The Silence of Medair

"No," the Keris replied, indifferent to any slight Medair could offer. "You are required upstairs."

Quite a beautiful woman, with intelligent eyes, but no diplomat. The youth was most likely related to Cor-Ibis, a resemblance Medair had not remarked before became more obvious when he wore the same expression of thoughtful consideration on his more handsome features. The part-Ibisian girl was wary, troubled.

"Whatever for?" Medair asked.

"This is not an occasion for questions. Come with us now."

It had been a long time since Medair had reason or inclination to snub someone, but yesterday had woken pride half-forgotten, and Heralds knew how to be insulting.

"Madam," she said. "I am sure I do not know why I should be obliged to obey your commands. Allow me to inform you that I find you abominably rude."

A spark of sudden delight leapt into the eyes of the Kerin in figured white. He was apparently not a friend to Jedda las Theomain. Medair, reminded that there was a great deal she did not know, made an effort to swallow her anger.

"However," she said, on a slightly less austere note, "if you would care to sit down with me until I am finished, then I may consent to joining you after. As it is, you are keeping me from dinner."

If Keris las Theomain had taken a seat and offered, if not an apology, some acknowledgment that Medair was not a serving-girl, she would certainly have endeared herself more than she did by coldly saying: "Bring her," to the girl before walking away. It was an entirely futile command to give in Kyledra, where an Ibisian trying to force a Farakkian anywhere would create more problems than they solved.

Medair watched Jedda las Theomain’s departure, then shifted her attention to the young Keris and Kerin. The youth was still smiling, and the girl had erased any expression, but they could not hide a certain tension. Obviously now aware that Medair was someone to whom they already owed a debt. She wondered if they’d follow Jedda las Theomain’s lead and depart from the strict Ibisian codes of courtesy.

"Are you going to drag me upstairs now?" she asked, and felt sorry when the girl flushed: a delicate pink colour which made her seem more Farakkian. "No. Sit down," she said when they would have made denials.

She gestured at chairs and waited while they sat. It gave her a brief sense of being in control, and an opportunity to decide what tack to take. These were people she would be associating with until Athere. She might try to remember that, instead of just damning them as White Snakes.

"I suppose Keris las Theomain is a bad enemy to make?" Medair asked, with less bite.

"She can be inopportune," the youth replied. "Allow me to make introductions, in the hopes that we do not all end up at odds. This is Ileaha Teán las Goranum and I am Avahn Jaruhl las Cor-Ibis."

"Medair ar Corleaux," Medair replied, resigned to the reaction she knew would follow. After a moment of shock, Avahn las Cor-Ibis laughed aloud, while Ileaha las Goranum looked first disconcerted, then disbelieving, then guarded.

"A Medarist!" The Kerin had just wit enough to keep his voice down. "Oh, too rich! A Medarist geased to assist Cor-Ibis! What splendid irony. I am very glad I came now."

More ironic than you could guess, Medair thought, but only waited out his laughter. She had not been fool enough to introduce herself as Medair an Rynstar since that first village, had since used the family name of the father who had never given her the right of claim. But she would not name herself other than Medair.

"I’m glad you enjoy the joke, Kerin las Cor-Ibis," she said, struggling to keep her even tone. "I’m almost sorry to tell you that the name is merely one my mother gave me and no reflection of my political beliefs."

The girl called Ileaha remained doubtful, but Avahn las Cor-Ibis shrugged and made a smiling gesture as if he was disappointed, but did not disbelieve. Medarists, after all, did not deny their cause.

Medair had been annoyed, then angry, when Medarists had been explained to her. It was not so much that a group of loyalists to the old Empire had decided to use her name as some sort of banner. It was that they were such fools.

A little less than five centuries ago, with its heartland conquered by arrogant White Snakes, the shattered Empire had turned the name Medair an Rynstar into a legend, into a myth. It had somehow become widely known that she was questing for the Horn of Farak and, hope of the slimmest sort, the conquered Imperials clung to the belief that she would return and summon an army to drive out the invaders. Her name became a talisman and there were many ballads which depicted her as some sort of sword-wielding hero, or, at least, someone mystically significant. This Medair could shrug off, embarrassed as it made her.