The Silence of Medair

by Andrea K Höst

  Melani continued to apologise prettily. It seemed to Medair that the encounter had been arranged so the woman could have an opportunity to flirt with the heir to the Dahlein. Certainly the way Melani pressed against Avahn, arms wrapped firmly about his waist, suggested only a bedroom ambush. But, Medair told herself, if that was so Melani would surely have tried to separate Avahn from Medair.

  They rode along the edge of the eastern hills of Finrathlar, then followed a winding stream, glittering in the Summer sun between two of the massed hills to the north. Medair noted deep ruts in the road, and the hoof-prints of a number of horses. Recent, but hardly unusual. The north of the valley was given over to farmland.

  She felt a trickle of magic escaping nearby, and looked at Avahn, who inclined his head a fraction in return. He had been the caster then. A defensive spell or perhaps a wend-whisper, sending a message on the wind? It had not been anything which released a huge amount of power. She slipped a hand into her satchel, pulling out a ring to slide into her pocket.

  A solid farmhouse came into view. "My mother should be home by now," Melani said, smiling with apparent relief. Medair began to wonder if they had been altogether too suspicious as a grey-haired woman lifted her head from where she toiled among rows of vegetables. She gave a soft cry of distress and hurried over.

  "Oh, Melani! Whatever have you done to yourself?"

  "Thrammit tossed me, Mama. Has she come back?"

  "That cursed mare! Too skittish for her own good." The woman drew Melani down into her supporting arms, made a practiced inspection, then smiled up at Avahn. "Kerin, how can I thank you?"

  "We did very little, Kel," Avahn replied as he dismounted. "The mare has not returned?"

  Shaking her head, the woman steadied her daughter as she took a limping step. "No, I've not seen her." She looked distractedly at Medair, then returned to Avahn. "My other daughter will be back in a decem. If the mare hasn't returned by then, she'll collect the herders together and mount a search. Likely the creature's gone back to the stables where she was bred." She turned pleading eyes on the handsome heir to the Dahlein. "Kerin, if it's not too much trouble..."

  Avahn obligingly scooped Melani into his arms, hefting her with an ease only an Ibisian could manage. Medair wondered if he would drop her at the first sign of danger. Gathering the reins of their horses, she looped them around the posts of the garden fence. It gave her a chance to stare into the hills for any sign of movement. Nothing. With a final glance about, she followed the other three inside.

  Melani was directing Avahn upstairs, and her mother ushered Medair left into a kitchen. "How can I thank you and the Kerin for going so far out of your way for my daughter, Keris?" she asked. "All because she's overfond of that pretty mare's looks, no matter the creature's temperament. I hope she's not inconvenienced you too greatly?"

  "She has given us a chance to see another part of Finrathlar, Kel–"

  "–las Raithen," the woman continued, smiling. "It is very good of you."

  "Do you live here alone, Kel las Raithen?" Medair asked, since she saw no sign of any others, though the house was large enough.

  The woman laughed. "AlKier, no! Besides my daughters, we've Miasa in the main building, and a half-dozen herders crowding out the back house. Babies the lot of them. They call this Orphans' Farm because I've taken so many in, but they make good herders if you start them young enough. Some say I'm a fool to trust urchins, but with fair treatment, I get fair workers. Keridahl Galen's wisdom."

  Medair asked for clarification and was treated to an enthusiastic account of certain laws Keridahl Galen had put into effect concerning homeless children.

  "But I'm running on. My other daughter has taken Miasa into Finrathlar for supplies and the herders are out chasing the Spring lambs over the hills. And Melani..." The woman shook her head, but smiled fondly at the same time. Medair, who thought Avahn had been upstairs for too long a time, relaxed on seeing him appear at the top of the stairs.

  "She asked for water, Kel," Avahn said, looking amused.

  "Oh, and where are my manners, keeping you standing about without even offering you something to take the dust off?" Kel las Raithen turned, after a slight curtsy to Avahn, and took a cloth off a jug standing on a sideboard. Setting out two pottery cups for Avahn and Medair, she filled another for her daughter. Begging them to make free of her kitchen, she went upstairs.

