The Silence of Medair

"The Cuor." It was an instrument of execution and Medair was not altogether surprised that no Ibisian of her time had explained the name Illukar las Cor-Ibis to her. She belatedly remembered that she wasn’t supposed to understand Ibis-laran, but Avahn didn’t seem to have noticed. He nodded once and continued.

"The tradition carried on. The second Illukar las Cor-Ibis killed a dragon which came down from the frozen north, much to the surprise of everyone who thought them extinct. And died in the process. The third gave his life to turn the tide of a battle which threatened to bring down the Silver Throne. It is a fated name."

Kier Ieskar had only once mentioned his brother to her, and that when a small child, a girl of three or so years, had slipped into the room where they had been playing marrat. She’d climbed into his lap, fretful over nightmares and wanting the only family she had left. He had held the child, whispered to her. That had been the last time she’d played marrat with him. The very next day she had asked the leave of her Emperor to find the Horn.

Medair closed her eyes. They called him the Niadril Kier now. It was a confusing word, a mixture of great, eternal and doomed. He was dead within six months of that night. He had known he was dying when Adestan climbed into his lap, had known that she would be left to face the overwhelming strictures placed on the Saral-Ibis family alone.

"My brother’s daughter, Adestan Shen las Cor-Ibis," he’d said, making formal introduction only when the girl had quieted. He’d stood with the child in his arms, his face as blankly unemotional as it always and ever was. "We will continue this game another day, Keris an Rynstar. Your pardon." And he’d carried Adestan away. Medair, stricken by things she couldn’t put into words, had left and never gone back.

Looking up, she saw echoes of him in Avahn’s face. He wore that same mask, and was taking in her every reaction in much the same way his cousin had when they were speaking of the possibility of a Corminevar heir. Doubtless he was misunderstanding just as much.

"Cor-Ibis, whom you admired and envied, who frightened you and attracted you," she said, in hopes of pushing the past away. "He would have been, what? Twenty-three or four when he became Keridahl and your parents were encouraging you to try and become his heir. The idea sickened you and you retreated into Avahn the Irresponsible, who loves only pleasure, thinking less of your parents and your rivals for their behaviour, and resenting Cor-Ibis as its source. Ileaha thought you were just lazy when you turned away from studies and responsibility. I would not be at all surprised if you learned in private what you publicly rejected. How long before you realised that Cor-Ibis saw through you? Or were you completely surprised when he chose you as his heir?"

Avahn blinked twice, then sat forward in his saddle, the leather creaking. "Why do you carry a replica of a herald satchel?" he asked, voice low. "Can a woman called Medair be believed when she claims not to be a Medarist? Especially one so patently unhappy to be in the company of Ibis-lar? How did you come to be in Bariback Forest at just the right moment to recover the rahlstones? Who pipes your tune, Medair ar Corleaux? The Hold, if not Medarists?"

Medair had no idea what this Hold was, and didn’t dare ask in case it revealed too great a gap in her knowledge. With a prodigious effort she pushed away her ill-humour.

"The difference in our attacks being that I made a series of statements and you asked only questions," she pointed out, hoping to make peace. Avahn looked briefly exasperated, then relaxed his angry pose.

"I don’t trust you, Medair," he said. "But I am glad to know you. Trying to trap you into revealing yourself will make the journey back to Athere more entertaining."

"Or frustrating," she replied. "We should probably head back."

-oOo-

"Have you been to Athere before?" Avahn asked, as they turned their horses towards the outskirts of Finrathlar.

"I was there last year."

"You obviously travel a good deal," he said, eyes crinkling as he returned to blatantly fishing for information.

"I’ve been over most of Farakkan," Medair replied. "Not much in the south."

They began a rambling conversation on the comparative merits of various cities, which was a far more dangerous conversation for Medair than Avahn realised. Fortunately, he had not travelled very often outside Palladium and she was able to keep the discussion from cities she had not seen for over five hundred years.

"Kerin? Keris?"

They reined in, having seen the young woman before she called to them. Mid-twenties, about Medair’s age. Her hair was a fine floating blonde, currently mussed and falling about her face. The dust on her loose white riding pants and tight-fitting dark blue jacket told her story even as she rose from the rock on which she had been sitting and came limping toward them.