The Silence of Medair

Chapter Seven

More than a decem passed before Medair was summoned into the presence of Cor-Ibis, and she had to work hard not to stoke her resentment. There was very much an air of a royal audience in the manner in which she was finally conducted, after much to-ing and fro-ing by the attendant Ibisians, into a large, gently lit bedroom which smelled of sandalwood. Jedda las Theomain and Avahn waited until she had stepped past them, then positioned themselves on either side of the door, almost as if they thought she would try to escape.

Illukar las Cor-Ibis had been transformed. Silk-clad, he was propped against a mound of cushions: an impromptu throne of brocade and tassels. His hair flowed in two shining streams, breaking into little rivulets which pooled on the coverlet and came close to dripping off the bed. Single braids before each ear shaded a triple set of tigers-eye, and Medair fixed her eyes on those banded stones, the one thing very different to an image in her past. He was shockingly reminiscent of Ieskar, not as Medair had first seen the Kier, but after the capture of Iskand.

It was all in the skin. Ibisians would at times peel, but never tan, and their skin went through whole ranges of white. Cor-Ibis was at present an unhealthy milky colour, a white-blue shade no Farakkian skin could manage, with the addition of pronounced circles beneath his eyes. And that wonderful black-violet splotch marring his jaw. He appeared alert, but decidedly fragile, as Ieskar had been after Iskand. She’d thought at the time that the Kier had been injured taking the city, and had learned the truth only last year.

He had been dying. All the time, he had been dying.

Resolutely, Medair focused on the present, but it did not help that this shape-changing Keridahl wore the same mask of neutrality which had served Kier Ieskar so faithfully.

"Kel ar Corleaux," Cor-Ibis said, sending a shiver down her spine. "Please be seated."

Medair carefully settled into the chair, a large, wing-backed piece drawn up to the bedside. Determined not to show how unsettled she was, she pushed all shadow of the past at least from her face as he studied her. His pale grey eyes were reflective and silvery in the light of the mage-glows, and the effect was enhanced by the blue, green and silver robe he wore. He successfully gave the impression that there was nothing unconventional in receiving visitors while enthroned in bed. The muddy battered creature she’d dropped into a horse trough was a long way in the past.

"I hope you were not too badly punished when Arcana House failed to break my geas, Kel ar Corleaux," he said.

Medair, busy keeping hostility and discomfiture from her face, was nearly overset by this apparent reading of her mind. Surely he could not have had her followed?

"What is this?" Keris las Theomain asked in Ibis-laran, her voice sharp. No-one answered her.

"I had been taught that once a geas is cast, the caster has no connection to it," Medair said. "That it becomes a thing entirely unto itself." That was what the Emperor’s mages had decided, when they investigated the hold the Ibisians had over their captives.

Cor-Ibis inclined his head, muted light shimmering over his hair and robes. "That is so. But an attempt at geas-breaking announces itself clearly enough. A loud magic, sufficient to wake me, especially in its failure. Arcana House is the only place you could have gone for the attempt."

"Keridahl?! You did not–"

"Jedda, be so kind as to use a tongue our guest understands," Cor-Ibis said, not even looking at the woman. Medair decided this was not the point at which to admit to a very reasonable comprehension of Ibis-laran.

"I shall remember that you are sensitive indeed to the arcane, Keridahl," she told him, testing her way across a quagmire. "It was a particularly bad headache, yes, but it passed."

Sensitive and disturbingly intelligent. Certainly the geas-breaking would have been detectable by Thrence’s magi, but it would have been felt merely as a surge of power, not as anything specific. Cor-Ibis had linked her day’s absence to the surge and correctly deduced the cause. He was proving a little too like Ieskar for her comfort.

"It is inconvenient for you, I am sure, but may I suggest that you do not stop at the nearest Arcana House in Ashencaere for another attempt? As matters stand, there no longer exists a desperate need for secrecy, but advertisement is still undesirable. Can I assume that Therin an Selvar does not know the entirety of the tale?"

"The strength of the spell informed on the caster’s identity," Medair replied, finding herself falling into the same pattern of speech as Cor-Ibis. "But only as one of four. Adept an Selvar did not question me closely, having received the impression that the geas extended to discussion." She paused, turning over her options. "We did speak of a colleague of the adept – a man called Hendist – who had been called away on duty for the Kyledran Crown. Something about smuggling, or border taxes, they were not at all clear. I was not certain if this man was among all the various charred folk, so I did not mention the matter."

