The Silence of Medair (23 page)
Avahn stopped some ten feet from the group gathered around the throne, and folded into a bow full of subtle complexities. Medair recognised it and decided to offer Kier Inelkar the same obeisance she had been trained to give the woman's forebear, so long ago. The depth to indicate Medair was someone of much lower, but still courtly rank. The touches to either shoulder, but not to the heart, for Inelkar could surely not count as Medair's sovereign and thus was owed no indication of loyalty. Avahn took himself off to one side of the chamber, leaving Medair alone before the throne.
"Medair ar Corleaux." The Kier's voice was thin and precise and, though she was self-contained, there was nothing of Ieskar's statue-like immobility in her manner. She wasn't even wearing white, which had been the only colour permitted to the Kier who had ruled Saral-Ibis. "You have performed a signal service for us, Kel," Kier Inelkar said, surveying Medair's close-fitting dress, tanned skin and streaked hair. "And raised many questions. An interesting problem, with debt owed and suspicions which cannot be ignored." A brief pause, then: "You are not a Medarist."
It hadn't been a question, but Medair shook her head anyway, and the Kier continued.
"No. For a Medarist who denies her cause is a contradiction beyond resolving. But the name Medair is significant to more than that band of angry children. You bear not only the name of an Imperial Herald: there is also a tool of that dead office."
The interest in Medair's satchel had been marked since her entry: an elderly female Keridahl and a middle-aged man with the single jade of an unranked Kerin appeared to be the most interested. They had both been studying the leather bag from their places on the Kier's left since Medair had entered the room. The man shifted, then restrained himself, drawing the Kier's attention to the degree of a brief, disinterested glance.
"The Empire's Heralds were a stubborn breed. Those who did not perish in the conflict of our arrival departed Palladium. The mage who created the satchels died in her workroom, which was unfortunately placed near Arran Wall. None could reproduce her work, although there have been many attempts over the centuries. Now, it seems, someone has succeeded." She considered Medair's impassive face. "A woman named Medair carrying a functioning Herald's satchel is hardly a coincidence."
Since it seemed to be her cue, Medair said briefly: "The satchel was not given to me for my name,
Ekarrel
."
"Perhaps not. Still, you have both satchel and name, and conflict clouds the horizon. I will not pretend it is not tempting to take satchel and secrets from you, but I do not see that such an act is justified. We owe you a debt, Medair ar Corleaux, and one not to be lightly ignored in the face of what is to come." The middle-aged man on the Kier's left made a hastily stifled sound and she again turned to look at him. Medair had guessed that the elderly woman was Keridahl Alar – perhaps this was a relative or supporter. Foolish, whoever he was, to reveal any sign of dissent to the Kier's decision. But the Kier was forbearing, and merely looked at him until he was still and stiff with contrition. Jedda las Theomain, at the man's side, was looking past the Kier to Cor-Ibis, who was in turn watching Medair, waiting for her to betray herself. Tension snarled the air, but the Kier possessed at least the self-command of her ancestor.
"However," she said, her light, cool voice perfectly emotionless, "I cannot ignore the security of Palladium altogether, and the chance of examining a functioning satchel is difficult to pass by without any attempt to expand our knowledge. Will you consent, Kel, to satisfy our curiosity on one or two questions, and to allow us to study your satchel for a short period – until after the evening meal? We will undertake, most faithfully, not to attempt to open it."
Another resemblance to Kier Ieskar, in the concession which merely paved the road for the polite demand. Medair fingered the strap of her satchel, wondering if she dared to trust not only the Kier, but those who would attempt to discover the crafting of the satchel. An impatient hand could destroy it, and all it–
"By all means," Medair replied, feeling just a little giddy. She lowered the satchel from her shoulder. They wouldn't be able to open it, but Medair did not object to the possibility that they might do by accident what she could not contemplate deliberately. The over-anxious Kerin immediately came forward and took her satchel, and she watched his retreat with only the faintest pang, aware of Cor-Ibis' narrowed eyes and sharpened attention. He had probably expected her eventual consent, but not this abrupt, almost cheerful capitulation. She turned enquiring eyes to the Kier, and found that she, also, watched intently.
