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

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Bontaj!” she swore as she struggled with the restraints that had seized her, twisting and thrashing as much as she could, and becoming more enmeshed with every effort to be free. “Fool!” she castigated herself. “You shouldn’t have come in here.” That was obvious and useless to say this now, she thought. What was needed was a way to get out. She stopped her purposeful convulsing, for that only served to tighten the trammels that held her, and she put away her sleeve-wand so that she wouldn’t lose any more energy to powering its light. At once the room darkened. Now she tried to relax, to ease out of the invisible shackles. She told herself she wouldn’t call for Doms, since he might also fall into the snare that held her, and that wouldn’t help either of them. This she had to do on her own, and quickly, even though haste was the enemy. Again she forced herself to breathe slowly and stand in her awkward, bent-over posture with as much repose as she could. Gradually she felt the energetic bands begin to loosen. In measured increments she freed herself, first her arms and shoulders, then her torso and legs, being careful not to do anything suddenly. She moved back toward the door unhurriedly, so as not to activate the spell again. As she slid toward the door, she saw the parchment flutter on an invisible draft that set it moving toward her, tantalizing in its nearness.

  “Read the letter,” a voice sighed in the tower, and Ninianee stopped, for the voice sounded like her father’s.

  “Why?” She took out her sleeve-wand again and tried to alleviate the gloom around her, all the while wanting to believe that it was her desire that made the voice sound like Duz Nimuar, not the actual voice itself. “Who are you? What do you want?” she demanded of the shadows. It took all her nerve to keep from bolting from the tower.

  “Read the letter,” the voice repeated.

  Ninianee stood very still, listening as intently as she could. There was the soft moan of wind through the small holes in the roof, a sound of dripping water that might well come from melting snow, and a strange, barely audible clicking, like the scuttling of beetles. A shiver passed through her, and she frowned as she strove to penetrate the shadows, which she realized were not wholly physical. She held her sleeve-wand more tightly. “Who are you?” This time she made the question an accusation. “Why do you speak to me?”

  “Read the letter, Ninianee.” The voice soughed like the unruly wind.

  “Papa?” she whispered to the darkness, thinking she was addled to speak to the voice. It could be a deception, or her own wishes catching up with her. “Papa?” she repeated. There was no answer beyond the rustling of the folded parchment as it sailed toward her. She reached up and took hold of the letter, chiding herself for bothering with this missive. “It could be anything, from anyone.” Saying it aloud almost convinced her, but she couldn’t bring herself to drop the parchment, so folding it into her sleeve, she made her way back toward the gate, emerging into the shattering winter sunlight to find Doms waiting next to the crumbled plank.

  “What was it like in there?” Doms asked.

  “Different than I had expected,” she said, and before she could stop herself, she told him about the antechamber and the letter. “If the voice hadn’t sounded like my father, I wouldn’t have bothered with it, but” – she drew it out of her sleeve – “I couldn’t leave it.”

  “It could have been your imagination, the voice sounding like Duz Nimuar,” said Doms.

  “I know. But when the letter flew at me, I . . . I thought I should keep it.”

  Doms took it carefully. “Do you want to open it now, or wait until we can conjure up some protection in case it isn’t what it appears to be?”

  “Best to read it now. You can use a sealing-spell so that any ill intent will remain within the parchment. You only need salt to do it.” She went back to her mule and took a small package from the pack-saddle. “Use my salt, if you like.”

  “Thanks,” said Doms, accepting her offer as he recited the spell, flicking salt onto the parchment from time to time until the letter made a sizzling sound. “All right. You can open it.”

  Ninianee broke the wax seal with care, and pulled back the points, shading her eyes with one hand so she could read the message in a spidery hand:

  Duzeon Ninianee,

  Take the Dej River Road back to Vildecaz. You are needed there.

  Be careful on your journey, for there is great danger.

  There was no signature, no seal, no indication of the author.

  “I’d feel more sanguine if we knew who wrote it,” said Doms.

