The Silence of Medair

According to fifth-hand report, the Herald was from Ashencaere, from the Court of Queen Valera in Tir’arlea. That was stunning enough. The Mersians had not had their own court since before the formation of the Palladian Empire. Not since the Silver City, Tir’arlea, had tumbled in arcane war. The Conflagration had conjured Tir’arlea back to life. It was now an ally of Palladium against the Cloaked Lands. Half southern Farakkan had been formed into an Empire by Xarus Estarion, who was a mage. And on the verge of invading Palladium.

"May I join you?"

It was the man who had been serving behind the bar. Young and neat of dress, very Ibisian, yet with a beguiling smile curving his pale lips. He took her hesitation as acquiescence and slid into the seat opposite.

"Your pardon for disturbing you, Kel," he said. "I was wondering if you had been on the southern wall when the Herald arrived, or perhaps had been outside the city after the flames had passed." He shook his head, laughing at her surprised expression. "No, I am no seer. I’ve asked everyone who’s come in and have yet to find a single person who witnessed this woman’s arrival, rather than having spoken to one who spoke to one who was standing behind someone who could see."

He was one of those people of infectious good humour, and Medair tried to smile in return. "I was on the wall," she said, and his face lit up.

"Then tell me, did this Herald really fly in on a winged horse?"

That made her laugh, a brief, surprised burst. "Close," she admitted. "It didn’t have wings, but it, well, rode on the air. It’s a bit hard to describe…its hooves didn’t touch the ground and…it was a little like it bounced along. Effortlessly."

"The world remade." The bartender seemed caught between wonder and horror. "I went down to look, once the crowds had died away a little. It’s eerie: familiar yet strange. And we are wrong here, because we were shielded from the fire. It will be a poor thing if Cor-Ibis has given his life only to make matters worse."

The jolt was palpable. Medair felt as if her pulse had stopped. "He’s dead, then?" she asked, her voice tight. "I didn’t know."

The man grimaced. "In truth, neither do I. Half of those who’ve claimed to know have assured me that he is. The rest agree he is merely blinded, his sight burned beyond recovery. Whether to believe them or those who claim he is spell-shocked or transformed or completely unaffected – when there are so many stories, I choose to believe none. But his name is fated. All who have borne it have made the greatest sacrifice to save the Ibis-lar."

Medair found herself remembering the time she had learned of Kier Ieskar’s death, five hundred years after the fact. This same jolt, as if a prop had been knocked out from beneath the land. She had never really believed he was mortal, let alone slated for such an early demise. He’d only been twenty-three.

It felt just as impossible to picture Illukar las Cor-Ibis dead, that soft voice silenced and those mirror eyes dimmed. "That means Avahn would be Cor-Ibis, now," she said, slowly. Surely it was impossible.

"I heard tell he was one of those who cast the great shield. That’s scarcely believable in itself. When did Avahn last study? But he has always been one who surprises. I don’t think he’ll be happy to come so soon to the title."

"You know him?" Medair asked, blinking.

"He comes here often," the bartender told her, with the pleased air of one who knows the benefits of illustrious patronage. "Or came. Who knows how being Cor-Ibis will change him?"

"Jaith!"

An urgent summons from the doorway. Medair’s companion turned, frowning in confusion. Then he froze, jaw dropping.

"Esta?" he gasped, sounding not altogether certain.

"You know me, don’t you Jaith?" the woman asked, a note of pleading in her voice. She was pure Ibisian, a few years Medair’s senior, and in much disarray. White hair fell loosely over her face and there was dust on her clothes.

"Esta?" Jaith repeated, more loudly. He rose falteringly to his feet. "It is you, isn’t it?"

"Who else would it be?" the woman replied, caught between exasperation and desperation. "Has everyone gone mad?"

"What happened to you?"

"To me?! Nothing’s happened to me! It’s all of you who’ve run mad! And worse. Jaith, I was just at mother’s – I don’t understand what–" The woman shook her head, lifting hands to press against her temples while the occupants of the tavern shifted uneasily about her.

"Tell me what happened, Esta," Jaith commanded, walking forward and, after a slight hesitation, taking the woman’s hand.

The woman wrapped her arms around Jaith’s waist, holding on to him like an anchor in a storm, not seeing the discomfort on his face.