  Avahn shook his head, looking wry. He held up one hand and sketched a series of figures in the air, then closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side as if listening.

  "I was convinced it was an ambush," he said, after a few moments. "But there's no-one else in the house and I can't detect any enchantment threatening. Over-caution. We spent too long in Kyledra waiting for my cousin to send word, convinced that every second person was a spy."

  "What made you suspicious of her?" Medair asked, pouring out the water.

  "Her ankle's not at all swollen, and she looked too...picturesque, as if she'd set herself up as maiden in distress."

  "Hadn't she?" Medair asked. "My concern was for your breathing, she was holding on so tight."

  "Yes, a different sort of trap to what I assumed. Never bend over a woman on a bed if she has designs," he advised. "You would be amazed how often such things have happened to me in the last six months – since my cousin finally chose his heir. Surreive, who is due a considerable fortune, even without the possibility of succeeding Cor-Ibis, complains about having to constantly foil marriage plots. I didn't believe her once." He straightened his riding coat. "Well, I learned something about you, at least. We weren't certain if you were a mage, but you gave yourself away when I released the wend-whisper."

  Medair shrugged, handing him a cup. "What would you do, Avahn, if you discovered that the only secret I had was where I picked up a handy satchel? Will you be terribly disappointed to learn I'm not involved in some complicated plot?"

  "I think that you are a wild piece on the marrat board," Avahn replied. "I have yet to think of a reasonable explanation why someone working actively against us would return the rahlstones, and I prefer to believe that you've simply been drawn in, away from whatever nefarious activity in which you were previously engaged." He shrugged. "At least, that's my esteemed cousin's opinion, but I agree and so make it my own. I'm not sure what amount of duplicity will be required to find out exactly what, but, just so you know, we're lulling you into a false sense of security before we pounce."

  Medair, who had been raising her cup to her lips, paused, brows drawing together. She swirled the clear liquid, and shrugged when Avahn held up the cup he had drained.

  "Did it taste strange or anything?" she asked.

  "Stale water. There's no enchantment on it. I would have detected that."

  Frowning, she put her cup down.

  "If you're trying to make me nervous, you are succeeding, Medair ar Corleaux." Then he swayed, and went the strange colour of an Ibisian who had paled even further. "Damn," he muttered, as the sound of approaching horses became audible. "Medair, you'd better run while you can. You might be able to make it out the back way."

  "I expect they've covered any escape routes." Angry that she hadn't stopped him drinking, her mind skipped through alternatives. "Who did you send the wend-whisper to?"

  "Cor-Ibis. One of his rules: sending a message if something unusual happens, especially keeping him informed of alterations in plans for wandering. I have to send another a decem afterwards or..."

  With a speed which suggested magic had been involved after all, Avahn collapsed and she caught hold of him, a double armful of warm flesh scented with sandalwood. Surprised by the strength of her concern, she lowered his limp form to the wooden floor. Detouring her mind away from the concept of genuinely caring for a White Snake, she looked wildly around the room. The only thing in her satchel that would protect them both needed a little more space.

  Hoping Avahn had been about to say "...or he will raise the alarm," not "...or he'll lecture me wh
en I return," Medair pushed chairs out of the way. Heart pounding, she positioned Avahn in a clear corner of the kitchen, then put a chair carefully over the top of him. The jingle of stirrup and bridle told her the riders were dismounting and it was tempting to just turn invisible and run. But she couldn't leave him. And here she'd been planning for the Ibisians to protect her, not the other way around.

  Her hand darted into her satchel, selecting a long silvery cord. Measuring it doubtfully, she repositioned Avahn on his side, drawing his knees up and tucking his arms in. Then, with frantic haste, she lay the cord out in a circle around her, the chair and Avahn. The metal locking mechanism slid together with a firm click and she was rewarded with a surge of power, both visible and tangible. A shield-wall, much like the one Cor-Ibis had almost killed himself summoning, but hers was far more enduring. Safe.

  She let her breath out as a voice outside called caution. And so they should. The contents of her satchel might not be able to give her what she wanted, but they made her dangerous. After checking Avahn again, she planted herself firmly on the chair, folded her arms and waited, listening to their progress. They wouldn't know that the source of the power surge was defensive magic, or that Avahn was unconscious. They would come in expecting every kind of attack.

