"Happening how?"
"I only wish I knew. An associate of mine – an adept of Arcana House – was called on by the Crown almost two weeks ago. They told him very little of what they wanted – something about smugglers, it seemed, or border taxes. A very confused and frankly odd story they gave him. But he went with them, and was overdue back yesterday. Now I can't get a straight word out of the palace, for all it's buzzing like a nest of hornets."
"Well, I haven't been geased to smuggle anything. Was your associate powerful enough to be the adept who geased me, by any chance? I didn't think he was Kyledran."
"No, that could not have been Hendist. He hasn't even sent me a wend-whisper, yet he knows I must arrange for someone to take his classes if he does not return soon."
"It doesn't sound good."
"No."
With just one of the rahlstones, an Selvar might be able to break the geas. But would he feel inclined to keep the stones secret? Even if he knew nothing about them at the moment, his ties to the palace might oblige him to report her. It was too risky to ask.
"Such deep thoughts."
"I was thinking of ways around this geas," Medair replied. "Who are these seven most powerful adepts?"
"It seems we can narrow the field to four, since your adept is, apparently, male. There is Vale an Sensashen, currently in Ashencaere. He is known for an uncertain temper and a delight in meddling with politics. Some Mersian blood. Three who are varying degrees Ibisian. Kemm ar Morgallan, who lives in Westerland and who is a great peacemaker among those fractious lands. Illukar las Cor-Ibis – I would suggest twelve magi, if it were he. And Senegar las Tholmadrae, whom I had heard from rumour was travelling in Farash, very near. There is also the Palladian prince, of course. There is no doubt that he has the power – his mother is one of the seven – but he is young and a geas takes a deal of skill and learning. Does this help you at all?"
Medair nodded, having identified "Lukar". Why the name sounded doubly familiar she was not certain, chasing errant memory. The 'Ibis' in his name indicated that he was, not surprisingly, of the royal bloodline. She had expected that, with the resemblance. He could not be a direct descendant of Ieskar however, for she was certain there was no Farakkian blood in him.
Was that true? If Ieskar's child had bred only with Ibisians, surely the Farakkian blood would be so weak as to be undetectable by now? She shivered, disliking the thought of associating with a descendant of Ieskar. Where had she heard the name Illukar before?
"I know his name, now," she told an Selvar. "I wish I could help you in return, but there is a great deal I think it would not be wise for me to say, even if I were not prevented."
"I'm sorry I cannot help you more."
-oOo-
Collecting her new horse, Medair spent the rest of the day shopping, keeping an ear out for tales of rahlstones with no success. Even the barber had nothing more interesting to talk of than the Spring markets and some upcoming races as he trimmed ragged edges and scraped her hair neatly back into a black riband. Still longer than she was used to, but she did not at the moment want to wear it the way she had during the war. That Medair seemed so young and out of place.
Most of her shopping was for clothes. The richer fashions seemed to be heavily influenced by Ibisian robes; all silks, layers and subtle patterns and nothing Medair wanted to wear. She eventually found a simple dress of dark blue which at least resembled the clothing she was used to wearing on formal occasions. It was easier to replace her everyday garb. Long-sleeved shirts of different colours, close-fitting trousers, jackets which were not too different from those she was comfortable with. They might not proclaim her ancestry, but she no longer looked scruffy and out of place as she rode once more into the yard of the Caraway Seed. Her satchel was all she retained from that morning.
The stable hand was more confused by her change of horse, since her new animal was worth infinitely more than the two sorry nags which had brought her to Thrence. When she walked through the front door, even the innkeep seemed unsure if she was the same person. Then he looked at her with obvious relief. Medair ignored him, but was aware of a small, spiteful pleasure. Illukar las Cor-Ibis must have regained consciousness and asked after her. That possibility had been part of the reason she had spent so long browsing the offerings of Thrence's markets. After yesterday's insults, she was not inclined to make life easier for Ibisians.
