“Likely,” Hoftstan agreed. “He’s a nosey fellow.”
“Very sensible of you, Drux,” said Zhanf.
Drux respected the seneschal and Magsto, then shoved two chairs aside to clear a space on the floor large enough to accommodate the sheet. “Shall I open it for you, Magsto?”
“If you would, Drux,” Zhanf answered, stepping back to provide more room for the sheet.
Drux spread the sheet and weighted down the corners with stacks of books. When he was done, he stood up and respected Zhanf and then Hoftstan. “If there is anything more?”
“If you’d bring some hot spiced wine, we’d both be grateful,” said Zhanf as he set the sack down in the middle of the sheet. “Oh, and a pomander. I fear the room will soon reek of sulphur.”
“Isn’t there a spell that would be more effective? You could be rid of the stench at once, couldn’t you?” Drux asked, not to avoid the task, but curious why the magician would want such a mundane thing as a pomander.
“Magic against real sulphur? It could disperse the odor for a while, but it would return. The pomander is slower to lessen the stink, but its results are dependable and enduring.” He indicated the sack. “And we don’t know what kinds of spells may linger, waiting to attach to other magical rites. Spell-mummies are notorious for such contrivances. I don’t want to inadvertently strengthen anything that the spell-mummy might contain.”
Drux saw the wisdom in this, and withdrew to get hot spiced wine for them, muttering as he went about spies and enemies everywhere.
“Spies and enemies,” Zhanf repeated as he heard the door close with more force than usual. “I suppose it’s possible.” He picked up a hefty volume from the nearest table and opened it, not to read, but to give his hands something to do. “We will need to be very careful, I think. Little as I want to regard anyone here as an enemy, we may have to do this, at least while both Duzeons are gone, and Duz Nimuar remains missing. We mustn’t allow Vildecaz to be destroyed from within, which is a much greater hazard than being destroyed from without. No? Don’t you think that an attacking army is more readily identified than two or three enemies within a household? The armies are prepared for war and they are outside the walls, the enemies within – well, who can say who among all the household, is its betrayer?” He regarded Hoftstan narrowly as he replaced the book, and then reached for a jar on the nearest shelf, opening it as he went on. “If we take no precautions, then all manner of misfortunes could befall us, and we will pay a high price for our inactivity. But if we employ a degree of circumspection, then we may have a chance to preserve the Duzky.” He began to tap small amounts of a substance that looked something like sand and something like ash around the edge of the sheet.
“I take your point,” said Hoftstan. “But I don’t like having to look upon my friends and associates as pawns of our enemies, enlisted in the effort to weaken Vildecaz.”
“It is very difficult,” Zhanf agreed, finishing his task and putting the lid back on the jar and returning it to the shelf.
“But if I must, I must.” Hoftstan rubbed his face with his hand. “I wish I knew what I had to do. I wish the Duzeons were here to make final decisions about the spell-mummy. It’s their responsibility, and I don’t want to mis-serve them. If we’re wrong about the spell-mummy, then I’ll . . . “ He let his thoughts unravel with his words, too distressed to say anything more.
Zhanf picked up the bag again and opened it carefully. “It is time we found out what we’re dealing with. Once we have a look at the thing, we’ll have a better idea about what we should do. The more we know of this spell-mummy, the more we’re likely to know who placed it under the wall, and why.” He stepped back so that he could empty the contents of the sack onto the middle of the sheet. “Best keep a little distance. We don’t know how much power may yet remain in it, or what will trigger it to more power. This may be tricky.”
“Whatever you like.” Obediently, Hoftstan took three steps back from the sheet, his face going pale.
“Thank you,” said Zhanf as he deliberately up-ended the sack and eased the contents into the sheet. “Spell-mummy – look at the seals and the skin-sack. A very old one. You’re right about that.” He leaned a little closer to the leathered skin and rotted linen. “You can see the amulet, can’t you? It was on a braided cord of silk around the neck.”
