The Silence of Medair

Chapter Ten

A fort on a hostile border would always be a place of precautions and watches, but the current situation called for more. Avahn, taking Medair about Finrathlar’s valley, trailed her past numerous drills of militia. Preparations for war. She had thought their entry into the city had gone unremarked, but watching other travellers challenged made her realise that Cor-Ibis' party had been recognised and allowed through unhindered. He was, after all, its Lord.

Everyone Avahn met asked after Cor-Ibis' health, for the adept had finally given into dramatic necessity and developed a fever. Although only mild, it had kept him to his rooms for the past five days and convinced all Finrathlar he was at death’s door. Avahn obviously relished the poorly concealed dismay of the Finrathe dignitaries who came to pay their respects to him as Cor-Ibis' proxy. His appointment as the Keridahl’s heir was truly not popular, and with rumours about his cousin’s health running riot many were finally considering the prospect of Keridahl Avahn las Cor-Ibis seriously.

Avahn made sure they went away with their preconceptions confirmed. His pose of feckless disinterest in anything resembling a solemn issue by turns infuriated and shocked them, though none ventured to criticise him to his face.

"Did you grow up here?" Medair asked, as he took her out of the city to show her some of the look-out points among the circling hills. The way he talked about Finrathlar revealed a deep-seated affection for the place.

"As good as," Avahn replied. "Yearly visits when I was very young, and after Amaret we were practically shackled to my esteemed cousin."

"We?"

"Oh, all the potential heirs. Our doting parents weren’t about to risk another twig of the great family gaining prominence in Cor-Ibis' eyes. Excuses were found for all of us to spend much of the year thrusting ourselves in his way. My parents took a house…" He stopped, turned in the saddle and indicated an area of Finrathlar a short distance from The Avenue. "We wintered here, dined with him as often as permitted." Avahn’s mouth compressed, then he shrugged. "There isn’t a place like Finrathlar anywhere else in the world," he continued, stroking his gelding’s neck. "Maybe it’s the size, or the Cor-Ibis presence, as folk say. Whatever the cause, Finrathlar’s clean and beautiful and safe, with adventure just beyond the hills. Probably it is just that I did, as you say, grow up here, but despite being a fortress on a border, this is still the most peaceful place I know. This is Sar-Ibis, remade."

Medair considered him: precisely dressed, handsome. A White Snake who loved a Palladium made to resemble Sar-Ibis. "When did you decide to stop competing?"

Avahn flashed her a sharp, amused look. "You’ve been talking to Ileaha. Be assured that my true nature was revealed early. Surreive was always thought to hold his favour. The jewel of the family, truly the ideal heir."

Smiling, he took her up to the crest of the hill to show her the walls which stretched around the outer slopes of the valley. It had always been a very defensible area, but the Ibisians had reinforced the natural features to make it near-impregnable. Avahn pointed out a squat barracks building incorporated into the wall.

"I won’t say it’s impossible to get a force into Finrathlar without the entire valley rushing to the defence, but an invader would need to know a few well-guarded secrets to manage to take us by surprise."

Nodding, Medair glanced back across the valley to where the Imperial base had been. Damp and unpleasant, but a haven when those bandits had made such pests of themselves. Belatedly, she noticed Avahn’s stillness. He was staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes, swiftly veiled when she turned. The base could only be one of those well-guarded secrets and now he was suspicious and alert. She had hoped this ride would allow her to gently pursue such interesting topics as "the Hold" and "the purists", and she’d just made the task doubly difficult.

Cursing herself, Medair ignored his sudden withdrawal as if she had no comprehension of what she or he may well have revealed. "After Amaret," she repeated, blandly. "What was Amaret? Some sort of battle?"

He laughed, startled, and shook his head. The smile returned to his lips, but the watchfulness did not leave his eyes. "It’s sometimes difficult to remember that you claim only the vaguest knowledge of society. Keris Amaret was Cor-Ibis' wife."

So Medair had guessed. "She died then? I don’t understand why he would need to take an heir from his cousins. Did he swear undying loyalty to her memory or something?"