Wondering when she had developed this inclination to be vindictive, Medair made her way into the dining room. Thanks to her satchel, she didn't even have to take her shopping upstairs. Most heralds ended up with their entire lives in their satchels, as she had been warned when she was presented with the deceptively simple leather case. Not in itself a bad thing, since she could always cast a trace on the satchel, but there were risks. There had been occasions in the past when satchels had been stolen by those anxious to get at some official document. Thefts usually ended up with the stolen bags and their contents being destroyed in an effort to break them open.
Medair started her meal with a masterpiece of lamb in black nut sauce, which made her sincerely regret living for half a year on her own cooking and scant supplies. She was close to finished when Jedda las Theomain and the two other Ibisian Kerise arrived, las Theomain regal in rose and blue, while dragonflies shimmered in the youth's white silks. The girl was probably of lesser status, her robe muted and not costly. She had been wearing sword, shirt and trousers the previous evening and Medair noticed that this new outfit had been cut to allow easy access to a weapon belted beneath the open front of the robe. The other two were unarmed.
Medair carved a sliver of lamb, savouring the bitter delicacy of the sauce. Then, timing their arrival, she laid her utensils cross-ways on the edge of the plate. "Keris las Theomain. Have you come to join me?"
"No," the Keris replied, indifferent to any slight Medair could offer. "You are required upstairs."
Quite a beautiful woman, with intelligent eyes, but no diplomat. The youth was most likely related to Cor-Ibis, a resemblance Medair had not remarked before became more obvious when he wore the same expression of thoughtful consideration on his more handsome features. The part-Ibisian girl was wary, troubled.
"Whatever for?" Medair asked.
"This is not an occasion for questions. Come with us now."
It had been a long time since Medair had reason or inclination to snub someone, but yesterday had woken pride half-forgotten, and Heralds knew how to be insulting.
"Madam," she said. "I am sure I do not know why I should be obliged to obey your commands. Allow me to inform you that I find you abominably rude."
A spark of sudden delight leapt into the eyes of the Kerin in figured white. He was apparently not a friend to Jedda las Theomain. Medair, reminded that there was a great deal she did not know, made an effort to swallow her anger.
"However," she said, on a slightly less austere note, "if you would care to sit down with me until I am finished, then I may consent to joining you after. As it is, you are keeping me from dinner."
If Keris las Theomain had taken a seat and offered, if not an apology, some acknowledgment that Medair was not a serving-girl, she would certainly have endeared herself more than she did by coldly saying: "Bring her," to the girl before walking away. It was an entirely futile command to give in Kyledra, where an Ibisian trying to force a Farakkian anywhere would create more problems than they solved.
Medair watched Jedda las Theomain's departure, then shifted her attention to the young Keris and Kerin. The youth was still smiling, and the girl had erased any expression, but they could not hide a certain tension. Obviously now aware that Medair was someone to whom they already owed a debt. She wondered if they'd follow Jedda las Theomain's lead and depart from the strict Ibisian codes of courtesy.
"Are you going to drag me upstairs now?" she asked, and felt sorry when the girl flushed: a delicate pink colour which made her seem more Farakkian. "No. Sit down," she said when they would have made denial
s.
She gestured at chairs and waited while they sat. It gave her a brief sense of being in control, and an opportunity to decide what tack to take. These were people she would be associating with until Athere. She might try to remember that, instead of just damning them as White Snakes.
"I suppose Keris las Theomain is a bad enemy to make?" Medair asked, with less bite.
"She can be inopportune," the youth replied. "Allow me to make introductions, in the hopes that we do not all end up at odds. This is Ileaha Teán las Goranum and I am Avahn Jaruhl las Cor-Ibis."
"Medair ar Corleaux," Medair replied, resigned to the reaction she knew would follow. After a moment of shock, Avahn las Cor-Ibis laughed aloud, while Ileaha las Goranum looked first disconcerted, then disbelieving, then guarded.
