The Silence of Medair

Chapter Fifteen

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.

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.

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.

A desire to do something, anything, sent Medair back into her room. She hefted her open satchel, thinking of the artefacts she’d brought from the Hoard, but at the same time aware that it was a futile hope. Powerful as they were, they could not stop the Conflagration. Useless as ever.

She left her room and looked around. There was not a soul in sight, only sharp-relief shadows cutting into the edges of walls made golden by fire. The noise of the Conflagration filled all the empty spaces, muffling what would otherwise be abandoned silence. It made Medair feel like she was the only one left alive in all the world.

Waiting for death in the palace suddenly seemed insupportable. Not in this Ibisian cage. She didn’t have friends to seek out and make her goodbyes to, but if this was the end, she would say farewell to the city which was still in some way her home.

The guard who had been at the entrance to the Cor-Ibis apartments was gone, but Medair had not taken two steps out the door when a cold voice said: "Kel ar Corleaux."

Startled, Medair turned. Jedda las Theomain had followed her out of the Cor-Ibis apartments. The adept’s face was set into the mask of an Ibisian exercising careful control, and she carried a thick, heavy book in her arms.

"Keris las Theomain?" Medair’s confusion showed, and tight lines of strain briefly made the woman look older.

"Keridahl Cor-Ibis requested that I caution you against leaving the city, Kel," las Theomain said, flatly. "There is to be an attempt made to shield Athere, and he wished to be certain you were warned not to pursue your intention to depart."

Without another word, las Theomain turned and walked away, leaving Medair to stare after her. The message had been stiff and awkwardly phrased, the tone no more or less precisely cold than anything else las Theomain had said to her. Yet, of a sudden, Medair felt Jedda las Theomain bore her active ill-will.

Disconcerted, Medair tried to shrug off the entire incident. It wasn’t as if her plans to leave Athere were relevant any longer. The Conflagration wasn’t something you could begin to run from. But what did it mean, they were going to attempt to shield Athere? How could that be possible?

Thrusting confusion to the back of her mind, Medair pressed on. She hesitated only briefly near the stables before deciding that her horse would probably not benefit from a better view of the flames. Simpler to just get out of the palace, to walk instead of thinking or feeling.

In the half-decem it took her to pass Cantry Wall, Medair found herself caught up, not in her own reflections, but Athere’s reaction to the end. People gathered at windows and on the streets; friends, families and strangers facing the fire together. Some wept and some held each other and a few muttered in angry whispers. Most just stared, eyes wide and despairing, reflecting the ever-approaching blaze. Medair could understand that response, for there was no mistaking the futility of action.

"Clear the way!" called a voice from her left and Medair barely ducked aside as a man in a cart drove past, his wild-eyed horses surging frantically in the traces. A pair of frightened children clung to a mound of baggage spilling out of the back of the cart. Trying to outrun the blaze, though any fool could see it was moving faster than a horse ever would. Medair stood watching until he was hidden by the curve of the street. Contagious fear gibbered at the back of her mind, but the numbness kept it at bay. There was nowhere to run to. Nowhere to go. Everyone in Farakkan would soon be dead.

Beyond Shield Wall, Medair walked into a riot.

She heard the babble first but was not quick enough to resist the tide of people flowing through the gate. Before she realised her danger, she was in the fringes of a crowd pressed up against the very wall. People were all around her, shouting, pushing, trying to go in all directions at once.

Most were surging towards an unlucky building, their eyes scared and angry and determined. Medair almost fell as they pushed forward and then eased backwards, jostling bystanders. She caught herself and automatically steadied a young boy losing his own battle to stay upright. Shock broke through the numbness, and she clutched at him.

"Thank you, Kel," he said, gripping her arm. Never mind the Conflagration: they were in immediate danger of being crushed against the wall.

"What’s going on?" she asked, keeping hold of his sleeve as she tried to squeeze sideways. She couldn’t make out individual words in the roaring gabble which was assaulting her ears. Something about burning.

"Southerners, Kel," the boy replied, then gasped as the surge reversed abruptly, swallowing them both. The boy staggered and Medair received an elbow in the ribs. An arm supported her for a moment, then a shoulder spun her around and she staggered, almost lost her satchel at the same time as her hold on the boy’s arm.

"Let them burn first!" someone yelled, and the crowd roared. It brought Medair straight back to the alley in Burradge, but without the will to fight as the surge overwhelmed her.

