The Silence of Medair

"We’ll buy you a hooded cloak somewhere," she said as she climbed back into the saddle. She didn’t know who this man might be, how many might be chasing him, her, or the rahlstones, let alone what she could do to prevent the Decians from catching up to her. Her bag of tricks, unfortunately, did not contain anything to foil a trace spell. Well, that she knew. There was a great deal she’d left untouched, but now was not the moment to experiment.

Digging her heels into her mount’s sides, Medair set them off at a slow canter towards the city which had risen from the ashes of her birthplace.

-oOo-

Medair’s headache vanished as soon as they started out, but she was soon thoroughly sick of the chafing saddle. Her charge was unconscious by mid-afternoon and caused considerable interest among passers-by, even after she’d covered him with a hooded cloak. And the gates had been closed for the night long before they reached Thrence.

Banging on heavy wood only produced an exhortation to come back in the morning. Centuries ago, Medair would have called back: "Open in the name of the Emperor!" and the gatekeeper would have seen her Herald’s garb and hastily let her in, but she now resorted to a small bribe to crack the gate. Money was an authority never overthrown, and she was glad to own it on arriving at The Caraway Seed, which proved to be a very large inn in the wealthiest section of town. When she rode into the well-lit yard, the stares of the ostler and attendant stable boys immediately made her aware of her much-neglected appearance. Not to mention the clod-hopping animal she was riding. She acted as if she hadn’t noticed, sliding off the dun and handing the reins to the nearest stable boy.

"I’ll be a moment, finding out whether this is the right place. If it is, they’ll need oats and warm mash. It’s been a long day."

The foyer was warm and clean, with stairs straight ahead and a dining room to the right. For a moment the squat, burly man who emerged from a back room looked inclined to send her straight back out the door. "May I help you?"

"I hope so," Medair replied. "I have a message – and a delivery – for a woman called Jedda las Theomain, who has been staying here. Is she still here?"

The man seemed puzzled by her voice, which was neither coarse nor uneducated. In fact, the faintly outdated way she had of speaking gave her a certain air of aristocracy. Or so she’d been told by a young man with bed on his mind. The accents of the highest nobility, he had assured her, not knowing that she had been on nodding terms with half the ruling families of the Empire, even before she became a Herald. And that she’d practically had to relearn Parlance on her return, because people insisted on pronouncing words in the strangest ways, besides mixing it freely with Ibis-laran. She’d found him trying to cut open her satchel the next morning and had thereafter not attempted to find oblivion in the arms of attractive men.

"Keris las Theomain does indeed extend us her patronage," said the innkeep briskly, apparently marking her down as a messenger. "I will pass on any deliveries."

"I’m afraid I have to talk to her myself. And her package is still out tied to the horse. She’ll probably want to look at it before accepting delivery." She smiled, feeling quixotic. "I’ll need a room for a couple of nights, by the way," she added, catching sight of a pale, silk-clad woman watching her from the stair. There would not be many White Snakes in Kyledra, so the odds were good that this woman was Jedda las Theomain herself.

"Ah…" She waited while he decided whether or not he wanted to have her lingering any longer than necessary. "Of course, madam," he said, apparently preferring to err on the side of caution. "One gold half-nedra per day for a three-room suite."

Dropping two gold coins in his palm, she informed him she’d be seeing to her horses. "And Keris las Theomain’s package," she added, and told herself the situation wasn’t funny. It felt so very strange to be dealing with people again. To be arranging meetings with White Snakes who didn’t have the least idea who she was.

"–it is!" she heard a boy’s voice insisting as she returned to the yard. She found the ostler and stable boys gathered around the grey mare. They all started and looked towards her with wide wary eyes, then towards the unconscious Ibisian. The hood was partly drawn back from his face.

"You can put the dun to," she told the ostler. This was beginning to turn into a farce. "We’ll have to get him off before the grey can be stabled. Do you have a knife?"

Medair reached up and checked the adept’s pulse, finding it faint but steady. She rubbed her fingers on her trousers, frowned at herself for feeling a need to wipe the Ibisian off, then looked toward her audience. "Did I not tell you to stable the dun?"