The Silence of Medair

Pale eyes studied her. The youth who had chortled at her name over dinner had been replaced by someone who was disturbingly like his cousin. "You don’t like us," he said, in judicial pronouncement. "There is none of the irrational hatred of the average Medarist, true, but you have called us White Snakes in your time, I’d wager." He laughed, returning to the Avahn she had first met. "A deep game indeed, but I like puzzles." He turned as one of the servants opened the next door along. "Cortis, the Keridahl wants you. We are to leave on the dawn."

"What game are you playing, I wonder?" Medair asked, as Avahn walked through the connecting door.

"Show me your hand, tell me your secrets; perhaps I will return the favour." He turned a bright eye on her, and grinned when she shook her head. "How unhandsome of you, Kel ar Corleaux, when it’s an exchange I might almost be tempted to make. You’ll be good company on this journey."

Chapter Eight

It was one of those pristine dawns where all the colours are greyer than usual, yet sharply clear. The horses, crowded into the yard, were prick-eared and restive. All but two had their riders waiting by their heads, and Medair kept herself occupied by attempting to pick which unclaimed animal belonged to which absent Ibisian. She decided the gleaming chestnut was las Theomain’s taste, which left the dusky grey for Cor-Ibis. Both very fine animals. Avahn rode the one Medair would have chosen out of the nine assembled: an eager black which was pretending to take fright whenever a bird flew overhead.

In due course, Keris las Theomain and Cor-Ibis appeared, dressed elegantly in flowing riding apparel. For travel they wore linen rather than silk, but still made a striking beacon to any thief or less casual predator. Very expensive and very Ibisian. It was the first time Medair had seen Cor-Ibis on his feet, and she noticed with faint surprise that he was not so tall as she’d thought him. An inch or two over six feet, which was no more than average for an Ibisian, but–

Medair shook the thought away and watched Cor-Ibis lift himself into the grey’s saddle. He no longer displayed the terrible weakness of spell shock, but his movements were precise, conservative of energy. It was too soon for him to be truly recovered, and Medair wondered what they’d do if he fell over at the end of the day.

With curious stable-hands in attendance, there was no discussion of their route as they turned to leave. The two Farakkian guards led the way out, followed by Cor-Ibis and las Theomain. Medair, beside Avahn, had just cleared the gate when the riders ahead of them stopped.

Avahn muttered something as he saw the men who had blocked the way north. Grey cloth and leather armour, no insignia. Medair kept her face blank as the Decian mage leaned toward the ear of his captain and whispered something. She wondered if the way those dark eyes then fixed on her face, taking in each and every detail, was as obvious to her companions as it was to her.

"Early to rise, Keridahl?" the Decian leader asked, his attention returning to Cor-Ibis.

"Perhaps not early enough this day, Captain Vorclase." Cor-Ibis didn’t sound perturbed. How, she wondered, did he know the Decian?

"You cannot always be lucky, Lord High," Vorclase replied, mocking the title. "Your reputation works against you. I don’t know how you came to be on this trail, but on learning of your presence in Thrence, tracking down a certain lost prize became simplicity itself. In fact, it becomes apparent that a number of ventures gone awry can be explained by your involvement, and for that I can only offer my respect. And now we dispute possession."

"Pitched battle in the streets of a city fond of neither of us? That is less than I expected of you, Captain."

"Desperate times, desperate men, Lord High. The Kyledrans can be reasoned with."

"Then may I point out that you are outnumbered?"

"I draw your attention to the roof."

Cor-Ibis did not seem to look, but Medair did, and discovered three men with crossbows on the building across the street.

"Why give us warning?" Avahn murmured, so low Medair could barely hear him. She didn’t tell him the Decians wanted her alive.

"My compliments," Cor-Ibis said. "Your preparation is exemplary. You would do well, however, to study the schedule of the nearest guard-house."

Following Cor-Ibis' gaze, Vorclase turned in his saddle. Medair couldn’t see his face as he realised what was approaching, but only his eyes were angry when he turned back. He promptly signalled his men to withdraw to the alley from which they had emerged.

"Another time, Keridahl. Take care of my prizes; I need them in good order." Then he was gone. A small troop of Kyledran guards marched slowly down the street toward them, looking bored.

"Who is Captain Vorclase?" Medair asked Avahn as they hurried on. He grimaced, and glanced at Ileaha as she drew up alongside them.