The Silence of Medair (6 page)
He was incredibly dirty, mud completely overwhelming the last remnants of the layer of ash. Even if she'd had trousers which would fit him, she wouldn't have grubbied them by the association. Instead, she knotted the equally filthy blanket about his waist and draped another one over her shoulder before drawing a simple iron ring from her satchel. Medair and her bottomless bag of tricks. This was the third ring whose function she had discovered, and it had an unfortunate side-effect.
Knowing what was to come, she decided that she couldn't deal with him waking up. She glanced down the road toward the village, then drew a glyph on his soft, hairless cheek. Much better for his health if he has a long, uninterrupted sleep, she told herself – and the geas – piously as she chanted under her breath. And doesn't have to wonder how someone at least seven inches shorter than his six feet whatever could manage to pick him up with such apparent ease and set off at a trot down the road with him slung awkwardly over her shoulder.
Along with physical strength, the ring gave her an emotional buoyancy. Her problems became petty things, and what was important was that it was a glorious day. Having to deal with a White Snake was a minor matter, a trivial problem she'd soon have out of the way. She jogged along hoping to meet a traveller just to see the look of astonishment. The initial drunken recklessness which came with the strength was one of the reasons not to use the ring, but she couldn't say it worried her at the moment. Even the pain in her back had gone.
Hiding the Ibisian under a hedge outside the village, Medair walked in with a swagger and spent an unnecessarily long time haggling over the few riding animals available, merely because their owner had a fetching smile. Neither of the two she could convince them to spare were nearly fine enough to match her spirits.
She also bought some clothing to fit her burden, but did not dress him until she had found a horse trough to dump him in. The ring was handy for overcoming her distaste enough to scrub him thoroughly, until the water was polluted with mud. She laughed at the disgust of the yearlings which investigated the trough after she lugged her now slippery-wet Ibisian away to a bed of chewed clover.
He really was like Ieskar. Something wrong about the cheekbones, and the jaw was a touch stronger, but he possessed the Kier's small nose and there was only a slight variation of the precisely-cut mouth. Those white-lashed eyes would probably dominate his features as the Kier's had, if they were open. This man's long, delicately-boned hands were just as fine as those she had watched move marrat pieces over too many games, though the right lacked the thin scar across the back of the fingers. And, of course, he was tall and slender and pale. Ibisians simply didn't come in short, stocky or dark variations.
His hair was much longer than the Kier's had been, quite past his knees, though very damp and tangled at the moment, the drying strands like spun silk to the touch. Immensely impractical. She sorted it absently into a braid, wondering why this Ibisian adept had been masquerading as a Farakkian boy.
Athere was the last place Medair wanted to go, and certainly not in the company of an Ibisian. To be obliged to shepherd a man who reminded her of Kier Ieskar was a cruel twist. She had had too much of him.
When Herald Kedy had died during the early stages of the war, while the Ibisians had been taking Holt Harra and Laskia with an ease which was almost insulting, Medair had been the only envoy to the Ibisian court halfway fluent in the language. The Kier would not again condescend to speaking Parlance during official audiences, though he was perfectly capable of using the Imperial tongue when he wanted. Instead, he'd had one of his court, a woman named Selai las Dona, teach the Imperial Heralds Ibis-laran.
Medair's training had been tested to the limit listening to the Kier's exquisitely polite words of war, whatever language he delivered them in. It had been so much worse when Kier Ieskar had departed from the formality of his throne room and decided to play marrat with the Imperial Herald. He'd just summoned her one day, at the beginning of the first winter, and informed her that he would teach her the game.
Medair had lost count of the times she had matched with him during the months after the first stage of the invasion. Often the games had been completely silent, as they concentrated on the complex patterns of disks. Infrequently, Kier Ieskar would ask her a spate of questions on some facet of life in Farakkan, so that he could "know whom he must rule". Once, having observed that the Imperial Heralds wore different colours according to the kind of message they carried, he asked her what colour she would wear when she brought him words of surrender. She had managed a courteous reply even to this, unable as ever to read the thoughts behind his pale eyes. And silently prayed to Farak that she would never again wear anything but the mulberry-red of war in his presence.
She never had. Athere, betrayed by the West, was finally overwhelmed by the invaders, but Medair was not there to witness the defeat. Herald Jorlaise had carried out the formalities of surrender. Jorlaise had been the last person Medair had seen before heading north, rueful with the necessity of improving her Ibis-laran. "If anyone can pull this off it'll be you, Medair," she'd said. "You've always had the luck of a cat. We'll be waiting to hear from you."
Had Jorlaise thought of her as she'd stood before the Kier wearing black, delivering the words of surrender? Luck of a cat. Medair had seen too many cats starving on the street to see that as the compliment Jorlaise had obviously intended. Her luck to rescue a shape-changed Ibisian adept.
It was much more difficult to dress a damp, fully-grown man than it had been to deal with a dirty, undersized boy. His skin was very warm beneath her fingers, but she kept to business, trying to estimate the extent of his spell shock and puzzle out his role in the battle which had left so many dead. Tranced into deep sleep, he did not so much as stir.
His presence was doubtless something to do with the rahlstones. That made possibly six interested parties. Well, the rain would have washed away the physical traces of her foray through the charred circle in the woods, but there was always magic. More pursuers? She sighed, wondering if she could keep ahead of the Decians and whoever else without killing her charge.
This Ibisian was older than Ieskar had been. The Kier had been a mere twenty-one when he'd declared war on Palladium. And dying. She'd learned that on her visit to the new Athere; that he'd taken some sort of wound involved with the destruction of Sar-Ibis. He had been slowly failing all the time he'd been conquering Palladium, a fact which cast a new light on some of his comments over the marrat table. Dead by twenty-three.