Hoftstan looked at the small bronze image of Womotomaj, the Fabricator with the Knot of Vitiation surrounding the god’s image. He gasped at the malefic influences such a charm invoked. “Spell-mummy,” he said as if to confirm his fears.
“This is most distressing,” said Zhanf. “There is a broken T-square under the body. Nothing built over it will be plumb, or true, or will it stand for long.” He continued his inspection and saw a ring on a finger that showed as much bone as dried skin. “Aha. The ring is chalcedony. It will help the spell to last longer than it would do ordinarily. This was carefully thought out. The mummy was adorned at the time the spells were cast.”
“But who cast them?” Hoftstan mused aloud. “And why?”
Zhanf moved back off the sheet and made a number of gestures to keep any residue of the spell from clinging to him. “Those are the questions, aren’t they?” He smoothed the front panel of his gaihups. “I’ll have to look at this more closely. Not now – later. I’ll need to make impressions of the ring and the amulet, and then see if there are any records in all these books that might clarify the origins of this spell-mummy.”
“But why not do it now?” Hoftstan asked.
“Because I will need to prepare for the work, which may take a long time.” He rubbed his eyes.
“And you and I will discuss the spell-mummy when you’ve done?” Hoftstan asked.
“I will. It will behoove us to proceed circumspectly. We don’t want to put any enemies within the Castle on guard.” Zhanf stretched and shook himself. “So for now, let us sit down and have our hot wine, and talk of minor things while we drink.”
Hoftstan respected Zhanf. “If you think that’s best . . . “
”I’m not sure I know what is best,” said Zhanf heavily, “but I know that spell-mummy can still have impact, and that it would be folly to engage it. You and I will have to be very discreet in dealing with this magical conveyance. I’ll tell you tomorrow what I find out, when I have learned all that I can. Then we can decide what next to do.” He started down the library toward the fireplace, Hoftstan following dejectedly behind him.
* * *
“I must ask a boon of you, Duzeon Erianthee,” said Riast II as he took her aside after the latest meeting of his Chamber Council, his formality making her uncomfortable for no reason she could immediately determine. They were in one of the smaller corridors near the Chamber, and just now they were the only ones there. Riast moved closer to the wall, beckoning her to follow him, making them less visible to anyone passing in the main corridor. He lifted his imperial staff and made a quick series of gestures with it. “There. We have a privacy spell around us, so you may speak, but with circumspection.” He sighed as if his burdens were overwhelming – which they were, Erianthee realized. “Were the situation not so grave, I wouldn’t impose, but given how matters are – “ He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “You must understand, I wouldn’t require this of you if it weren’t absolutely necessary.”
“What may I do for you, Emperor?” she asked.
“It is a delicate matter, and I realize what I ask is an imposition . . . “ He looked around again. “I hope you understand that I would rather not have to do this.”
“All right,” she said, increasingly restive about what he wanted her to do.
Taking himself in hand, the Emperor strove to explain, “I am aware that you are tired from all your Shadowshows. Do, please, believe that. I appreciate how much I have required of you, and that you have held up under the obligations I have – “ He stopped himself, and went on in a more courtly tone, “And you have admirably fulfilled the duties with which I have
charged you. For that you have my gratitude and the applause of all the Court. Yours is a rare gift, and one deserving high praise.” He stared at her as if willing her to guess his intentions. “Yet I must ask more. My humblest apologies, but it is too important to turn away from.”
“I thank you, Emperor. Yes, Shadowshows tire me – I’ve never made a secret of it. You have seen for yourself how a long Shadowshow takes a toll on me. What does my weariness have to do with your request?” Even as she asked, she had a sinking feeling that his boon would mean more performances, which would enervate her still further.
“I understand . . . that is, I’ve been told . . . that you have done Shadowshows that were prophetic. Is this true?”
“It has happened a few times,” she said, disliking the direction the Emperor was going with his questions.
“Then you can show the future with the Spirits of the Outer Air.” Some of the fatigue left his face.
