Islantar looked over his shoulder at her again, then turned resolutely away. Medair thought of how Cor-Ibis had reacted when he had seen Islantar exposed in the midst of the battle on Ahrenrhen Wall. Concern for the heir, or an instinctive desire to protect a bond he would not acknowledge?
"I ceased pursuit after a while, behaved more appropriately, though I still find myself trying to prove myself to him. If he will not love me as a son, he will as Kier."
"Show," Medair murmured. Islantar turned again, then drew himself up into a sitting position.
"Show?"
"You don’t know how he feels, merely what he shows you. And you are talking about this to me because–?"
"Because I cannot be certain you will not attempt to take your life again," Islantar replied, with a note of sorrow. "I think if you ran from him, he would be quite capable of finding you wherever you went. If you were killed, he would bear the wound always, but go on. I do not believe he would survive your suicide. And I do not wish to lose him."
For once, Islantar sounded his age. He looked down, but had recovered his equilibrium by the time Medair could summon a reply.
"I’m not going to kill myself, Kierash," she said, surprised at her own certainty. "I don’t know what precisely I will do, but that moment has passed at least." She grimaced. "You remember everything, then? You were very disoriented before."
"For a short time I was the Niadril Kier," he said. He lifted a hand, but stopped short of touching his face. "I thought his thoughts, felt what he felt. I…do not remember a great deal of his life, only snatches, things which occurred to him while he was…within me. You are very different now, to how he first saw you. He could not decide if you look more or less vulnerable."
Medair winced. "Please. I would prefer it if you didn’t tell me things like that."
"The need to demonise the enemy. He understood it." Islantar nodded, then caught himself. "I’m sorry. It was one of the most profound experiences of my life. What could impact me more than being someone else, let alone such a man? I cannot talk about it to anyone else, not in the same way, but I won’t keep reviving the past for you."
He turned, looking back towards the spur once again. "There has been some movement down the road from the castle," he told her. "A patrol went past, circling the hill, but did no more than glance cursorily into the caves. The one behind the spur is deep enough to hide a thousand."
Medair, her tentative equilibrium shredded by thoughts of Ieskar, decided that packing would be the most sensible thing to do while they waited. To focus on moving forward, instead of wallowing in the past. She had barely finished when Islantar leaned forward, briefly exposing himself to make some signal.
"He has someone with him, two people," the Kierash said. "We should go down now, carefully."
Following the Kierash out of the cave, Medair craned to see Cor-Ibis' two companions. They were immediately recognisable: the red-haired Velvet Hand, Liak ar Haedrin, and the male kaschen, an Serentel. Her heart was heavy as she eased down among the rocks, keeping behind what little shelter the uneven hillside offered. Avahn and Ileaha had been her companions for weeks, were friends, despite their Ibisian blood. Just as Cor-Ibis, no matter how white his skin, was the man she loved.
Acknowledging that fact didn’t diminish the difficulty of her future, but it did allow her to meet his eyes directly, and not flinch away from what had happened between them in the dark. Whatever else, she would not run.
He waited until she was close, then touched the back of her hand. It was the only gesture he allowed himself as they headed into the cave behind the spur, but it was apparently enough for Liak ar Haedrin and an Serentel, who were not nearly correct enough to hide their comprehension. They seemed startled, oddly pleased. Medair again felt that wash of shame, and tried to fight it. They were not enemies, and there was no dishonour in caring for this man.
"We cannot move on until the patrol has passed again," Cor-Ibis said. He was amazingly neat after a night in a cave. Other than some minor stains on his clothing and the livid purple-red scratch from the corner of one eye down to the edge of his jaw, he was as immaculate as ever. Medair was not altogether sure how he had managed it.
The cave entrance curved, so they weren’t immediately exposed to outside view, and he stopped as soon as they had travelled far enough for his glow to become noticeable, turning to Medair. "There is not time to fully investigate the various arcana you have brought from Bleak’s Hoard, but we should be able to sort out items for immediate use. Kaschen, if you would watch the entrance?"
The young soldier nodded briefly and moved back toward the sunlight. Those left settled themselves on a tumble of flat rocks.
"The most powerful items are best left to another time," Cor-Ibis said. "Such formidable arcana might prove unsafe for us, even if they did not reveal our presence."
Medair wordlessly opened her satchel and brought out a handful of rings. She separated those where she knew the function, and lined them on the rock beside her.
"Animal control, teleport, strength." She poured the rest into his hand. "I don’t have the sensitivity for divination, so I was trying to discover their function simply by putting them on."
"Have you tried them all?" he asked, picking out one particularly simple circle of bluish metal and bringing it close to his eyes.
"No, only six. These two gave me no clue to their function. The sixth I tried was the teleport, and after that I decided not to risk any more."
He nodded, handing the bluish ring to Islantar. "You will wear this," he instructed as he put the rest of the rings on the rock beside him, then selected one of silver. Islantar immediately mimicked him, holding the ring close to his face, half-closing his eyes as he concentrated on Cor-Ibis' unspoken test.
"A luck-ring," the boy said, eyes widening. "I thought they were no more than legend."
"But those emanations could be nothing else," Cor-Ibis said. He turned over the silver ring. "This allows the wearer to breathe under water." He handed another ring to Islantar, then started a pile of those they had identified. Medair watched with unconcealed amazement. She had seen adepts puzzle over unidentified arcana for days.
After the luck-ring and the water-breather, there was a poison ward and a thin jewelled band which would summon a mageglow when twisted. Cor-Ibis lingered over two identical rings, then handed one to Islantar and told him to exchange it for the luck-ring, slipping the one he retained onto a finger.
"A wend-whisper?" Islantar asked, after a moment.
"No. Direct communication. So there is a way, after all." Cor-Ibis looked at Medair and smiled, that straightforward expression she still found strange from someone so very Ibisian. "The contents of your satchel make us seem unadept indeed. Luck-rings I had at least heard of, though this is the first hint I’ve ever discovered of a mage who had succeeded in such a crafting."
"The Hoard was legendary for more than its volume," Medair said.
He nodded, eyes grave, then returned to the rings. There was another invisibility ring and the last, much to Medair’s chagrin, was a ward proof against traces.
"If only I’d known that before Vorclase tracked me all the way from Bariback to Finrathlar."
"Hind-sight." Cor-Ibis pocketed the trace-ward, then handed her one of the communicators, not noticing that the word had made her blink.