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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Then I suppose something should be arranged to accommodate him,” said Zhanf. “I would rather we didn’t have to deal with him just now, but – “

  ”But?” Hoftstan prompted. “You dislike this Imperial Scholar.”

  “Nothing so strong or clearly defined,” Zhanf admitted, his expression becoming guarded. “But I am not sanguine about him, either. His motives, whatever they may be, trouble me.”

  “Duz Nimuar speaks well of him,” said Hoftstan.

  “After he was damaged by Yulko Bihn, he did. Before then he had many doubts about the man. He told me that he didn’t trust Gaxamirin’s ambitions, and I have not forgotten his observations.” He tapped the parchment rolled on the table in front of him. “I have been reading Duz Nimuar’s musings, in the hope I might find some hint as to where he has gone, and why.”

  “And have you?”

  “No. But I have seen several mentions of Gaxamirin, and not all of them to his credit. From what Duz Nimuar could recall, Gaxamirin had some connection to Yulko Bihn. It doesn’t seem that they were cordial, but it seems that they were not always in full accord. Did he ever speak to you of this?”

  “No,” said Hoftstan with a shake of his head. “Not that I recall.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Hoftstan pressed his lips together. “There were times when Duz Nimuar was not easily comprehended. You know the affliction that took him after the battle with Yulko Bihn. If he told me about Gaxamirin during such an episode, I might not have comprehended what he said.” He cleared his throat. “I remember the Duz would occasionally mention the Imperial Scholar, but not in any way that suggested there were problems between them.”

  “And you still expect him to arrive by mid-winter, do you?” Zhanf inquired without inflection.

  “If he has decided not to come, there has been nothing said, or perhaps I should say, nothing reported to me. Pareo hasn’t mentioned his master’s plans, but . . . “

  “I see,” said Zhanf. He contemplated the wall for a short while, then said, “Will you ask Yrich to come here to me when you go to speak to the Housekeeper-General. I have some messages to entrust to him.”

  “Of course,” said Hoftstan, taking this as his signal to depart. He respected Zhanf and made for the door, glad to have some necessary work to do, for that kept him from the kind of fruitless brooding that had overcome him too often in the days since Duzeon Ninianee had left. He determined not to give way to such dejection and put his full attention on preparing for the festival. At least Vildecaz would seem to continue as if there were no hassles intruding on the people of the Duzky.

  * * *

  Erianthee stood on the wide balcony overlooking the animal park of Tiumboj Castle. She needed some time to herself, she decided, for since her arrival, she had been the object of more flattering attention than she had ever encountered, and it was beginning to wear on her. It was night, and the moon had risen, full and brilliant in the sky. As she had the month before, Erianthee was concerned for Ninianee, and felt she was failing her sister not to be at Vildecaz to guard her during her full-moon Change. It was useless to fret, but she couldn’t rid herself of agitation. Hearing one of the pack of drouches being its eerie wail, Erianthee took it as a chiding from the ferocious creature, and moved away from the wall.

  “No, remain where you are,” said a voice from the shadows near the door, the simple request more of a plea.

  Erianthee looked around, dismayed to realize she wasn’t alone. “Who is it?” she asked the darkness.

  “Dozinen ae-Melukah. I thought you were aware of me, and were giving me the opportunity to approach you, I apologize if I misunderstood,” said the artist, stepping into the pool of light in the doorway and respecting her in the most formal manner. He was elegantly dressed, and his manner was so perfect that Erianthee could not help but be suspicious of him.

  Returning his respect, she said, “I didn’t know you were there, Dozinen ae-Melukah.”

  “You must forgive me,” he said, although it was clear he was unconvinced. “I saw you leave the Banquet Hall and I decided to follow you, so we might have some private conversation. I supposed that was your wish, as well.” He smiled at her, with an expression of such intense purpose that Erianthee was made more uneasy than before.

  “What is it you wish to say to me?” She could feel her hands tighten, so she thrust them into the elaborate pleats of her serinel so he couldn’t see how on edge she was.

