The Silence of Medair Read Free Page B

easier for the Ibisians.
    Then the world had changed forever.  Kier Ieskar, the Ibisians' implacable, incomprehensible leader, had declared war and waged it with total efficiency.  Farakkan hadn't seen a battle fought primarily with magic since before the Fall of Tir'arlea, and the Empire had been woefully unprepared.  Massed spells cast by hundreds; Ibisian adepts whose strength dwarfed their local counterparts; their damnable geases solidifying their victories; and, behind it all, the relentless brilliance of the Ibisian Kier.  The White Snakes were close to unstoppable.
    But the invaders had been hopelessly outnumbered.  They couldn't have won.  Couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't have won if the West hadn't betrayed Grevain.  That had been the worst moment of the war, more horrible even than that first battle at Mishannon, when the White Snakes had taken the city without losing a single warrior.  Destal an Vesat had delivered the message, unable to hide his gloating.  The western kingdoms were throwing off the 'yoke' of the Empire.  They would not support Palladium against the Ibisians, for the Ibisians were now their allies.
    It had become only a matter of time before the White Snakes took Athere, Palladium's capital.  Unable to bear the destruction of the Empire whose peace she had been raised to venerate, Medair had turned to the past, when mages more powerful than any White Snake had waged their own battles.  Those mages might have long since departed Farak's breast, but the artefacts they'd created remained, at least in legend.  There was one which would surely save them: the Horn of Farak, hidden among the Hoard of Kersym Bleak.  Medair's Emperor had given her leave to seek it, but few had thought she had any chance of success.
    Telsen, half-delighted, half-angry, had turned up from nowhere the day before she'd left.  The last time she'd seen the man she no longer loved or hated.
    "You're not really going to chase that children's tale?"
    "You have an unfailing ear for gossip," she'd replied.  Maintaining her dignity around Telsen had always been of primary importance.  If he knew how much he'd hurt her, he'd probably work it into his music and she'd find her heart being sung to the world.  Such had been her logic.
    "You can't know that the Horn still exists, Medair, if it ever did.  Can't know if it's in Bleak's Hoard, can't possibly hope to find the Hoard just when we need it most, when so many have sought it before you."
    "You've always told me to trust in coincidence.  That Farak will provide."
    "Maybe."  He had smiled, tilted eyes lighting with that particular fire which told her he was inspired.  "Maybe.  What a tale it would be!  The Horn of Farak, fashioned from the bones of the Goddess Herself.  Athere under siege, surrounded by White Snakes, and you appear, raise the Horn to those kissable lips, summon a mighty army and save us all."
    He'd hugged her enthusiastically, as ready as ever to forget that he'd fallen out of love with her years ago, and gone through a dozen women since.  She'd answered half his questions, only hinting at the clues she'd discovered in the archives.  She knew better than to tell him her conclusions.  He'd been planning verses for her epic when she left him.
    During the long journey north, Medair had daydreamed often of the song Telsen would write for her victory.  The Hoard of Kersym Bleak was legend, true, but legend based on fact, and she'd planned to destroy the White Snakes with what it contained.  She was not certain if even Telsen could put into words how she felt when, in the heart of a dripping limestone maze, she'd lifted the Horn from a cushion of silk and quailed to think how many deaths would stain her hands when she used it.
    She still blamed that moment of self-doubt for the disaster which followed.  If she'd been more certain, more eager to strike down the invaders, she would not have rested at the heart of the maze, and slept away any hope of