The Silence of Medair

"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?"