"We are obliged, Kel," Kier Inelkar said. "Tell me, what was your purpose in coming to Athere, a year ago?"
Medair had not expected this, and chided herself for underestimating the woman as she cast about for a suitable reply. No doubt she looked entirely guilt-ridden while she sought a relatively innocuous answer. What had happened to her much-vaunted Herald's training?
"It had been a long time since I had been to Athere,
Ekarrel
," she said, eventually. "I wanted to see how much it had changed." The truth, sounding like a lie.
"You had been here before?"
"Some time ago."
"From your voice, I would name you Kyledran. There are few in Kyledra so familiar with the customs and traditions of my people as you appear to be."
"Perhaps they have not had the opportunity to visit Athere."
"Very likely," the Kier replied, one of her pale eyebrows quirking faintly. "It was fortunate for Keridahl las Cor-Ibis that you happened past. For what reason were you in Bariback Forest?"
"I live there,
Ekarrel
."
"Ah. Who was it gave you the satchel?"
Medair considered that one. There was no way she could tell them the truth. Desy an Kerrat's name was well known, and five hundred years in the past. "It would be easier if you didn't ask me questions I am obliged to lie to answer,
Ekarrel
," she pointed out.
"You believe me capable of discerning your position on a question, before I ask it?" The Kier's tone was tolerant, but the expression shared by several of her silent court suggested Medair take care.
"Yes," Medair replied, a simple, serious estimation of this woman's abilities.
"Unfortunate. For it is the questions you do not care to answer, which I wish to ask."
"Yes,
Ekarrel
. That is unfortunate."
They looked at each other, Kier of conquered Palladium and Medair an Rynstar, whose very name was a secret brandished openly. The implacable gaze was Kier Ieskar's. But there was no reason to declare enmity and Kier Inelkar eventually inclined her head.
"Perhaps you are wise enough to know that your lies would have told me almost as much as your truths. We will settle for what we can glean from your satchel, and give you our thanks, Medair ar Corleaux. Our debt will not be forgotten."
It was a dismissal. Avahn promptly came forward to lead Medair away and she went without a word. She had placed everything which was Medair an Rynstar, Herald of the Palladian Empire, into the hands of Ibisians. Everything but the truth.
A hall of light, heat, heady scents and noise. Muted conversation punctuated with soft laughter, the clatter of cutlery and ting of glasses. Unexpected gaiety for Ibisians. The old formalities seemed to have eroded severely in this particular facet of life. Only the sweet, sharp notes of a triband and certain spicy scents served to remind Medair of her Herald's guesting among the enemy. That and all the pale, shining hair, of course.
At least half the hall was blonde and the majority of the rest white, but Medair was surprised to see a goodly scattering of darker shades. Farakkians, dressed as Ibisians, with jade and bloodstone and even tiger's eye in their ears. Their presence made Medair feel queasy.
"Lathan's here!" Avahn hissed, sounding genuinely excited as he guided her toward a table where two empty seats waited. Kept for them, Medair realised, seeing Ileaha watching them approach. Nor was Ileaha the only interested observer – all around the room pale eyes fixed on Medair and voices hushed momentarily, before returning to a more ordinary volume.
"I'll be back in a moment," Avahn said, politely drawing out a chair before absconding. Off to talk to the triband player, whom Medair was able to glimpse in pale profile as she sat down.
"Hello Ileaha," Medair said, with a faint approximation of a smile. She didn't quite feel any of this was real. She had given her satchel to Ibisians, and at the next table she could see a woman the very image of Jorlaise an Vedlar, her left ear studded with bloodstone.
"Kel ar Corleaux." Despite their exchange of name-gift in Finrathlar, Ileaha greeted her with formal circumspection. "How are you?"