"You gave your word not to speak of it at all," Jedda las Theomain said, cold accusation.

"Even so," Medair replied, remembering abruptly that she hated White Snakes. Did they think that no Farakkian had honour?

Cor-Ibis turned his head, a hint of the invalid in the care he took, and rested his silver-lit eyes on the Ibisian woman for a full ten breaths. He looked patient, an expression which was effective indeed in silencing the female adept. Hostility suddenly thickened the air and Medair was forced to revise her assumptions about Keris las Theomain. She was not, as Medair had assumed, a supporter of Cor-Ibis. Had the ex-ward not said something about being a close friend of the current Kier? Was las Theomain with the party to monitor Cor-Ibis' activities? Did this mean the Keridahl Avec and the Kier were at odds? Politics and intrigues and she had no place in them.

"I hope I am not the reason you purchased that charm, Kel ar Corleaux," Cor-Ibis continued, as if he had never paused.

Medair automatically lifted a hand to touch the necklace, which he could apparently also sense. A formidable mage indeed. She had no intention of trying to explain the Decians, and hid her unease in increasing blandness.

"Not at all, Keridahl. This is more a matter of a person whose horse I…borrowed, who I expect is in an ill-humour. And I don’t even have the horse any more – it was that bay which ran off when you so inconsiderately changed shape."

Cor-Ibis inclined his head to one side. "An eventful journey. I am sorry to have caused you such inconvenience, Kel ar Corleaux. Unfortunately, I must continue to do so. Can I hope that Athere is not too far out of your way?"

"A little further east than I was intending." Medair shrugged, inwardly pleased because he had as she wished assumed she’d stolen the horse on his behalf. She also noticed, as the neat braids framing his face swung out of the way, that he only wore a single adept’s sigil of silver in his right ear, despite two piercings. It meant his wife was dead, or the marriage bond broken. She ignored the possibility of sympathy and turned to tackle her questions head-on.

"Since it seems I cannot yet leave your company, would it be too great a request, Keridahl, to know the why behind that fight in Bariback Forest? I have thought up an explanation or two and would appreciate knowing whether I had guessed correctly."

White-lashed lids dropped, veiling the silvery eyes. There was a little silence, during which Medair could practically feel Keris las Theomain restraining herself. The woman had not hidden her opinion of Medair, but she had been rebuked twice in a manner so restrained it was crushing, and her rank was very much less than this man’s.

Cor-Ibis, Medair decided, was not in the slightest bit surprised by her question. Any sensible person would have been expecting it. It seemed this particular mannerism was a sign of amusement. No. Something else.

"It would be churlish indeed to deny such a request," he said, still without breaking from the mode of polite courtesy. "It appears, from what you have said to Keris las Goranum, that all which remains to be told is what prize was fought over in the Forest."

"Smuggling and border taxes," Medair said, with the tiniest hint of cheer. "Not Koltan brandy, one presumes."

He smiled, a species of open good humour which she again found startling. But a White Snake who smiled was still…no more her enemy than any other. She would be forever having to cut off such thoughts as these, if she was obliged to remain in the company of these people. It would do her no good to gloom and glower and nurse her grievances like a Medarist.

"Not Koltan brandy," Cor-Ibis agreed. "But before I go on, I have a question for you, Kel ar Corleaux. The scene of the battle – you identified those involved readily enough. Did you have any impression as to the victor of that messy little skirmish?"

Medair contrived not to appear concerned by this question. "No," she replied. "It didn’t seem as if any care had been taken over the dead. Everyone was where they’d fallen, unless, perhaps, there was yet another party involved and they’d taken off all their dead. Most of the bodies were well-crisped, besides." She shuddered, recalling the scent of cooked meat. "That spell was decems old by the time I reached the site," she added.

"Unfortunate," he said. "I would like very much to know who survived that wholly inadvisable casting. Well, you are aware, I presume, of the situation between Palladium and Decia? This is–" He paused as she shook her head.

"I’m not, no. There was some fuss about Decia encroaching on Ennas Ashra, last time I asked, but that was Autumn."

"Indeed? In précis then, Decia encroached a little too far on Ennas Ashra. Producing some interesting claims about the legitimacy of the Corminevar succession, they made an highly abortive attempt to liberate Ennas Ashra in the name of the true heir to the Silver Throne."

