Voice of the Lost

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It was the longest stretch of nothing she’d ever known.

Illukar had been planning to travel near to the centre of the Blight, to try to avoid destroying Finrathlar’s western hills, but Medair had no idea how long the journey would take. Such drawn-out tenterhooks had left her with a conflicting desire for it to be over, and for it to never happen. Sitting forever in the dark, on chill, marshy earth, would be a small price to pay for Illukar’s life, wouldn’t it? But she supposed that would mean he would be eternally traveling to his death, and she wouldn’t have that, either.

The Blight was getting close. Drained and weary, she stared out into the night. Few birds flew past now, but the supply of insects seemed never-ending. Medair pictured all Farakkan’s inhabitants, every species, crowding to the edges of an ever-expanding lake, then discarded the thought. Hardly a happy thing to picture Illukar’s sacrifice as futile.

"Keris an Rynstar."

She watched dispassionately as Islantar approached, carrying a glowstone. "I’m not going to hurl myself in, if that’s what brings you."

"No. You would not do that to him."

Islantar sounded more certain of that than Medair was herself. She didn’t bother to gainsay him, watching him arrange himself into an attitude of polite attention. Court posture. This was more than solicitude, then.

"There is one who wishes to speak to you," he said.

"I have no wish for company, Kierash."

"I am aware of that. I ask this of you, Keris."

Again that was the kind of request Emperor Grevain had been wont to make: refusal was not easy. Medair looked up into Islantar’s young, resolute face and sighed silently. "Very well," she said, standing. Islantar waited a moment, then gestured with the glowstone.

Two figures approached along the bank, gradually resolving into dark-haired, copper-complected young men of similar build. There was, Medair noticed, a similarity in their features which suggested blood ties. Tarsus and Thessan. She supposed it was not improbable that Xarus Estarion might have decided to join his own line with the Corminevars, but these brotherly countenances were the first suggestion she’d encountered of such a union. What, she wondered, had happened to Tarsus' mother? And what were the implications for the succession of the Decian throne?

Those questions, however, were not why these two had come to see her. Prince Thessan looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Tarsus, only marginally less ragged than her previous sighting of him, was evidently the one who wanted to speak to her. Behind the two young men emerged a half-dozen guards, headed by Kel ar Haedrin. They remained just at the edge of the circle of light cast by Islantar’s glowstone, none of them completely hiding their concern.

Tarsus sketched a gesture of courtesy. He seemed to be as high in formal ropes as Islantar. Thessan just looked sour.

"Herald an Rynstar–" Tarsus began, and Medair shook her head.

"I lost my role as Herald, Lord Tarsus." The title she gave him sat awkwardly on her tongue, but it would take too long to decide the correct formal way to address someone who might be the true descendent of an ousted Emperor. She would rather they just went away.

"Forfeited it, you mean," put in Thessan, at no pains to hide the anger and disdain in his voice. "When you sided with White Snakes over Palladians."

Medair shook her head, ignoring the sick knot which had instantly formed in her stomach. "It was not a matter of choice, Prince Thessan. I stopped being a Herald of the Empire when I woke five hundred years after the Palladian Empire’s fall."

"How convenient for you," Thessan snapped. "With your oath magically dissolved, you’re free to take up with whatever White Snake catches your eye."

"Leave to, Thes," Tarsus said, putting a restraining hand on Thessan’s arm. He appeared torn between agreeing with the Prince and the knowledge that Illukar – a White Snake – was giving his life to stop a disaster Tarsus had sparked. "Lady an Rynstar, then," he said. "I wished to ask you of Emperor Grevain. You knew him–"

"I was sworn to him," Medair said, softly.

"Yes. You served him." Tarsus brushed at his curly hair, as if looking for a delay. "It has been put to me that…to press my claim to the Silver Throne is not in Palladium’s best interests. I would know–"

"You would let yourself be talked out of what is yours by right!" Thessan said hotly, subsiding only when Tarsus gave him a pained, pleading look. It was obvious that there was considerable affection between the pair. And that Thessan would happily throw Medair and Islantar into the Blight, if not for the guards who watched.

"Let me do this, Thes," Tarsus muttered, then met Medair’s eyes squarely. "I would know what Emperor Grevain would do, at such a pass. Whether he would approve of my quest."

"I can’t answer for the Emperor," Medair said, dismayed. "Nor," she added, glancing at Thessan’s angry face, "would you have any way of knowing if I was honest in any opinion I gave you."

"I am aware of that, Lady an Rynstar," said Tarsus. "But you alone of all the world have met the Emperor. You witnessed the invasion, you quested to stop it, no matter what the outcome. Truth or lie, I feel I need to hear what you have to say. What kind of man was he? Would he have surrendered his crown to benefit his people?"

Medair blinked, trying to bend her mind away from her grief, to think along unfamiliar courses. The intensity of power emitted by the Blight made it impossible to forget that Illukar was out there, preparing to die because of this boy. Grevain Corminevar seemed so impossibly long ago.

