The Silence of Medair

"All Athere has joined you in being displaced from the world, it seems," the Kier commented, bringing Medair’s past tragedies into perspective. She turned her eyes to her Keridahl Avec and Alar, standing to either side of her throne. "What say you? Will the changes which have been wrought by the Conflagration effect the Horn?"

"Impossible to know, Ekarrel," the Keridahl Alar responded, immediately. "It is claimed the Horn will summon an army sufficient to defeat any foe. That it has power of immense proportion is obvious to us all. More exactly we will not know until it is…" She hesitated, then continued less confidently. "Until it is used."

When his Kier’s attention turned to him, Cor-Ibis raised a hand in agreement. He seemed to be glowing still, though it was difficult to be certain in the bright light of the throne room.

"If the Conflagration has indeed caused the rise of two unknown gods," he said. "And brought together the AlKier and Farak as part of this Four, then there can be no guessing as to the consequences of using the Horn. The consequences of not using the Horn are clearer."

"Keris N’Taive, do you know the legends of the Horn of Farak?" Kier Inelkar asked the Mersian Herald, who had been staring at Medair with something like awe.

"Ekarrel, of course!" exclaimed the Herald. "Did we not discuss–" She broke off, frowned and shook her head. "Well, perhaps we did not discuss those very tales, at our last meeting. It seems to me incredible that you have no memory of the past, or that my memories are false within this city, but I can only accept and try to remember. Yes, Ekarrel, I know of the Horn of Farak, fashioned from the body of the Living World at the end of her sojourn among mortals. I know of the Hoard of Kersym Bleak and the quest of Medair an Rynstar. Who does not know the Silence of Medair? I can scarce believe I witnessed its breaking." She turned wide, tilted eyes on Medair. "Have you then been on the Isle of Clouds all this time? Dwelling with Voren Dreamer?"

"Has it occurred to you," Medair retorted, stung by the apparent enjoyment this woman took in legend made flesh, "that you might venture out from the walls of Athere and find that the world does not correspond to your memory of it? That Tir’arlea fell into ruin a thousand years ago, and there is no Isle of Clouds?"

A flicker of surprise crossed N’Taive’s face, then the compassion which grated so on Medair’s nerves. "Yes, it did," the Herald said, softly. "When my every statement was met with a blank stare and endless disbelieving questions. But then the South obliged me with confirmation, and I knew that the world I had grown up in was out there, and it was everyone here who was wrong. A rare occurrence indeed, for one of Tir’arlea to greet the advent of darkness with relief, but the presence of the Cloaked South means that Tir’arlea shines to the north-west. I think I would like to tell Estarion that, if ever the chance is given to me."

Medair looked away from the tilted eyes. She found the Kier was waiting for her to answer the question posed, and gritted her teeth. She had given up the Horn. What more did these White Snakes need?

"I went to Bariback after I – found Athere as it is."

"How did Estarion know of you?" the Keridahl Alar asked, sharply. "Is he aware of what you carried?"

Medair shook her head, then shrugged. "Vorclase was there to fetch me," she told them. "Estarion had sent some unfortunate to his death bringing forth True Speaking. All they knew was–" She stopped, and glanced at the iron-bound box which shielded a legend. "That to hold me – or whoever it was living on Bariback – was to hold victory. Twice over, I suppose, if the rahlstones are to be counted. They must have decided the location for the exchange to complement Vorclase’s expedition." She frowned, and looked again at the Mersian Herald. "What are the consequences of using wild magic?" she asked.

The Herald seemed mildly startled, and glanced uncomfortably at the Kier.

"That is surely known, here above all places," she replied. "Sar-Ibis died in wild magic."

"Yes. But do you know what the Conflagration is?" Medair asked. She was thinking of Esta, the woman at the tavern.

"I am told it was a great fire," Herald N’Taive, began. "I saw no fire, but…"

"But had you heard of the Conflagration before you came to Athere?"

"No."

The Ibisians, having listened to this exchange with mild confusion, finally saw Medair’s point.

"If there is no warning against the Conflagration," asked the man who Medair thought was the Keridahl Alar’s son, "what weighs against using wild magic?"

N’Taive was clearly perplexed by their sudden tension, but answered anyway. "The Creeping Dark, Kerin. That which overwhelmed Sar-Ibis. The Blight."