The Silence of Medair

Chapter Eight

It was one of those pristine dawns where all the colours are greyer than usual, yet sharply clear. The horses, crowded into the yard, were prick-eared and restive. All but two had their riders waiting by their heads, and Medair kept herself occupied by attempting to pick which unclaimed animal belonged to which absent Ibisian. She decided the gleaming chestnut was las Theomain’s taste, which left the dusky grey for Cor-Ibis. Both very fine animals. Avahn rode the one Medair would have chosen out of the nine assembled: an eager black which was pretending to take fright whenever a bird flew overhead.

In due course, Keris las Theomain and Cor-Ibis appeared, dressed elegantly in flowing riding apparel. For travel they wore linen rather than silk, but still made a striking beacon to any thief or less casual predator. Very expensive and very Ibisian. It was the first time Medair had seen Cor-Ibis on his feet, and she noticed with faint surprise that he was not so tall as she’d thought him. An inch or two over six feet, which was no more than average for an Ibisian, but–

Medair shook the thought away and watched Cor-Ibis lift himself into the grey’s saddle. He no longer displayed the terrible weakness of spell shock, but his movements were precise, conservative of energy. It was too soon for him to be truly recovered, and Medair wondered what they’d do if he fell over at the end of the day.

With curious stable-hands in attendance, there was no discussion of their route as they turned to leave. The two Farakkian guards led the way out, followed by Cor-Ibis and las Theomain. Medair, beside Avahn, had just cleared the gate when the riders ahead of them stopped.

Avahn muttered something as he saw the men who had blocked the way north. Grey cloth and leather armour, no insignia. Medair kept her face blank as the Decian mage leaned toward the ear of his captain and whispered something. She wondered if the way those dark eyes then fixed on her face, taking in each and every detail, was as obvious to her companions as it was to her.

"Early to rise, Keridahl?" the Decian leader asked, his attention returning to Cor-Ibis.

"Perhaps not early enough this day, Captain Vorclase." Cor-Ibis didn’t sound perturbed. How, she wondered, did he know the Decian?

"You cannot always be lucky, Lord High," Vorclase replied, mocking the title. "Your reputation works against you. I don’t know how you came to be on this trail, but on learning of your presence in Thrence, tracking down a certain lost prize became simplicity itself. In fact, it becomes apparent that a number of ventures gone awry can be explained by your involvement, and for that I can only offer my respect. And now we dispute possession."

"Pitched battle in the streets of a city fond of neither of us? That is less than I expected of you, Captain."

"Desperate times, desperate men, Lord High. The Kyledrans can be reasoned with."

"Then may I point out that you are outnumbered?"

"I draw your attention to the roof."

Cor-Ibis did not seem to look, but Medair did, and discovered three men with crossbows on the building across the street.

"Why give us warning?" Avahn murmured, so low Medair could barely hear him. She didn’t tell him the Decians wanted her alive.

"My compliments," Cor-Ibis said. "Your preparation is exemplary. You would do well, however, to study the schedule of the nearest guard-house."

Following Cor-Ibis' gaze, Vorclase turned in his saddle. Medair couldn’t see his face as he realised what was approaching, but only his eyes were angry when he turned back. He promptly signalled his men to withdraw to the alley from which they had emerged.

"Another time, Keridahl. Take care of my prizes; I need them in good order." Then he was gone. A small troop of Kyledran guards marched slowly down the street toward them, looking bored.

"Who is Captain Vorclase?" Medair asked Avahn as they hurried on. He grimaced, and glanced at Ileaha as she drew up alongside them.

"An old foe. He and Cor-Ibis have crossed swords before."

"I gathered that. He’s an agent for the Decian crown?"

"The agent. He is formidable. Interesting that he was not in the initial squad chasing the rahlstones."

"We have them, don’t we?" Ileaha asked, in a flat voice. "The rahlstones?"

"How very quick you are, Ileaha." Avahn’s words held cheerful mockery. "Yes, in an effort to prove conclusively that she is not a Medarist, our new friend most kindly presented them to Cor-Ibis. I believe he was surprised," he added. "A rare achievement."

Ileaha compressed her lips and looked forward to where Cor-Ibis rode. His excessive length of hair was restrained in two looped-up braids which swung and jerked in time to his grey’s stride. Ileaha then awarded Avahn a fulminating glare, correctly guessing that it was he who had chosen not to reveal this titbit of information. A flush rose beneath her skin, emphasising her Farakkian heritage, but she passed over the matter without comment.

