The Silence of Medair

Medair asked for clarification and was treated to an enthusiastic account of certain laws Keridahl Galen had put into effect concerning homeless children.

"But I’m running on. My other daughter has taken Miasa into Finrathlar for supplies and the herders are out chasing the Spring lambs over the hills. And Melani…" The woman shook her head, but smiled fondly at the same time. Medair, who thought Avahn had been upstairs for too long a time, relaxed on seeing him appear at the top of the stairs.

"She asked for water, Kel," Avahn said, looking amused.

"Oh, and where are my manners, keeping you standing about without even offering you something to take the dust off?" Kel las Raithen turned, after a slight curtsy to Avahn, and took a cloth off a jug standing on a sideboard. Setting out two pottery cups for Avahn and Medair, she filled another for her daughter. Begging them to make free of her kitchen, she went upstairs.

Avahn shook his head, looking wry. He held up one hand and sketched a series of figures in the air, then closed his eyes and cocked his head to one side as if listening.

"I was convinced it was an ambush," he said, after a few moments. "But there’s no-one else in the house and I can’t detect any enchantment threatening. Over-caution. We spent too long in Kyledra waiting for my cousin to send word, convinced that every second person was a spy."

"What made you suspicious of her?" Medair asked, pouring out the water.

"Her ankle’s not at all swollen, and she looked too…picturesque, as if she’d set herself up as maiden in distress."

"Hadn’t she?" Medair asked. "My concern was for your breathing, she was holding on so tight."

"Yes, a different sort of trap to what I assumed. Never bend over a woman on a bed if she has designs," he advised. "You would be amazed how often such things have happened to me in the last six months – since my cousin finally chose his heir. Surreive, who is due a considerable fortune, even without the possibility of succeeding Cor-Ibis, complains about having to constantly foil marriage plots. I didn’t believe her once." He straightened his riding coat. "Well, I learned something about you, at least. We weren’t certain if you were a mage, but you gave yourself away when I released the wend-whisper."

Medair shrugged, handing him a cup. "What would you do, Avahn, if you discovered that the only secret I had was where I picked up a handy satchel? Will you be terribly disappointed to learn I’m not involved in some complicated plot?"

"I think that you are a wild piece on the marrat board," Avahn replied. "I have yet to think of a reasonable explanation why someone working actively against us would return the rahlstones, and I prefer to believe that you’ve simply been drawn in, away from whatever nefarious activity in which you were previously engaged." He shrugged. "At least, that’s my esteemed cousin’s opinion, but I agree and so make it my own. I’m not sure what amount of duplicity will be required to find out exactly what, but, just so you know, we’re lulling you into a false sense of security before we pounce."

Medair, who had been raising her cup to her lips, paused, brows drawing together. She swirled the clear liquid, and shrugged when Avahn held up the cup he had drained.

"Did it taste strange or anything?" she asked.

"Stale water. There’s no enchantment on it. I would have detected that."

Frowning, she put her cup down.

"If you’re trying to make me nervous, you are succeeding, Medair ar Corleaux." Then he swayed, and went the strange colour of an Ibisian who had paled even further. "Damn," he muttered, as the sound of approaching horses became audible. "Medair, you’d better run while you can. You might be able to make it out the back way."

"I expect they’ve covered any escape routes." Angry that she hadn’t stopped him drinking, her mind skipped through alternatives. "Who did you send the wend-whisper to?"

"Cor-Ibis. One of his rules: sending a message if something unusual happens, especially keeping him informed of alterations in plans for wandering. I have to send another a decem afterwards or…"

With a speed which suggested magic had been involved after all, Avahn collapsed and she caught hold of him, a double armful of warm flesh scented with sandalwood. Surprised by the strength of her concern, she lowered his limp form to the wooden floor. Detouring her mind away from the concept of genuinely caring for a White Snake, she looked wildly around the room. The only thing in her satchel that would protect them both needed a little more space.