The Silence of Medair

Chapter Nine

The city called Finrathlar hadn’t existed in Medair’s time. Her recollection of the area just south of the triple border of Palladium, Ashencaere and Farash was of ruins: an ancient and decaying fortress at the entrance of a large valley sheltered by a ring of hills. There’d been a small but useful Imperial base hidden in caves among the western hills, but most only knew Vatch Fort as an abandoned outpost.

No more. Unlike Athere, the Ibisians had not converted the existing structures to their own use. The decaying fortress had been razed to the ground, and the stone employed in the construction of a thing part wall and part castle which had withstood the test of several centuries of intermittent aggression from Farash. Huge vaulted arches led to a city covering half the valley.

They rode between houses which were alien to Medair’s eye. Most were multiple stories with a great deal of glass shining from too many windows. For some reason, each building had two stairways curving up to a balcony-like entrance. Within the shelter of these stairways there were tiny gardens, statues, crests, even fountains. It gave Medair a glimpse of what Sar-Ibis must have been like.

During the past few days it had been decided that Keris las Theomain would take the rahlstones with a suitable guard on to Athere. Cor-Ibis would remain in Finrathlar until he had recovered from a journey whose only drama had proved to be his declining condition. They had spoken of staying at The Avenue, which Medair had assumed would be another expensive inn, but at the end of a street lined with tall flame trees they stopped at the bronzed double gates of a large private residence surrounded by a high wall. A dragonfly motif decorated both gates and pillars, and Medair had seen enough dragonflies worked into Avahn and Cor-Ibis' clothing to guess it was the family symbol. The Avenue must be part of the Keridahl’s holdings.

Through the gate she found an airy grove where shafts of sunlight shone on soft hillocks and small ornamental pools. Clover and verbena covered the ground with a riot of tiny white blossom. A drive of dark, broken rock made a question mark from the gate to the front of the house, and was mirrored by a curving wall of rockery terraces dripping with greenery. Both stone crescents were backed by an honour guard of flame trees fluttering with fresh Spring leaves. In Autumn, when the small leaves turned dark red against the pale branches, they would become walls of fire.

The house was built against a small hill and rose to three levels. It seemed all balconies and windows to Medair. The obligatory twin stairs curved so drastically that they almost joined together again, like arms cradling a precisely perfect garden, exquisite in blues and whites with undertones of maroon. A weathered statue of a woman – Ibisian tall, of course – held central prominence in the middle of a stand of lavender, one hand held out from her side as if she moved to touch the purple-grey tips.

Ignoring the main entrance, they rode around one end of the house to a double row of stables incorporated into the side of the hill. Stable hands, alerted by the crunch of hooves on the drive, hurried to take hold of bridles. Medair thought this would be a suitably dramatic moment for Cor-Ibis to collapse, but he didn’t even deign to stumble as he slid from his horse and surveyed his tranquil estate.

"It never changes," Avahn said, with satisfaction. "It’s just like it was when I first came here."

Cor-Ibis glanced at him, but made no comment before turning to Medair. "Welcome to The Avenue, Kel ar Corleaux," he said.

"Thank you," she replied, though she felt impatient with the need to delay in this small city and then travel to Athere. "I’ve been wondering what reason you’ll give me now, not to free me from this geas."

She had managed to conjure that rare smile. An acknowledgment that the rahlstones would be whisked off, probably gone in the morning, and she would be hanging about this manicured cage until they could move on, as quickly as convenient.

"Perhaps it would be best not to offer you that reason," he said. Jedda las Theomain seemed inclined to add something, but he forestalled her with a glance, before returning to meet Medair’s gaze with unimpaired serenity. "I would be grateful if you would remain my guest, Kel. Until Athere. You have my word I will not keep you longer."