  “I’d feel less troubled if my name weren’t on it,” said Ninianee at almost the same instant. She refolded the parchment and peered at the tower. “What do you think? Do we go back?”

  “The Dej River Road is southwest from here, and leads back to Vildecaz,” said Doms, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his dagger. “There are travelers’ huts along the way, and a fair number of towns.” He tried to catch her eye. “So, do we turn north or south?”

  Ninianee paused, then spoke her thoughts as they came to her. “If this is a true communication from one who seeks to warn me, then it would be best to do as it says. If there is trouble in Vildecaz, I have a duty to be there. But if it’s from an enemy, someone seeking to keep me from finding my father, then I should ignore it and press on to the Kingdom of Waniat.”

  “Which do you want to do?” Doms asked after she had been silent for a dozen heartbeats.

  “I wish I could decide,” she said, feeling morose at this admission. “The letter makes me think we should go back, but that may be its purpose. And this is the last night of the full moon – I don’t want to be in the open when it rises.”

  “No, nor I,” said Doms. “I wouldn’t like to spend the night chasing a wallow-moj through the snow.”

  “Tonight you wouldn’t have to,” said Ninianee. “Tonight I’ll be far more human than I was last night, or the night before.”

  “It’s all to the good,” said Doms. “Whichever way we go, better to have the wallow-moj behind us.”

  “After tonight – “ She stopped. “If we take the Dej River Road, how long will it take us to get back to Vildecaz?”

  Doms shrugged. “Depending on the weather, twenty to twenty-five days, barring disruptions. Once we’re downstream of the Worjinranth Falls, we can hire passage on a barge, which would save us as many as nine days, though the animals might not like it.” He could sense her indecision, so he added, “If you think this letter is a ploy to turn you from your search for Duz Nimuar, you may always resume your search in spring; traveling would be less demanding then. I’ll come with you, wherever you go.”

  Ninianee nodded, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts. “Thank you. I’d be glad of your company.”

  That concession startled Doms, who was careful to hide the elation her few words had wakened in him. He kept his response simple, although he wanted to tell her how overjoyed he was. “It will be my honor to accompany you anywhere, Ninianee.”

  She sighed abruptly and went to Jenshaz, preparing to mount. “Then let us take the road to the south, so we can come to the Dej River Road. It’s time I attended to Vildecaz.” With that she swung up into the saddle and turned her pony and mule away from the tower and toward the road home.

  4. Wiles

  “Who is the Captain of the Day Guard for the Thirteenth Month?” asked Rai Pareo, turning to look at Poyneilum Zhanf. “I can’t seem to remember.”

  “Machrin Jeth – why?” The two were in the library, at opposite ends of a long trestle table. Between them stood stacks of books and rolls of parchment, along with registers and logs from the Guards and Watch. It was mid-afternoon but the lamps had been lit and a minor spell added to increase their brightness, for it was a blustery, sleety day and all the Boarthine Peninsula was dim.

  “His Guard company is the Moon-hounds, isn’t it?” Pareo reached for his black Borz-raven feather that served him as a pen.

  “Yes,” said Zhanf.

  “And it was the Gaz-owl company
in the Twelfth Month? With what Captain?” Pareo held his pen at the ready.

  “The Gaz-owls are under Wixerin Berianoroz, and they served in the Eleventh Month. It was Galiaj Darnoz and his Jeneie company. They always do the Twelfth Month rotation. Why?” This time when he asked he was more forceful. “Is it important for you to know?”

  “I am preparing a report for my employer,” said Pareo haughtily, lifting his standish of kaimon-ink. “He hasn’t had one from me in over a month. I have been very lax in my duties.”

  “Why would he want to know the identity of the Captain of the Day Guard here? or the name of his guard company? Isn’t it enough to know that the day guards rotate by companies each month and the Nigh Guard doesn’t?” Zhanf asked. He was annoyed with Pareo already and this kind of inquiry only made matters worse.

  “He wants a full account of the current state of Vildecaz.”

  “For what reason?” Zhanf persisted.

