The Silence of Medair

"Now, that’s good of you, sir," the trapper began, then sighed, eyes widening. For one astonished instant Medair thought that the man had seen her despite the ring. Then he fell. The Mersian bent to wipe a blade on the fur-lined vest, replaced it within a sheath hidden at his wrist, and strolled on into the trees, humming softly.

Shuddering, Medair followed as close on his heels as she dared. They didn’t know who she was, didn’t know what she looked like. Were about to use magic to locate her. She didn’t have any protection against a trace.

The Mersian whirled, knife in hand. Freezing, Medair swallowed her breath and watched him searching the trees. He was thorough, standing as still as she, eyes roving even up into the branches. Of course he saw nothing, but he was not convinced and began walking at a much slower rate, placing his feet with care. Invisibility was no protection against a knife, so Medair circled, guessing the most logical place for horses to have been left and coming up even with him some ten feet to his right. She tried to match the careful placement of his feet, putting hers to earth at the same time he did so that he would not be wholly certain any slight noise she made was not his own.

When he reached the cluster of mounts tethered in a small clearing, he appeared to shrug off his concern and bent to examine one bay’s hoof. Not accepting this clear invitation, Medair picked up a fallen branch, concealing the eerily floating object behind the nearest tree while she waited for the ring to include it in her invisibility. The wood was mouldering, unpleasant to touch, but testing revealed that it hadn’t rotted to the point of being unsound. It would do, presuming she could bring herself to hit someone.

Medair watched as the Mersian became more businesslike. He was still alert, still watching, not ignoring the signals his instincts were sending him merely because no attacker had rushed to take him so before moving she squatted to her heels again and palmed a clutch of walnut-sized stones.

When she had approached as close as she dared, just as the nearest of the horses was flicking an ear in response to the scent of sweaty human female, she tossed the smallest of the stones far across the clearing. The Mersian pivoted at the muted impact and Medair took those vital two steps closer. The horses reacted, snorting and shifting, so she didn’t hesitate in sending the rest of the stones up in a high arc, then immediately gripping her weapon with two firm hands.

Her timing was good. Moments before she estimated the stones should land she tensed, began the last step forward, swinging the hunk of wood back as the knife reappeared in the Mersian’s hand. He was starting to turn towards her, then there was a thumping patter of stones landing and he hesitated long enough for her to solidly dint his skull, knocking him to the ground.

Face-down, the man was still groggily conscious, but Medair dropped her weapon anyway, revolted by the idea of hitting him again. As the horses crowded away from them, she pulled off her black and gold ring and groped in her satchel. The animal control ring was a small braid of silver, and she jammed it on her pinkie finger, wishing that it were possible to wear two rings at once, wishing this wasn’t happening.

The horses immediately stopped jumping about. Medair hastily unlooped all but the two donkeys, then hoisted herself up onto a grey. Questing about with her toe for the other stirrup, she cast one anxious glance back toward her cottage, then led an equine stream away from the dangerous men who had been sent, for whatever reason, to capture her.

Away from solitude.

Chapter Two

Medair rode at a speed both reckless and unkind to her mounts, all the way down Bariback Mountain and far along the neglected road toward the forest. The thought of those five men, of the noise her lump of wood had made colliding with the head of the one called Glyn, was a hound nipping at her heels and she would not stop to do more than water the horses until she was certain they could not catch her that day. It was only when she had forded the Sorbry River and was faced with the forest that she thought beyond simply away.

With the sky darkening, and her heart finally easing out of her mouth, Medair looked about for a grassy verge, then stripped the gear from five of the horses and sent them scattering toward the river, impelled by the ring. Guilty over not having rubbed down their sweating flanks, she lavished attention on the last horse, a sturdy bay, cosseting him and securing a tether while the ring kept him complaisant. Then she slipped the circle of silver from her finger and replaced it in her satchel.