"A Medarist!" The Kerin had just wit enough to keep his voice down. "Oh, too rich! A Medarist geased to assist Cor-Ibis! What splendid irony. I am very glad I came now."
More ironic than you could guess, Medair thought, but only waited out his laughter. She had not been fool enough to introduce herself as Medair an Rynstar since that first village, had since used the family name of the father who had never given her the right of claim. But she would not name herself other than Medair.
"I'm glad you enjoy the joke, Kerin las Cor-Ibis," she said, struggling to keep her even tone. "I'm almost sorry to tell you that the name is merely one my mother gave me and no reflection of my political beliefs."
The girl called Ileaha remained doubtful, but Avahn las Cor-Ibis shrugged and made a smiling gesture as if he was disappointed, but did not disbelieve. Medarists, after all, did not deny their cause.
Medair had been annoyed, then angry, when Medarists had been explained to her. It was not so much that a group of loyalists to the old Empire had decided to use her name as some sort of banner. It was that they were such fools.
A little less than five centuries ago, with its heartland conquered by arrogant White Snakes, the shattered Empire had turned the name Medair an Rynstar into a legend, into a myth. It had somehow become widely known that she was questing for the Horn of Farak and, hope of the slimmest sort, the conquered Imperials clung to the belief that she would return and summon an army to drive out the invaders. Her name became a talisman and there were many ballads which depicted her as some sort of sword-wielding hero, or, at least, someone mystically significant. This Medair could shrug off, embarrassed as it made her.
The Medarist movement had begun several centuries into Ibisian rule. Someone had had the bright idea of adding the name Medair to her own, and trying to raise an army. She hadn't succeeded, but she set an example for a stubborn core of resentment in Palladium, struck a chord with those to whom the Ibisians would always be invaders, no matter how many centuries they had dwelled in Farakkan.
The dry facts of the Medarists were something Medair had learned in Athere. It had explained a great deal, for her entire journey from the north had been doubly marred by the reaction to her name. In Morning High, that first village, she'd introduced herself as Medair an Rynstar and been treated as a madwoman. And she had been half mad with grief, till they'd tried to lock her up. But it wasn't until the border town of Burradge that she'd discovered why the name 'Medair' alone would provoke such repulsion. It had been incomprehensible to her, the way strangers would stare at her, disbelieving, when she said she was called Medair. Vendors would suddenly refuse to sell to her, and children were hurried out of her way. She'd even been turned out of an inn, before she'd learned to keep her mouth shut.
In Burradge she'd sent a too-persistent admirer on his way by finally answering when he asked what he could call her. He'd let her be, with the alacrity with which she was becoming familiar. And Medair, returning to her inn, had found a young woman blocking her way along an alley.
"Medair?" the woman had said.
"Yes?"
The wary note in Medair's voice must have been expected. The woman had smiled and stepped forward, a hand outstretched.
"Welcome sister," she'd said, gripping Medair's hand firmly. "You come in good time."
"Thank you," Medair had replied, more than a little blankly. She'd become aware that they were not alone in the alley, that another two people stood behind the woman, and more were behind Medair. "In time?"
"Amelda an Vestal, who holds the Braesing Reserve under Empire Right, is planning to wed into the las Dormednar line," the woman had said, to Medair's complete confusion. "We are too readily known in Burradge to venture into the wedding feast, but the cause would be well-served if you would take on the task. We have a charm prepared, which will make the bride's hands run with her own blood, if only it can be got to her at the feast."
The lengthening silence which had followed that little speech was one of those things which would always be imprinted on Medair's memory. It had been a cool night. The wind had whisked at her throat, and she'd heard a dog bark in the distance as she searched her mind vainly for something to say to the woman. And, after weeks fixated on loss and a blind determination to reach Athere, all Medair had managed was: "I think you must think I'm someone else."
"You said you took the name Medair!" the woman had said, recoiling as much in shock as anger.