Then her elbow was caught and she found herself being hauled unceremoniously out of the crush by a man of wholly disreputable appearance. Farakkian, round face liberally stubbled, clothes half rags and blond hair matted beneath a greasy kerchief. The Ibisian boy was tucked beneath his shoulder, and his expression was abstractly businesslike as he searched for a safe eddy in which to deposit them.

The crowd worked against him and he lost Medair’s elbow and stopped to try and reach her again. Medair was already being carried in the opposite direction. She resisted for a moment, then turned and pushed with the flow, was buffeted this way and that until, abruptly, she was free of the smothering press.

Her breath in her throat, she looked back and caught sight of the pair. The man gave her a brief nod of approval before hoisting the Ibisian boy so he could climb on to the nearest roof. Then he returned to the crowd, heading toward another hapless passer-by. With certain death on the horizon it seemed a futile gesture, but it made Medair wish she could do better than her own useless paralysis.

The bay of the crowd faltered as four riders on blinkered geldings had forced their way to the front of the mass, blocking the entrance of the small inn unfortunate enough to be hosting southerners. The leaders of the mob argued the case for a burning with a woman dressed in the uniform of the City Watch, making little headway. But the crowd was growing, pressing forward again. The confused babble grew and one of the horses tossed its head, plainly tried beyond its training. They would not be able to hold long.

The shouting died. The crowd began to break apart, and Medair found the cause at the Shield Wall gate. Mounted soldiers from the palace, thrusting their way through the northern edge of the crowd, which had been blocking the road almost completely. Eight rows, four abreast, and at the centre – Medair blinked at that clutch of shimmering robes, saw a pale head incline towards another. The Kier.

Even though most of this crowd were Farakkian, goaded by terror and fury, they still moved aside with the instinctive, absolute deference of Ibisians for their Kier. It was like marketplace marrat and the fashion for demi-robes. Not only had Ibisians become Palladian, but Palladians had become Ibisian.

As soon as a way was clear, Kier Inelkar rode on, eyes fixed on the fire in the southern sky. Medair was startled to see that Avahn was with her, as well as the Keridahl Alar. They disappeared in the direction of the South Cantry Gate, trailing a little buzz of magic which could only be spells used to control the horses in the face of fire.

Curious, lacking any other direction, Medair followed.

She was almost at Ahrenrhen Wall when it began. A counter-note to the ceaseless roar of the Conflagration, a complex thread of rhythm which seemed to come from several directions at once. Some kind of spell-casting, terribly strong.

Rahlstones. It had to be rahlstones, in the hands of the most powerful of the Ibisian mages. But what could they be hoping to cast? Cor-Ibis' message had spoken of a shield, but did they really imagine they could construct one sufficient to cover all Athere? For nothing would turn back that fire, no null-spell or magically-summoned storm would even give it a moment’s pause. It was the Conflagration.

Impossible not to try and find out what was happening, but Medair was hardly the only person with that idea. She was soon lost in a river of the curious streaming toward Ahrenrhen Wall, and when she finally saw the ramps and long stairways to the battlements, they were a solid mass of people.

It took considerable determination on Medair’s part to work her way along one of the crowded ramps. The walkway up top was packed so tightly that she couldn’t slip forward far enough to even glimpse the ground beyond the city walls, where she could sense one of the sources of arcane casting.

Explanations at least were easily had from others in her predicament. The nearest caster was the Kier, flanked by six of her guards. The Keridahl Alar and Avahn had left the Kier and headed around the curve of the wall. They would be two of those many sources of power Medair could sense. They were trying to create a shield, the same kind of shield Medair had used in Finrathlar, but on an improbably large scale. Impossible to save Farakkan, but they would do all they could to keep Athere from the flames.

"But how will they link across the city?" Medair asked.

The short, dark woman who seemed to know most about the casting lifted her hands. "Without line of sight or a graven star? Who knows? Athere’s too big and there’s not enough rahlstones or adepts of that strength to really circle it. I’ve never heard of a massed spell where the casters didn’t have line of sight."

"Doesn’t matter," said a spindly Ibisian girl. "Even if they get this shield up, what do they hope to achieve? The Blight ate through shielding as quickly as it did flesh. It’s pointless."

"You’d have them do nothing?" asked a pale boy, hotly.

