Andrea Höst - Voice of the Lost

"It was the Horn of Farak." Medair paused, struggling to find the words, then told them the thing she had to: "Medair an Rynstar used the Horn of Farak, and…and Farak answered."

It was like she had slapped them. They gaped: stunned, betrayed.

"But why ?" The stripling girl this time, stepping forward not in anger but entreaty. "Why would Farak do that?"

That was not how Medair had been looking at the issue at all, and she had no immediate answer.

"Now I know you’re lying," the pregnant woman said. "If Medair an Rynstar has truly been reborn, then the White Snakes would be gone, lost. She searched for the Horn of Farak to kill them."

"She searched for the Horn of Farak to protect Athere," Medair said. "And did."

"We went to free Athere!" The words were shouted and the woman started forward, raising the fire-iron as if it could give lie to Medair’s answer.

"Let be, Tercia."

The older woman sagged in her chair as the skin sagged on her bones, but her voice held command.

"Did you see it?" she asked Medair. "Will you swear it, on Farak’s name, that what you say is true? It was the Horn of Farak which lost us this war?"

"I swear it, by Farak’s Grace."

"And so." The older woman shook her head. "Without Farak’s favour, there was never any hope of victory."

"I still don’t see why," the stripling girl said. "Why would Farak turn her face from us?"

"I can’t speak for – I don’t know," Medair said. "Perhaps Farak would have answered any who used the Horn."

"And the Herald? Our cause was just. Tarsus, he is the direct heir of the last Emperor. It makes no sense, that Medair an Rynstar would use the Horn against him."

"To save Atherians. To save someone else who is also a direct heir of the last Emperor. To–" Medair sighed, because she knew that nothing she could say was going to ease their grief, or soothe their hatred. "In the end, perhaps merely because more people would have died if the battle was brought to the streets. I’m sorry. I wish I could do more, I wish I could tell you something that would make it better, but words will not bring back the dead. Or dull your loss."

Any response was lost as the door behind the older boy was thrust open, catapulting him forward. He yelled as he fell, and the pregnant woman stepped forward, raising her fire-iron, only to meet Ileaha’s sword. Medair started to cry out, but should have trusted Ileaha, who was abruptly holding both sword and fire-iron, and had retreated a step, flanking Islantar, who walked into the kitchen with as much dignity and calm as he would approach a room full of allies. His eyes sought Medair and he nodded, the tiniest motion.

"Keris," he said. "I am glad to find you."

"Kierash," Medair said.

Islantar had turned his attention to the small collection of Decians, and perhaps his inherent gravity would have kept them silent even if Ileaha had not been at his side, for all that he was a hated White Snake, invading the place which was their home.

"Between us there is a gulf I do not think it is possible for me cross," he said. "Not today. I do not ask it, only give to you my profound sorrow."

He bowed, a simple, but deep gesture, and turned without a word, and Ileaha and Medair followed, and closed the door behind them.

"I am sorry, Medair," Ileaha said. "I should not have left you."

Medair shook her head, then looked at Islantar. "I couldn’t tell them who I was. I couldn’t admit it."

"You couldn’t tell them who you were because they would have killed you," he said, pragmatically, but his voice changed as he continued. "And then we – I do not quite know how we would have reacted. What gain, what good, to strike them down? But this is one incident and there will be others, death for death. A snowball tumbling down a hill, collecting more and more grievous injuries, weighed down by every slight and every retaliation."

And Islantar tasked by Grevain Corminevar – or Farak herself – to heal Palladium would not achieve that by ignoring Decia’s wounds.

"I’m glad I spoke to them," Medair said. "It won’t make them hate me any less, but at least they won’t have to wonder why."

She let out a long breath, and realised she was shaking. But still alive, able to take another step. Fumbling her way forward.

"I miss believing I was right," she added, but too softly for them to hear.

Illukar and Vorclase stood in temporary alliance before Queen Sendel. Medair very much wanted to talk to Illukar about Avahn and Ileaha, but had to content herself with joining the group standing before the long table which had been thrust to the back of the dining hall. Questions of retaliation, let alone broken friendships, were nothing to wild magic. The problem of Tarsus was paramount, and there was no sign of a search party being formed.

"I should be able to sense it," Illukar was saying. "That is what concerns me most. This device summoned and fuelled gates sufficient to transport tens of thousands – a feat beyond the capacity of any group of mages alive. It is an artefact on the level of the Horn of Farak and it should blaze its presence like a small sun. But I cannot sense it at all."

"And what does that mean, precisely?" Queen Sendel asked impatiently, glaring at Vorclase all the while, but willing to hear an explanation.

"That it must draw power from outside itself." Islantar, bracketed by Herald N’Taive and Ileaha, made an expansive gesture at the castle about them. "Wild magic."

Sendel was unimpressed. "Well, I cannot say I’m surprised. Xarus was ever one for the shortest path. You think it dangerous, do you?" They looked at her. "I see that you do. Then we will turn out that rabbit warren once and for all. You may consider yourself under charge, Vorclase, and on recognizance only until Tarsus occupies the next cell."

"Your Majesty." Vorclase bowed neatly, not losing his sardonic edge. "If we can now at last move on to the logistics of the problem?"

"Your deference overwhelms, as usual," Sendel replied, and made a dismissive gesture. "No doubt you have some elaborate scheme?"

He did indeed and, what’s more, a finer grasp of Falcon Black’s current resources than anyone else they’d encountered. Medair wondered what Sendel would do with him, after everything had settled down. And whether he’d allow it.

"One final point," Illukar said, after Vorclase had finished outlining his plan. "Any writings of King Xarus, and most especially any books of arcane research, must be destroyed untouched and immediately."

"Extravagant," Sendel commented, her eyes narrowing. "And hardly convenient. I am unlikely to be convinced that I must destroy State documents. They will need to be sorted."

"There should be no need to convince you," Illukar replied, quietly. "King Xarus discovered how to summon wild magic, and fashioned this device. Sorting the documents is too great a risk. We can allow no possibility of his knowledge being used by others."

Sendel was in a difficult position, especially if she hoped to convince Palladium not to take control of Decia while it was stripped of defenders. She did not hide her dislike of the situation. "I suppose you would have me destroy every piece of writing in Falcon Black?"

"That would be ideal," Illukar replied, and she snorted.

"I have no doubt. Tell me, Keridahl: do you know how to summon wild magic?"

"No." He said the word crisply, clearly, as a whole thing in itself. His chin lifted just a little and Medair realised he was insulted. But evidently he decided to make allowances, because after a moment he went on. "There are no exemptions." He looked toward Islantar, who inclined his head. "After the Blight," Illukar continued, "all knowledge of illegal magics was purged at every level. No-one is immune to temptation."