The Silence of Medair

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.

Chapter Five

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.

Putting the tray within his reach, Medair retired to her own bed, taking up a bowl containing steamed grain and slivers of meat. Chewing a brown shred, she watched him pick a long string of dark green out of the snarled braid and drop it to the floor.

"Water weed," he said, the soft voice neutral rather than wry this time. That only made it worse, even more like Ieskar’s. "I am sure there is a reason for that." He gave up on his hair and took up the second bowl in a hand which shook, his every action exuding a fragile dignity.

"Horse trough," Medair explained, and found herself abruptly amused. Already she could see that the man was used to command and comfort both. Most adepts were, and this one – there were surely few people who could manage to be at so bedraggled a disadvantage and still appear in charge of his situation. Those grey eyes flashed up to meet hers, then he returned his attention to eating, apparently requiring all his concentration to not drop the bowl. The bruise she had given him stood out shockingly against that white skin.

A part of her wanted to fling out of the room again, to get away, to not have to deal with this at all. But the geas removed running away from her choices. Trying to force herself out of her sullen temper, Medair finished her own bowl while he was still only halfway through his. She had only once been spell shocked, and had been among friends while she recovered. That weakling helplessness would be hard to bear for an Ibisian adept, especially when health and safety depended on a total stranger who had no reason to be kind about things like dropped bowls of stew or the necessity of relieving neglected bladders. She was almost as glad as he must have been that she’d slept while he attended the chamber pot.