"I…cannot really picture him as anything but Emperor," she said, slowly. "He was born to the rule. If he had survived Athere’s fall, if he had been – if he had been allowed to live after Kier Ieskar took the Silver Throne…" She shook her head blankly. "No, the situations are too dissimilar. If the Emperor, instead, had woken as I did, five hundred years too late, would he have raised an army to take back his throne?" She thought about the ever-busy, abrupt man she had sworn her life to, and realised how little she knew of him. To her, he was Lord and Law and there was no bond of friendship. Simply Emperor, the ruler she had so admired.

"This is useless," Thessan muttered, and Medair searched her memory, not willing to leave Tarsus completely unanswered.

"He was a proud man," she said, carefully. "Wise to the political games. He offered his opinions rarely, for his every word was weighted. He disliked intensely things not going to order. He would give second chances, but never a third." She remembered Grevain’s manner when he sat in judgment over some dispute. It gave her more confidence. "If he had found himself in today’s Palladium, he might well have sought his throne," she said, looking directly into Tarsus' eyes. "If he believed that it would benefit Palladium, if he thought Ibisian rule, in practice, was unjust. But I don’t believe he would feel that way."

"That’s just what you would say," Thessan snapped, predictably. "But Ibisian rule is anything but just. How many true Palladians do you see in power? How many rise from beneath the White Snake boot?"

Medair stared at him, realising that Thessan knew less of the reality of Palladium than she did, no matter what changes the Conflagration had made. How could she tell him that very few Palladians seemed to object to Ibisians? That those who still nurtured hatreds were a minority, no matter how powerful their effect on their land. It was obvious that, whether it had been greed or justice which motivated Xarus Estarion, Thessan truly did believe Decia’s war had been to benefit Palladians.

"I won’t pretend that most of those who rule aren’t of Ibisian descent," she said, trying to be absolutely fair. "That is hardly surprising, when titles are hereditary. And Ibisians are not thought arrogant merely by accident. But I have seen no suffering. Or any indication that laws are interpreted in the favour of Ibis-lar over Farak-lar. Though hampered by Medarists and perhaps the pure camp of Ibisians, Palladians as a whole are prospering. It is only my opinion, but I do not think Emperor Grevain would overset that, simply to replace Kier Inelkar on the Silver Throne.

Tarsus' reaction was overwhelmed by Thessan’s. "You could hardly give us any other answer," he said, in a low, trembling voice. "I will not forget what you have done. You killed those who would have redressed the old wrong–"

"No." Medair said the word flatly, angrily. "I defended Athere against an invasion. Stop trying to fight a five-hundred year past war."

Tarsus again restrained his fellow, gripping Thessan’s arm tightly, then asked in a quieter, but no less accusative tone: "Can you deny that there are those in Palladium who wish to be freed from White Snake tyranny?"

Medair had to force herself not to simply send them away so she could return to mourning. Or give in to the very large part of her which wanted to slap Tarsus, to shriek and tear his hair and ask him how he dared to show himself before her when he had ignored their warnings, when he had run with that mirror, and let it fall and brought Illukar’s death down on him and left her with no way out.

She took a breath, slow and deep.

"Of course I can’t. What you refuse to let yourself acknowledge is that they are not the only true Palladians." Medair gestured past Tarsus, to the row of guards silently watching them, and flame-haired Liak ar Haedrin with her Ibisian uniform and creamy skin. "Were you going to liberate her from Ibisian rule? Or kill her along with the White Snakes you hate so much?"

Tarsus looked at Kel ar Haedrin for a long moment, and the Velvet Sword blinked back impassively. "The White Snake invasion was wrong," he said, apparently trying to rebuild the foundations of his animosity.

"Yes. And the Empire defended itself."

"They stole the throne!"

"They conquered Palladium," Medair said. "Five hundred years ago. And became part of it."

"What of those who don’t think White Snakes are a part of Palladium? What of those who raise their voices to me, to the true heir of that line, and ask for their freedom? Should I just ignore them?"

"Perhaps not." Medair looked at him, and her own anger faded. So earnest, so impassioned. But no longer sure that hate was the way. "Where would the killing have stopped, Tarsus? How many would it have taken, before you considered Palladium cleansed? Would you have killed all who were pale, or over-tall, just to be sure? Or would it be permitted to have a quarter Ibisian blood? An eighth? People who have lived in Palladium all their lives, who think of themselves as Palladian, who speak Parlance and who would consider you the invader? Will you also oust those who are Farakkian blood who have been appointed by Ibisians? Yes, you could make the Ibisians pay, but is it worth destroying Palladium in the process?"

"It can’t be forgotten," Thessan broke in. "It can’t just be put aside. They will always be invaders, they will always have been the ones who made war. They can’t be allowed to live." His voice was a pitch higher than usual, and he said the words as if he repeated a child’s well-worn lesson, a litany to block out any doubt. "A war does not finish merely because the victors have claimed the prize."

"What is your position, then, Thessan, by that way of thinking? Decia just invaded. Should that never be forgiven? Should Palladians not tolerate Decians to live?"

"No doubt the White Snakes are greedy for our land–" Thessan retorted, hotly, but Islantar’s cool voice slid into the fray.