Doubtless those steady silvery eyes caught her sudden stillness, but Medair’s voice, Herald-trained, was perfectly calm when she spoke: "How do they base this claim? I had not heard of any who could possibly prove a more direct descent than Kier Inelkar." But she would dearly like to know everything about such a one. Behind her, she heard Avahn las Cor-Ibis shift position, and knew she was not keeping her thoughts well enough hidden.

"A descendant of Prince-Elect Verium, we are told," said the soft voice. "This heir apparently possesses various tokens and documents to indicate a liaison between the Prince-Elect and a woman called Cathale an Sendel. It is difficult to discover the truth of the matter. Extensive research shows us only that Cathale an Sendel was at the Silver Court during the relevant period and gives no indication as to whether she had any association with the Prince-Elect, let alone was carrying his child when the Niadril Kier took Athere. Such, however, is the basis of the claim."

Medair was in a dark, distant place, a few nights before she said goodbye to Jorlaise. She had noticed two heads bent towards each other and thought with disgusted amusement that Verium had made yet another conquest. The timing was right. The timing was all too right.

From the vantage of that distant place she looked towards a colourful blur which resolved into dragonflies dancing in the patterns of Illukar las Cor-Ibis' robes. It brought her back to herself.

"If such a child existed, it would not be legitimately heir. Verium died with his father; he could have had no chance to acknowledge a child." Her tone was flat.

"Yes, there are several points of dispute to the claim, whatever the truth," Cor-Ibis agreed, continuing to take note of her reactions. "It is an excuse, not a legal pivot, and serves best as a rallying cry. Perhaps, if the move had not come from Decia, so long an enemy of Ennas Ashra, it would have been more effective. Perhaps not. As it was, the country failed to rise up in support of the so-called heir. Few lives were lost on either side. Something of a non-event, except that it made a true conflict almost inevitable.

"That was just before the snows set in last year. Spring brought renewed political manoeuvring, but only Rilanny and Hibbolt have declared outright with Decia. We wait for more and reinforce the borders. That, then, brings us to the task at hand."

"Preparations for war," Jedda las Theomain said, startling Medair. Cor-Ibis did manage to absorb all a person’s attention.

"That is the heart of the matter," the adept agreed, bestowing a glance upon his fellow. "The Kier’s defences have ever utilised magic to every possible degree. To this purpose, rahlstones have been collected, hoarded against such exigencies in the vaults of the White Palace. Enter a thief of supernal ability, now a very wealthy thief. I would like to meet this person, but that pleasure is for later days.

"A merchant acquired the rahlstones and let it be known that she was willing to listen to offers. We made our bid, naturally enough, but also put some effort into locating the stones, preferring not to pay a kier’s ransom for our own property. The merchant was at least not fool enough to keep them with her, and you can see what happened after that, can you not? Decia attempted a double-cross, there were two different ambushes by third parties. That is always the difficulty with such matters – making the exchange.

"My own presence went, I believe, entirely unremarked. To my regret, I did not anticipate that the merchant would sacrifice her own men and the mercenaries she had hired by using one of the stones. A thing of incredible force – you saw the result of my last-moment protection, and those who were less fortunate. I was concerned with speed in reaching Thrence so that Keris las Theomain could quickly set into motion our resources in attempting to trace whoever has possession of the stones now. Thus, your why."

He made a deprecating gesture with one hand, which Medair, sunk in thought, ignored. First she dealt with the possibility of Verium Corminevar’s child. It would not at all surprise her if that oversexed young man had left several children, truth be told. Mistakes were often made with worrynot, at times deliberately. If Verium did acknowledge a child, it would stand as heir. Cathale had been one of the bright lights of Court, but Medair was not at all certain that she would enter into the risky politics such a bid for the throne would entail.

Verium’s or not, the child would have been unacknowledged by its father or his family, as Medair was unacknowledged by her own father. Ieskar had firmed the rule of his descendants by wedding the only surviving Corminevar. Under Imperial Law, Alaire’s descendants held the Silver Throne by right, unchallenged. But the old Imperial successions mattered not at all, for the Silver Throne had been conquered, not properly inherited.

Thinking of Alaire’s marriage always made Medair furious, but anger was immediately followed by hopelessness. This was a cycle she had experienced over and over. Anger, misery, numbing apathy. Even after the marriage, had Medair returned something could have been done. But not now, when half Palladium was in some part White Snake. So wretchedly stupid and pointless to hark back to their arrival. Palladium was their home now. They were Palladian.