  “Only that I would very much like to paint your portrait while you are here at Court. Your loveliness is most captivating. I have been observing you for many days and I am continually struck by your beauty and grace. No one at Court can equal your comeliness. You would do me much honor to permit me to capture it in pigment.” His blue eyes brightened more at this request.

  “You are kind to make such a request,” Erianthee responded as if by rote.

  “If this will assure your willingness, I will be kinder still.” He reached out to take her hand.

  Without appearing to refuse the advance, she moved back toward the balustrade, doing her best to convince him the howling of the drouches delighted her. “Isn’t it splendid? There is no song like it.”

  “If it were just their songs, they would be admirable beasts,” said ae-Melukah, “but they are dangerous and cruel, for all their music.”

  “That they are,” Erianthee agreed, thinking that the same might be said of Dozinen ae-Melukah, if her worst fears were true; she managed to conceal her misgivings as she move a step or two away from him. She had seen men obsessed with women before, and was vigilant to avoid such involvements.

  “Still, it is wise to study them, and to see which spells lessen their fierceness.” He moved closer to her once more, and again reached for her hand. This time he secured it. “I have longed to paint you since our first meeting, so long ago. This renewal of our acquaintance has only served to spur my intentions.”

  “I am truly touched by your . . . “ She couldn’t find a suitable word.

  “You will find I am a dedicated painter, Duzeon, one who is always searching for perfection, and not hesitant to reveal it where I find it.”

  “Then I must disappoint you,” she said, wishing she could break away from their conversation without offending him.

  “Impossible.” He moved so the light-spill from the door fell fully on her. “You are the brightest star in the evening sky. You are the rarest bloom in the garden. You are the most tender fruit.”

  “This is too much,” said Erianthee,

  “It can’t be too much. You exceed all words to praise you,” ae-Melukah rhapsodized.

  “Please. Please, ae-Melukah, stop. You are beyond the bounds of what is courteous.”

  “But I am ensnared by you,” he persisted. “You must know what you’ve done to me.”

  “No. You’re not bound through any snare of my making. My talents don’t tend that way.” She slipped her hand out of his and succeeded in putting an arms-length between them. “This isn’t suitable for either of us. If you continue to overwhelm me with fulsome phrases, then I will not be able to sit for a portrait. It would offend Riast and his Court to do so.” She lowered her head. “I don’t mean to disparage your sentiments, but surely you can see why I can’t permit you to attach yourself to me in this way. I am the Emperor’s guest, and I can’t indulge myself while I accept his hospitality.”

  “He has what he wants of you,” said ae-Melukah sullenly. “You provide him your Shadowshows, which is more than any magician at Court can do, and for that he should be fully grateful to you for all you have done. If he begrudges you a moment of pleasure, then he isn’t worthy to have you here at all. If you possessed no pulchritude but only your talent, he would still want you to perform for him. He hasn’t eyes to see that you outshine your Spirits of the Outer Air.”

  Erianthee shook her head. “You are his guest as well.”

  “And I am not a servile one,” he said. “Oh, Erianthee, if only I
could tell you how you have occupied my heart, and how I am wholly yours. I wish you would believe me.”

  Erianthee regarded him frankly. “I believe you do mean it, and will mean it, until you have painted me in a way that fulfills you. It is the image you adore, and that image is what you seek. Once you have it, everything will change. Then you will no longer be devoted to me, but to the next subject who claims your eye as I have.”

  “You’re being cruel,” he protested.

  “No, ae-Melukah, I am trying to be reasonable,” she said, and suddenly had to banish the presence of Kloveon of Fauthsku from her thoughts. She felt her face redden. “You have great talent, and the talent rules you. I fully understand that, for mine is much the same for me. You give me a great compliment when you ask to paint me, because of the power of your talent. But I have no illusions about the durability of your interest.”

  “I am not so feckless a man as you think me,” he said, clearly feeling injured.

