"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."
-oOo-
"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, shortl
y. 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."
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 hi
s 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."
The Silence of Medair Page 9