The Silence of Medair (25 page)
That silenced him, at least momentarily, and he turned to study the jagged horizon, where Farak's Girdle separated Palladium and Decia.
"My current theories, Kel," he said, eventually, "have the virtue of fitting the facts, the flaw of lack of proof, and the fatal weakness of not convincing me with their arguments."
"And you would like to tell them to me, to see what you can glean from my reactions," she observed, weary.
He did not deny it, quite possibly smiled in the darkness. "Would you object, Kel?"
"I am no longer certain I care, Keridahl."
He paused again, out of guilt she hoped, before beginning.
"The name Medair is never given or taken lightly," he told her. "Combined with your satchel, it is obviously more significant in your case than 'a name your mother gave you'. But you are not a Medarist. No Medarist would deny her cause, or aid Ibis-lar. Are you familiar, Kel, with the belief that Medair an Rynstar will be reborn, to rid Farak of the 'scourge' which descended upon it five hundred years ago?"
"I am not Medair an Rynstar reborn," Medair told him, an edge to her voice.
"I do not suggest it. But it is a legend of great strength, and the appearance of a convincing pretender has been used as a weapon on two occasions in the past. The deceits were uncovered, but the belief in her return remains, unwavering. Consider for a moment, Kel, in this time of approaching war, what the effect would be of a woman who was not pretending to be Medair an Rynstar reborn, but who was raised to believe that she was in truth legend given new life, whose entire existence had been carefully orchestrated to give foundation to the lie."
Medair stared at his shadowed face. "That's your theory? You think that fits what facts you have about me?"
"Not quite. But picture this woman, who has been told all her life that she is Medair an Rynstar reborn, who has witnessed various events which make her believe this. She is trained as a Herald, her hatred of Ibis-lar instilled from birth. She has been given a satchel in honour of her supposed past, possibly been told that it is the original satchel carried by her namesake. Perhaps she has been subjected to arcane manipulation. She might even remember events of the distant past. For a skilled adept of sufficient imagination, it is not too difficult to plant images in a sleeping mind. Memories real enough to her to convince any spell of her veracity. Picture her discovering the truth."
It was a compelling image. Medair considered it until the Keridahl spoke again.
"Such a woman could be expected to flee from those who had manipulated her. And be pursued."
Medair made a sharp movement with her head, and he nodded. "A woman such as this might even be worth the risk Vorclase took venturing into Finrathlar. Avahn is certainly not worth so much to the South."
"You're right, Keridahl," Medair announced. "It does fit what facts you know, if somewhat imaginatively."
"And is not correct," he concluded.
"Not at all."
"A pity. I do, as you say, have a fondness for mysteries, but I can see no way to pursue this one. You leave on the morrow, Kel?"
"At dawn." Her tone warned him not to argue, but he made no attempt. Of course, she had little doubt that someone would be set to follow her, once she'd left Athere. But with her ward against traces and her ring of invisibility, she refused to be concerned.
"I still owe you a great debt," Cor-Ibis said.
"I sorrow for you."
She thought he smiled, and found that she wished she could see his expression. It was suddenly hard to believe that she would never see him again. She had saved his life, and he had – what?
"Is there anything I can do to help, Kel?" he asked. His voice was grave, genuinely concerned. Strangely young. "Captain Vorclase is a formidable man, and I cannot like leaving you undefended."
"He'd have to find me first," Medair said, off-balance. This didn't feel like another ploy to extract her secrets.
"I fear he is quite capable of that. At the very least, do not forget the debts owed to you. Call on Palladium's protection, if there is need."
"I will remember, Keridahl. But I don't think there'll be a need."
And still he didn't go, just stood there in the dark looking at her. The hesitation was so out of character, she wondered if he were debating keeping her prisoner. But then he said: "As you wish, Kel."
His voice was oddly constrained, and he took a sudden step back, glancing at Athere's lights. "You will speak to Avahn?" he asked, sounding more like himself.
Medair's turn to hesitate. Then she shook her head. "Avahn is correct. He has wronged me. Perhaps in future he'll be able to distinguish a person from a puzzle. But you may tell him that I lay the blame firmly at your door, if you wish."
"I will do that."
The Keridahl inclined his head in a gesture of sincere respect.
"Goodbye, Medair," he said, and walked away without a backward glance, leaving her staring in confusion after him. The ineffably correct Illukar las Cor-Ibis, using someone's personal name without formally asking for it? She would sooner expect Jedda las Theomain to kiss her good morning.
It was a long time before Medair left the balcony, and half the night was gone before she succeeded in capturing sleep.
An oppressive, insubstantial weight pressed down on Medair's chest, but was not there at all. Confused by dreams of a bellowing ocean, she blinked at the edge of light outlining the door to her room, trying to understand what she was feeling.
Magic. Someone, somewhere, was casting a spell of such immensity that it had woken her from sleep. She struggled from the tangle of sheets, and uncovered the mageglow. A few moments to dress, then she opened the door to her room.
Light blazed in the Cor-Ibis apartments, and Medair could see knots of people in various states of undress gathered together in the large area beyond the empty sitting room adjoining her hallway. She ignored them, turning left to her balcony once again. South. It was in the south.
Sensing magic was like smelling colour. Indefinable and impossible to adequately explain. It came in pulses, flashes, waves and, as with her charm against traces, steady hums. Like noise, it grew fainter the further it travelled. What Medair felt was distant, impossibly distant. Her limited abilities would allow her to sense a truly strong spell within Athere's limits, but not much more. An adept such as Cor-Ibis would be able to sense powerful magic a dozen miles away. Without being able to say why, Medair knew that what she sensed originated at a much greater distance than that.
