Voice of the Lost : Medair Part 2 (11 page)

The stairs opened onto a long, empty corridor which continued around a corner to their right.  There was a single door opposite.  Ileaha immediately crossed to it and pressed her ear to the fine-grained wood.  She signalled that it was clear and, when Cor-Ibis made no objection, opened the door.

"Perhaps not an ideal haven," Ileaha said, surveying the long, panelled room dominated by a highly polished table.  There were windows to the left, another door opposite and an archway to their right.  Neither secluded nor defensible.

"Keep moving," Cor-Ibis told them, indicating the opposite door, rather than the archway.  They hurried across, keeping an eye on the arch as they circled the table.  Distantly, Medair could hear a man and woman's voices, rising and falling in conversation.  It sounded as if the speakers were at the bottom of the stair she could see through the arch.  It only needed a single person to see them and call for help, to make their task infinitely more difficult.

They came out into another corridor, this time with two young women half-heartedly mopping the floor, their faces streaked with tears.  Ileaha and Kel ar Haedrin moved in blurred unison, each taking a struggling armful before either maid had a chance to so much as squeak.  Only a mop, clattering to the ground, spoiled the silence of the manoeuvre.

"More rope," Ileaha said imperatively, controlling the struggles of her captive with ease.

While the maids were bound and gagged, Islantar investigated the nearest doors and finally opened the end-most onto an empty bedroom.  They stowed the maids and continued quickly down the corridor.  At this rate, Medair reflected, they would be discovered by the trail of trussed castle inhabitants left in their wake.

"This must be it," Kel ar Haedrin murmured, using her mirror to look beyond the corner at the end of the corridor.  "Doors barred from the outside, and one of them guarded.  The guard is some thirty, forty paces from us.  The corridor widens to the left further on – I cannot see what lies there."

"The invisibility ring," Medair suggested.  Cor-Ibis nodded.

"We are painfully exposed here," Islantar whispered, glancing back toward the dining room after handing Ileaha the ring.

"If we are discovered, we can push further in and attempt to barricade," Ileaha replied, almost too softly for Medair to hear.  "Retreat down those stairs will gain us little, and being hunted through those woods, having the countryside raised against us, would be close to suicide."

She put on the ring and faded, while they waited, watching forward and back, without even a hint of a footstep to mark her departure, or progress.

The pause stretched, and they balanced on a knife-edge.  Any Decian entering the corridor behind them would see them while still out of immediate reach, and the guard around the corner was too far to risk trying to rush.   They could cast Sleep at him instead, but it was not a quiet magic, and still Ileaha did not make her move.  All they could do was listen to the man shift wearily, scratching at some itch.  They could not even look at him for fear of being seen in return; only Kel ar Haedrin was able to watch.

A distant noise, like paper falling to the floor, came, but Kel ar Haedrin shook her head.  Medair silently counted to ten to keep herself still, and on nine heard the unmistakable sound of a body falling to the ground, and Ileaha's voice, saying softly: "Clear."

When Medair rounded the corner, Ileaha was carefully cleaning a small knife, and the figure at her feet was as still as Jedda las Theomain had been.  And Jedda was another thing Medair needed to consider, when circumstances gave her time to focus her thoughts.  She should not forget that she was not necessarily safe among Ibisians.

A glance down the corridor showed an open area, a station for the guards who watched over the interrogation rooms.  One booted foot was all that was visible to suggest another crumpled figure.  The work of a Velvet Sword.

Kel ar Haedrin was already working on the bar of the door.  In a matter of moments they had it open.  The room beyond was small, and lushly overwhelmed by a cushioned bed, rugs, a soft chair.  It was a prison with all the accoutrements of the bedchamber of a noblewoman, including the noblewoman.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The woman was perhaps forty.  She stood very upright in the centre of the room, arms folded.  The room was obviously a cell, despite its luxuries, but the woman's stance was as imperious as an Empress in her throne room.

After a pause, Cor-Ibis said: "Princess Sendel?"

"As you see, Keridahl," the woman replied, coldly.  She surveyed their small band, eyes disdainful in a thoroughly Decian face: bronze skin, high cheekbones and a hawk nose.  Her composure was formidable, though it cracked when she discovered Islantar at Ileaha's elbow.  She eyed the boy in surprise, then turned back to Cor-Ibis.  "This is not a counter strike."

