The Silence of Medair Read Free Page A

how.
    Having sorted out the gear and stowed what she considered would be of use, Medair cooked herself some dinner and sat back against a tree, thinking.
    They had not known what to expect, that elite, unscrupulous little group.  They had approached with caution, but had not known she was mage until the second Decian had misunderstood the traces of power given out by the ring.  They knew neither her name nor her features and, really, considering what she carried, five men, only one a mage, seemed a little...inadequate.  If they had taken her by surprise, then yes, they could have had her.  But with the contents of her satchel, if she were desperate, she could fight off a great many more than five, no matter what their skill.  With what her satchel held, she could bring down an army.  That was irony.
    Did the one who had sent them know?  "If she's as valuable as it sounds," the leader had said.  If whoever had sent these people knew who she was, what her satchel contained, why not adequately prepare those set on her trail?  Why not a greater effort at secrecy in their approach?  She couldn't think of any reason for them to come after her if they didn't know.
    "I am Medair an Rynstar, Herald of the Empire," she said to the dying embers of the fire.
    She had been one of the two heralds Grevain Corminevar had sent to greet the Ibisian refugees when they'd appeared in Kormettersland.  Wild magic, forbidden in Farakkan, had destroyed the Ibisians' island home.  Not with the massive Conflagration the mages of Farakkan warned would be the consequence of wild magic slipping from control, but by a creeping blackness which melted the land from beneath their feet.  As Sar-Ibis dissolved into nothing, the Ibisians had fled to Farakkan through arcane gates; an incredible feat of magic.
    Riding through their camp that first time, she'd actually been glad to see how organised they were.  Their tents were in orderly clusters: small suburbs in a city of cloth separated by securely penned animals, crates, carts and carriages.  Even saplings, their roots bound in sacks.  With their own supplies, the hundreds of thousands of refugees would not be such a strain on the north-east as had first been thought.
    She'd felt desperately sorry for them, before they'd declared their intentions.  She'd wanted to reach out and help, to show them the bounty of the Empire, wondering what she could do to make it easier for them.  Their alien appearance, so tall and bleached of colour, only made her feel sorrier for their displacement, for the desolation they had to feel.
    Trained for her memory, Medair could not wipe out any part of that first day.  She would always remember riding through that endless camp of white-skinned people, and how glad she'd been to carry a message of aid.  Try as she might, she could not forget the first time she'd seen the Ibisian ruler, that cold statue of a man framed by the graceful black heads of carved ibises.  She could even recite every word of the message the Emperor had sent to his homeless counterpart, the message her teacher, First Herald Kedy, had delivered:
    "Words are small things," Kedy had said, his voice an echo of the Emperor's deep, measured tone.  "They cannot possibly carry the weight of events, or convey anything but an outline of thoughts and feelings.  My sorrow and dismay I must give you in words, knowing that nothing I say can begin to alleviate your loss.  Instead, I offer you my welcome, people of the Land of the Ibis.  Farakkan is a wide and varied realm and the Bountiful Lady will gladly receive another people into her fold.  The Palladian Empire will give you a home."
    It had been a message of sympathy and understanding, full of generosity.  Medair had been so blindly proud as her mentor delivered it.  She'd stood there in the tent of the Ibisian ruler – the Kier – conscious of the image of strength and security she projected, willing to do whatever it took to make loss