"My name is Medair," she'd protested. "But I don't know what that has to do with this wedding. I've never heard of these people." Memory of the note of pleading in her voice still made her writhe.
"A Hand's heir taking a White Snake and you don't know what that has to do with one named Medair?"
They had pressed forward, but Medair had simply said: "No."
"How dare you!" the woman had spat then, only intensifying Medair's confusion. "How dare you claim Her name, and turn your back on Her cause. Can you tell me that your name is Medair, and yet you don't yearn to see every White Snake dead and gone?!"
The stupid thing was, Medair's answer to that question would not have been 'no'. They hadn't waited to hear what she would say, had started forward with fists and heavy boots. Medair was a stranger to combat, and without the strength ring she might never have left that alley. She'd been bruised for weeks after.
Quelled. That's what she'd felt when she found an explanation for what had happened. Five hundred years into Ibisian rule there were groups where women called themselves Medair and men Medain. They lived violent and uncomfortable lives, spitting in the faces of White Snakes and letting the world know they thought that all Ibisians should be cast out, that the people – the Farakkian people – should rise up. That none of Ibisian blood should be tolerated to live.
Medarists aped some of the codes of the Heralds and forever spouted their fury in the name of Medair an Rynstar. As if she had somehow founded their order. They usurped both her name and history and talked constantly of the stories of how Medair an Rynstar would be reborn and would lead a war to drive the White Snakes out. And, much as Medair hated Ibisians, the idea revolted her.
Certainly she would have done anything to prevent the invasion, perhaps rebelled against Ibisian rule in those early years, when they had still been invaders. But, considering that it was sometimes impossible to tell if a person had Ibisian ancestry or was merely tall and pale, she thought it the height of idiocy to go around saying that all of Ibisian blood were evil and deserved to die, and to beat people in back alleys because their hair was white-blonde. Or because they introduced themselves as Medair. The Medarists were one of the reasons she'd retreated to Bariback.
"You should consider changing your name," Avahn las Cor-Ibis told her, still full of laughter and not in the least off-put by her stiff face and eyes full of painful memories. She blinked away the past and looked at him. How very different from any other White Snake she had met, this youth. How, she wondered, did that flippant attitude go with the remnants of such a strict and formal culture? He was even wearing white, a shade which had been reserved for the Kier alone in her time.
"I'm afraid that I've grown attached to it," she said, managing to shrug. "It's only a bother when
I travel, since my home lacks both Medarists and people who don't know me well enough to not know my beliefs."
"You must live in a very small town," Avahn said, dubiously. Medair knew she was behaving in a contradictory manner, sometimes poised and sophisticated, and by the next turn haunted and hostile. She told herself sternly that she would do well not to arouse their suspicions further.
"I settled in a very under populated area," she said, striving for neutrality. Wanting to move the conversation along, she looked at the mix-blood woman. "I can guess where you are supposed to bring me and why," she said, "but perhaps I am wrong?"
Avahn chuckled, returning her attention to him. "You played the innocent well," he commented. "It was something to watch the inimitable Jedda's face when Cor-Ibis told her to fetch you. She dug herself in so nicely too, going on to say you'd been paid off adequately, that she'd made certain you knew nothing of import and that your word had been extracted not to speak of the matter. Neatly trapped. I compliment you."
"I didn't set out to trap Keris las Theomain," Medair replied. "She achieved that on her own. I did abet her, however, and I wonder if that might have been a mistake." Ileaha las Goranum had grown only more subdued during the discussion. "The Keris has no authority over me and I am in no demesne of hers. I will not be the one suffering the consequences of going against her will."
"The Keris can give cause to regret," the girl agreed tonelessly.
"Oh, show some backbone, Ileaha!" Avahn said, impatiently. He obviously knew more about whatever weighed on the girl, but spared it little regard. "The lovely Jedda is hardly of concern now that Cor-Ibis is back with us."
The Silence of Medair Page 7