  She wondered what arcane weapons Avahn could produce at need, what set-spells he would have drawn upon if only he hadn't been unconscious. It had been an elegant little trap. If the woman had pressed the water on them, if she had stayed to watch them drink, had not offered it as a carefully orchestrated afterthought, they would have been more suspicious. Medair sighed, feeling terribly vulnerable despite her resources. If, if, if.

  A door at the back of the house burst open and something bounced across the floor, exploding with a dull blue flash. Behind her shield-wall, Medair couldn't sense the power which might be involved. Presuming they still wanted her alive, it was probably some sort of sleep. She watched it dissipate, wishing she'd run.

  Flanked by two stocky female warriors, the mage she had first seen on Bariback Mountain trailed the tossed spell into the room. The sight of her, leaning back on her chair in a half-globe of glimmering power, stopped them short. The women looked to the mage, who gestured them into a guard position. Then the front door was opened less violently and the rest of the Decians entered the room, weapons at ready.

  "A spell shield, Captain," the mage said, moving towards them.

  "So I see, Cerden," Captain Vorclase replied. He looked from Medair to Avahn, curled at her feet. "Can you break it?"

  "I can try..." The mage hesitated, then met his Captain's flat black eyes. "But you can feel its strength as well as I. Farak's Teeth, they can probably feel it in the centre of Finrathlar! We could chip at that for a year without making a dint."

  "Well, well." Vorclase didn't seem particularly perturbed. He circled around Medair, then tested the shield with the back of his fingers. There was a faint hiss, and he jerked away quickly. 'Kel las Raithen' and her daughter emerged from upstairs and his eyes flicked toward them, then back to Medair.

  "Introductions are in order, I think," he said and bowed, short and sharp. "I am Captain Jan Vorclase, of His Majesty King Xarus Estarion's armies. May I have the honour of your name?"

  "Medair ar Corleaux," she replied, uncrossing and recrossing her arms. The posture helped to hide her trembling.

  "Truly a great pleasure to catch up with you at last, Miss ar Corleaux. It has been quite a chase."

  "I would be very glad to know why you take such an interest." She was pleased there was no quaver in her voice. Calm and in control: it was important to make them believe it.

  "Would you? Speaking of assuaging curiosity, tell me, Miss ar Corleaux, what is a Medarist doing travelling in the company of White Snakes?"

  "Getting away from you, for a start."

  "I'm sorry to have driven you to such an association. Has it occurred to you that we need only wait until you are driven to us by hunger and thirst?"

  "What, in a decem?" She smiled at him unpleasantly. "This spell-shield would be enough to attract the Keridahl's attention, even if Avahn had not sent a wend-whisper. I can't see any troops he sends taking more than a decem to get here." She cocked her head toward Melani. "If you are going to pretend to twist your ankle, you might consider some visible swelling."

  "She's bluffing," said the Mersian, coming forward to glower at Medair. He seemed to have recovered from being hit on the head.

  "What if she's not?" Kel las Raithen asked, matronly calm gone in favour of tense nerves. "I didn't contract for a battle with White Snake guards, Vorclase. This has gone bad. Face it and let's get out of here."

  "Don't rush off just yet, Fariti," Vorclase said. He selected a chair and placed it opposite Medair. "I had assumed Cor-Ibis didn't know what he had," he said, conversationally. "But if he has provided you with protection of this order, he obviously has some inkling. Well, Medair – may I call you Medair? I shall share the history behind this chase, if that will make you more reasonable. You cannot want to continue in the company of Ibisians, surely? I admit we handled our first encounter badly, but there is time to make amends. A decem or so."

  Medair, nothing loath to hear an explanation, merely raised her eyebrows and leaned back more comfortably on the chair.

  "A captive audience, in a way," the Decian said. "Well, you must know that we grind slowly towards war. King Xarus has made solemn vow to set the rightful ruler of Palladium on the Silver Throne. Tarsus, the Emperor-in-Exile, descends from Prince-Elect Verium, son of the great Grevain Corminevar."