There was nothing to do but allow herself to be escorted inside. The house was uncomfortably like the spare, graceful palace-tent where the Ibisians had declared war five hundred years ago. Every line looked carefully drawn, every object judicially placed. In the bedroom she was given, windows made up of many squares of excessively clear glass overlooked the avenue of trees, and Medair stared out over the alien city to the familiar hills beyond.

Sighing, she sat down on the bed. There didn’t seem to be any way to force the issue, so she could only resign herself to making the room hers for the next few days. They were suspicious of her, curious about her satchel and her origins, and had no intention of letting her go without prying further. But the debt Cor-Ibis had acknowledged should tie his hands. He owed her for his life, his return, and the rahlstones. And had given his word. She could not imagine Cor-Ibis as valask, an oath-breaker.

She prowled about the room, trying not to look at the view or the graceful lines of the furniture, both of which threatened to overwhelm her with memories of the past. It was true that Athere was in the general direction she wanted, if several days off course. And, having spent five days in their company, she couldn’t honestly claim to find these Ibisians unbearable. The adept and his entourage were useful protection from the Decians, who might very well have followed across the border, "if she was as valuable as it seemed". Weighing against that was the delay, giving those same Decians a chance to plan any further attempts on her. Which did nothing to alter the fact of the geas. She was stuck.

At sunset Medair dressed in clothing marginally less casual than the kit she’d worn on the road and went downstairs. The outfit became barely passable when she saw the finery of Avahn and las Theomain. Even Ileaha had found a robe of patterned silk.

Avahn was playing host, in this place which would one day be his. He divided his energies between amiably showering Medair with trivialities she knew little about, being graciously polite to las Theomain, and insulting Ileaha. Since she wasn’t in the mood to make conversation, the only part of the meal which interested Medair was when Avahn questioned las Theomain about plans for the transportation of the rahlstones. It appeared that an entire detachment of troops was escorting the Keris to Athere.

"The Keridahl suggested you travel with me, Ileaha," las Theomain concluded. "Be sure to have your baggage prepared in time. We leave soon after dawn."

"Yes, Keris," Ileaha responded, only the way her eyes found her lap revealing any opinion of this arrangement. Avahn watched her a moment, then shook his head in disgust.

After dinner, Ileaha was given the task of showing Medair about the house, which Medair thought a good opportunity to satisfy her own curiosity.

"Is Avahn a first cousin of the Keridahl?" she asked. "A child of an aunt or uncle?"

"No," Ileaha replied, after a short pause. "They are all descended from the same great-grandmother, but none are first cousins."

Medair raised her eyebrows. "Who are they all?"

Ileaha glanced toward the centre of the house before she answered. "The Keridahl’s heirs. Or, to be more correct, the Keridahl’s potential heirs."

"Avahn is not heir outright, then?"

"He is now that the Keridahl has declared him so," Ileaha replied and, although she obviously tried to suppress it, her voice and face revealed that she could not at all understand what had possessed Cor-Ibis to take such a rash step.

"All children of the same line?" Medair mused. "The Keridahl’s mother was eldest, obviously. How many others are we speaking of?"

"Three," Ileaha replied, after an unnecessarily long pause. "But Kerin Mylar is usually not counted," she added, "since his blood is not pure."

Medair was genuinely surprised. Was this, then, the source of any supposed difficulty between the Keridahl and his mix-blood Kier? "That rather puts him on par with the Medarists, doesn’t it? Another century or two and the line will be inbred, for lack of pure partners. Does the Keridahl have some solution to this problem?"

"I don’t believe I have ever heard the Keridahl mention the subject," Ileaha replied, face very blank. "To be completely clear, I cannot say that I know of him expressing an opinion on the future of his bloodline, or if he believes the tradition of purity should be maintained. The Cor-Ibis line has, of course, never declared open allegiance with the purists." She looked down at her hands, while Medair tried to work out the implications of the purists, then said, "I offer you the use of my name, Kel ar Corleaux. Might I have yours?"

The first exchange of friendship was not what Medair had been expecting from this woman, who obviously set more store by the formality than Avahn. "By all means," she replied, managing to hide her sudden confusion. She had no reason to refuse what Ileaha offered.

