The Silence of Medair

"She’s dead," Medair replied. Her mind was clear, crystalline. It had not been a betrayal, truly it hadn’t been. These people were neither enemy nor friend and she had done the right thing to return the rahlstones. And something clawed and bawled inside her chest and called her liar.

"A pity. Did this craftswoman leave behind records of her research? This shielding is one we have sought to recreate for centuries and is worth nearly as much as the rahlstones. As is the dimensional pocket these are rumoured to contain. Can it be that both these things have been found only to be lost once more?"

Medair shrugged, as if it mattered very little to her. It seemed to take a lot of effort. "I wasn’t there when she died, but I doubt that her notes still exist."

"It must have the dimensional pocket as well," Avahn interjected. "The hosteller said that she had no gear, only a single shoulder bag. Who are you, Medair ar Corleaux, to not only give away twelve rahlstones as if they were glass, but to own a thing long since become legend?"

"Someone who wouldn’t be here if not for this inconvenient geas," she replied, shortly. She turned back to Cor-Ibis. "But the geas could be broken, could it not, if Keris las Theomain employed one of the rahlstones?"

Cor-Ibis handed back her satchel, and she worked to hide the way her fingers tightened on the strap. That had been a calculated risk. She felt as she had in that alley, when the Medarists had decided she did not deserve her name. Even a strength ring would not let her escape, if they chose to mark her as a threat.

"I am thrice in your debt," Cor-Ibis said gravely, face still a mask. "Not a small thing." He sat up a little straighter in the bed, became even more formal, and made the three hand gestures which Ibisians used to signify thanks and the unbalanced scales of debt. It was as clear a way as any to declare that he did not intend to clap her in chains and put her to question. But then, he had the geas to keep her.

"It would be only just to have Keris las Theomain free you," he continued, in that soft, soft voice. "But use a rahlstone? No. It would be an announcement to all who dwell in this city that we possess them, when it is to be hoped that we are thought to have nothing to do with them. You must bide in patience, Kel ar Corleaux, and travel as my guest to Athere. I said that there no longer existed a need for secrecy and could not have been farther from the mark." His eyes shifted to his fellow adept. "We will leave on the dawn, Jedda."

This provoked a spate of protest. The man was Keridahl Avec and these two were obviously not used to going openly against his will, but they voiced their objections strongly enough. He was not recovered from the spell shock. His departure would be looked for. They should split their force, send the rahlstones off while Cor-Ibis remained as a decoy. He could not possibly endure another swift journey so soon. Cor-Ibis listened silently. Finally he picked up the bag of rahlstones once more.

"Are you able to key that satchel to another person?" he asked Medair, who managed not to look wholly incredulous in response.

"No," she replied, firmly. "Surely you had some method of transportation prepared?"

"Nothing so effective." He studied her, but made a small gesture of negation and turned again to Avahn and las Theomain. "It is not a matter for discussion. If you are concerned for my endurance, I suggest you leave me to my rest and prepare for tomorrow’s departure. Avahn, will you send Cortis in to me?" An inclination of the head was awarded to Medair. "Kel ar Corleaux, I offer you once more my thanks and my apologies. It is a debt I will not forget."

Medair had expected the refusal, but was angry anyway. She studied the palely shining figure, then deliberately pictured him smeared with mud, being dropped into a horse trough. The incident was amusing in retrospect, but she couldn’t smile even inside.

"Your powers of recollection are doubtless refined," she said, only just keeping the edge from her voice as she rose and offered him a very correct half-bow. "Quiet night, Keridahl."

Avahn joined her as she reached the door and paused immediately after closing it behind them. "Are you certain you’re not a Medarist?" he asked, with that atypical forthrightness. "Owning a reproduction of a Herald’s satchel, along with the name of that most infamous of Heralds, begins to push the bounds of credulity."

"Do Medarists have reproductions of the satchels? They didn’t strike me as possessing the organisation or resources."

"They do tend to be aimless hotheads," Avahn agreed. "But that is the most vocal and visible of the group. It’s those who do not call themselves after your namesake, but direct their actions, who might just be able to produce such a thing."

"They play a deep game indeed, if they direct me. I would enjoy hearing what explanation you could conjure for my actions, if I were one who hated your race."