"Not many people would be able to say that with a straight face, unless they truly were ignorant of the truth. No, Keris Amaret left him, and he certainly didn’t regret her going. I was young when they wed and don’t know if they ever even liked each other. It was only a sha-leon marriage after all. A political alliance. But the end was enough to put anyone off marriage in general."

"I must be misremembering what I know of Ibisian society. I thought marriage was no more required for the getting of heirs than it is in any other land."

Avahn shrugged and nudged his gelding to a few slow steps. "What do you know of the previous Keridahl Cor-Ibis?" he asked.

"She was this one’s mother," Medair replied, promptly.

He waited until it was obvious that she wasn’t going to continue, then looked as if he suspected she was being deliberately obtuse. "Very well. Yes, Keridahl Galen was my esteemed cousin’s mother. She was Keridahl Alar, Regent when the Kier was too young to rule, an adept of such strength that only her son is known to have surpassed her. Galen Never-Wrong. That was meant to be an insult, but as my father says, it was too close to true to sting. A frightening reputation, a formidable woman. I remember the first time we came to The Avenue, just before the Kier was crowned. My parents had lectured me for days about how to behave, how to not offend. I was eight and terrified and when I saw her she was this quiet, rather plain woman and she had the rarest, most lovely smile. She could charm the birds from the trees just by listening to them, and she saw nothing unusual in spending her afternoon indulging a child’s desire to be introduced to every beast in her stable. By the end of the day I had asked her if she could be my mother." He met Medair’s eyes and shrugged. "My own mother hates horses. Keridahl Galen seemed like perfection to me. I envied my esteemed cousin her above all else."

Avahn stopped speaking, and sent his gelding into a trot. Medair matched him easily, waiting until he had slowed.

"So you didn’t want to admire him, didn’t want to perform to win his approval, but you couldn’t help yourself at times."

His eyes narrowed and he deliberately looked her up and down, an expressionless blonde woman on a chestnut horse, who knew Finrathlar’s secrets when she should not. But then he smiled, regaining at least the appearance of a light heart. "You remind me of Cor-Ibis, actually, but you’re more talkative. Now what was it I was saying? Ah, yes. My cousin and his need for heirs. He married Keris Amaret when he was only twenty, at his mother’s recommendation. Even after Kierash Inelkar contracted a child with Kerikath las Reive, many thought that Keridahl Cor-Ibis would arrange things between her son and the Kierash, that there would be a final rejoining of the lines after all these centuries. But they were wrong, as usual, when it came to dealing with her. A marriage, even sha-leon, put an end to any speculation that Kerin Illukar would marry Kierash Inelkar."

Avahn hesitated. "When it was announced, it was thought confirmation that Keridahl Galen objected to the Farak-lar strain of blood in the Saral-Ibis line. The purists make a great deal of it still."

Somehow, Medair didn’t have it in her to be pleased that Cor-Ibis' mother had been as arrogantly superior as any other White Snake. "Are they right to do so?"

"I don’t know. It can’t be escaped that the Kier’s blood, the entire Saral-Ibis line, is not pure. The Cor-Ibis line is loyal to a fault, and I’ve heard no suggestion that Keridahl Galen dealt with pure-blood differently from Farak-lar or those who are both. Yet no Keridahl Cor-Ibis has ever mixed blood with Farak-lar. Keridahl Galen chose a pure-blood to father her son and a pure-blood to marry that son. Of course the purists think it significant."

This was more complex than Medair had realised. "Does anyone actually admit to being a purist?"

"Oh, yes." He looked at her again, and she could see him assessing whether she was offended by the topic. "There are those who keep their opinions to themselves, but it’s not impossible to walk a fine line between expressing a wish to keep the blood cold – even you must know what that means – and failing to point out that the Saral-Ibis line no longer has that purity."

Cold blood. Nothing to do with temperature or emotion, and everything to do with self-control. The Ibisian idea of nobility. "Mixed blood is considered less…disciplined?"

Avahn nodded. "I don’t even know if it’s true there’s a difference," he said, baldly. "Mylar – one of my cousins – is the best of men. Powerful in magic, already adept, never unjust or out of sorts. I’ve not once seen him angered, unlike Surreive. Unlike me. And his mother is fully Farak-lar – it was a great scandal long ago. Some of the family will never forgive it."

