The Silence of Medair

The Das-kend smiled reassuringly. "They have almost completed the individual castings, Mira. See, the Kier makes the passes of shel-toth, to bind what she has been creating, so she need not release it at once. The joining of their casting, that will take a matter of a measure or two more, and the shield will manifest without great delay once they have joined. It is creating the shield too early, rather than too late, which poses the risk, for no matter how many rahlstones are involved, a shield covering all Athere cannot be held for more than a handful of ten-measures. It would need the intervention of the AlKier to make it permanent, even if we wanted that."

"We don’t?"

"No matter what the condition of the land after this fire has passed, we will wish to venture beyond the confines of the city gate at some point," the Das-kend said. The kaschen looked down, a faint flush colouring her pale cheeks.

Leaning forward, Medair was able to see Avahn standing in the same pose as the Kier, far to the right of her position. She still did not understand how they proposed to link over such a distance. Avahn would barely be able to see the Kier, let alone the other mages who must be stationed at, presumably, equal points around the city.

The Kend straightened, turned and walked to the opposite side of the guard tower to stare up at the towers of the palace. The Das-kend joined her after a moment, but Medair and the young kaschen were captives of the burning horizon. Everything in the south was alight – there was no longer sky nor earth, only fire, swallowing the world. The wind was stronger too, hot and harsh. Medair shuddered. What would it be like when the flames were upon them?

Some tiny sound she had made caught the kaschen’s attention and the young woman stared at the spot Medair occupied, frowning. A questing hand came out, but Medair leaned carefully beyond reach, watching the uncertainty on the young woman’s face. Even if she had mage-gift, the kaschen would be unlikely to sense the murmur of the ring, drowned by so much ambient magic. Her glances toward her two superior officers revealed indecision.

"It is a fated name," the Kend announced, successfully distracting the kaschen from Medair’s invisible presence. "It must be a grave matter to give it to your only child."

"A tradition of honour and sacrifice," the Das-kend replied. "But inapposite in this case, Ke, for dying during the casting would end the last hope of our people."

"The casting could easily overwhelm him."

"Yes."

The kaschen, after one final glance in Medair’s direction, joined the Kend and Das-kend in examining the view from the other railing. The Kier also seemed to be gazing up towards the White Palace’s towers, so Medair could do nothing but join in.

She could not see him. He would be on the viewing tower atop Fasthold, by far the highest structure in Athere, but the distance was too great to be sure of anything up there. Keridahl Illukar las Cor-Ibis, the solution to the problem of linking a massed spell across such a great distance.

Irrationally, Medair felt a surge of anger. She’d carted this man out of Bariback Forest, cleaned, fed and sheltered him, just so he could kill himself. The idea bothered her, and she linked it to her dislike of the concept of being fated. But then, as the Das-kend had pointed out, he would have to go against the tradition of his name and survive while saving the lives of his people. This was not the simple shield of pure power he had used against the blast of fire. A massed spell, precisely focused and hopefully enduring, would have to be cast perfectly, or there would be nothing to hold back the flames. If the focus of the spell crumbled during the casting, it would fall apart. And probably take Athere with it.

Medair thought of the message Cor-Ibis had sent her through Jedda las Theomain, and heard his voice saying goodbye to her last night. She remembered how angry she had been to be geased by a White Snake, and had to turn away, only to be shocked by how much further the fire had advanced while she had been gazing up at Fasthold. She stared, mesmerised, at the wall of leaping red-gold, orange and yellow until a distraction appeared in the form of a small cloud of dust on the southern road.

People from surrounding farmland had fled into the city. Medair had heard the crowd on the wall discussing arrivals, and those who would not be able to make it. This, it seemed, was one of the latter. A person on a horse, too far away for clearer detail. The fire was still at least a full day’s ride from Athere, but that was by far too close. Would they have time to cast the shield?