This inescapable reasoning had kept her far from the ranks of the Medarists, had driven her to her mountain retreat. Medair had once knelt before the Silver Throne and made an oath. It hadn’t been to the Emperor or the Corminevar Family or even primarily the Silver Throne, for all it was called the Oath of the Throne. It had been to Palladium, heart of the Empire, now peopled by those who had destroyed the Empire.

"Oddly, I had thought you had guessed what prize we sought," Illukar las Cor-Ibis said into her silence. That soft, detached voice only served to further lacerate wounds he did not begin to suspect. "The size of the blast would be beyond the ability of most magi not employing a rahlstone."

Their explanation had the ring of truth, and she had said she would return the stones to their owners, but she hadn’t wanted to hear that they belonged to Ibisians. Could she really do as she had planned, and give them back? To White Snakes? She looked at the man on the bed, watching her with eyes that cut far too deep. Medair felt so old. There was too much history behind her, issues which had become irrelevant. Simpler just to forget the hate and the loss and all that boundless irony and look merely at the fact of ownership. They belonged to Palladium.

"I did know it was rahlstones, yes," she replied, speaking almost as if someone else had control of her tongue. Hauling her satchel onto her lap, she unsealed it. "As to who had the victory after that wholly inadvisable casting…" There was a swift, indrawn breath behind her as she drew out the anonymous little purse, radiating its distinct aura. With only a small twinge, she tossed it to Cor-Ibis. "I rather think you did, Keridahl."

"AlKier!" breathed Avahn, while Jedda las Theomain made some incoherent noise of disbelief. Cor-Ibis, who had caught the stones neatly, tipped two out onto his palm. Wholly inscrutable. Medair watched him replace the rahlstones, then raise those silver eyes.

"Thank you," he said, for all as if she had just passed him a bowl of sugar over a tea table. "Might I see that satchel, Kel ar Corleaux?"

There was a knot inside Medair’s chest, and she knew her face was far too set as she resealed her satchel and handed it over. Even that felt like a betrayal. She wished very much that she could take back the last few moments.

"You defeated a truth-spell," las Theomain said, a thread of confusion in her voice. She moved forward to the opposite side of the bed and stopped, watching as Cor-Ibis ran long, sensitive fingers lightly over the embossed scroll. "No. Your answers were within a very limited scope of the truth." She seemed to look at Medair properly for the first time. "Why did you not produce these before, Kel ar Corleaux?"

"I didn’t know they were yours," Medair replied. It was becoming easier to breathe. Thought was gaining control over irrational feeling. The past was dead and the dead did not care and she should not either. But she always would. They were White Snakes! White Snakes.

"Those stones are worth…I would not care to estimate," Avahn las Cor-Ibis said softly, voice suddenly very similar to his cousin’s. "I had taken the impression that you were Kyledran. What profit to you to simply return them?"

"I saw what happened to the last woman who tried to profit from them," Medair replied, then turned back to Cor-Ibis, adding in explanation: "The merchant killed herself in the casting. It did not look as if any but you survived."

"That result had not occurred to me," he commented, not taking his eyes from the satchel.

"Keridahl, what is this woman? Is she, after all, a Medarist? Or an agent of some unknown player?"

This time Cor-Ibis did not rebuke las Theomain for speaking Ibis-laran. Perhaps he no longer considered Medair a guest.

"This is the truest reproduction I have ever seen of the old Heralds' satchels," he said, voice still conversational. "It must possess near-perfect shielding, since I can only barely sense its emanations, even with it in my hands. Far beyond what we are capable of. I will presume it has also been gifted with the same capacity for self-destruction as the satchels described in the histories." He turned it about in his hands once again. "Only four or five years old." Silvery eyes lifted to Medair. "I would very much like to meet the one who created this."

"She’s dead," Medair replied. Her mind was clear, crystalline. It had not been a betrayal, truly it hadn’t been. These people were neither enemy nor friend and she had done the right thing to return the rahlstones. And something clawed and bawled inside her chest and called her liar.

"A pity. Did this craftswoman leave behind records of her research? This shielding is one we have sought to recreate for centuries and is worth nearly as much as the rahlstones. As is the dimensional pocket these are rumoured to contain. Can it be that both these things have been found only to be lost once more?"

Medair shrugged, as if it mattered very little to her. It seemed to take a lot of effort. "I wasn’t there when she died, but I doubt that her notes still exist."