"That was the Blight," the short woman put in, with a shrug. "This is the Conflagration. Who’s to know how it’ll react to shielding? Wild magic’s unpredictable in every way." She clenched her hands into fists. "What I’d give to have Estarion here, to make him suffer. He’d have been the first to go, quick and easy. Doesn’t seem right."

Wanting a better view, Medair worked her way back to the inner railing. She thrust a hand into her satchel and startled those nearest to her by disappearing. Then she climbed onto the parapet and walked swiftly and precariously along its flat surface, cursing Ibisian ideas of decoration each time she had to work her way around a large stone urn filled with too-healthy plant life. Her goal was a watchtower some four hundred feet along the wall, where guards kept the pressing crowd back from the entrance stairs.

When she left the parapet, her progress through the crowd was marked by a series of surprised and annoyed looks, as innocents were blamed for her determined shouldering. The guards she did not disturb so clumsily, clambering halfway over the outer wall and stepping across corners to slide over the stair railing. Then it was a moment’s work to reach the room at the top of the small tower

Three armoured women were watching the scene beyond the gate. Medair crept across the room to a vantage point against the far wall, and then stopped to stare south.

Fire, everything was fire. Finrathlar and Pelamath must by now both be ash, and Athere would follow within a decem. There was no smoke, but the hot wind dried Medair’s face. She had to clench her teeth to stop herself from making any outcry.

Kier Inelkar stood some considerable distance out from the wall, her back to the fire. Her head was bowed in concentration and she slowly moved her hand in a repetitive pattern. A faint blue glow of gathering power was visible around her, but she looked puny, impotent against that backdrop of flame. Near the gate, her troop of guard were having immense trouble controlling their horses and as Medair leaned forward to get a better look, one of their number gestured them back inside the city. Even blinkered and enchanted, the animals would go completely mad when the fire was closer.

"A full-measure or less," said one of the women, the one furthest from Medair, who wore three entwined sickle-shapes in her right ear. Das-kend. A Kend was, simply, ultimate commander of an entire army, answerable only to the Kier. A Das-kend was a Kend’s second, handling mainly administrative details, but also regarded as a chosen heir, much as Avahn was to Cor-Ibis.

"Less," said the woman standing between the other two. The Kend, according to her ears. She was, so far as Medair could tell, entirely Farakkian, and her black hair and eyes contrasted remarkably with her two pale subordinates. Her pronunciation of Ibis-laran was soft and measured, her stance weary, facing something she had no way of fighting. "It’s gaining speed with size."

"They won’t be able to judge the arrival," the Das-kend murmured.

"Will they finish in time?" the third woman asked, in a small voice. Medair was mildly surprised to hear her speak, for she wore the sigil of a kaschen, the most junior officer in an Ibisian army. It was not her place to offer opinions. But this girl barely out of her teens was watching the Conflagration race toward her, and neither of the older women looked inclined to discipline her for the question.

The Das-kend smiled reassuringly. "They have almost completed the individual castings, Mira. See, the Kier makes the passes of shel-toth, to bind what she has been creating, so she need not release it at once. The joining of their casting, that will take a matter of a measure or two more, and the shield will manifest without great delay once they have joined. It is creating the shield too early, rather than too late, which poses the risk, for no matter how many rahlstones are involved, a shield covering all Athere cannot be held for more than a handful of ten-measures. It would need the intervention of the AlKier to make it permanent, even if we wanted that."

"We don’t?"

"No matter what the condition of the land after this fire has passed, we will wish to venture beyond the confines of the city gate at some point," the Das-kend said. The kaschen looked down, a faint flush colouring her pale cheeks.

Leaning forward, Medair was able to see Avahn standing in the same pose as the Kier, far to the right of her position. She still did not understand how they proposed to link over such a distance. Avahn would barely be able to see the Kier, let alone the other mages who must be stationed at, presumably, equal points around the city.

The Kend straightened, turned and walked to the opposite side of the guard tower to stare up at the towers of the palace. The Das-kend joined her after a moment, but Medair and the young kaschen were captives of the burning horizon. Everything in the south was alight – there was no longer sky nor earth, only fire, swallowing the world. The wind was stronger too, hot and harsh. Medair shuddered. What would it be like when the flames were upon them?