"Does Cor-Ibis?"

"I doubt Mylar complains of his treatment at my esteemed cousin’s hands." Avahn’s fine mouth twisted into bitter lines. "I don’t know, Medair. I’m his heir, but I haven’t graduated to the level of confidant. No-one has that honour. He agreed to a sha-leon marriage with a pure-blood woman, but why is something no-one would be so crude as to ask him. Whether because purity matters to him or simply because his mother suggested it. Or if he didn’t care who he married, or briefly did want Amaret – who knows? Not, at least, because he was under his mother’s thumb. My father loved their occasional disagreements. Winter at The Avenue." He reined in his black, and glanced down into the valley, the frown smoothing from his face. "I can scarcely believe I’m talking about purists with a woman named Medair. Let alone Amaret. Do you know, I’ve never discussed her before? Something everyone knows, except you."

"You’ve not often travelled outside Palladium, have you?"

"Not extensively. It’s interesting to have our famed egocentrism demonstrated. Let me summarise the rest of their relationship. During the first year of the marriage, Keris Amaret conceived twice and lost the babe practically as soon as it was confirmed she was pregnant. The third pregnancy proved more lasting. Then Keridahl Galen died and Keris Amaret left my cousin before the tomb was set. She was four or five months pregnant at the time, and rather gleefully announced it wasn’t his. She really hated him, towards the end. The marriage lasted less than two years."

"You talk about her in the past tense."

"She died giving birth, the child stillborn. Wasn’t his, either; she was telling the truth about that. Mixed-blood. Cor-Ibis made no move to get another heir, after, but it was the fact that Amaret had carried someone else’s child almost to term which brought the Family out. It was taken as an indication that he could not father a viable child. His mother had miscarried three times before he was born. So the various branches of the family moved in to secure their positions." Avahn’s voice was full of disgust, but Medair was remembering the familiar contempt with which he treated Ileaha. To her, it sounded like the Cor-Ibis family were purists who were not willing to admit the fact.

Stray memories chose their moment to lock into place and she exclaimed softly. Avahn looked to her in enquiry and she lifted a shoulder.

"I just remembered that Illukar was the name of the Ibisian who died with Sar-Ibis, getting rid of the wild magic. Kier Ieskar’s brother. I knew I’d heard the name in connection to the invasion. What a thing to call a child."

Laughing, Avahn nudged his gelding closer so he could reach across to pat her arm. "Yes, Medair, parents are unaccountable when they are faced with offspring in need of a name. Have you only just realised that the family descends from the brother of the Niadril Kier? There have been four named Illukar las Cor-Ibis. The first used the strength of his blood to destroy wild magic, when the Blight overwhelmed Sar-Ibis. Before that he was Illukar las Saral-Ibis, since he was the Niadril Kier’s brother, but according to the histories he declared himself Cor-Ibis before going to his death, because he was to be the end, not the heart of the land."

"The Cuor." It was an instrument of execution and Medair was not altogether surprised that no Ibisian of her time had explained the name Illukar las Cor-Ibis to her. She belatedly remembered that she wasn’t supposed to understand Ibis-laran, but Avahn didn’t seem to have noticed. He nodded once and continued.

"The tradition carried on. The second Illukar las Cor-Ibis killed a dragon which came down from the frozen north, much to the surprise of everyone who thought them extinct. And died in the process. The third gave his life to turn the tide of a battle which threatened to bring down the Silver Throne. It is a fated name."

Kier Ieskar had only once mentioned his brother to her, and that when a small child, a girl of three or so years, had slipped into the room where they had been playing marrat. She’d climbed into his lap, fretful over nightmares and wanting the only family she had left. He had held the child, whispered to her. That had been the last time she’d played marrat with him. The very next day she had asked the leave of her Emperor to find the Horn.

Medair closed her eyes. They called him the Niadril Kier now. It was a confusing word, a mixture of great, eternal and doomed. He was dead within six months of that night. He had known he was dying when Adestan climbed into his lap, had known that she would be left to face the overwhelming strictures placed on the Saral-Ibis family alone.