She shook her head, hoping to stop him from ordering her to produce such a Shadowshow, for it was plain this was his intention. “Not of my own volition. I’ve never attempted to summon such a Shadowshow, and I don’t know that it’s possible to do so. The times it has occurred, I was preparing to perform a Shadowshow such as the ones you have seen me do. Rarely, something comes over me and the Shadowshow becomes something . . . other. It isn’t always prophetic, and if it is, it is usually couched in metaphors. Or so I’m told – I have very little memory of those kinds of Shadowshows.”
“Could you be able to summon prophesy at will, do you think? If you had time for preparation?” The question came in a harsh whisper.
Erianthee was surprised to see him still so ill-at-ease. “I have never done so before.” Nor, she thought, had she wanted to. In addition to leaving her almost no memory of them, those Shadowshows made her far more dazed and disoriented than was usual for her.
“Do you think you could try?” Before she could frame an answer, he continued, “If the situation were not so dire, I wouldn’t ask it of you.”
“I’ve never done – “
”Yes, yes, I understand. But do you think, with some spells to support you, that you could?”
“I don’t know,” said Erianthee. “It’s not impossible, I suppose.”
”All I ask is that you try. One of the Court magicians will assist you,” said Riast quickly. “Not Yulko Bihn. That would not succeed, I know. Especially with your father missing. But there are other magicians at Court, and I put them all at your disposal. You may choose which of them will serve you. I must know if there is truly a conspiracy against the Empire and my House, and none of the magicians at Court would be willing to tell me if they became aware of such a plot. Your Shadowshow could provide me answers I need, and badly.” He looked around again, and dropped his voice to a murmur. “I implore you, Duzeon, for the sake of the Porzalk Empire and your friend Mirkal Kloveon, to make the attempt.”
“What has Kloveon to do with it?” asked Erianthee sharply, afraid that their meeting the other night had been overheard. She shivered.
“I have to know if his report has basis in fact, and if it does, who are the men and women who want to bring me down.” He shook his head.
“Do you believe he misled you?” she asked, thinking of Kloveon’s distress the other evening.
“I want to think he did not, but until I have some notion of what is truly going on, I have to view everything with suspicion.”
“When would you want me to try this?” Erianthee asked, already trying to summon up reasons why this would be folly.
“Tonight. Immediately after the evening meal.” He held up his hand so she wouldn’t speak yet. “The audience will be small, not more than dozen Councillors, myself, and Zervethus Gaxamirin – I believe you know the Imperial Scholar?”
She nodded, anxiety turning to cold certainty that there was something very wrong. “I have met him at Court on two earlier occasions. He is an old . . . associate of my father. His secretary was at Vildecaz Castle when I departed.” How was Ninianee dealing with this impossible fellow, she wondered, keenly aware that her sister might be in greater danger than she knew. “He said he couldn’t arrive himself until the Frozen Moon.”
“He has not mentioned any plans to depart,” said Riast, mulling over the implications of this omission.
“Then perhaps he plans to stay here after all,” said Erianthee, thinking it odd that he had said nothing to her.
“So it would appear,” said the Emperor. “I see spies everywhere,” he burst out. “So little a thing as the Imperial Scholar’s plans seem to me filled with ominous significance, and my Councillors all appear to harbor nefarious intentions with every recommendation they make. I don’t like having to be wary of my Court, my advisors, my servants, my guards, my guests – not meaning you, Duzeon – and companions. This must end, and soon.” He leaned on his imperial staff. “That is why I have asked you to help me. I trust you, and your talent. You will not be swayed by the political tides that sweep through Porzalk so regularly.”
“That’s not much time,” said Erianthee, appalled at the suddenness.
“We don’t have much time,” said the Emperor. “Come to the Rose Reception Room in one hour, when ten of the Castle magicians will be there for your review. You will choose the magician you wish – two, if you like.” He made a quick sweep of his staff. “Tell no one about this. No one. I’ll keep Yulko Bihn away from you so that you won’t have to deal with him at all.”
“But I don’t know how to bring about a prophesy. I don’t know if I can – “ she protested.