  “He wishes to be fully informed,” Pareo said with a huff.

  “But he’s said he isn’t planning to come here. What use is the name of the day guard Captain? Or which company is standing day-guard this month? Or last month? Or any time? The information has no use for him. Why do you think it would have? What with the disaster of the conjure-storm, isn’t he determined to remain at the Imperial Library and School in Tiumboj? I thought that’s what your letter from him said – that he would be unable to visit Vildecaz for at least a year. The Day Guard companies and their Captains’ names are hardly crucial to your report. Unless there is someone else who benefits from what you’re saying.” He put aside the book he had been reading and took the time to study Pareo. “Is there someone else using the intelligence you provide?”

  “Of course not,” said Pareo, a bit too quickly.

  “Then why does Gaxamirin want it? It is of no importance to him.” Zhanf waited for Pareo’s answer.

  “It is. He’s requested the names and companies, so it must be important to him, though I don’t know precisely why,” said Pareo. “Imperial Scholar Zervethus Gaxamirin has responsibilities to the Empire and I am charged with helping him to fulfill them. Just as you have your duties, I have mine.”

  “I don’t see how information on the Guards helps you do this.” Zhanf wanted to argue the notion that Gaxamirin was entitled to such information with Pareo, but was able to keep from doing so.

  “I am giving him what he has requested, Magsto,” Pareo said with an air of strained patience. “I don’t question the instructions of the Imperial Scholar. He has so much to learn for the protection of the Porzalk Empire.” He refused to meet Zhanf’s gaze, preferring instead to stare at the parchment spread in front of him.

  “I must remind you that Vildecaz isn’t in the Porzalk Empire,” said Zhanf, a bit too nicely.

  “Vildecaz is an important ally – one that the Emperor values highly, and one whose safety is of importance to Porzalk,” said Pareo. There was a stubborn set to his chin and his eyes narrowed.

  “Strange that Riast’s kinsman, Goriach Maeshar of Otsinmohr thinks of Vildecaz more as his hunting preserve than an ally. The safety of Vildecaz matters to Maeshar less than the game in our forests,” said Zhanf, referring to the Emperor’s cousin who held sway on the south side of the River Dej. How much Zhanf wanted to have a battle – at least of wits – with the officious Pareo, and knew that Maeshar was a sore issue with many in Vildecaz. “That isn’t what allies – ”

  Their brewing argument was interrupted by the arrival of Heijot Merinex, who came bustling in, his sajah spangled with water, his hair clinging damply to his face and neck. He respected the two men, then hurried toward the hearth, rubbing his hands as he went. “The second spell-mummy has been found,” he announced with satisfaction. “It was just as Ruch suspected – buried inside the repaired part of the wall, so that if one were discovered, the second might continue to do its work. And whoever buried them was clever enough to make a decoy as well. There seems to be no spell-trail leading from either mummy, which means that whoever put it there is a very powerful magician indeed. We thought we were safe, but – ” He lifted up his hands to show how helpless he was in the face of such nefarious acts. “No wonder the repairs have continued to fail. The masons will come back to fix the wall again when the weather clears.”

  “An excellent precaution,” Zhanf approved, reminding himself that this self-important household magician had his uses. “Have you told General Rocazin so she can warn the household and staff?”

  “I have, and the Captain of the Night Guard, as well. Senijer ae-Miratdien will want to keep his patrols away from that section of the wall, at least until it is properly restored. We don’t want the Guards falling, do we? And torches won’t be enough to light that section of wall.” Merinex chuckled. “Who would have thought we’d have two spell-mummies under the wall? Think of all the time we spent looking in the wrong places for it. Yet there it was, continuing the spells of the first. A clever ploy, that. You have to admire it.”

  “You were the one who said that a second spell-mummy would be in another part of the Castle. You stated that the magical influence was gone from that part of the wall – and then it fell down again,” said Pareo, as if glad to point out another error on Merinex’s part.