"Impossibly strong," said a soft, awed voice. Ileaha joined Medair, her eyes fixed on the southern horizon. "It's been building for half a decem, according to Avahn. The entire city's awake. Even those with no trace of mage gift know something's wrong."
"I've never felt anything like it. Not even rahlstone enhanced spells have this effect."
Ileaha shifted restlessly. "They're attempting to scry," she said. "Cor-Ibis, the Kier, Keridahl Antellar. No-one's willing to guess what they'll see, if they manage it. It's as if the AlKier has descended upon Farakkan."
"Beyond the scope of mortals."
"Yes. I can't imagine anyone, not Cor-Ibis, not every adept in the city, casting this. Beyond the scope of mortals."
There wasn't anything else to say. Neither woman was inclined to useless speculation, and could only stare out at the stars and the line of darkness where the sky met the earth. The weight of power increased slowly and steadily, crushing in its intensity, and Medair imagined that she could see a faint glow limning the jagged southern mountains.
"Dawn," Ileaha whispered, as if the sun would rise somewhere other than the east.
The words broke some of the hypnotic fascination which kept their eyes drawn south. Medair looked down at the city, which was ablaze with restless light, and Ileaha turned her eyes to where the sun should truly rise.
As if taking advantage of their distraction, a slight wind tugged at Medair's hair. With the soughing of an indrawn breath, the force of magic which had woken Athere contracted and fled from their senses, leaving them chilled and shaken in the pre-dawn blackness.
There followed a moment of complete silence, and Medair caught her breath in unison with Ileaha. Across the city, she imagined, every eye would be widening, every face turning towards the south.
"AlKier!" Ileaha gasped, flinching as a lance of golden flame shot up from beyond the far-distant mountains to pierce the sky. The power of it was a typhoon, an earthquake which did not stop as the line of fire thickened and steadied, became a column to the stars. It had to be huge beyond reckoning to be visible over so many miles. At the apex, the golden fire spread and dispersed, like smoke which has reached the ceiling of a cave. It wavered, too, a swaying snake of light. The threat was unmistakable. The menace of a giant, so large that injury need not spring from malice, only ignorance. All were ants in the face of this power, insignificance to be crushed underfoot.
And then Medair knew what it must be. The Conflagration. It was the end.
-oOo-
She registered, but did not properly recognise, the sound of someone wailing around the curve of the tower. All she could do was watch, stunned into nothingness, as that pillar of gold began to expand.
"It is wild magic," Ileaha said. "It has to be."
"Yes."
"As Sar-Ibis was consumed, so shall we be."
"Yes."
"How can you be so calm, Medair?" Ileaha asked, fear turning to anger in her voice.
Medair had to drag her eyes away from the flames. It was as if she was looking down a tunnel, with Ileaha at the end. Nothing seemed real. It couldn't be real.
"With what would you have me greet the Conflagration?" she asked, lips numb. "Anger? Despair? The question of whether this would be happening, if I had given Captain Vorclase the rahlstones instead of your cousin?"
Ileaha made a tiny noise of protest.
"He warned me," Medair said, following a line of reasoning too dreadful to contemplate. "Asked me to consider what his king would do, if the prizes he sought in Kyledra slipped beyond his reach. I never thought that it would come to this." She turned her back on the column of fire. "This is the last in a long series of disasters for me, Ileaha. Perhaps, even a single day ago, I would have railed against it, wept, but just now..." She shook her head. "I'm tired of caring. I have cared too much, lost so much, that it seems only natural that I should lose what little is left." She smiled bitterly. "Think of it as escaping a lifetime's service to las Theomain, Ileaha. Goodbye."
Medair left Ileaha to stare after her and returned to her room, which would serve as well as any as a place to die. But, once there, she found her detachment slipping away, and she sagged against the door, shaking. It couldn't be. The Conflagration, the complete destruction of Farakkan. And she could have prevented it.
The Decian King had to be the summoner. What had Vorclase said? "Failing you, and without the rahlstones, he will tread a more dangerous path to cleansing Palladium. Think on that." Medair had given the rahlstones back to the Ibisians. Medair had chosen not to side with the Decians and their putative heir. Medair had blocked Decian ambitions.
She made a keening noise, thrusting her hand in front of her face as if to push away what followed. She had not forced the Decian King to break the laws against summoning wild magic. She had not led him to discover a means to do so. She was not responsible for this. She was not.
-oOo-
Someone tried to open the door. It jarred Medair from the blank, empty place she had gone, and she blinked dry, burning eyes. Whoever it was pushed the door again, knocking her shoulder and the side of her head, but then they gave up. She could hear their footsteps recede down the corridor.
How long had it been? Forever or a moment. The flames had not yet come. She was still on the floor in her room, satchel clutched against her chest and the world burning outside. The smothering force of power hadn't gone away. It was still happening.
She couldn't stay here. She needed to see. Levering herself to her feet, Medair opened the door onto hot scorching wind. Her ears thrummed with a distant, bellowing roar which could only be the Conflagration and she found herself staring over the balcony at a storm of flame. Fully half the southern horizon was burning, bringing day as would a foundering sun.
Gripping the stone of the balcony, Medair could only stare. She had not done this, but she was indirectly responsible. Her decisions had led to this. Her choices. The thought made her angry. She had had no way of knowing. Estarion of Decia had gambled and the whole of Farakkan would pay. He was culpable, not Medair.
Blame seemed such a pointless concern when the fire continued to advance. She couldn't make out the distant peaks of Farak's Girdle, which meant the flames were already over the border. She thought they were almost near enough to have covered Finrathlar. The flame trees would burn in truth. Then it would be Pelamath. Then Athere.