"My brother’s daughter, Adestan Shen las Cor-Ibis," he’d said, making formal introduction only when the girl had quieted. He’d stood with the child in his arms, his face as blankly unemotional as it always and ever was. "We will continue this game another day, Keris an Rynstar. Your pardon." And he’d carried Adestan away. Medair, stricken by things she couldn’t put into words, had left and never gone back.

Looking up, she saw echoes of him in Avahn’s face. He wore that same mask, and was taking in her every reaction in much the same way his cousin had when they were speaking of the possibility of a Corminevar heir. Doubtless he was misunderstanding just as much.

"Cor-Ibis, whom you admired and envied, who frightened you and attracted you," she said, in hopes of pushing the past away. "He would have been, what? Twenty-three or four when he became Keridahl and your parents were encouraging you to try and become his heir. The idea sickened you and you retreated into Avahn the Irresponsible, who loves only pleasure, thinking less of your parents and your rivals for their behaviour, and resenting Cor-Ibis as its source. Ileaha thought you were just lazy when you turned away from studies and responsibility. I would not be at all surprised if you learned in private what you publicly rejected. How long before you realised that Cor-Ibis saw through you? Or were you completely surprised when he chose you as his heir?"

Avahn blinked twice, then sat forward in his saddle, the leather creaking. "Why do you carry a replica of a herald satchel?" he asked, voice low. "Can a woman called Medair be believed when she claims not to be a Medarist? Especially one so patently unhappy to be in the company of Ibis-lar? How did you come to be in Bariback Forest at just the right moment to recover the rahlstones? Who pipes your tune, Medair ar Corleaux? The Hold, if not Medarists?"

Medair had no idea what this Hold was, and didn’t dare ask in case it revealed too great a gap in her knowledge. With a prodigious effort she pushed away her ill-humour.

"The difference in our attacks being that I made a series of statements and you asked only questions," she pointed out, hoping to make peace. Avahn looked briefly exasperated, then relaxed his angry pose.

"I don’t trust you, Medair," he said. "But I am glad to know you. Trying to trap you into revealing yourself will make the journey back to Athere more entertaining."

"Or frustrating," she replied. "We should probably head back."

"Have you been to Athere before?" Avahn asked, as they turned their horses towards the outskirts of Finrathlar.

"I was there last year."

"You obviously travel a good deal," he said, eyes crinkling as he returned to blatantly fishing for information.

"I’ve been over most of Farakkan," Medair replied. "Not much in the south."

They began a rambling conversation on the comparative merits of various cities, which was a far more dangerous conversation for Medair than Avahn realised. Fortunately, he had not travelled very often outside Palladium and she was able to keep the discussion from cities she had not seen for over five hundred years.

"Kerin? Keris?"

They reined in, having seen the young woman before she called to them. Mid-twenties, about Medair’s age. Her hair was a fine floating blonde, currently mussed and falling about her face. The dust on her loose white riding pants and tight-fitting dark blue jacket told her story even as she rose from the rock on which she had been sitting and came limping toward them.

"I am sorry to intrude, Kerali," she apologised. "My mare shied and I made poor work of handling her."

"You’ve hurt your ankle." Avahn slid from his saddle to lend the woman a hand.

"Has your horse gone far?" Medair asked, scanning the area carefully.

"Straight back to her stall, no doubt," the woman sighed, leaning on Avahn gratefully. "I don’t want to spoil your day, and I know well enough that it will be out of your way, but–"

"It would be mannerless indeed if we didn’t take you home," Avahn interrupted. "Do you think you can ride pillion with me?"

Smiling her gratitude, the young woman professed her willingness to try, and Avahn carefully lifted her up behind his saddle. Medair had been thinking that he was not immune to a pretty face, and so was surprised when he shot a frowning glance of warning in her direction, necessarily brief because his passenger was in a position to notice. Not certain what had made him wary, Medair again searched the hillside, seeing no sign of lurkers.

The woman, whose name was Melani, directed them to an outlying farming settlement among the northern hills. Not knowing what else to do, Medair took the precaution of sliding her satchel off her back to where she could more easily reach its contents.

