The Silence of Medair

They were too uniformly equipped to be mercenaries. Mercenaries usually supplied their own armour – hotchpotches of plate, leather and chain scavenged, inherited or purchased. These men all wore leather, well-fitted, over dark grey clothing. A uniform, despite the lack of any insignia of rank or mark of allegiance, and they displayed practiced team-work as two stalked the door direct, the other pair circling to prevent escape from any windows or rear exits. One of the men was ginger-haired and freckled, with a tilt to his eyes which suggested Mersian blood. The rest were tanned and had the dark brown hair and hawk-nosed profiles of Decians.

The tiny hand movements they used for communication told her they were no ordinary soldiers. Scouts? Some sort of elite squad? She closed her beringed hand into a fist. None of them looked like a user of magic, but it was not as if they were Ibisians with their earrings to declare status. If they were anything like the Black Hawks, the Special Assignments Division of the Emperor’s armies, there would be magi among them.

It was very difficult not to move then, as the Decians crept towards her. A magic like the ring’s would not trumpet itself, but if a mage came close enough to touch her, he would feel an echo of its power. Even Medair’s negligible abilities would alert her to an invisible person standing a foot away. Farak, they could probably smell her if they paid attention: she’d sweated more than enough coming down the mountain, and hadn’t bathed daily for centuries.

The contents of her satchel were her advantage: they would surely not have anticipated an invisible target, any more than she had expected soldiers. She couldn’t guess how anyone knew to look for her.

What they were expecting was the important question. They could not possibly know. Her hand brushed the leather of her satchel, and at the thought of all it contained she shuddered. How could these men be looking for her, Medair an Rynstar, and the prizes of her wildly successful, fruitless quest?

Decia, largest of the southern duchies, had always been stalwartly loyal to the Palladian Emperor, and the kingdom it had become was still at odds with the Ibisian conquerors. But Medair knew she couldn’t become part of that struggle, even though she hated what the Ibisians had done. If these people really were looking for her, knew who she was, what she carried – she had to get away.

Medair noticed another man standing at the forest’s edge just as the lead two rushed the cottage, swords drawn. Another Decian, he was dressed like the rest, a light sword at his side. His eyes were on the door as the man whose commanding gestures marked him as leader emerged, frowning, and shook his head once. The five gathered together, only the trapper standing apart, watching with wary interest. Two feet away from the nearest man, Medair practically stopped breathing.

"Looks like she’s run," the leader said, with just an edge of anger. "Place has been emptied. How long before you can locate her?"

"Half a decem or less, with a hair or some personal item – presuming she’s still within range. If she’s more than a few miles away, a different, less precise trace will be needed." The latecomer raised an equivocal shoulder.

"Likely she’s hopped just before us. Go to it, then."

The latecomer detached himself from the group, then hesitated at the threshold. "She’s a mage," he said over his shoulder, closing his eyes and holding his head to one side, listening to something only mages could hear. "There’s traces of power lingering. Possibly something to confuse her trail. It’s very, very recent."

"Seb, Norruce – a quick circle, if you will. Try and isolate her most recent movements, the direction she went."

Touching hands to foreheads, two men with a distinct, brotherly resemblance began an intent study of the ground, moving in outward spirals. Medair tried not to think what their tracking would reveal.

"Glyn, send our guide on his way," the leader ordered.

The Mersian nodded, but lingered. "Could she have been warned?"

The leader shrugged. "It seems unlikely. We were exposed more than once on the trip up – if she’s as valuable as it sounds the sight of any stranger might well send her skittering. She won’t get far."

"She better not. We’ve only the vaguest idea what she looks like, Sir! We don’t have the resources to track her if she reaches a more populated area and even if the Kyledrans were of a mind to cooperate, how would we know if they found the right person when no-one’s come close enough to know her face? We don’t even have a name!"

"You underestimate us, Glyn," the leader replied. "Go."

"Yessir," muttered the Mersian, rebuked. The leader entered the cottage and Medair took the opportunity to move after the Mersian. She’d almost caught up with him as he politely thanked the trapper and hinted at the possibility of a bonus.