"Thank you, Medair." Ileaha read her face easily enough. "You wonder why, don’t you? It’s not that you are easy to talk to – you listen well, but I can feel the weight of your secrets. Perhaps it is that you are an outsider, even though we suspect you are aligned to the Hold or to something even worse. When I talk to you, I listen to myself. Already I have discovered from your questions how much I reveal which I should not. You find it very strange that I think poorly of Avahn."

"Does that make you reconsider your opinion?" Medair asked, as she rapidly revised her own.

"Not really. He pretends to be less than what he is. I always thought it was from laziness, a love of pleasure over industry. He has ever played this game, chased the moment. Despite a formidable ability, he turned his back on his studies once he had reached the point where continuing meant true effort. He talks of nothing but racing and the bards and all that is enjoyable but of little use; Avahn who will one day be Cor-Ibis. None expected the Keridahl to choose him as heir and when he did, most believed that the Keridahl had discovered grievous faults in the competitors. This past week, I asked myself again why the Keridahl named Kerin Avahn over Keris Surreive and Kerin Adlenkar. How much of this display of feckless frivolity is act and how much is nature?"

The tone was analytic, but Ileaha was looking carefully away from Medair. Avahn’s attitude, particularly toward Ileaha herself, obviously cut deep. "Why do you let yourself be bullied into Keris las Theomain’s employ?" Medair asked, impulsively. "It’s clear that it’s not what you want."

"Clear to whom?" Ileaha said, a little bitterly. "Avahn sees that because he dislikes her also. Despite first appearances, you, Medair, have obviously never been without money."

Medair shrugged. "True."

"You see without really understanding. I have lived all but the first few years of my life on charity. Now, when I have been properly schooled in all that I would need for employment chosen for me long ago, a suitable prospect has been selected and offered a chance to look me over. And if I object to an excellent opportunity to work for a powerful woman who pays those in her employ very well indeed, merely because I find her tongue too sharp and her beliefs not mine, who would be wrong in calling me ungrateful, nothing more than a burden who will not be shifted?"

"Couldn’t you find someone you liked better? Surely they wouldn’t object? Do you want to be a secretary?"

Ileaha lost her air of cold self-dissection. "It becomes a trap, status," she sighed. "I was Cor-Ibis' ward, which strengthens my tenuous link to the family. It limits my choices, for a lesser position than the chosen one would reflect badly on the Keridahl and the former Keridahl’s guardianship. It could bring shame on this family which has clothed and fed me if I fell to a position of common servitude. A ward of Cor-Ibis in the scullery? That would not be well done."

"That’s your ambition? The scullery?"

A shadow of a smile appeared on Ileaha’s face. "A noble profession," she said. "No, if I were free of ties, I would pursue the path of Kel ar Haedrin and Kerin las Lorednor. My strength is with the sword, and they are trusted, and not expected to blindly follow orders."

Medair had gathered during the past week that the two Farakkian members of Cor-Ibis' entourage were rather more than simple arms-men. Spies. Agents of the Palladian Crown.

"But isn’t that a suitable profession? Hardly common servitude."

"It is the appearance of the thing. In the eyes of the world Kel ar Haedrin and Kerin las Lorednor are bodyguards. Kerin las Lorednor is thought to have come down greatly since he entered the Kier’s service, for such as they do not win public acclaim, or even acknowledged promotion. Nor, were their roles clear, would they be thought admirable."

Medair understood. The intelligence agents of her Emperor had been feared or despised, no matter their value. "I set my goals very young," she said, considering the woman beside her. "In some ways I didn’t have a choice. My sister was possessive of what would one day be hers and I knew I would have to make my own place. But I was fortunate to want, oh, something which let me preen and think well of myself and not have people think badly of me. My mother encouraged me to it. I don’t know how she would have reacted if I’d announced a desire to be a shadow-lurker."

