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."
-oOo-
"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.
The Silence of Medair Page 12