"Much the same." Positioning her chair a little more conveniently, Medair tried to concentrate on the collection of Ibisian nobility ornamenting her end of their table. All were young, with jade in their left ears. Only one other showed the marked 'taint' of Farakkian blood visible in Ileaha's colouring. Their silent interest left Medair casting about for some innocuous subject, but she was saved the trouble by the young man on her left. He was a pale blond, with serious grey eyes, serene and intelligent.
"Will you not introduce us, Ileaha?" he asked.
"Of course," Ileaha replied, colourlessly. "Kerin Mylar Vehl las Cor-Ibis, Keris Surreive Alai las Varentar, Keris Estal Jhet las Estasas, Kerin Adlenkar Tiend las Cor-Ibis, this is Kel Medair ar Corleaux."
"
So it's true!
" This soft, delighted exclamation broke from the lips of the handsome man directly across from Medair. "
Cor-Ibis shelters a Medarist. What a magnificent joke!
"
This was substantially the same reaction as Avahn's, back in Thrence, but tonight it rankled, perhaps because he used a language she was not expected to understand. Medair had to bite back the words which rose to her lips.
"Don't gloat, Adlenkar," the one called Surreive said, her voice weary and derisive. Her eyes were distinctively heavy-lidded. "It's not becoming."
"
I detect deep manoeuvres
,
" said the woman introduced as Estal las Estasas, ignoring Surreive's hint to keep the conversation in Parlance, not Ibis-laran. "
You've been holding back on us, Ileaha
.
"
Ileaha looked down at her hands. Then, pointedly ignoring the woman's comment, she said: "Your arrival is fortuitous, Medair. Lathan is always travelling, and it seems he has hardly been in Athere these past few years."
Thinking that the musician's playing was so obscured by the hum of conversation that he might as well not be present, Medair smiled politely and glanced in the man's direction. She was in time to meet Avahn's speculative gaze as he headed back towards them. He immediately replaced it with a more frivolous expression, but it served to further upset Medair's calm. She smelled plots, and she no longer had the resources of her satchel, of all those trinkets and toys that could solve every problem but not give her a single thing she wanted. Just a woman on her own, among all these White Snakes.
A spate of greetings across the table kept the air busy as Avahn took his place at Medair's right. The hint of tension did not surprise her. She had recognised the names of those Ileaha had mentioned as Cor-Ibis' potential heirs. This group did not gather by chance. Long years of being thrown together in the Keridahl's entourage would have formed strong bonds of both habit and rivalry. She imagined it had been a closely-matched contest. Only Avahn and Ileaha did not wear a sigil of attainment in their right ears. Kerin Mylar had already reached the second rank of adept, which was quite an achievement for one who could not yet have twenty-five years. Medair was not familiar enough with the sigils to understand the exact ranks of the others, but she knew they were only worn by those who had reached a certain high standard.
Listening to their chatter, Medair selected a few morsels from the ravaged platter weighing their end of the table. It didn't take long for the polite exchanges to give way to the topic of such apparent interest to all Athere.
"
You must tell us, Avahn
,
" said Estal las Estasas, "
whether travelling with a Medarist affords more entertainment or irritation. It amazes me that Cor-Ibis would tolerate such company
.
"
Avahn looked across the table amiably and answered in Farrakian: "Our esteemed cousin is often a cause for amazement, Estal. And I believe he finds Medair exceedingly entertaining, since he is so rarely posed such an opaque puzzle. Irritated, however? No, it has been my observation that only a crass lack of manners or stupidity in one capable of more is likely to irritate him. The combination of those two faults, now that is something he would not be alone in finding intolerable."
The Keris turned a pretty shade of pale violet. "Well said, Avahn," Surreive complimented, as if she were an exacting judge of scathing remarks.
"Wholly uncalled for," said Adlenkar, with just a hint of a snap.
"Too mild," Avahn returned, voice as milk-like as his complexion.