"Velvet Swords, they call them," Ileaha murmured. "The best of them, at least. Kel ar Haedrin tells me much of her world is dull and there are times when it is necessary to debate honour. But I am sure that I would prefer it to the well-paid and unrewarding role of Keris las Theomain’s secretary."

They drifted on in silence and Medair was left to think about the stark contrast between Avahn, Ileaha and the first Ibisian she had known. Selai Attau las Dona, adept, Kerikath. Assigned to teach the Imperial Heralds the Ibisian tongue. An eternally formal woman, she had spent many months in their company and never let her reserve slip. Except for that first time, before their Kier had even declared war, when Kedy had asked their new teacher about the disaster which had destroyed Sar-Ibis. It had been so unnerving, listening to the Ibisian woman describe the destruction of her home without so much as a quaver. Medair had been almost relieved when the mask had cracked, if only for an instant.

They had just delivered the Emperor’s message and been sent away to wait. A simply amazing meal had been brought to them: fruits, cheese, miniature pastries and tiny bowls of sauces, all arranged into a complex flower pattern. Scarcely believable in the wilds of Kormettersland.

"There is a great deal for us to discover today, Kerikath," Kedy had said. His hair had been as white as the Ibisians', but the craggy, generous lines of his face were never so cold. "I fear at least half these fruits are new to me."

"Some will never be seen again," the Kerikath had replied. "We carried away seeds and seedlings, even uprooted established plants, but it was impossible to take everything in time." She reached out and selected from the arrangement a fruit which resembled a large cherry, darker and firmer. "A black denan takes ten years to grow to maturity and bear. In the best conditions they are a challenge for any who nurtures the AlKier’s gifts, prone to failure outside their ideal environment. We have seedlings, but they may not fruit here."

"Farak’s blessing on your planting, then," Kedy had murmured. "I must admit, I am overwhelmed by what you have brought with you. We have always been told that the misuse of wild magic could spark an uncontrollable fire which would consume the whole of Farakkan. If that is what your people faced, and still you had time to think of black denans and seed-stock, then it is a simply amazing achievement."

The Kerikath had selected a diamond of pale cheese from the array, face solemn as she considered Kedy’s unspoken question. "We did not face fire, only a crawling black roil of power which transmuted everything it touched to water."

"An opposite," Kedy had said. "If you are able, can I prevail upon you to tell us what happened? I know our adepts wish to discuss this in detail, that you will be asked more often than kindness and forbearance should allow, but you understand our need to know?"

"Of course. I have been commanded to assist you in all you must discover." There had been no feeling at all in the woman’s voice, and Medair had begun to think the Ibisians completely inhuman.

"One whose name will never again be uttered called on wild magic to resurrect her dead child," the Kerikath had said. "She knew well the ban against her actions, and removed herself to Myridar, an empty region on the northern shores of Sar-Ibis to make her desperate gamble, outside the reach of those who would stop her summoning.

"We do not know if she succeeded, whether the child returned to life. If he did, it was only to die again as the power summoned by his mother cascaded out of control. It takes flesh more quickly than earth. I saw once, towards the end, a man consumed by the Blight. He misjudged his step making a precarious crossing, dipped the edge of his foot into the Blight and literally dissolved as we watched, falling away beneath himself. Four breaths. That is all, from turning to see his son safely following, to liquid indistinguishable to that all around, his clothes and belongings marking the spot for only moments after, until they too were gone, and then the stones he had been standing upon."

Medair had only been able to stare. Kedy, better able to command himself, murmured: "Was there nothing to be done?"

"Nothing which worked." The Kerikath had taken a tiny sip of water, replacing the glass on the table with an excruciatingly controlled click. "All Sar-Ibis knew, almost immediately, that we faced disaster. Wild magic screams aloud its strength, and we could hear and read the danger of that cry, though we could not see what made it.