"They knew we were leaving this morning," she said, instead. "It would hardly have been possible for them to spend all day and night waiting in that alley for ambush. Not in this part of Thrence."

"Quite so," Avahn replied, having followed her reaction with an air of malicious interest. "Perhaps you would care to stun us again with your acuity and produce some explanation for how they knew?"

Ileaha continued to glare at him, but replied to the taunt seriously. "There’s three obvious choices. The first that one of us told them. That is unlikely." She looked past Avahn to Medair. "Those with Cor-Ibis on this journey he knows well, has worked with before and trusts."

"Do you include las Theomain and her servant in that category?"

"It has never been suggested that Keris las Theomain is disloyal," Ileaha replied, voice dropping a degree as her eyes darted to the beautiful adept. "Nor is she likely to take into service one who would betray her." She dismissed the possibility with a gesture. "There is a chance one of the inn residents, in the pay of the Decians, eavesdropped upon us, but we took adequate precautions against that. Still, the staff of the inn is most likely. We sent down word for our horses to be prepared. If one of the stable boys had been bribed to bring news of such an order and the Decians had established themselves nearby, then that would have given them time enough to ready themselves."

"Why Ileaha, you had best not allow the lovely Jedda to realise that you have a brain as well as a hand with the sword, or she will most certainly take you into her service." Avahn still mocked, but there was a hint of genuine surprise in his eyes.

Ileaha, ignoring Avahn, looked across at Medair once again. "You had the rahlstones all along? I don’t see how you could have concealed them, unless you hid them outside the inn. Their aura is distinctive. Cor-Ibis would surely have noticed them on the journey here, even in his condition."

"Ah, Kel ar Corleaux, who is not a Medarist, rather suspiciously possesses a remarkable reconstruction of one of the Empire Herald satchels. A fully working model, whose creator, she claims, is unfortunately dead. If I were less well-mannered I would be tempted to place her under a truth spell and ask her that question again. And yet, since we are so deeply in her debt, perhaps not."

Medair, less than comfortable with Avahn’s chatty assumption of friendship, decided to forestall questions with one of her own. "If the Keridahl’s reputation is such that these Decians decided that his presence meant he had the rahlstones, won’t the Kyledrans make the same assumption? Won’t they have left orders at the gate that he not pass unmolested?"

"A possibility," Avahn agreed cheerfully. "They are unlikely to know Cor-Ibis was present for the exchange, but they might well risk an incident on strength of suspicion. We have our stratagems."

The confident words were belied by his watchful expression when they reached the north gate. There did not seem to be an unduly large number of guards, but Medair was not alone in noticing the woman with grey-streaked hair who stood watching them from the guardroom.

"So that’s to be the way of it," Avahn murmured, and met Medair’s eyes. "What a ride we’ll have this day! Decia and Kyledra in hot pursuit, both determined to bring us down in some lonely corner. A fine piece of sport."

"The hunt from the hind’s point of view." Ileaha glanced back at the city gate. "We should split into more than one group, send the rahlstones ahead while the rest draw the pursuit."

"It seems only logical, but if you can convince my esteemed cousin of that, you have more influence than I." Avahn shot an assessing glance forward to where Cor-Ibis, head inclined, listened to Jedda las Theomain. "Not a matter for discussion. He does not usually have such difficulty with delegation."

"The Kyledrans have the resources to trail more than one group," Medair offered. "Together you have more chance at defence. With the rahlstones, you have every expectation of survival. Sending people off would not be a decoy, but a sacrifice."

"I can’t believe Kyledra would put itself in that position," Ileaha objected. "They don’t like us, but such an attack would be a declaration of war."

"War is coming," Avahn replied, shrugging. "A small kingdom like Kyledra would be pleased to take the rahlstones and deal with Decia for its own protection. And our demise would be a bandit attack, or, more likely, we would disappear altogether, with Kyledra able to claim no knowledge, since we left Thrence unmolested. They’d not be able to stop a wend-whisper, but wend-whispers can be faked, and would not be nearly proof enough to suit a Court of Crowns."

This delightful thought was sufficient to keep them silent until Cor-Ibis signalled a halt.