  "I assume that there's proof of this?" Medair asked, her interest showing in her voice. She had heard the Ibisian side of this story. She would listen to the Decian version.

  "Of course. The Prince-Elect died before his daughter was born, but he sent the child's mother out of Athere with written acknowledgment of paternity." He paused, dark eyes narrowing. "Sealed with the Imperial Ring, so none might gainsay the girl's parentage."

  Medair stiffened, and saw his satisfaction at her response. The impression of the Imperial Ring was impossible to forge. Constructed to prevent the falsifying of documents in the Corminevar name, it had descended into the hands of Kier Inelkar. Inelkar was unlikely to go forging documents to end her own rule. So Verium truly had–

  "These are only your words," she said, stiffly. "Nor does it at all explain why you pursue me from Kyledra into Palladium itself. What am I to kings and emperors? I assure you I have no Imperial blood."

  "Perhaps not. But, as I said, war darkens the horizon. We skirmish for possession of the best weapons. Collections of rahlstones, mercenaries, women who live on mountains. My King would see that this battle is won with the least bloodshed possible, and he turned to military advisers, histories, even seers to ensure this end. Most seers are charlatans, but one, one had a reputation earned with true power, and he spoke these words to my King: 'When the thrones of all Farakkan hang in the balance, control of the one who dwells on Bariback Mountain will decide the future.' Exactly how and why we would have asked him, but the True Seeing cost him his life's breath. Inconvenient."

  "I don't intend to take sides in the coming battle," she replied, forcing her voice to remain even.

  "Everyone must take sides, Medair ar Corleaux. I don't know what it is that you can do, but I can see that you are Farakkian, hear the message of your name. Yet you travel with White Snakes. Why? Out of fear of us? Then I give you my word and my oath – in the name of Xarus Estarion, on the blood of my ancestors, to the peril of my soul, I swear you will not be threatened in any way if you come with us. Every honour we can extend will be yours." Hawk face sincere, he leaned forward on his chair. "You know it's the right thing to do. Too long has the usurper race sat upon the Silver Throne, while the true Corminevar heirs have lived in hiding. Can you truly say 'this battle does not concern me'? Live up to the promise you made when taking the name of an honourable and loyal woman. Be true to her memory, to the Empire she ser
ved, and help us drive the White Snake invaders out."

  Medair looked down, unable to meet his eyes any longer. His words would not draw her out of the spell-shield. Her understanding of the current political situation was shaky, but she'd readily gathered that Xarus Estarion sought to expand his own borders and was using this Tarsus as a stalking horse. But what if there truly was a Corminevar heir, duly acknowledged? Instead of returning to the northern mountains, should she find Tarsus, offer him support not connected to the ambitions of the Decian throne?

  Medair looked down at Avahn, his face obscured by a braid of silky white hair. Finrathlar was his home, Palladium was the land to which he had been born and raised. She didn't know what to do, didn't know how to interpret her oath, or if it was even valid any more. She didn't want to be part of this and Vorclase read that in her face as she raised her eyes to his again.

  "There will come a time when you will have to stand forward," he said, firmly. "No-one lives outside this war, not even on Bariback Mountain. I add this. My king searches for a way to victory. Failing you, and without the rahlstones, he will tread a more dangerous path to cleansing Palladium. Think on that."

  "She's not budging, Sir," the Mersian said, tersely. "If there're troops coming, we've got to make tracks soon."

  "Then answer me, Medair ar Corleaux. Will you stand with the White Snakes or your own kind? Are you loyal to the blood of Corminevar?"

  "I stand with neither," she replied, without hesitation. "I will not win this war for you."

  Vorclase let his breath out in a short, angry exclamation. "So be it. But I cannot, you realise, leave you in the hands of White Snakes." He turned to the Mersian. "We'll burn her out."

  Medair didn't protest or visibly react to the words. She sat and watched as his men set about dousing the kitchen and other rooms with lamp oil. Under Vorclase's instructions, they left a clear passage to the front door.

  "If you change your mind and move quickly enough, you should be able to make your way clear. Oh, and don't expect that invisibility trick to work twice. We'll be waiting for it."