The Vildecaz Talents: The complete set of Vildecaz Stories including Nimuar's Loss, The Deceptive Oracle and Agnith's Promise (53 page)

“The south? In winter?” Doms pulled in Womilaj and stood in the stirrups to get a better look at what lay around them. Then he squinted up at the sky. “You’re right. The clouds are moving in from south-by-east.”

“Unusual,” said Ninianee, doing her best not to sound anxious.

“There’s lightning in those clouds, given the shape of them,” said Doms.

“That’s a bad sign,” said Ninianee.

“It is,” Doms agreed. “I believe it may be best to find a safe place to ride out the storm.”

“I don’t see anything that looks like shelter. You said that inns are rare on this road,” said Ninianee, aware of the drouches, now less than an hour behind them. The certainty of their speed and appetite made her increasingly jittery, and although she did her best to conceal this, she was at once comforted and vexed to realize Doms was aware of her state of mind.

“They are. Which is why there are travelers’ huts along this route.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “We won’t have to sleep in the open tonight. We’ll be safe from drouches and weather.”

She kept from looking back, knowing she wouldn’t see the drouches yet. “I do hope so.”

Doms sank back onto his saddle. “How long until the storm hits, do you reckon?”

“An ordinary storm, perhaps four hours. This one, I can’t say, but I assume it will be faster.” Ninianee saw him frown as he gathered his reins.

“Then we had best hurry. Can your pony and mule sustain a trot?”

“As long as yours can,” she said with asperity.

He thought a moment. “I’m trying to remember – I believe there is a travelers’ hut ahead. We should be able to reach it in half an hour if we go at the trot.” As if to put this to the test, he clapped his heels to the sides of his seal-brown pony, and gave his mule’s lead a sharp tug. The two animals lurched into a trot.

Ninianee did the same, aware that Jenshaz had been a bit off his feed the night before. Now, as the pony shambled into a trot, she read his thoughts. Cold and more cold. Ice instead of water. She felt his longing for nuts and raisins and his aching joints, as well as his steadiness. She resolved to use some of the oil she carried to enrich his food and to lessen his discomfort. “Half an hour,” she said to him. “Just half an hour, old boy.”

The pony continued his trot, the mule following more co-operatively than usual. Steam rose from their nostrils and coats into the high, clear, frigid breezes. The trail was slushy with patches of frozen mud, which slowed them down, so that it was somewhat more than half an hour later that they came upon the travelers’ hut, a short distance off the road, fronted by a high drift of snow.

“We’ll have to get in through the byre,” said Doms as he slowed his animals. “You wouldn’t object to tending to the horses and mules first, would you?”

“Of course not,” Ninianee answered. “I don’t want to leave them standing with all their tack and load on.”

“Then come on,” he said, and turned his pony into the high snow, urging him forward with kisses and heel-taps. The mule tried to balk but was held firmly as Womilaj wallowed forward, his legs lifting and extending to get over the drifts to the travelers’ hut. The mule lagged at the end of the lead-rope, ears half-back and shoulders stiff.

Not to be outdone, Ninianee urged Jenshaz and Danliree into the churned snow, filling their heads with images of food and shelter as she tisked to them, encouraging them to keep moving. She saw Doms draw up at the side of the hut, inspecting the building and the small paddock with only the top of the fence-rails showing at the back of the open stalls attached to the eastern wall of the hut. “I think we can get them inside shortly. There are doors and we can secure them – keep the drouches at bay, if we have to.” He dismounted and sank to his thighs in the snow.

Ninianee knew she shouldn’t laugh, but she couldn’t help herself. “Not easy to get them inside, is it?”

“You’ll have the same problem,” said Doms, unperturbed as he went slogged forward, the pony’s reins in one hand, the mule’s lead in the other.

“I’ll stay mounted, if you don’t mind,” she called to him.

He laughed as he waded on toward the hut. “Let’s hope there’s firewood inside. I don’t relish having to look for some with drouches about.”

“Be careful!” she shouted as she saw him stumble, then right himself and wave to her.

“There’s a gate. I’m going to have to knock it down,” Doms announced, and leaned into something in the snow. A short while later, there was a whoosh, snow flurried into the air, and Doms led his animals into the paddock. It was less that five strides to the door of the byre.

“The drouches are closer,” Ninianee warned. “I can try a confusion-spell on them, if you would like.” She was becoming nervous, her awareness of the drouches wearing on her nerves.

“Let me get this door open, and it won’t be necessary,” said Doms, leaning into the upright handle on the sliding door. With a crack and a crunching shriek, the door finally moved, revealing a small byre with room for six animals. “It’s got enough room for all four,” he told her while he pulled his mule and pony into the protection of the byre. “And hanging sacks of bedding for the stalls. Watch you don’t bump your head on them when you come in.”

Remembering the fallen gate under the snow, Ninianee dismounted and led Jenshaz and Danliree through the trampled snow. “Grain and oil tonight, for all of you,” she said. They had grain enough for a week, but then they would need to replenish their supply or find someone with feed to sell, or their animals would have to go hungry. This was a prospect she didn’t like. Before she went into the byre, she looked at the southern sky, frowning at the rapidly advancing bank of dark clouds. “An hour – two at most,” she said, more to herself than to Doms.

“We’ll have a fire going by then,” he told her as he took a bucketful of shavings and began to bed the second and third stalls, spreading the shavings about with a rake before going back to the hanging sacks for more.

“This hut is well-supplied,” Ninanee remarked as she led her pony and mule toward the fourth and fifth stalls.