"Some four miles ahead is the township of Macaile. If we had been searched at the gate, and found empty-handed, there would be no objection to passing through it. However, it seems probable that we are to be waylaid. So we will not go through Macaile, will instead pass through the northern corner of Farash on as direct a route to Palladium as we dare. That will not be expected, for they will not know of Liak and Marden’s familiarity with the region." The Keridahl nodded towards the two Farakkians, who gazed back impassively.

"Despite precautions, we may have left something at the inn that would provide a trace spell. Nor is it possible to quietly sustain trace-wards for so many." Pale eyes touched on Medair. "We will have hounds on our trail soon enough, whatever the case. Five days to Palladium’s border."

This, it seemed, was enough of a speech for the Keridahl. Without another word he turned his horse and gestured for the Farakkian woman called Liak to take the lead.

Farash stood directly between Kyledra and Palladium and the Farashi had no tolerance for Ibisians at all. It was daring of the Ibisians to leave the roads and try and dash through northern Farash, banking on the region’s relative emptiness to shield them from interference. Medair rode silently, reflecting on the idea of being pursued out of Kyledra like a common thief. And a Kyledra which would think of waylaying travellers for its own advantage. Duchess Stameron had been so upright, one of the most respected of the Emperor’s Hands. She would turn in her grave at this. "Even White Snakes," she had said once, "have honour. Indeed, more honour than we do, if we are to believe their pride. They fight us on what they consider just terms, they do not molest our Heralds, they allow us to collect our injured, do not torture or mistreat captives. When we accord them less than that, merely because we hate them, we truly do become less than them."

By nightfall they were in the Wind Forest, which spanned the triple border of Ashencaere, Kyledra and Farash. Sunset proved as beautiful as the dawn. The birds spoke in different, deeper voices and, true to the name, the Wind Forest was rarely without the skirl and hush of a strong breeze. It was chilly, even in late spring.

Liak led them straight to a pool hidden on the crown of one of the rocky little hills. Avahn dismounted first, and let his black suck greedily at the water. He looked about him as the sun-painted hilltops began to shade into dusk.

"And in the Whistling Hills we hunted death," he said,

"Cold death 'midst rattling black-bone branches,

"Quick death, borne on the wind.

"At nights-fall we paid homage to the grey traveller,

"And left our lives to clatter by a pool of dusk."

The young man’s gaze was on Cor-Ibis dismounting, whose grip on his stirrup suggested that he was not entirely certain of his legs. Avahn grimaced and added more prosaically: "No fires up here to catch the eye, no spells of warmth to draw our hunters. I wish I’d brought an extra blanket."

Medair was trying to recollect where she had heard those words before: they were familiar, but subtly wrong. Sitting atop her horse, she watched the colour creep out of the south, then slid lightly to the ground.

"That’s a version of Faron’s Lament, isn’t it?" she asked, amidst the general stretching and faint groans of people who had ridden too long.

"Faron’s Lament?" Avahn was still distractedly watching Cor-Ibis. "I don’t know that name. That was from The Lady of the Hills. I take it that you’re not well-versed in your Telsen?"

"Not to boast of," Medair said, wishing she hadn’t asked. He had reworked and renamed the song, but she had recognised the subject. Telsen would be pleased to know that his work hadn’t been too complex to achieve popular immortality. This song, at least, had outlasted him.

Wanting to turn the conversation, she opened her satchel and drew out a blanket. Avahn started to refuse when she offered, then caught himself.

"For a moment I forgot," he said. "What else have you got in there, Kel ar Corleaux?"

"Everything but the horse," she replied. "It’s a bad habit, but easier than carrying the full weight of everything I own." She was a little amazed at the lightness of her tone, but she was finding it difficult to resist Avahn’s ready humour. White Snake or not, he was good company.

"So if you lose this, you have nothing? I see why you call it a bad habit."

"It’s difficult to lose," she replied. "And I’d still have the horse."

"Then it’s also possible to trace?" he shot back, with a mild grin. "You give yourself away so easily. Little by little I shall have all your secrets from you, Kel Medair ar Corleaux."

"Thank you for warning me," she replied, laughing. He was probably uncertain why she fell so silent afterwards and turned her attention fully to tending her horse, whom she’d decided to name Eidal. Or perhaps he saw her immediate reason well enough, if not the history behind it. White Snakes. She didn’t want to befriend this youth, with his glib tongue and whatever secrets he was hiding behind his carefree attitude. Yes, she’d called Ibisians White Snakes, and a few things worse than that. A year and five hundred more ago they had been the enemy, the invaders, evil founded on pride. Now they were people.