Melani continued to apologise prettily. It seemed to Medair that the encounter had been arranged so the woman could have an opportunity to flirt with the heir to the Dahlein. Certainly the way Melani pressed against Avahn, arms wrapped firmly about his waist, suggested only a bedroom ambush. But, Medair told herself, if that was so Melani would surely have tried to separate Avahn from Medair.

They rode along the edge of the eastern hills of Finrathlar, then followed a winding stream, glittering in the Summer sun between two of the massed hills to the north. Medair noted deep ruts in the road, and the hoof-prints of a number of horses. Recent, but hardly unusual. The north of the valley was given over to farmland.

She felt a trickle of magic escaping nearby, and looked at Avahn, who inclined his head a fraction in return. He had been the caster then. A defensive spell or perhaps a wend-whisper, sending a message on the wind? It had not been anything which released a huge amount of power. She slipped a hand into her satchel, pulling out a ring to slide into her pocket.

A solid farmhouse came into view. "My mother should be home by now," Melani said, smiling with apparent relief. Medair began to wonder if they had been altogether too suspicious as a grey-haired woman lifted her head from where she toiled among rows of vegetables. She gave a soft cry of distress and hurried over.

"Oh, Melani! Whatever have you done to yourself?"

"Thrammit tossed me, Mama. Has she come back?"

"That cursed mare! Too skittish for her own good." The woman drew Melani down into her supporting arms, made a practiced inspection, then smiled up at Avahn. "Kerin, how can I thank you?"

"We did very little, Kel," Avahn replied as he dismounted. "The mare has not returned?"

Shaking her head, the woman steadied her daughter as she took a limping step. "No, I’ve not seen her." She looked distractedly at Medair, then returned to Avahn. "My other daughter will be back in a decem. If the mare hasn’t returned by then, she’ll collect the herders together and mount a search. Likely the creature’s gone back to the stables where she was bred." She turned pleading eyes on the handsome heir to the Dahlein. "Kerin, if it’s not too much trouble…"

Avahn obligingly scooped Melani into his arms, hefting her with an ease only an Ibisian could manage. Medair wondered if he would drop her at the first sign of danger. Gathering the reins of their horses, she looped them around the posts of the garden fence. It gave her a chance to stare into the hills for any sign of movement. Nothing. With a final glance about, she followed the other three inside.

Melani was directing Avahn upstairs, and her mother ushered Medair left into a kitchen. "How can I thank you and the Kerin for going so far out of your way for my daughter, Keris?" she asked. "All because she’s overfond of that pretty mare’s looks, no matter the creature’s temperament. I hope she’s not inconvenienced you too greatly?"

"She has given us a chance to see another part of Finrathlar, Kel–"

"–las Raithen," the woman continued, smiling. "It is very good of you."

"Do you live here alone, Kel las Raithen?" Medair asked, since she saw no sign of any others, though the house was large enough.

The woman laughed. "AlKier, no! Besides my daughters, we’ve Miasa in the main building, and a half-dozen herders crowding out the back house. Babies the lot of them. They call this Orphans' Farm because I’ve taken so many in, but they make good herders if you start them young enough. Some say I’m a fool to trust urchins, but with fair treatment, I get fair workers. Keridahl Galen’s wisdom."

Medair asked for clarification and was treated to an enthusiastic account of certain laws Keridahl Galen had put into effect concerning homeless children.

"But I’m running on. My other daughter has taken Miasa into Finrathlar for supplies and the herders are out chasing the Spring lambs over the hills. And Melani…" The woman shook her head, but smiled fondly at the same time. Medair, who thought Avahn had been upstairs for too long a time, relaxed on seeing him appear at the top of the stairs.

"She asked for water, Kel," Avahn said, looking amused.

"Oh, and where are my manners, keeping you standing about without even offering you something to take the dust off?" Kel las Raithen turned, after a slight curtsy to Avahn, and took a cloth off a jug standing on a sideboard. Setting out two pottery cups for Avahn and Medair, she filled another for her daughter. Begging them to make free of her kitchen, she went upstairs.

Avahn shook his head, looking wry. He held up one hand and sketched a series of figures in the air, then closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side as if listening.