“It is,” Doms agreed, adding more shavings to the bedding. “We should leave a handful of gaylings in the maintenance-box.” Satisfied with the first stall, he led the mule into it, sliding the brace into its slot behind him. “As soon as I have both stalls finished, I’ll tend to the packs, and then the saddles, bridles, and halters.”

“I can manage my own,” said Ninianee, more sharply than she had intended.

“I know,” said Doms mildly. “But I was hoping you could get into the hut and start a fire – assuming there is kindling and cut branches to do it with. A heating spell can’t do much against the storm heading this way.”

She bit back the retort that had formed in her mind, knowing what he said made a great deal of sense. To concede the point without actually capitulating, she responded, “I’ll help you to close and bar the door. The drouches will be here before the storm, I think.”

“Drouches and a magical storm,” Doms marveled, the sarcastic note back in his voice. “What luck for us.”

“Bonti’s luck,” she said drily, and tied the reins and lead to the stall-door before going to help him shove the door closed and set it in place with a length of fencing wedge against the handle. “Unless the drouches have spells with them, this should hold.”

He said, “Yes, it should,” then went back to bedding the stalls. “There’s a door at the end of the stalls. It leads into the hut.”

“I see it,” she said, picking up a large scoop and pulling bedding out of the nearest sack. “As soon as I have stalls ready for these two, I’ll go work on a fire. They need to be taken care of first.”

He took the scoop from her. “Let me do that, Ninianee. The heat is just as important as the care of these animals – probably more important, come to think of it.” He pointed to the chest that contained their food. “Take that with you. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”

“It’s just cheese, sausage, and hard bread,” she warned him.

“Sounds delicious,” he said, pointing to the door once again. “Go on.”

As if to punctuate his request, the eerie ululation of drouches began, sounding much too near.

“Fire would help,” said Ninianee, took the chest of food, and went to the door, ducking down to get through it into the travelers’ hut. The single, L-shaped room was almost dark. Ninianee had to grope her way toward the central fireplace at the bend of the L. She found an oil-lamp filled and set out, ready for use, so she lit it and used the small amount of light it provided to search out the kindling and fuel, which she found in a large tub to the side of the fireplace. Working quickly, she laid the fire, and with a long twig, lit the fire from the flame of the lamp. As the fire began to take hold of the kindling and logs, a billow of smoke drove her back from the hearth, coughing and swatting at the black cloud as the rising wind groaned in the chimney, pushing the smoke down the cold stone channel. She whispered a clearing-spell, and as the smoke dissipated, she heard the drouches again, much nearer now. Forcing herself to keep her mind on what she was doing, she nursed the fire with more twigs and scraps from the box of cut branches and logs. Only when it was starting to blaze did she turn her attention to the chest of food, removing the small cauldron and setting it on the floor while she tried to make up her mind what to cook.

By the time Doms came through the door, the drouches were almost upon the hut, their loud snorting snarls reaching them with the blustering wind. “I’ve put their blankets on them. It should help keep them warm.”

“Have they been fed?” She looked at the lump of ice she had taken from one of the three windows – it had been the only one she could open – and set it to melt in the cauldron for water.

“Yes. And there is water in the stalls, in covered barrels. I’ve removed the tops so they can drink, and warmed up the water with a small spell.” He walked to the fire and extended his hands to it as he removed his gloves. “We should get through the night well enough.”

There was a sudden burst of short, angry cries and the sound of snuffling near the door, although it was partially submerged in snow.

“The drouches are here,” said Ninianee.

“And the storm is right behind them,” said Doms as the first peal of thunder rolled over the plateau, and the wind became a savage force tearing at the whole plateau, making the travelers’ hut shudder with every gust, and leaching the heat from the small stone room.

The End

Book Three Agnith's Promise
 

For Gryffyn Phoenix

with thanks and good wishes

“You see why I need you to help me,” Riast said to Erianthee as they picked their way through the wreckage of his Imperial Hall. In the two days since the conjure-storm had struck, all of Tiumboj Castle had been inspected, and where possible, repair-spells had been cast to minimize the damage, holding up walls and restoring what structure they could until the masons and carpenters could get to them, giving the Castle something of the look of a patchwork building – which it was. In this vast hall, a portion of the ceiling was missing, and a light, misty fog lent its blur and dampness to the late morning. “If my enemies are willing to bring this destruction upon me, I have to know who they are, and what they have in store for me. Otherwise I’ll be as naked to their next attack as I was to this one.” His face bore the stoic sadness of someone expecting the worst.

“Tell me, Emperor, why you think my Shadowshow can do this for you? How will the Spirits of the Outer Air be able to embody you foes for you, when neither you nor I know who they are?” Erianthee asked, feeling sympathy for him even as she steeled herself to refuse his request. She felt shabby and gritty, the Castle baths having been one of the first buildings hit by the storm. She still wore the torn and blood-stained gaunel she had put on before the conjure-storm struck, for her apartments had crumbled during the onslaught – fortunately Rygnee had been in the Servants’ Hall, near the central kitchens when lightning bolts demolished the suite of rooms, and although bruised, was still alive, but like Erianthee, had no other garments than what she stood up in.

“Because it must,” said Riast, his eyes dark with commitment. “Surely you see that, don’t you?”

“You have fine magicians at Court, many of them with more talents than I possess, many who share your goals,” she pointed out as she had done often before. It was an effort to keep her manner acquiescent – she wished he wouldn’t continue to ask this of her. “They must be able to provide you the information you want more reliably than I can.”