"Not precisely, Highness," Cor-Ibis replied, ever-courteous.  "Your brother's forces were defeated, and he struck at us with a gate as he fled, transporting us here.  We have eluded capture, thus far."

"Have you indeed?"  The princess strode out of the cell and looked around impatiently, unperturbed by the corpse which lay on the floor.  "A quick and decisive battle, it must have been.  Well, you need not fear that I will raise the alarm.  I objected to Xarus' latest scheme, and rightly so, it sounds to me.  He saw fit to confine me here.  Expanding Decia's borders is one thing; throwing everything into a fool's obsession with the past is another.  How many Decian born did he waste against Athere's walls?"

"There were very few survivors," Cor-Ibis replied.

"And he has slunk back to lick his wounds?  Your abduction would be, what, an attempt at revenge or a clutch for bargaining chips?"  The princess did not hide her disgust.  "Defeat is not a thing Xarus has ever been able to accept.  He will not treat you kindly if you are captured."

"No."  Cor-Ibis glanced at Ileaha, indicating that she should check the other rooms.  "Three of our party have been captured, and we must continue to seek them out.  Please accept our protection, if you wish it."

Princess Sendel looked amused.  "You may accept mine, Keridahl.  There are those still loyal to me in Falcon Black, and I have no interest in prolonging hostilities with Palladium."

As Cor-Ibis negotiated polite obligation with the princess, Kel ar Haedrin opened another of the rooms off the corridor, revealing a Decian youth of about sixteen.  His fine tailoring was crumpled, and he eyed the small band of Ibisians with disbelief.  One hand strayed to his side, instinctively seeking an absent sword, but Princess Sendel forestalled any confrontation, turning from Cor-Ibis to eye the young man disdainfully.

"You, here?" she asked.  "What became of your ambition to stride through the ashes of Athere?"

The youth glanced at Ileaha's bared sword, held far too close for any enemy's comfort.  A shift of his coppery features revealed a distinct resemblance to Princess Sendel.  Her son, Medair guessed.

"It remains," he said, with grim resolve.  "I will see the rightful heir on the Silver Throne."

"Yet you are here," the princess repeated.

"My heart might be with my uncle's cause, Madam, but my duty lies with you," said the youth.  "I could not fight at his side while he had you imprisoned."

"Vastly pretty," said Princess Sendel, contemptuously.  "Fortune favours you, Thessan.  This affecting sentiment appears to have saved your life."

"There is no-one else here, Keridahl," Kel ar Haedrin said in an undertone, as Thessan stared at the princess.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.  "Where is the King?"

"Would that I knew."  Princess Sendel gathered up her skirts, out of the path of the thin line of blood advancing from the guard's body.  "We will find him, shall we?  And ask of his war, of his splendid victories?"

"Princess, we must search for our companions," Cor-Ibis said, ignoring the exchange.  "Can you suggest where they might be held?"

"The cliff cells, most likely," Princess Sendel said, earning a scandalised look from her son.

"Mother, you can't aid the enemy!" he said, shifting uneasily between Ileaha and Kel ar Haedrin.  His gaze settled on Cor-Ibis.  "Why are you here, White Snake?" he spat.  "Have you run from Decia's soldiers to try and strike at Falcon Black?"

"At this moment, I seek only three of my own," Cor-Ibis said, mildly.  "Ileaha, if you would be so good?"

Obediently, Ileaha gripped Thessan's arm and propelled him firmly back toward the cell.

"Wait!" he protested.  "At least tell me how the battle progresses!  Have Athere's walls been breached yet?"

"No."  Medair spoke quietly.  "The war is over, the battle lost.  Athere stands.  I sounded the Horn of Farak and Decia no longer has an army."

Thessan flinched, incredulity warring with fury as he stared at her.  Then he surged forward and spat.  Moisture flecked Medair's cheek even as Ileaha quickly pulled him back, then closed and locked the door.

"Medair– " Ileaha began, but Medair shook her head. 

"That is something I cannot hide from," she said, wiping her face with tired deliberation.  She could feel Cor-Ibis at her back, not touching her, but close by.  "My choice cost their lives."

"Medair an Rynstar."  Princess Sendel eyed Medair with lively interest, but not the hatred displayed by her son.  "None of the tales of your rebirth suggested you would side with the Ibisians."