"Palladium has no interest in expanding her borders," the Kierash said, with serene confidence. Thessan rounded on him as if looking for relief in action, and Medair saw the guards surge forward a step. Islantar didn’t move.

Held back, perhaps by the utter calm in the Kierash’s eyes, Thessan did no more than clench his fists. "The White Snakes are the problem," he said, desperately stubborn. "Without the White Snakes, there would be no war. Farakkan would be united once again."

Medair sighed softly. "I doubt it," she said. It was as much an admission to herself as anything. "The Ibisians invaded, true, but the Empire fell because the West took the opportunity it had been given."

Tarsus lifted a hand as if pushing that argument away. "The West was used by the White Snakes," he said, tightly.

"The West broke free of a conqueror. Don’t you see? Clinging to old grievances raises older ghosts. The West longed to go back to its old, fractured, fractious ways, but the Empire was too strong until the invasion. A Corminevar conquered Decia once. Made it a part of the Empire and installed a Duke. If you look back far enough, there was a time when Athere’s hill overlooked the grazing land of some cow-lord who had never heard of Corminevars."

Thessan shook his head, as if he had a bee trying to beat its way out of his skull. "This leads us nowhere. Cow-lords, the old disputes with the West. We are talking about now."

"Yes. We are." It was Tarsus who said it, holding his head very high and still. "Thank you, Lady an Rynstar. I will – I am obliged for your opinion." He took Thessan’s arm in a tight grip and, with obvious effort, turned and walked through the line of guards and into the night.

"He’s thinking about it," Medair said when she and Islantar were alone. Half Kel ar Haedrin’s contingent remained, but had withdrawn so that they were barely visible. "Though perhaps bringing Thessan along was a mistake. He obviously has influence over Tarsus."

"But it is Prince Thessan I must convince," Islantar reminded her. "Tarsus might be used as he has been already, but unless we remove Queen Sendel’s line from Decia’s throne, Prince Thessan is the one who will fund a cause which should be long dead. And he does not have Tarsus' depth of empathy, nor the shock of causing this." Islantar glanced toward the Blight, and his face tightened. It could not be long, now, before Illukar attempted to stop what Tarsus had begun.

"I have asked Queen Sendel to allow me them both, for a year’s visit in Athere," Islantar continued. "And in that time–" He looked into the dark in the direction the Decian pair had gone. "Tarsus is already beginning to see that a ruler is owned by the people, not the other way around. Perhaps his ties to Thessan will be strong enough to bend the more rigid of that pair. And with both of them, and you, I may be able to weaken this eternal clutching of an old grievance to each new generation’s breast. The deaths of the past days will be a vivid wound, of course, but I can hope to ease it once the hurdle of the old is overcome."

"Were you ever given the chance to be a child, Kierash?" Medair asked, feebly. Islantar looked surprised, then smiled.

"For a short while. Even in my family, there is a childhood. But no more escape from the burdens of position than Tarsus." He paused, and then added with stark honesty, "Not killing him is the hardest thing I have ever done."

Medair felt a tremor run through her, and bit down on her lip, nodding, and so glad of him in that moment, sharing her loss.

He was holding himself very straight, eyes wide, and held out his hand. "I give you my name, Keris. I would ask that I might use yours."

"Of course," Medair said, automatically gripping the slim, pale fingers.

"Thank you, Medair." That young-old face briefly relaxed, then firmed, Kierash once more. "I have a more difficult request."

"You want me to help with the hurdle."

"Yes." He nodded, his glance a mix of gratitude and concern. "I know it is not a role you are eager to assume, but you saw the power of your words on Tarsus. It is not merely that you are Medair an Rynstar, long made legend, but that you were there. And that for you, the war is over. I ask that you allow me to use that."

Medair looked away from him. She wanted little more than to find herself another Bariback, run away from all which could remind her of Illukar, and weep. But she wouldn’t. She thought, hoped, that she had reached beyond such cowardice.

"I used the Horn," she pointed out. "All the fury, grief and outrage which is the consequence of that will focus on me. You may find I cause more damage than good."

"Even hating you, they will want to hear. You said it yourself: at least they will know your reasons."

It would be a life of being spat at. Not a weapon to save an Empire, not a path of honour and glory, but a fumbling kind of recompense which would do nothing to dull the loss of Illukar. How could she stand it?

"I will try," she told Islantar, and saw him stand straighter. Relieved. He had not been certain of her.

"I am glad of that," he said, then looked down. The power of the Blight thrummed all around them. "Will you come back to The Avenue now?" he asked, and his voice had lost some of its strength.

"I would rather stay here."

Islantar looked at her intently, then nodded. "I will return for you in the morning."

He started to turn away but she reached out and again caught one of his hands. "I think the Emperor would find you worthy of his throne," she said, thickly. "And I think you will make him proud." It was not Grevain she meant. "Good luck."

"I shall make my own luck," Islantar replied, the light from the glowstone shimmering in his eyes. "It seems the safer course."

He returned the pressure of her hands briefly, and followed Tarsus and Thessan into the night. Medair watched him go, then turned to find Kier Ieskar at her side.