  “That shows Vildecaz has a subtle enemy, one capable of very complex magical spells that are concealed as well as long-lasting,” said Merinex, impervious to or unaware of this insult. “Although Hoftstan Ruch thought we might find the second mummy near the first. He was certain the second had to be close to the first. He was determined to find out all he could.” He nodded slowly, his demeanor so sagely that he seemed more like a mummer in a play than an actual magician. “His assumption about the second mummy was a most trenchant observation, as it turns out.”

  “And one that might have been deadly to him,” said Pareo, his lips thinning as he spoke. “He caught the attention of Vildecaz’s foes.”

  Zhanf shook his head. “His death may or may not have had anything to do with the spell-mummy.”

  “So you keep saying,” Pareo declared. “But if it doesn’t, how is it that you could learn nothing from his niedaj after you saw his body? Doesn’t it seem unlikely that Ruch would have been so unconcerned that his niedaj retreated to the Outer Air in less than a night? The spell-mummy could account for it.”

  “It could – but there are other things that would do the same, as well,” said Zhanf, disliking going over this ground again.

  “Very true,” Merinex chimed in. “Not that the spell-mummy couldn’t have contributed to the magical barriers that surrounded the body. That Magsto Zhanf could summon up so much from the niedaj is a remarkable accomplishment.”

  “But it wasn’t enough to reveal who killed him,” said Zhanf, feeling the weight of his failure.

  “That only goes to show that his killer is powerful, a magician to be reckoned with, which we would do well to keep in mind,” said Merinex stubbornly while accentuating his words with a gesture of high regard. “We face a most formidable opponent, do we not? If the magical works were enlisted in our cause, think what might be done. As it is, we must bear in mind that the magician we’re facing is as formidable as a company of cavalry with enchanted bows and swords.” He sighed. “What more can you or I do to discover him – without alerting him to our efforts and giving him time to secure a more impenetrable disguise? We must assume he will expect us to try to search him out.”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’m hoping to find in these books. It’s clear that Duz Nimuar consulted them, and fairly recently.” He gestured to the three stacks nearest to him. “I know all the usual ways to undo deceptive spells and magical barriers, but there are things that are unique to Vildecaz that I have to deal with before I can find out how Hoftstan Ruch was killed, and by whom.”

  There was a short silence, and then Merinex said, “I’d offer to help, but I fear what you’re doing is beyond my talents.” He laughed in self-deprecation. “Your abili
ties far outshine mine, Magsto.”

  Zhanf shrugged. “Everyone’s talent is unique.” He looked over toward Pareo, expecting some comment from the Imperial Secretary. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “That is the traditional wisdom,” said Pareo.

  Resisting the urge to take umbrage at this, Zhanf went on, “So, Merinex, what do you recommend in regard to the spell-mummy?”

  “For now it’s in the shed by the goats’ pen. It can’t do much harm from there, I would guess. You may want to see it later, and add your own protections to it. It’s not as if we can just roll it down the slope and into the river.”

  “That would be ill-advised,” said Zhanf before Pareo could speak. “We wouldn’t want a spell-mummy interfering with Dej sturgeon, or washing up on a beach in the Drowned World.”

  “By Nyolach, the Unexpected, that would be unfortunate,” said Merinex, the nasty possibilities of such a mishap magnifying in his thoughts. “Best to keep the spell-mummy where it is until there’s a chance to dissipate its magic. Until it is drained of its spells, we must keep an eye on it.”

  “Exactly,” said Zhanf. “I say this not just for the Drowned World, but for every sailor on every ship that plies the waters from Valdihovee to Zegul-Gnax.” He felt a pang of homesickness as he said the name of the Drowned World’s largest island. “A spell-mummy adrift in the sea could create terrible problems.”

  “A spell-mummy could indeed cause trouble in those waters,” Merinex agreed, then slapped his hands on the front of his sajah. “Well, I won’t linger. There are others who need to be informed of what’s happened here. I thought it best to report to you first after Housekeeper-General Rocazin of what has been done. No doubt we’ll speak further after our main meal.”