  “I don’t think you feckless at all. I think you are allegiant to your art as you can be to no person. Which is why I’m persuaded that your affection is mitigated by your art.” She took a step away from him. “If you still want to paint me, speak to me after the full moon and I will try to give you the time you need.”

  Ae-Melukah shook his head. “I will show you the sincerity of my love. Wait until you see how I paint you.”

  “I don’t doubt your sincerity,” said Erianthee. “It is your sincerity that troubles me.” She made a hasty respect and hurried away from the balcony toward the rooms she had been assigned. She still needed time alone to think, now more than ever.

  6. Ramifications

  As the last of her fur fell away, Ninianee huddled in the corner of the improvised cage in the dark, narrow passage behind Hircaj Chogrun’s throne. She tried to remember where she had put her clothes when a quansaj dropped over her, engulfing her in its deep folds. Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she reached for the quansaj to spread it more completely over her naked, chilled flesh. Adjusting the heavy cloak, she dared to look up.

  “Welcome back, Ninianee,” said Doms Guyon, his smile glinting down at her. He sat on the floor next to her, less than half an arms-length away from her.

  She could feel color mounting in her face and neck as she straightened up beside him. “Doms, I’m sorry you had to . . . ” she said hoarsely.

  “Ninianee,” he responded. “I’m not sorry, I’m relieved.”

  “Bontaj!” She blurted out. This was not what she had feared, but something both much better and much worse. His tranquility bothered her, and she fixed her gaze on the opposite wall, trying to keep from looking at him.

  “Not that dreadful, surely. Nothing beyond zlatz, or even sanzi,” he said, a suggestion of amusement in his ice-blue eyes.

  “Were you here all night?” She saw him nod and found herself unable to say anything more, her state of mind turning to brumous despair, all the worse for being indistinct.

  “All night,” he said.

  She sagged. “I was hoping you’d never have to see me Changed.”

  “Why? Because you were afraid I’d tell the world?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Did you think I’d take advantage of your talent? Use my knowledge to compel you to do my bidding?”

  Ninianee couldn’t conceal her shock. “No. Nothing like that.”

  “But you thought I’d mind, if you told me,” Doms said as if he were discussing nothing more upsetting than breakfast.

  “Do you mean you don’t?” Ninianee asked, trying to meet his gaze and failing.

  “It was . . . surprising, yet not completely unexpected,” he admitted, “but why should I mind? It was apparent that something affected you at the full moon, and now I know what it is.” His smile returned. “There are stranger creatures than you abroad on Theninzalk, and I can deal with a Crag-lion who doesn’t want to fight me. And I assure you, you didn’t want to fight me, not at any time.” He gathered up her clothes and offered them to her. “At least we aren’t in Boarthinee, where you might be exposed to more dangers than the Bindomaj can provide. No reason to worry about spies here.”

  Ninianee clutched at her clothes. “You’re . . . you’re not making this any easier.”

  “You mean changing clothes?” he asked with simulated innocence. “I’ll turn away, if you like.”

  She took the clothes, saying, “You were thinking of the spies who brought down that portion of the wall at Vildecaz Castle.”

  “Yes. I saw men, not Bindomajes, and so it isn’t this Court that troubles me,” he said, all jest gone.

  She thought about what he said, then coughed delicately. When she spoke again, she was deliberate about changing the subject. “It’s not always a Crag-lion. I don’t know what form I’ll take until the first night of the full moon.”

  “You didn’t know you’d be a Crag-lion?”

  “No, I didn’t. I never know what I’ll become,” she said, giving up the sajah and dressing hastily, shivering from cold, all the while feeling that she must be still dreaming, that she couldn’t be talking about Changing with Doms Guyon as if this were nothing more than a curiosity. “That’s what makes the first night the hardest. Tonight I’ll have more control, and tomorrow night I’ll be able to keep myself concentrated on maintaining myself even while I’m Changed.”

  “What else can you become, for curiosity’s sake?” He glanced over his shoulder to see her pull on her pelgar.