"I was convinced it was an ambush," he said, after a few moments. "But there’s no-one else in the house and I can’t detect any enchantment threatening. Over-caution. We spent too long in Kyledra waiting for my cousin to send word, convinced that every second person was a spy."

"What made you suspicious of her?" Medair asked, pouring out the water.

"Her ankle’s not at all swollen, and she looked too…picturesque, as if she’d set herself up as maiden in distress."

"Hadn’t she?" Medair asked. "My concern was for your breathing, she was holding on so tight."

"Yes, a different sort of trap to what I assumed. Never bend over a woman on a bed if she has designs," he advised. "You would be amazed how often such things have happened to me in the last six months – since my cousin finally chose his heir. Surreive, who is due a considerable fortune, even without the possibility of succeeding Cor-Ibis, complains about having to constantly foil marriage plots. I didn’t believe her once." He straightened his riding coat. "Well, I learned something about you, at least. We weren’t certain if you were a mage, but you gave yourself away when I released the wend-whisper."

Medair shrugged, handing him a cup. "What would you do, Avahn, if you discovered that the only secret I had was where I picked up a handy satchel? Will you be terribly disappointed to learn I’m not involved in some complicated plot?"

"I think that you are a wild piece on the marrat board," Avahn replied. "I have yet to think of a reasonable explanation why someone working actively against us would return the rahlstones, and I prefer to believe that you’ve simply been drawn in, away from whatever nefarious activity in which you were previously engaged." He shrugged. "At least, that’s my esteemed cousin’s opinion, but I agree and so make it my own. I’m not sure what amount of duplicity will be required to find out exactly what, but, just so you know, we’re lulling you into a false sense of security before we pounce."

Medair, who had been raising her cup to her lips, paused, brows drawing together. She swirled the clear liquid, and shrugged when Avahn held up the cup he had drained.

"Did it taste strange or anything?" she asked.

"Stale water. There’s no enchantment on it. I would have detected that."

Frowning, she put her cup down.

"If you’re trying to make me nervous, you are succeeding, Medair ar Corleaux." Then he swayed, and went the strange colour of an Ibisian who had paled even further. "Damn," he muttered, as the sound of approaching horses became audible. "Medair, you’d better run while you can. You might be able to make it out the back way."

"I expect they’ve covered any escape routes." Angry that she hadn’t stopped him drinking, her mind skipped through alternatives. "Who did you send the wend-whisper to?"

"Cor-Ibis. One of his rules: sending a message if something unusual happens, especially keeping him informed of alterations in plans for wandering. I have to send another a decem afterwards or…"

With a speed which suggested magic had been involved after all, Avahn collapsed and she caught hold of him, a double armful of warm flesh scented with sandalwood. Surprised by the strength of her concern, she lowered his limp form to the wooden floor. Detouring her mind away from the concept of genuinely caring for a White Snake, she looked wildly around the room. The only thing in her satchel that would protect them both needed a little more space.

Hoping Avahn had been about to say "…or he will raise the alarm," not "…or he’ll lecture me when I return," Medair pushed chairs out of the way. Heart pounding, she positioned Avahn in a clear corner of the kitchen, then put a chair carefully over the top of him. The jingle of stirrup and bridle told her the riders were dismounting and it was tempting to just turn invisible and run. But she couldn’t leave him. And here she’d been planning for the Ibisians to protect her, not the other way around.

Her hand darted into her satchel, selecting a long silvery cord. Measuring it doubtfully, she repositioned Avahn on his side, drawing his knees up and tucking his arms in. Then, with frantic haste, she lay the cord out in a circle around her, the chair and Avahn. The metal locking mechanism slid together with a firm click and she was rewarded with a surge of power, both visible and tangible. A shield-wall, much like the one Cor-Ibis had almost killed himself summoning, but hers was far more enduring. Safe.

She let her breath out as a voice outside called caution. And so they should. The contents of her satchel might not be able to give her what she wanted, but they made her dangerous. After checking Avahn again, she planted herself firmly on the chair, folded her arms and waited, listening to their progress. They wouldn’t know that the source of the power surge was defensive magic, or that Avahn was unconscious. They would come in expecting every kind of attack.