Some tiny sound she had made caught the kaschen’s attention and the young woman stared at the spot Medair occupied, frowning. A questing hand came out, but Medair leaned carefully beyond reach, watching the uncertainty on the young woman’s face. Even if she had mage-gift, the kaschen would be unlikely to sense the murmur of the ring, drowned by so much ambient magic. Her glances toward her two superior officers revealed indecision.

"It is a fated name," the Kend announced, successfully distracting the kaschen from Medair’s invisible presence. "It must be a grave matter to give it to your only child."

"A tradition of honour and sacrifice," the Das-kend replied. "But inapposite in this case, Ke, for dying during the casting would end the last hope of our people."

"The casting could easily overwhelm him."

"Yes."

The kaschen, after one final glance in Medair’s direction, joined the Kend and Das-kend in examining the view from the other railing. The Kier also seemed to be gazing up towards the White Palace’s towers, so Medair could do nothing but join in.

She could not see him. He would be on the viewing tower atop Fasthold, by far the highest structure in Athere, but the distance was too great to be sure of anything up there. Keridahl Illukar las Cor-Ibis, the solution to the problem of linking a massed spell across such a great distance.

Irrationally, Medair felt a surge of anger. She’d carted this man out of Bariback Forest, cleaned, fed and sheltered him, just so he could kill himself. The idea bothered her, and she linked it to her dislike of the concept of being fated. But then, as the Das-kend had pointed out, he would have to go against the tradition of his name and survive while saving the lives of his people. This was not the simple shield of pure power he had used against the blast of fire. A massed spell, precisely focused and hopefully enduring, would have to be cast perfectly, or there would be nothing to hold back the flames. If the focus of the spell crumbled during the casting, it would fall apart. And probably take Athere with it.

Medair thought of the message Cor-Ibis had sent her through Jedda las Theomain, and heard his voice saying goodbye to her last night. She remembered how angry she had been to be geased by a White Snake, and had to turn away, only to be shocked by how much further the fire had advanced while she had been gazing up at Fasthold. She stared, mesmerised, at the wall of leaping red-gold, orange and yellow until a distraction appeared in the form of a small cloud of dust on the southern road.

People from surrounding farmland had fled into the city. Medair had heard the crowd on the wall discussing arrivals, and those who would not be able to make it. This, it seemed, was one of the latter. A person on a horse, too far away for clearer detail. The fire was still at least a full day’s ride from Athere, but that was by far too close. Would they have time to cast the shield?

"The signal!" gasped the kaschen, and half Athere turned from the fire towards the point of light which had appeared on Fasthold’s apex. A heartbeat, two heartbeats, then a shaft of blue rose from beyond the western reach of the city. It was joined by eight others, a many-sided pyramid whose apex burned and flamed like a sapphire sun. At the heart of the blaze was a soft-voiced man whom Medair had bathed in a horse trough, and she found that she preferred to watch their destruction bearing down upon them, rather than their prospect of salvation.

The wind had become a gale, harsh as a desert in drought, drying sweat as soon as the heat conjured it. The flames were closer again, leaping miles in moments. And then the shield solidified and shut the world away. The gale vanished, blocked by a transparent blue wall. So did the noise, the roar of the fire and the wind. Instead, it seemed to Medair, she could hear an entire city take in unison a single, sobbing breath.

"Thank the AlKier," the Das-kend said softly, her voice shaking. She returned to the outer side of the watchtower and craned forward for a better view of the shield. Medair could see the Kier unhurriedly walking toward the city gates.

"But will it keep the fire out?" the Kend wondered. "Stupid to ask, I know, since we won’t know the answer until it’s here. Ah, I could kill that man!"

The southern king, Medair assumed. Had he had a moment to understand what he’d done, before the fire took him? Had he at least regretted the gamble?

"Mama, I’m scared," said the kaschen in a small voice, and was folded into the Das-kend’s arms.

"We all are, Mira. But we have done what we can, and perhaps the shield will hold. It will be a hard future, with Farak’s Breast burned away, but we will face it together. Else…at least it will be quick."

On the southern road, the person on the horse, still too distant to be recognisable as male or female, made a despairing, desperate motion with its hands towards the translucent blue pyramid which covered Athere. Then it was lost, a mote swallowed up by the fire which swept relentlessly across the land.

The shield would have stopped anyone else from getting in, anyway, Medair thought, and sent a silent prayer to ravaged Farak as the flames, a burning fog, flowed over Athere.