Medair finally ran out of things to do with Eidal, and was forced to join the others. They had settled in the clearest area on the hilltop, where the rocks were few and the grass soft. Stars and a half-moon shimmered in the pool and, beneath the fathomless well of the sky, everyone seemed small and shadowy and not quite real.

"Please be seated, Kel ar Corleaux," Cor-Ibis said, indicating a space to his left, in the shelter of the jagged rock he was resting against. He may well have been watching her all the time, without her realising. Now, he coolly followed her every movement, pale eyes turned silver once more by the uncertain light.

It was stupid to feel uncomfortable sitting close to a man she had bathed, dressed and fed. But he had been less than himself then, not watching her in that horribly incisive way. Settling out of the bite of the wind, she tried not to lean obviously out of his reach.

"I would ask you of the people of Farakkan," said a soft voice out of the past. She closed her mind to the memory, to all thought of blue eyes. But she could not so easily shut away a living voice.

"The capacity of a Herald’s satchel is rumoured to have been enormous," Cor-Ibis said. "Do you have some estimate of how much can be contained within your own?" He paused, perhaps because she was staring at the stars like they were escape just out of reach, then continued. "Forgive my curiosity, Kel ar Corleaux. It is apparent that there is a great deal you do not wish to discuss and it would be impolite to try and force the issue, but the legends of the past have their fascinations."

"That can be taken as a warning not to leave it lying about open anywhere," Avahn put in. "Or you will most certainly find us trying to discover how it works. How many blankets do you have in there? More importantly, how many will you give to me?"

His words earned him an admonitory frown from Keris las Theomain. Medair wondered if Cor-Ibis found his heir unsatisfactory. But then, she doubted he would be fooled by the pose.

"Twelve, I think," she replied, knowing that it was pointless to wish them all dead so that she could shut out their voices as well. "It’s very easy to lose track." She looked back to Cor-Ibis, patient and silent in the twilight. "You’re correct, Keridahl. I have no wish to discuss my satchel, its creator, its contents, my destination or any organisations I may or may not be affiliated with. If I had thought it likely that I could have travelled to Athere without my satchel’s qualities becoming obvious, I would not have revealed it."

"We cannot in honour press you," said Jedda las Theomain, unexpectedly. "But your silence rouses suspicion."

"The Silence of Medair," Avahn said, expelling his breath in a soft laugh. The others seemed to comprehend his inexplicable amusement, but did not share it. Medair looked at him blankly through the gloom, trying to weigh the strength of Ibisian honour, which at least was more clear-cut than Ibisian humour.

The two servants chose this fortuitous moment to start passing around the beginnings of the meal: crusty rolls, fruit, pieces of cold roast chicken and slices of lamb.

"We should have thought to consult you about transporting supplies," Avahn said as he accepted the double-folded cloth which held his portion. "We will not be eating this well again until we are over Palladium’s borders."

Medair shrugged, deciding there was no point in offering the supply of dry food she had stocked in Thrence. "It’s not the most stable storage," she said, not wanting to encourage him. "If it were, it would have been merchants, not Heralds, who had used it."

Avahn was inclined to discuss the difficulties of creating dimensional pockets and the many failed experiments to recreate the method used by the Empire, but Medair simply ignored him. They did not press her.

Cor-Ibis had acknowledged debt, a triple debt. He, and those who obeyed his commands, would accord her guest rights until the debt was paid or she did something which broke the Ibisian codes applying to guests. She was not in the slightest way obliged to answer their questions and though they might surmise all manner of things from what she did and did not say, might suspect her even of being allied to an enemy, they would not offer her anything but courtesy and questions while she behaved as a guest. Once in Athere, she should be able to leave without hindrance.

Guests, however, had their obligations as well, and she was wondering if she should tell Cor-Ibis that the Decians had a trace on her. It took until the end of the meal for her to reason that since they were operating under the possibility that a trace might be set on one of the Ibisian party, it made little difference knowing for certain there was one on her.

Depending on the power of the Decian mage, the trace would slip in a week or two and with the charm she wore they would be unable to establish another. The charm also lessened the danger of the current trace, dispersing it over a large area. But the Decians would know that she was heading into Farash.

There didn’t seem to be a way to fix the situation.