Her helpless captor was nearer thirty, perhaps four years Medair's elder, though several centuries her junior. He looked about ready to expire at her feet. The lobes of his ears caught her attention and she silently counted the number of currently empty piercings which had been made to hold the earrings Ibisians used to signify rank. The right ear of every Ibisian she had ever seen sported decoration of some sort, for ornament or to signify ranks of magecraft. The second piercing in this man's right ear meant he was married.
It was the left ear which told her that he was an important Ibisian. There were six major gradations of rank below the current Kier and her heir. A Keriden, the lowest titled noble, would wear a single polished bloodstone; the next rank two, the next three. They were fixed to studs or dangled from silver chains according to the obscure dictates of fashion and taste. The fourth highest rank wore only one left earring, but of a stone they called tiger's eye rather than bloodstone. Medair had never seen a tiger, but it apparently had some resemblance to the banded gold-orange and black stone she knew as charlamine. The Kier had worn a single fire opal.
There was no further system to delineate differences of rank within rank. Children, spouses, anyone who could claim nobility without currently holding a title, wore a single piece of pale green jade. They were addressed with an honorific similar to "lord", and did not strictly outrank any other wearing jade. Only the Kierash, the son of the Kier who now sat the Silver Throne, was a titled heir and Medair understood that even he would still wear only the small carved piece of jade which proclaimed him 'of cold blood', as it was called. Ibisians placed a great deal of emphasis on the difference between one who held noble office and those related to that person. With three piercings, it was evident this man held a title. Either Kerikath or Keridahl, depending on whether he wore tiger's eye or bloodstone.
Fascinating as it was to be able to learn so much from an unconscious man, Medair would rather he still wore the shape of a boy. She would so much rather not have anything to do with Ibisians.
Would she have helped him, if she had found him in this form? Or left a white-skinned man to die in the ash? The Ibisians of this time had done her no harm, but it was impossible for her to divorce them from their ancestors. The idea of having to travel with a White Snake, all the way to Athere, made her sick to the stomach.
But the geas prevented her from abandoning him, and all she could do was get the journey over with. His change had made it necessary for the second horse, since it would be too cumbersome to try and ride double with an unconscious person bigger than herself. She had no wish to be dumped into every second puddle all the way to Thrence.
Manoeuvring him into a sitting position on the big grey, she wondered what people would think when they saw an unconscious Ibisian with his arms tied around his mount's neck. Kyledra was not officially hostile to Palladium, and she could not hope to get through Thrence without someone taking an interest. She'd have to find a place to rest and hope that after another night's sleep he'd be able to ride on his own.
Setting off at a spanking pace, she made the next town – a real town this time, not a cluster of buildings servicing surrounding farms – before dark. With a choice of two inns, she picked the one closest to the northern edge of the town, and asked the ostler and a stable boy to carry her friend upstairs, not making an attempt to explain his condition. They were not eager, and the silence which fell over the public room when he was carried through spoke its own story. Every eye was upon them as they mounted the stair. To Kyledra, Ibisians were a symbol of the threat of war.
As she had requested, there were two beds. Medair covered the Ibisian with a light blanket, and muttered a quick charm against infestation over both beds. Then she abandoned her boots, and took off the ring. And groaned.
She was not as spent as she would have been, attempting the day's feats without magical aid, but this particular item took a great deal out of her in compensation. Bruises whose presence she had entirely forgotten reminded her of their existence, but she was too tired to investigate them. Sliding the ring into her satchel and sealing it firmly, Medair climbed into the second bed, tucking her satchel between her shoulder and the wall. After punching the lumpy pillow, she grimaced across the darkening room to where the Ibisian was little more than the gleam of pale hair in the darkness. A White Snake. The sooner she was rid of him, the better.
Waking to a thump and a headache, Medair squinted across the sunlit room. The White Snake had collapsed near the window and was attempting to lever himself to his feet with as much success as a turtle flipped on its back. Hating that this stranger had been moving about while she slept, she watched his silently determined attempts until the pain in her head intensified.
Sitting up allowed her to fully appreciate her bruises, but it was the geas which was punishing her with a headache. It must be nearing lunch, and the innkeep would probably be on the verge of throwing them out or demanding more money. This was not so bad a thing as the memory of five men in pursuit, who by now would doubtless have found transportation.
First she pulled the Ibisian to his feet and dropped him back on his bed, noticing that he'd successfully used the chamber pot before collapsing. Despite herself she felt a brief sympathy for his situation. It did not succeed in making her forget her headache, the geas, or her reasons to hate his kind, but did keep her tactfully silent in face of his weakness. Ignoring his attempt to steady himself upright, she splashed some water on her face, then sat down to push her feet into her boots and run a comb through her hair.
The Ibisian managed to prop himself against the wall while she cleaned up. When she next glanced at him, he was studying her. Grey eyes. Ieskar's had been an icy blue, but the different colour did not mar the resemblance. She had no doubt that he could, like the Kier, make a person incredibly uncomfortable simply by watching out of eyes which seemed to take in everything and give nothing back.
Resentment swelled, and she decided to put off conversation. Flipping the comb onto his tumbled blankets, she slung her satchel across her shoulder and went out to order them breakfast. A handful of the Decians' coins stopped the innkeep's complaints, and a few more were sufficient to arrange for the Ibisian to be carried down later.
In a foul mood which seemed likely to only get blacker, Medair checked the sparse midday crowd for potential trouble, then took up a tray to the Ibisian. He was sorting his tangled hair into a slightly less haphazard braid, but there was far too much of it for him to hope for more. She certainly wasn't going to groom him.