"With Palladium," Medair corrected.  She was slowly finding it easier to accept that decision, or futile to continue to argue against herself, since it was beyond her power to change.  Her Emperor had not given her absolution, had not provided the certainty of right and wrong, but hind-sight was offering her no better choice, much as she would be hated for it.  She turned slightly, so that she could see Cor-Ibis' expressionless face.  "I could not watch Athere fall."

"You should find Xarus' protégé, the one he thinks belongs on Palladium's throne," the princess said.  Dark Decian eyes studied Medair.  "But perhaps that issue is dead, now."

"Perhaps," Medair said.  Killing the supposed descendant of her Emperor, rightful heir or not, was another thing she could not think too hard on, until it was time to face it.

There was little of subterfuge in Princess Sendel's progress.  She marched off down the corridor and collared the first person she encountered, a man whose arms were full of silver candlesticks.  He seemed more afraid of Sendel than the Ibisians cautiously following the princess.

"Where is my brother?" the princess asked, as the man dropped most of the candlesticks on the floor.  He gulped, looked left and right, then said weakly: "The King is dead."

Princess Sendel received the news with no sign of grief or pleasure.  "Are you certain?" she asked, stepping forward to further overwhelm the man.

"Yes, Highness."  The man licked his lips, eyes darting to Ileaha's bared sword.  "Commander Vorclase received a wend-whisper, not a decem ago.  The message said that everyone was dead, that the King was dead, the entire army.  Everyone."

"Vorclase?"

"H-he said we were to carry out the King's standing orders," the man said, eyes dropping to the pile of candlesticks in a manner which suggested they had nothing to do with anyone's orders.  Sendel didn't seem to notice.

"The Four spare me from loyal men," she said, and turned to Cor-Ibis.  "This changes matters, somewhat."

"Yes.  Your Majesty."

Islantar spoke before Cor-Ibis could say more.

"If King Xarus died on the battlefield," the Kierash said.  "Who summoned the gate which brought us here?"

oOo

Estarion had no issue, which meant Sendel was now Queen.  She made short work of taking control, simply commandeering everyone they encountered.  No-one resisted, despite her Ibisian escort.  Vorclase had apparently vanished after passing on the news, failing to leave anyone in command.  Sendel rolled over the few remaining castle inhabitants as inexorably as the Conflagration.

Abruptly, in the middle of ordering a search for Vorclase, Sendel stopped and turned to Cor-Ibis.  "We had best see about these friends of yours," she said.  "It occurs to me that Xarus' standing orders for the treatment of captives may not be benefiting them."

By this time, she had collected quite an entourage, but still led them personally, back down the stairs, passing the door they had used to enter Falcon Black.  The guard Ileaha had overcome was probably still behind it.  They entered the barracks without opposition, ignored the half-constructed shell of the silver giant and strode through empty rooms.

The cliff cells were precisely that: tiny chambers chipped into stone, high up one side of the rock the castle stood upon.  They were rough and cramped, and a cold wind gusted through the crude barred windows.  There was not even room for pallets, and their occupants were sitting with their knees up against their chins and their hands in blockish manacles.  Only the Mersian Herald and the other kaschen.  Avahn was not there.

"Keridahl."  Herald N'Taive looked worn and hungry, but otherwise unaffected by her capture.  She quickly took in the sight of Ileaha and Kel ar Haedrin still armed amidst the Decian escort, then bowed her head politely to Sendel.  "They took Kerin Avahn through there," she said, indicating a solid door at the end of the row of cells.

The new Queen looked at Cor-Ibis.  "Kerin Avahn?  You seem over-burdened by heirs on this venture, Keridahl."  She gestured to one of her followers to free the Herald and the kaschen, and another to open the end door.  "My brother called this the steeping room," the Queen continued, and her eyes were grim.  "I will give you this comfort, Keridahl.  Xarus required them alive for the next stage of this process."

After such encouraging words, Medair could only stare toward the room in horror.  Cor-Ibis and Ileaha had both moved quickly forward and disappeared beyond, and Medair followed as if on leading-strings.

It smelled of herbs, and a fresh, strong breeze gusted in through the windows.  The room was full of benches and sinks, vats and glassware.  Avahn was in the centre, shut within a box formed entirely of glass.  He was naked, unconscious, and almost completely submerged in a virulent blue gel.  Only his face unsubmerged, his head supported by a small block beneath his neck.