“Then learn, or face the loss that comes from ignorance.” He turned away without another word and trudged off down the corridor, leaving Erianthee to find her way to her quarters, there to fret away the hour she had been given, anticipating all manner of terrible results from her efforts, each more calamitous than the last.
* * *
“Duzeon,” said Alejantoz Nyon, the older of the two magicians Erianthee had settled on to have to help her. Riast had approved the two in a distracted way, and promised to make sure they followed Erinanthee’s instructions to the letter. This obedience was reflected now in their dress – his gaihups was of a dark, unadorned Adamine-velvet, inconspicuous as a servant’s hupslan, looked out of place at Court, which accounted for his glum expression. With him was Marlingee Dantogorin, also in the drabbest of her gaihupses – a pewter-colored garment of drugh-ox wool marked with a little dark-plum embroidery at the standing collar – but still wearing the rings of her position. The two magicians respected her.
Erianthee returned the respect, indicating the anteroom adjoining the Music Room where Riast had decided that the Shadowshow would take place. The room was a gem, with lovely panels of Breimanee-wood, with hangings of tapestries in muted shades covering the eight tall windows, four on the north wall, four on the south, with niches between them for the Six Founder Gods and Goddesses. The ceiling was high and filled with glorious murals depicting the gods and goddesses listening. There were chairs for a hundred listeners, but most of them were covered in sheets – only fourteen had their drapes removed. These were at the front of the room, immediately in front of the performance platform.
“I think the size is good – not too small, and not so large that we cannot contain the Spirits of the Outer Air if they become . . . difficult,” Erianthee observed to the two magicians. She had changed into a plain gaunel of violet Udugan winter-linen, and under it, a guin of lavender Porzalk-made satin, wanting to have as much from the Empire on her to help her to channel her Spirits of the Outer Air to reveal the enemies of the Porzalk Empire to Riast. Her only concession to her position was her Duzine coronet on the glossy waves of her hair., and the ring that bore the arms of Vildecaz. “The Emperor and his advisors will arrive in half an hour. We must be ready to begin as soon as they’re seated.”
“Yes, Duzeon,” said Nyon.
“Are you’re sure you’re ready?” asked Dantogorin.
; “Bontaj, no,” Erianthee exclaimed, making no apology for her swearing. “But that isn’t our decision to make, is it?”
“No,” admitted Dantogorin.
“The Emperor has commanded this, and we are bound to accommodate him,” said Erianthee. “The two of you and I have constructed a rite that has the best chance of success in bringing about a prophetic Shadowshow, given what preparation time we have been allowed.”
“Are you sure it will work?” Nyon blurted out.
“How could I be? I’ve never attempted this before,” said Erianthee, a bit too sharply, for Nyon raised his head, his eyes fixed on hers.
“There is no reason to castigate me, Duzeon. I have agreed to help you to the limit of my abilities. There’s no call to snap at me.” His eye twitched nervously. “I am trying to help you, for Riast’s sake.”
Before Erianthee could think of a mollifying response, Dantogorin spoke up. “Stop being so preoccupied about your position at Court, Nyon. You’ve nothing to fear for yourself. The Duzeon here will take the brunt of whatever praise or condemnation comes from this. You will not have to answer for what she does or does not achieve – she will.”
“She’s Vildecazin. She won’t have to return to serve the Emperor if she fails. We, Dantogorin, will be faced with his displeasure every hour of the day and night.”
“If we don’t succeed,” said Dantogorin.
“Yes. If we don’t succeed.” Nyon’s chin came up defiantly. “There’s no reason to think we will.”
“And none to think we won’t,” Dantogorin countered. “Why must you always assume disaster lies ahead?”
“I must express my concerns,” he shot back.
“What a paltry creature you are,” Dantogorin exclaimed. “Sniveling and petulant, as always. Why did you bother to agree to help the Duzeon? You should have recused yourself this morning if you’re so unwilling now – that would have given the Duzeon a chance to find someone with a bit more courage.”
The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise Page 38