"It must have the dimensional pocket as well," Avahn interjected. "The hosteller said that she had no gear, only a single shoulder bag. Who are you, Medair ar Corleaux, to not only give away twelve rahlstones as if they were glass, but to own a thing long since become legend?"

"Someone who wouldn’t be here if not for this inconvenient geas," she replied, shortly. She turned back to Cor-Ibis. "But the geas could be broken, could it not, if Keris las Theomain employed one of the rahlstones?"

Cor-Ibis handed back her satchel, and she worked to hide the way her fingers tightened on the strap. That had been a calculated risk. She felt as she had in that alley, when the Medarists had decided she did not deserve her name. Even a strength ring would not let her escape, if they chose to mark her as a threat.

"I am thrice in your debt," Cor-Ibis said gravely, face still a mask. "Not a small thing." He sat up a little straighter in the bed, became even more formal, and made the three hand gestures which Ibisians used to signify thanks and the unbalanced scales of debt. It was as clear a way as any to declare that he did not intend to clap her in chains and put her to question. But then, he had the geas to keep her.

"It would be only just to have Keris las Theomain free you," he continued, in that soft, soft voice. "But use a rahlstone? No. It would be an announcement to all who dwell in this city that we possess them, when it is to be hoped that we are thought to have nothing to do with them. You must bide in patience, Kel ar Corleaux, and travel as my guest to Athere. I said that there no longer existed a need for secrecy and could not have been farther from the mark." His eyes shifted to his fellow adept. "We will leave on the dawn, Jedda."

This provoked a spate of protest. The man was Keridahl Avec and these two were obviously not used to going openly against his will, but they voiced their objections strongly enough. He was not recovered from the spell shock. His departure would be looked for. They should split their force, send the rahlstones off while Cor-Ibis remained as a decoy. He could not possibly endure another swift journey so soon. Cor-Ibis listened silently. Finally he picked up the bag of rahlstones once more.

"Are you able to key that satchel to another person?" he asked Medair, who managed not to look wholly incredulous in response.

"No," she replied, firmly. "Surely you had some method of transportation prepared?"

"Nothing so effective." He studied her, but made a small gesture of negation and turned again to Avahn and las Theomain. "It is not a matter for discussion. If you are concerned for my endurance, I suggest you leave me to my rest and prepare for tomorrow’s departure. Avahn, will you send Cortis in to me?" An inclination of the head was awarded to Medair. "Kel ar Corleaux, I offer you once more my thanks and my apologies. It is a debt I will not forget."

Medair had expected the refusal, but was angry anyway. She studied the palely shining figure, then deliberately pictured him smeared with mud, being dropped into a horse trough. The incident was amusing in retrospect, but she couldn’t smile even inside.

"Your powers of recollection are doubtless refined," she said, only just keeping the edge from her voice as she rose and offered him a very correct half-bow. "Quiet night, Keridahl."

Avahn joined her as she reached the door and paused immediately after closing it behind them. "Are you certain you’re not a Medarist?" he asked, with that atypical forthrightness. "Owning a reproduction of a Herald’s satchel, along with the name of that most infamous of Heralds, begins to push the bounds of credulity."

"Do Medarists have reproductions of the satchels? They didn’t strike me as possessing the organisation or resources."

"They do tend to be aimless hotheads," Avahn agreed. "But that is the most vocal and visible of the group. It’s those who do not call themselves after your namesake, but direct their actions, who might just be able to produce such a thing."

"They play a deep game indeed, if they direct me. I would enjoy hearing what explanation you could conjure for my actions, if I were one who hated your race."

Pale eyes studied her. The youth who had chortled at her name over dinner had been replaced by someone who was disturbingly like his cousin. "You don’t like us," he said, in judicial pronouncement. "There is none of the irrational hatred of the average Medarist, true, but you have called us White Snakes in your time, I’d wager." He laughed, returning to the Avahn she had first met. "A deep game indeed, but I like puzzles." He turned as one of the servants opened the next door along. "Cortis, the Keridahl wants you. We are to leave on the dawn."

"What game are you playing, I wonder?" Medair asked, as Avahn walked through the connecting door.

"Show me your hand, tell me your secrets; perhaps I will return the favour." He turned a bright eye on her, and grinned when she shook her head. "How unhandsome of you, Kel ar Corleaux, when it’s an exchange I might almost be tempted to make. You’ll be good company on this journey."