She wondered what arcane weapons Avahn could produce at need, what set-spells he would have drawn upon if only he hadn’t been unconscious. It had been an elegant little trap. If the woman had pressed the water on them, if she had stayed to watch them drink, had not offered it as a carefully orchestrated afterthought, they would have been more suspicious. Medair sighed, feeling terribly vulnerable despite her resources. If, if, if.

A door at the back of the house burst open and something bounced across the floor, exploding with a dull blue flash. Behind her shield-wall, Medair couldn’t sense the power which might be involved. Presuming they still wanted her alive, it was probably some sort of sleep. She watched it dissipate, wishing she’d run.

Flanked by two stocky female warriors, the mage she had first seen on Bariback Mountain trailed the tossed spell into the room. The sight of her, leaning back on her chair in a half-globe of glimmering power, stopped them short. The women looked to the mage, who gestured them into a guard position. Then the front door was opened less violently and the rest of the Decians entered the room, weapons at ready.

"A spell shield, Captain," the mage said, moving towards them.

"So I see, Cerden," Captain Vorclase replied. He looked from Medair to Avahn, curled at her feet. "Can you break it?"

"I can try…" The mage hesitated, then met his Captain’s flat black eyes. "But you can feel its strength as well as I. Farak’s Teeth, they can probably feel it in the centre of Finrathlar! We could chip at that for a year without making a dint."

"Well, well." Vorclase didn’t seem particularly perturbed. He circled around Medair, then tested the shield with the back of his fingers. There was a faint hiss, and he jerked away quickly. Kel las Raithen and her daughter emerged from upstairs and his eyes flicked toward them, then back to Medair.

"Introductions are in order, I think," he said and bowed, short and sharp. "I am Captain Jan Vorclase, of His Majesty King Xarus Estarion’s armies. May I have the honour of your name?"

"Medair ar Corleaux," she replied, uncrossing and recrossing her arms. The posture helped to hide her trembling.

"Truly a great pleasure to catch up with you at last, Miss ar Corleaux. It has been quite a chase."

"I would be very glad to know why you take such an interest." She was pleased there was no quaver in her voice. Calm and in control: it was important to make them believe it.

"Would you? Speaking of assuaging curiosity, tell me, Miss ar Corleaux, what is a Medarist doing travelling in the company of White Snakes?"

"Getting away from you, for a start."

"I’m sorry to have driven you to such an association. Has it occurred to you that we need only wait until you are driven to us by hunger and thirst?"

"What, in a decem?" She smiled at him unpleasantly. "This spell-shield would be enough to attract the Keridahl’s attention, even if Avahn had not sent a wend-whisper. I can’t see any troops he sends taking more than a decem to get here." She cocked her head toward Melani. "If you are going to pretend to twist your ankle, you might consider some visible swelling."

"She’s bluffing," said the Mersian, coming forward to glower at Medair. He seemed to have recovered from being hit on the head.

"What if she’s not?" Kel las Raithen asked, matronly calm gone in favour of tense nerves. "I didn’t contract for a battle with White Snake guards, Vorclase. This has gone bad. Face it and let’s get out of here."

"Don’t rush off just yet, Fariti," Vorclase said. He selected a chair and placed it opposite Medair. "I had assumed Cor-Ibis didn’t know what he had," he said, conversationally. "But if he has provided you with protection of this order, he obviously has some inkling. Well, Medair – may I call you Medair? I shall share the history behind this chase, if that will make you more reasonable. You cannot want to continue in the company of Ibisians, surely? I admit we handled our first encounter badly, but there is time to make amends. A decem or so."

Medair, nothing loath to hear an explanation, merely raised her eyebrows and leaned back more comfortably on the chair.

"A captive audience, in a way," the Decian said. "Well, you must know that we grind slowly towards war. King Xarus has made solemn vow to set the rightful ruler of Palladium on the Silver Throne. Tarsus, the Emperor-in-Exile, descends from Prince-Elect Verium, son of the great Grevain Corminevar."

"I assume that there’s proof of this?" Medair asked, her interest showing in her voice. She had heard the Ibisian side of this story. She would listen to the Decian version.

"Of course. The Prince-Elect died before his daughter was born, but he sent the child’s mother out of Athere with written acknowledgment of paternity." He paused, dark eyes narrowing. "Sealed with the Imperial Ring, so none might gainsay the girl’s parentage."

