough away not to be noticed as she stood in a thicket of wenrir, the heady odor of the abundant berries masking her scent, but near enough to listen to what the men said.
“My cooks should have a breakfast ready by the time we reach my lodge,” Maeshar announced, sounding as if he had a head cold.
“What do you plan for the day?” a third inquired, ending on a yawn.
“Other than sleep?” added a voice roughened by fatigue.
“I plan to send my woodsmen out to find out why there were no boar to be had.” Maeshar had a peevish note to his voice. “I was told that there were three sounders of boar about. We ought to have had better sport.”
“Oh, we had plenty of sport,” the third man said, chuckling. “It just didn’t include hunting any boar.”
The laughter that answered that witticism was disproportionate to its humor, which led Ninianee to suspect that the man who made the remark was of considerable importance. She wished she knew the identities of Maeshar’s guests.
“Have the houndsmen round up the dogs. They can follow us back to your lodge, Otsinmohr,” said another voice Ninianee did not recognize; this man seemed to be completely sober and reasonably awake. His speech was that of Riast’s Court, very cultured and precise.
“Of course, Mirkal,” said Maeshar promptly. “I shall do this at once, of course; the houndsmen are as tired as we are.”
“Very good, Goriach Maeshar,” approved the Mirkal.
It startled Ninianee to hear Maeshar’s title used: in Vildecaz, he was called simply Otsinmohr, a kind of reminder that Vildecaz had not been absorbed into the Porzalk Empire yet.
“Then follow me,” called out Maeshar, and sounded his horn to summon all the houndsmen. He and his guests were already in motion when the chief of the houndsmen caught up to them. “Round up the dogs and bring them to the hunting lodge and feed them. They’ve earned some rest, too. We’re done with the hunt for now. I will expect you back by dawn.”
“That’s not far off,” warned the chief houndsman.
“No; I should be about your task if I were you,” said Maeshar, his voice growing faint as he and his guests continued on their way.
The houndsman waited until Maeshar was out of earshot to say, “Bontaj!” before he used his whistle to summon his three assistants. “We must bring the hounds back to the Goriach’s hunting lodge before dawn. So hasten. This is going to be a hard search.”
Ninianee retreated from the Glade of Tsampaj as quickly as she dared, making for the forester’s cottage, and hoping it was unoccupied. Already the sky was beginning to lighten, and the first birds were announcing the new day from the trees. Just as she reached the hut, her hooves resolved themselves into hands and feet, and she shivered as she forced the door open.
The hut was unoccupied, and it had the slightly stale smell that indicated it was not often used. Ninianee sat on the single chair and rubbed her face. “One more night,” she said aloud, and began to consider her immediate situation: what was she going to do now? How would she get home? She got up and began to rummage through the hut, looking for any garments that could be found, for she was not about to leave the hut naked.
On the straw-filled mattress that served for a bed, Ninianee found a barlo-cloak rolled up to serve as a pillow. The fabric was coarse and heavy, but the barlo-cloak was ample and in spite of the moth-holes, it served to engulf her. Reluctantly she left the hut, the barlo-cloak gathered close about her. As she stepped onto the path, she winced as her bare feet touched the rock-strewn pathway: suddenly Vildecaz Castle seemed far away. “Eri and Papa need you,” she told herself sternly, gritting her teeth as she began gingerly to walk toward the edge of the game preserve, and as she walked, she began to concoct a story that would account for her presence and condition, should anyone come across her before she reached her goal.
4. Discoveries
General Rocazin awakened Erianthee shortly after dawn. “I am sorry to disturb you, Duzna, but I was certain you would want to know.”
Erianthee rubbed her eyes and stretched as if to draw wakedness into her body. “What is it, General?”
“I’ve searched the castle thoroughly, and I had Heijot Merinex perform a simple occupants’ spell . . . ” She bit her lower lip, and tightened her hands together in uncharacteristic reticence. “I’m afraid that neither your father nor your sister is in the Castle this morning.”
Erianthee took a long moment to digest this, then sat up straight in bed. “How do you mean, not in the Castle?”
“I mean,” said General Rocazin, “that they are not in their apartments, nor in any other part of the Castle I can find.”
Frowning now, Erianthee swung her legs out from under the covers; she did her best to conceal her growing anxiety with an ordinary request. “Have Ver make me some hot milk-and-shandoz-berries, if you would, please. I will be with you directly.” She got to her feet. “In the meantime, make sure none of this information is communicated to our guests. You may not be able to stop all speculation, but you can quash any you come upon.”
“I will try, Duzna,” said General Rocazin, her dignified face eloquent of worry; she respected Erianthee and left her alone to dress.