  “Any mammal, but limited by my own size. I was a very large Salah-badger last time, so large I couldn’t move very much; I kept to the brush at the edge of the Castle wood. My legs weren’t strong enough to bear me very far. A few years ago, at the Greenleaf Moon, I Changed to a mouse, but as large as I am. All I could do was curl into a ball and sleep, though I was ferociously hungry. My back wasn’t strong enough to keep my belly from sinking to the ground when I tried to walk, and I was afraid my limbs would break every time I wanted to move.” She said this as if admitting to a terrible crime.

  “I see,” said Doms. “May I turn around?”

  “All I have to do is don my boots. Turn around as you like,” she said, resisting the urge to burst into tears. No matter what he said, this discovery of her talent for Changing must have dampened his ardor in spite of his apparent nonchalance. Acceptance! Of all the responses she had expected from him, this she had thought the least likely. How could he tolerate her as a Changer? Couldn’t he see it would put him in danger? Or did he plan to exploit her Changing, make it part of his performances? She pulled on her boots quickly and handed the quansai to him. “Thank you for that.”“You may keep it, if you like,” he offered. “You may want something warmer than what you’ve been wearing. On the road I mean, not what happened to you last night.”

  The last question was answered. “Then it was you who was following me! I felt someone trailing me from the time I left Vildecaz.”

  He respected her. “I confess I followed you. And good thing, too.”

  “You went against my orders,” she said.

  “And will do so again, if such is required,” he said without dismay. “When you prepared to leave, I remembered the spies from Cazboarth, and I knew where you were going. You wanted to find your father, and to do this you sought out those who could be his enemies. You’re courageous and enterprising, but you needed someone to support you.”

  “Do you think so?” she challenged.

  “Having me here kept you from serious harm last night. The Bindomajes were prepared to cut off your paws to keep you inactive, but I refused permission. I thought it was best. At least Hircaj Chogrun ordered that you not be killed. It wasn’t out of deference for a Duzeon – he wanted to claim you as one of his women. I don’t quite know his reason for – ”

  “Why didn’t he? Have me killed?” she asked, then added, “Or will he expect to add me to his company of wives when the full moon is past, and spared me with that in mind?”

&
nbsp; “No, he won’t. I told him I was your official suitor, and that put an end to his plans for you.” He gave her a new, flinty smile.

  She stared at him. “And he believed you?”

  “Why else would a Yaolaj follow a Duzeon through the mountains with winter beginning, if not from duty as an official suitor?”

  “Why else?” she echoed in amazement. “Surely you . . . What do you . . . “ She stopped in confusion. “How did you find me?”

  ‘That’s my talent, Ninianee. I told you last evening, though you may not remember – I can find people and things, particularly when I value them.”

  Ninianee had a vague recollection of hearing something of the sort. “Tonight – what will happen tonight?”

  “I have arranged for you to have an enclosed gallery in which to run. Of course I’ll stay with you.”

  “You’ll stay with a Crag-lion? You saw me last night and you will endure that again?” Her incredulity sharpened her voice.

  “Official suitors do such things, Ninianee.” For once there was no hint of amusement or sarcasm in his light eyes. “I would stay with you if you Changed to a drouch, or a Fahnine zyriha-cat.”

  “Don’t say that. The day may come when both of those will be precisely what you face. I can’t choose what I will be, and there are times when what I am is dreadful.” Her voice sank to a whisper and she looked away from him. Then she made herself continue, “Did I . . . injure you?”

  “No, Ninianee, you didn’t. Ask as often as you like, my answer will be the same,” he promised her. You kept holding back, or the Crag-lion did.”

  She swung around, staring at him, her temper beginning to fume. “Is this true, or are you trying to coddle me with pleasant lies?”

  “I have no wish to coddle you, or deceive you, no matter what you think. I am not cozening you now, nor will I ever. I’ll take off my clothes and you can look for scratches, if you think I am lying to you – which I would never do.” He touched her face. “It wouldn’t work.”