Medair stiffened, and saw his satisfaction at her response. The impression of the Imperial Ring was impossible to forge. Constructed to prevent the falsifying of documents in the Corminevar name, it had descended into the hands of Kier Inelkar. Inelkar was unlikely to go forging documents to end her own rule. So Verium truly had–

"These are only your words," she said, stiffly. "Nor does it at all explain why you pursue me from Kyledra into Palladium itself. What am I to kings and emperors? I assure you I have no Imperial blood."

"Perhaps not. But, as I said, war darkens the horizon. We skirmish for possession of the best weapons. Collections of rahlstones, mercenaries, women who live on mountains. My King would see that this battle is won with the least bloodshed possible, and he turned to military advisers, histories, even seers to ensure this end. Most seers are charlatans, but one, one had a reputation earned with true power, and he spoke these words to my King: When the thrones of all Farakkan hang in the balance, control of the one who dwells on Bariback Mountain will decide the future. Exactly how and why we would have asked him, but the True Seeing cost him his life’s breath. Inconvenient."

"I don’t intend to take sides in the coming battle," she replied, forcing her voice to remain even.

"Everyone must take sides, Medair ar Corleaux. I don’t know what it is that you can do, but I can see that you are Farakkian, hear the message of your name. Yet you travel with White Snakes. Why? Out of fear of us? Then I give you my word and my oath – in the name of Xarus Estarion, on the blood of my ancestors, to the peril of my soul, I swear you will not be threatened in any way if you come with us. Every honour we can extend will be yours." Hawk face sincere, he leaned forward on his chair. "You know it’s the right thing to do. Too long has the usurper race sat upon the Silver Throne, while the true Corminevar heirs have lived in hiding. Can you truly say this battle does not concern me? Live up to the promise you made when taking the name of an honourable and loyal woman. Be true to her memory, to the Empire she served, and help us drive the White Snake invaders out."

Medair looked down, unable to meet his eyes any longer. His words would not draw her out of the spell-shield. Her understanding of the current political situation was shaky, but she’d readily gathered that Xarus Estarion sought to expand his own borders and was using this Tarsus as a stalking horse. But what if there truly was a Corminevar heir, duly acknowledged? Instead of returning to the northern mountains, should she find Tarsus, offer him support not connected to the ambitions of the Decian throne?

Medair looked down at Avahn, his face obscured by a braid of silky white hair. Finrathlar was his home, Palladium was the land to which he had been born and raised. She didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to interpret her oath, or if it was even valid any more. She didn’t want to be part of this and Vorclase read that in her face as she raised her eyes to his again.

"There will come a time when you will have to stand forward," he said, firmly. "No-one lives outside this war, not even on Bariback Mountain. I add this. My king searches for a way to victory. Failing you, and without the rahlstones, he will tread a more dangerous path to cleansing Palladium. Think on that."

"She’s not budging, Sir," the Mersian said, tersely. "If there’re troops coming, we’ve got to make tracks soon."

"Then answer me, Medair ar Corleaux. Will you stand with the White Snakes or your own kind? Are you loyal to the blood of Corminevar?"

"I stand with neither," she replied, without hesitation. "I will not win this war for you."

Vorclase let his breath out in a short, angry exclamation. "So be it. But I cannot, you realise, leave you in the hands of White Snakes." He turned to the Mersian. "We’ll burn her out."

Medair didn’t protest or visibly react to the words. She sat and watched as his men set about dousing the kitchen and other rooms with lamp oil. Under Vorclase’s instructions, they left a clear passage to the front door.

"If you change your mind and move quickly enough, you should be able to make your way clear. Oh, and don’t expect that invisibility trick to work twice. We’ll be waiting for it."

"Thanks for the warning," she replied, curling one corner of her mouth up, though she was more than a little worried. The spell-shield would keep out conjured effects, people, missiles, but she wasn’t sure it would be effective against natural heat and smoke.

The mage paused at the door and looked at her, sitting in her circle of safety. He smiled, and clicked his fingers, producing a tiny spurt of flame.

The farmhouse burned.