It’s not enough, Erianthee thought to herself as she got out of her larnija and tugged on her underclothes, to have Yulko Bihn and that woman and Kloveon of Fauthsku here at the same time, and Doms Guyon in Valdihovee, all at the full moon, but now Papa and Ninianee can’t be found. By Hyneimoj and Agnith! I hope nothing terrible has happened. She tugged on her guin and her gaunel and fastened its laces with less than her usual care, trying not to curse to keep from accidentally triggering a misfortune spell. Rather than taking the time to style her loose, burnished curls into any of the fashionable coifs that she usually wore while there were guests at the Castle, she pulled it back, braided it loosely, and tied it off with a wide, Mozh-cloth ribbon. Then she drew on her sturdiest shoes and headed out of her bedchamber, reaching for her most magical dogaza as she opened the door. She thrust her arms through the wide arm holes of the dogaza, and tugged her door closed.
As she entered the kitchen, she found Ver Mindicaz standing over the massive iron stove, stirring a pot, and deep in conversation with Rimdoch Ruch. Checking herself on the threshold, she decided to announce her presence by saying, “I hope you have my breakfast ready.”
“ – and those two contortionists,” Rimdoch was saying. “I think they must have used magic to do some of the things they did. I don’t know how they managed to twist around each other in that way they did, both with a full half-turn to their backs, and folded down like snakes.”
“I liked seeing Doms Guyon perform again,” Ver admitted. “Although I quite understand why Duzna Ninianee is angry with him.” Belated she looked up in some surprise. “Duzna Erianthee,” she said, startled. “You’ve come down in a hurry.”
“Yes. Well, I thought it best,” said Erianthee, being deliberately vague.
Rimdoch
offered her a cynical smile. “Did your Shadowshow affect you this way? You’re usually exhausted.”
“It isn’t that,” she said, taking a place at the Cook-Major’s table, as was her right. “All these guests!”
“Truly,” said Ver, reaching for a deep, beautiful bowl of pale alabaster, and poured the hot milk-and-shandoz-berries into it; the lilac color of the liquid set off the alabaster and looked the more appetizing because of it. “You’d best eat the berries while they’re hot. It won’t matter if the milk cools.” She held Erianthee’s eye for a long moment, then stepped back.
Erianthee had heard that admonition since she was a child, first from Ver’s aunt, and then from Ver herself; she answered dutifully, “I will.”
Rimdoch drew up a stool near to the Cook-Major’s table, a disquietingly cynical grin on his young face. “Kloveon’s men are a bit lighter of gold than they were last night – all but the two who stayed to watch your Shadowshow.”
“Rimdoch,” Erianthee sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t – “
”They should know I have some talent for gambling,” Rimdoch dared to interrupt. “It’s no secret.”
“And what happens to you when you meet a gambler with more talent than you have? Or a magically strong and vengeful loser? What then?” Ver challenged as she brought out a basket of cup-bread, setting it on the table with a meaningful look at Rimdoch.
“I suppose I’ll find out when that happens,” said Rimdoch with supreme disinterest.
“You’re not using your talent well,” said Erianthee as she continued to eat.
“As if you know what a good use would be,” said Rimdoch, smiling in warning. “At least, my talent does more than entertain.”
“I have a fair notion what a better use of your gifts might be, and so do you,” she countered, then realized that she was playing into his manipulation.
Rimdoch shrugged and got up from his stool. “I’ll be back in half an hour, if you need any help.”
“Is that what your father ordered? you are to help me?” Erianthee asked, more than half-finished with her breakfast.
“No; my mother gave the order.” He strolled away, whistling a scrap of melody as he went.
“Well! Good riddance to him!” Ver exclaimed. “That lad is too clever for his own good. His brothers are nowhere near as outrageous as he. One of these days, he’ll have to deal with the error of his ways.”
Erianthee looked at the cook and tried to reassure her. “He’s young – he’ll learn.”
“Do you think so?” Ver asked in a sudden rush of world-weariness. “Why should he? He wins.”
“For now,” said Erianthee between spoonfuls. She wiped her mouth, then said, “I’ll need a horse, ready to go, and an escort for riding.”
A voice in the shadow of the doorway spoke up. “It will be my honor, Duzna Erianthee,” said Kloveon of Fauthsku. He respected her as he came into the room. “You seem troubled.”
Erianthee almost choked on the last of the berries she was about to eat. “Mirkal!” She stifled a shriek, and then regained her composure. “I thank you for your offer, but I have no wish to impose upon you.”
Kloveon chuckled. “It is not imposition, it is a privilege. Assisting you in any capacity is a privilege.” He managed to imbue this declaration with many sorts of meaning.
Nonplused, she stared at him, breakfast forgotten. Gathering her wits again, she said, “You are an Imperial Courier, and therefore under obligation to the Emperor. What I do may be beyond your mission.”
“You needn’t fret, Erianthee,” said Kloveon, paying no attention to the interested gaze Ver had turned on him. “I will not divulge anything you wish me to keep in confidence, or any other kind of confidence you may bestow upon me.”
Erianthee coughed nervously. “So you say, but will you be able to accomplish that?”
“I promise by the Six Founder Gods that I will hold your trust above all others,” he said without flourish, making himself all the more convincing.
“And I suppose you would follow me if I refused your escort?” she challenged.
“I might,” he conceded. “For your protection, and the protection of your father.”
