"No," Cor-Ibis agreed. "A hunting cry."
"Hunting one of us." Medair had received no replies to her wend-whispers, and was particularly concerned about Ileaha, whose sensitivity to magic might not be enough to lead her to the hill.
"Very likely." Cor-Ibis was sitting closest to the entrance, and she could see his dimly luminescent form leaning forward as he gazed down at the forest. "The mist is lifting."
"They’ve released whatever it was in those caged caves. The thing which snatches. Or the other." The killer.
"Can we do anything?" Islantar eased alongside Medair so he could look over Cor-Ibis' shoulder.
Cor-Ibis shook his head. "Expose ourselves to the hunter and the guards, though we have little chance of even locating our companions? No." He turned back into the darkness of the cave, getting down to business. "Your reserves are still high, Kierash?"
"Yes. I have done little today but watch the valour of others."
"Then cast wend-whispers, to supplement any lost to the mist. Avahn was with the Mersian Herald and Kaschen las Cormar, so one casting will be sufficient for three. Do you know Ileaha las Goranum well enough for a wend-whisper to find her?"
"I believe so. I have seen her often, though we have not spoken. I cannot say the same of the other two brought to this place."
"Even so, try them both. Tell them where we are and suggest to them, if it is not too late, that they find a high perch in which to shelter for the rest of the night. At the dawn, I will go to the cave behind that spur of rock, to collect any who have reached that far. If they have not reached that point a decem after the break of light, they should make their way without us." He paused, then said: "We cannot leave Estarion unchecked," and if he was unhappy about including the Kierash in any attempt on Castle Gyrfalcon – Falcon Black – he kept his concerns to himself.
"I can keep guard, while you both sleep," Medair said, after the wend-whispers had been cast and Islantar was sampling the eclectic mix of stale food she had offered.
"We will all need our rest," Cor-Ibis said. "Kierash, you are familiar with the detection class?"
"You wish a trip-warning?" Islantar asked, between mouthfuls.
"On the hillside below and above. Then a small shield on this entrance, nothing strong or it will be detected. Enough to give us a few moments, should the hunter stray close."
Despite his youth, Islantar cast with a speed and confidence which far outstripped Medair’s abilities. She wondered if he was trying to demonstrate to Cor-Ibis that he was more than capable of defending himself, and that they should concentrate their plans on the major concern: stopping Estarion. That was something Medair could also focus on. However he had achieved it, the Decian King’s ability to summon countless gates was a continuing danger to Palladium. And, overriding everything else, was the chance that he would again turn to wild magic, now that his army was gone.
Medair shivered. The shield, a faint murmur which was unlikely to be sensed above the swirl of magic from castle and forest, had blocked the chill wind, but could do nothing to keep away memory. The thick scent of blood rose to stifle her, though the journey through the wet forest must surely have washed her boots clean. But she could not wash away death, thought it would have been like this, no matter who she used the Horn against. Thousands of lives.
The uncomfortable problem of a small cave and a night to pass bothered Medair less now the Kierash was there. Islantar stretched out along one side of the pad of blankets and bedrolls and Cor-Ibis took centre. Medair simply lay with her back to him, glad of her satchel’s packrat qualities, which allowed her a blanket to herself. She could not help but think of Avahn and Ileaha and the others, lost in the forest without food or water, let alone blankets. No doubt they would be glad to exchange places with her.
But the scent of blood kept creeping in, and a field of corpses, too many to name. She began to shiver and couldn’t stop and when Cor-Ibis reached out she turned and sobbed out her guilt against the chest of a man whose milky radiance would not even allow her to hide from the sheer simple fact of his race. The comfort she found in his arms only made everything worse, but she was glad, when finally there were no tears left, to simply be able to hold him.
He loved her. He had said so. Why should it matter that he was Ibisian, when it did not matter to him that she was Farakkian? There was no enmity between them. But how could she contemplate a relationship with Cor-Ibis when it made her feel so shamed? To lie alive in his arms, with the blood of thousands on her hands?
Avahn had said she could be a unifying force in Palladium, just as the false Medairs had attempted to be the opposite. But that was before she had blown the Horn, an act which would inevitably make her a rallying point for hatred. Wouldn’t taking an Ibisian lover do more harm, add insult to impossible injury? Could she stand to be seen that way? She, who had always wanted to follow a right and honourable course? Being anything with Cor-Ibis would give too many an obvious reason for her actions.
Until sleep came to claim her, Grevain Corminevar’s words played over and over in her mind:
There was no right choice, messenger. And no wrong decision.
CHAPTER SIX
Morning light scoured the cave of all its secrets. The pad of bedrolls and blankets had flattened wafer-thin, doing little to shield Medair from the uneven floor, and the scratches, bruises and scrapes of the previous night all gave tongue in a minor chorus of pain.
Kierash Islantar lay on his stomach next to her, chin resting on crossed arms as he kept watch, gazing along the base of the hill. He glanced back as she sat up, and she tried not to groan at the creaking and popping of her spine.
"How long ago was dawn?" she asked, excavating sand from her eyes. She felt blasted, battered, but somehow cleaner, better able to deal with what she had done, and might have to face. The air smelled of pine, not blood.
"The time limit is almost up. I have not seen anyone going to the cave."
Medair took refuge in practicality, ferreting through her satchel for breakfast. After quickly finishing her share, she warned him not to turn around, so she could change into fresh clothing. Islantar obligingly kept his eyes fixed on the shadow beneath the spur of rock as he munched on the dry biscuits she had offered.
"When I was nine," he said, after she had stopped moving about, "I decided that Cor-Ibis should be my father." He glanced back, and smiled at her expression. "He is not, of course. He would only have been fourteen when I was conceived. But he is what I wanted my father to be.
"That was the year when Athere heard of nothing but Cor-Ibis, awarded the honours of Keridahl Avec, whose acuity was so profound many believed he could read minds, whose manner was so perfect not the slightest fault could be recorded against him. He is our most powerful adept, perhaps the most capable, certainly one of best respected of the Keridahl.
"That was also the year following the death of his mother and Keris Amaret. Those who did not want to be him spent their time courting him. Potential allies, lovers, those of his family who competed to be named his heir. Even his enemies vied for his attention, each moment of his time, wanting what I wanted: to be special to him, to win him."
Medair received this entirely un-Ibisian speech in silence, and searched for some hint of expression in the youth’s profile. "Did you succeed?"
"I have no idea. He is, as I said, perfectly correct, and he has never behaved toward me with anything but the courtesy due the future Kier. He has ever held himself aloof from those who pursue. Immensely frustrating, perhaps even more so for my mother, who disliked my too-apparent quest to capture Cor-Ibis' affection almost as much as his failure to gratify me. It is not how I should behave."