The Silence of Medair

Grabbing Avahn beneath the arms, she dragged him further up the slope. The flames were only now becoming visible, though the inside of the building must be a furnace. She had positioned herself in the elbow of the hill’s sheltering arm, and was able to see the rear of the farmhouse and other smaller buildings behind it. Two of the Decians were stationed there, to prevent any suicidal dashes through fiery and unfamiliar rooms. Vorclase and his mage were in close conversation at the front. She wondered what they had made of the surge of power which would have announced her teleportation. They did not so much as glance towards her hill.

It was a warm, sunny day, heading into late afternoon, but her teeth chattered and she was shivering uncontrollably. Now that she was out of immediate danger, reaction was setting in. Medair was a Herald, not a hero. She barely knew how to swing a sword, and would always prefer to run than fight. She could smell smoke in her hair, her clothing, and was amazed that she hadn’t faltered when the blaze pressed upon her. But she’d been told she was cool under pressure. And jelly after, it seemed.

The Decians were not quick to leave. Medair wondered if the trace which was set upon her had anything to do with their delay. She didn’t know if a trace lapsed after the death of the subject, and breathed a sigh of relief when her pursuers finally mounted and galloped off. South towards Finrathlar, though they’d doubtless detour away from the road as soon as they could. After the hoof-beats had faded, she rolled over onto her back and stared up at the blue summer sky, thinking about heirs and Ibisians and oaths until it all whirled about in her head.

Even if this Tarsus was rightfully Emperor, it did not change the fact that the Ibisians weren’t invaders, not after five hundred years. The parentage of all but these purists could be traced to the noble families of the Empire as well as Sar-Ibis. She had sworn oath to Grevain Corminevar in his capacity as Palladium’s ruler, not to him as an individual, not to his bloodline.

What was wrong with her?! How could she even suggest an Ibisian had more right to sit on the Silver Throne than an acknowledged child of the Corminevar line, one who was not tainted with White Snake blood and values? But attempting to cleanse Palladium would involve killing a huge portion of its inhabitants, including descendants of Empire nobility. Merely because an Ibisian had climbed into their family tree.

Her conviction that it was not her war remained unshaken. She was out of her time, her moment had passed. The Horn of Farak could not be used against the Ibisians now and she would return it to its resting place. She might feel wretched about her own inescapable logic, might dream of her Emperor turning his face from her, but she could not act against the Ibisians. Self-justification took her around the circle again and again and only succeeded in making her unhappier.

Eventually she sat up, fairly certain that any lingering Decians would have given up, if they had indeed stayed to spy. The farmhouse was burning merrily, sending up a black gout of smoke. It would be an admirable beacon for anyone Cor-Ibis might have sent to investigate Avahn’s wend-whisper.

She examined Avahn more closely, wondering what the drug had been. He was looking a little battered, his face scraped some time during the escape. She brushed a wandering ant from his cheek and analysed her emotions warily. A friend who was an Ibisian. She couldn’t imagine using the Horn of Farak to kill him, or Ileaha. Or Cor-Ibis, no matter who he reminded her of.

On the slope of the hill opposite she saw Avahn’s horse peacefully cropping grass. Catching horses seemed a better pursuit than her current thoughts, so she shifted Avahn onto his side so his face was out of the sun and set off to round up their mounts. With the help of the silver ring, she had collected them both and even brought Avahn down off the hill by the time the rescue party finally showed up.

The farmhouse was still blazing merrily, though parts of it had begun to collapse into embers and char. Medair was out back investigating some strange thumping noises, audible over the crackle of flames and the hysterics of a coop of chickens, when approaching hoof-beats took precedence.

She headed back to Avahn, and found him surrounded by horses. Cor-Ibis, worlds better for five days' rest, had already dismounted. He bent to check his heir for signs of life.

"Just drugged," she informed him. "He said he would have known if it was enchanted. Though it did take hold very quickly."