Before she could think of a rejoinder, he went on, “I am ready to leave at once to join you on your errand. If you like, I will go to the stable and I’ll get your mare ready for you, so as soon as you are through here, we may depart.”
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, making a last attempt to dissuade him.
“I have eaten already,” said Kloveon.
“That he has,” Ver confirmed. “And asked for a mid-day meal that you can take with you.”
Erianthee wished she could bring herself to glare at Kloveon, but found she could not. She drank the lilac-colored milk left in her bowl, wiped her mouth again, and before she could lose her nerve and change her mind, said, “Very well. Let us be off.” And without waiting for Kloveon or Ver to speak, she strode out of the kitchens into the herb-garden, and took the path to the stable, certain that Kloveon was behind her.
* * *
A Salah-badger, a russet-furred redcoon, and a wild pony had warned Ninianee to be careful of the hunters still in the game preserve; she had seen their images of men on horseback, and she followed the paths they showed to her away from the huntsmen. But trying to avoid Maeshar’s guests led her deep into the forest, and kept her a fair distance from the three roads through it. Game trails provided her a route – a very indirect one – so that in two hours, she had covered little more than a league-and-a-half toward home. The barlo-cloak covered her, but it was cumbersome and scratchy, and she soon longed for her dolaj and brikes, and something for her feet; the left one had a series of little cuts that were leaving a smear of blood behind with every stride; if someone – or something – should be hunting her, the tracks she left would make the task an easy one. Her muscles ached and she longed to sleep, yet she kept on doggedly, although she was beginning to fear that she would not reach the Castle without some kind of discovery. If only, she thought, the hunters weren’t in the forest, she might summon a horse from the castle and ride home without any trouble. But Maeshar’s guests could be counted upon to capture any loose horse and claim it as their own, or chase it beyond the game preserve where it would not be accessible to her. She kept on her solitary way.
About mid-morning, she came to a small lake; she recognized it from many other forays in the woods, and a rush of confidence came over her as she stopped to soak her feet in the chill waters, and to commune with a pair of black squirrels that came frisking down to see what manner of creature she was. She opened her mind to them, letting her talent see the world through their eyes. The forest seemed alive and intensely alert.
Treetops, then branches and a dizzying descent to the rocks that made up the bowl of the lake. Curiosity and a touch of frantic apprehension as one squirrel bounced up to Ninianee; he sat up on his haunches, looking at the woman in the vast cloak with twigs and leaves in her tight, curly hair. Baffled incomprehension and nervous hope combined as the squirrel hopped a little closer.
“I’m not that strange,” Ninianee whispered. “I do seem to be a mess, however,” she added as she pulled a knot of leaves from her hair.
Another view of the lake, and a sudden alarm. Fright blossomed within the squirrel, cold and hot at once, sending him off toward the trees. The mate leaped after him, seeking safety.
Ninianee sat up as the squirrels bounded away, chattering shrilly. Now she, too, heard the sound of approaching hooves, and she pulled her barlo-cloak around her, knowing flight would be foolish and dangerous. Carefully she got to her feet, preparing to begin a protection spell as three riders on splendid horses broke through the trees on the far side of the lake.
“Halt!” shouted one. “Who’s that?”
“Some kind of peasant,” said another contemptuously. “Just look at her. She might as well be an animal.”
Ninianee recognized the voice she had heard the n
ight before, the haughty fellow with the Courtly accent; she decided against a protection spell, knowing men of his kind were usually alert to them. She stood straighter, saying nothing, as they came to the other side of the lake.
“Fairly nice for a peasant,” said the first.
“What manner of girl is that?” asked the second, vast, unpleasant implications in his question. “What’s she doing out here, away from her family?”
“A hoyden, in fact,” said the first, grinning.
“Meeting her lover, no doubt,” said the third, and chuckled nastily. “How fortuitous. She has found three.”
“Yes; so she has done,” said the second. “Three for the effort of one.” He swung off his horse, and, dagger in hand, started toward her. “You stay where you are, girl, and I shan’t have to hurt you.”
This was too much for Ninianee, who shot him a hard look. “I am Duzna Ninianee of Vildecaz, elder daughter of Duz Nimuar. If you do me any harm, it will mean you will lose a leg at the least.”
All three men laughed at that. “A Duzna, out in the forest, in a worn cloak, without shoes?” the first mocked.
“I suffered an accident last night while searching for a lost colt. My clothes were torn to bits by brambles and my shoes were mired in the Ganarch Bog.” She spoke firmly, reciting her tale with a security she did not feel, and she remained where she stood.
“That must have been a mighty adventuresome colt,” said the first man, making no secret of his disbelief.
“The stables are my responsibility,” said Ninianee. “Send to Vildecaz Castle and anyone there will identify me.”
“And while we send there, you will go on your way? Is that your plan?” His companions laughed along with him. “If we have to hunt you down, our encounter will not be so pleasant as if you comply now.” The third man wagged a finger at her. “Why should we indulge a girl like you?”
The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise Page 8
