Free The Silence of Medair by Andrea K. Höst

soft mattress and emptied the purse onto the coverlet.  Fifteen gold coins.  Not an incredibly large sum by today's costs.  A fortune only to a dirt-scratcher.  Why hadn't she thrown them back in Jedda las Theomain's face?
    Because I wanted to leave, she told herself, and if I hadn't gone then, there would have been more questions, more truth spells.
    Perhaps because I was too surprised.
    With slow movements she pulled her satchel onto her lap, sent a questing hand inside, fingers closing briefly around the rahlstones before seeking another prize.
    One of the satchel's many virtues was that you did not have to search about for things.  If you knew what you wanted, it would come to hand as obediently as a well-trained falcon.  Medair drew out two bulging leather purses and a small velvet bag.
    From the largest purse she spilled out gold Imperiums.  There were about four hundred and fifty coins.  This was her unspent wage for the years she had served.  Born to a wealthy family, she had never needed to draw on it.  She selected a coin imprinted with the profile and crest of her Emperor, the man to whom she had given Oath, who had made her Herald.  He had died from wounds before Athere had surrendered.
    The second purse contained gemstones.  These had been a gift from her mother, compensation of sorts for the fact that her elder sister would inherit the Rynstar lands and title.  They were worth a great deal more than the coins.  Not nearly so much as twelve rahlstones.
    With delicate fingers Medair drew a badge from the velvet bag and touched its shining silver as reverently as she would the cheek of a new-born babe.  The insignia of an Imperial Herald, once more precious to her than gold and jewels combined.  Two crossed crescent moons: one etched with the same scroll which decorated her satchel, the other with the Corminevar triple crown.
    Suddenly impatient with herself, Medair packed everything away, ordered a bath and scrubbed herself shiny clean.  Dirt was an easy problem.  Returning to the mirror, she inspected the bruises on her back.  There were only eight, not thousands: small and dark purple.  The bruise on her hip probably came from the Ibisian's knee.  Another grudge to hold against him, along with her shoddy treatment here.
    She needed to decide what to do with the rahlstones.  There were certainly enough who appeared to want them, but who actually owned them?  The Ibisians?  The Kyledrans?  The Decians?  It seemed that the best thing she could do was work out who they belonged to and give them back.  Not because her pride had been wounded when someone had paid her coin for aid freely given then forced from her.  Not because of the geas, or her bruises, or because a White Snake had looked at her and seen the smallest thing she could construe.  Just – because.
    She could, Medair reckoned, safely leave the adept and his offensive friends alone for a day or so.  Whoever he was, he could not possibly travel for at least that long without really risking his health, so the geas would surely not bother her.  It would give her a chance to try and find out if anyone in Thrence was missing twelve rahlstones.
    Tomorrow, she told herself, she would go shopping.

 
     
    Chapter Six
     
    With breakfast under her belt, and a chestnut gelding fresh from the markets on lead, Medair made her way to the centre of Thrence and a building all tricked out in vast columns and tremendous arches.  In her time, mages had apprenticed to masters or attended the Circle in Athere.  There had not been a truly formal system as there was now, with an Arcana House in nearly every large city: a mixture of teaching school, place of research and consulting chambers.  Those who wanted to buy the services of an accomplished mage visited their local House and were assured of finding a competent practitioner.  Kyledra was unlikely to boast the most powerful mages in Farakkan, but she hoped that there would be enough to