The Silence of Medair (13 page)
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 The youth who had chortled at her name over dinner had been replaced by someone who was disturbingly like his cousin.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."
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 his 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."
"Do you include las Theomain and her servant in that category?"
"It has never been suggested that Keris las Theomain is disloyal," Ileaha replied, voice dropping a degree as her eyes darted to the beautiful adept. "Nor is she likely to take into service one who would betray her." She dismissed the possibility with a gesture. "There is a chance one of the inn residents, in the pay of the Decians, eavesdropped upon us, but we took adequate precautions against that. Still, the staff of the inn is most likely. We sent down word for our horses to be prepared. If one of the stable boys had been bribed to bring news of such an order and the Decians had established themselves nearby, then that would have given them time enough to ready themselves."
"Why Ileaha, you had best not allow the lovely Jedda to realise that you have a brain as well as a hand with the sword, or she will most certainly take you into her service." Avahn still mocked, but there was a hint of genuine surprise in his eyes.
Ileaha, ignoring Avahn, looked across at Medair once again. "You had the rahlstones all along? I don't see how you could have concealed them, unless you hid them outside the inn. Their aura is distinctive. Cor-Ibis would surely have noticed them on the journey here, even in his condition."
"Ah, Kel ar Corleaux, who is not a Medarist, rather suspiciously possesses a remarkable reconstruction of one of the Empire Herald satchels. A fully working model, whose creator, she claims, is unfortunately dead. If I were less well-mannered I would be tempted to place her under a truth spell and ask her that question again. And yet, since we are so deeply in her debt, perhaps not."
Medair, less than comfortable with Avahn's chatty assumption of friendship, decided to forestall questions with one of her own. "If the Keridahl's reputation is such that these Decians decided that his presence meant he had the rahlstones, won't the Kyledrans make the same assumption? Won't they have left orders at the gate that he not pass unmolested?"
"A possibility," Avahn agreed cheerfully. "They are unlikely to know Cor-Ibis was present for the exchange, but they might well risk an incident on strength of suspicion. We have our stratagems."
The confident words were belied by his watchful expression when they reached the north gate. There did not seem to be an unduly large number of guards, but Medair was not alone in noticing the woman with grey-streaked hair who stood watching them from the guardroom.
"So that's to be the way of it," Avahn murmured, and met Medair's eyes. "What a ride we'll have this day! Decia and Kyledra in hot pursuit, both determined to bring us down in some lonely corner. A fine piece of sport."
"The hunt from the hind's point of view." Ileaha glanced back at the city gate. "We should split into more than one group, send the rahlstones ahead while the rest draw the pursuit."
"It seems only logical, but if you can convince my esteemed cousin of that, you have more influence than I." Avahn shot an assessing glance forward to where Cor-Ibis, head inclined, listened to Jedda las Theomain. "Not a matter for discussion. He does not usually have such difficulty with delegation."
"The Kyledrans have the resources to trail more than one group," Medair offered. "Together you have more chance at defence. With the rahlstones, you have every expectation of survival. Sending people off would not be a decoy, but a sacrifice."
"I can't believe Kyledra would put itself in that position," Ileaha objected. "They don't like us, but such an attack would be a declaration of war."
"War is coming," Avahn replied, shrugging. "A small kingdom like Kyledra would be pleased to take the rahlstones and deal with Decia for its own protection. And our demise would be a bandit attack, or, more likely, we would disappear altogether, with Kyledra able to claim no knowledge, since we left Thrence unmolested. They'd not be able to stop a wend-whisper, but wend-whispers can be faked, and would not be nearly proof enough to suit a Court of Crowns."
This delightful thought was sufficient to keep them silent until Cor-Ibis signalled a halt.
"Some four miles ahead is the township of Macaile. If we had been searched at the gate, and found empty-handed, there would be no objection to passing through it. However, it seems probable that we are to be waylaid. So we will not go through Macaile, will instead pass through the northern corner of Farash on as direct a route to Palladium as we dare. That will not be expected, for they will not know of Liak and Marden's familiarity with the region." The Keridahl nodded towards the two Farakkians, who gazed back impassively.
"Despite precautions, we may have left something at the inn that would provide a trace spell. Nor is it possible to quietly sustain trace-wards for so many." Pale eyes touched on Medair. "We will have hounds on our trail soon enough, whatever the case. Five days to Palladium's border."
This, it seemed, was enough of a speech for the Keridahl. Without another word he turned his horse and gestured for the Farakkian woman called Liak to take the lead.
Farash stood directly between Kyledra and Palladium and the Farashi had no tolerance for Ibisians at all. It was daring of the Ibisians to leave the roads and try and dash through northern Farash, banking on the region's relative emptiness to shield them from interference. Medair rode silently, reflecting on the idea of being pursued out of Kyledra like a common thief. And a Kyledra which would think of waylaying travellers for its own advantage. Duchess Stameron had been so upright, one of the most respected of the Emperor's Hands. She would turn in her grave at this. "Even White Snakes," she had said once, "have honour. Indeed, more honour than we do, if we are to believe their pride. They fight us on what they consider just terms, they do not molest our Heralds, they allow us to collect our injured, do not torture or mistreat captives. When we accord them less than that, merely because we hate them, we truly do become less than them."