"It had spread only the smallest distance by the time the first lok-shi reached the Blight, had consumed only the lonely house where the one had wrought her misdeed. All that was be found was a pool of water, so lividly powerful it was painful to approach, yet to the eyes wholly innocuous, dark and peaceful, with a rim of black about the edge. And, just perceptibly, growing larger.

"At first, we believed we could stop it. Spells of nullification, containment, cancellation. We plumbed the depths of our knowledge, and it was not enough. The Blight transmuted every container, even those constructed of raw force, and it fed on everything we tried to use to neutralise it. Soon, Myridar was a bay, a bite gnawed out of the north. Every animal, bird, and insect of the region had fled south and the Myridans with them, and we turned to solutions born of desperation.

"Sar-Ibis is – was – a long, narrow island, at one point only half a day’s journey across. We resolved that this would be the place to stop the Blight. The entire north was evacuated: cities, towns, the cottages of wood-cutters. Even those places which would not be reached by the Blight for weeks were emptied, taken south.

"Then, gathering together all the lok-shi able to contribute to the casting, we shattered Sar-Ibis, sheared off a third of our island and cast it, and the Blight, into the sea."

The Ibisian woman had paused then, taken a deep breath and looked down. Her face remained expressionless, but for the first time the effort in the telling of her tale had been palpable. It had been the only time, in the months that Kerikath las Dona had taught her, that Medair had been certain her teacher felt the horror and sorrow that such disaster should inspire. And, after a moment, that loss of control had been mastered and she’d gone on.

"We could feel the power of it still, somewhat muffled. We believed the Blight to be eating away the remnant of the north beneath the water, and kept close watch while we organised those who had been displaced. The breaking of Sar-Ibis had roused the earth, and it trembled constantly. We had known that we would suffer for our deed, and did what little we could to soothe the land, thinking the worst was over. Then Tenrathlar, one of our most beautiful cities, fell into the sea.

"Forty thousand people, gone in the blink of an eye. And Tenrathlar was in what had been the most stable region. We could feel the power of the Blight expand, though it was no longer visible to us, and realised our peril. Wild magic now ate away the foundations of Sar-Ibis. The breaking of Sar-Ibis, that unspeakable sacrifice, had made matters worse. Those who knew well the land’s humours made their judgment. Even if we could eradicate the Blight that very moment, Sar-Ibis was beyond saving. We must leave or fall with it into the waves.

"Even with the enhancement of every rahlstone in the kiereddas, a gate such as we used would not ordinarily be within our power. Not one we could hold open long enough for every Ibis-lar to travel through. But with wild magic loose, our reserves replenished almost as quickly as we could cast, so it was possible, though a massive undertaking.

"What we have brought with us is far outweighed by what was impossible to shift, what we could not reach, and what was forgotten. And there was a difficulty which overwhelmed all other considerations: the Blight. If it had spread to the foundations of our island, it could travel across the ocean floor. If it travelled beneath the ocean, then there would be no point in fleeing to another land only to watch it also be consumed."

"Is Farakkan in danger?" Kedy had asked immediately, as was his duty. The Kerikath had shaken her head.

"No. The Kierash-that-was made a final attempt to stop the Blight. A desperate gamble. Even as the last few thousands were hurrying through the gates, he went to Desana, a mountain rapidly becoming an island, and attempted a great conjuration. He drew all that was power to himself." Selai had looked down. "Such a thing would kill any mage, and we could see the pyre of his destruction even as we struggled to maintain gates which were no longer fuelled by wild magic. He succeeded. The last few of us, escaping through gates originating from this land, witnessed the final wreck of Sar-Ibis, and there was nothing of wild magic in that devastation, only the trembling of rootless earth."

Medair had felt impossibly sorry for the Ibisians, as their new teacher had finished her tale. Then they had been summoned back to the throne room, and Kier Ieskar had declared war. It was little comfort for Medair to reflect that black denans had not survived. That they, unlike the Ibis-lar, had not taken root in Farak’s breast.