Free The Silence of Medair by Andrea K. Höst Page A

serve her purpose.
    Since she needed to see an adept and Medair had failed to make herself appear important before asking for an appointment, she had to wait quite a long time before being received.  Her stomach was making faint suggestions about lunch by the time she was ushered down a high-vaulted, badly lit hallway.  Her guide took her through brass-bound double doors into a large office piled high with manuscripts, curious items in cloudy glass jars and other mystical paraphernalia, most of which had more to do with impressing the credulous than any serious pursuit of the arcane.  Here, an angular man sat behind a monstrous desk swept bare of any encumbrance, eyeing her over fingers steepled together.  He was all in black and cadaverously thin, a beaked nose giving him a resemblance to some great carrion bird.
    "Please be seated, Miss," he said, in a surprisingly pleasant voice, all smoke and molten honey.  "I'm sorry you've been kept waiting so long.  It's been a busy morning with much to-do.  I am Adept an Selvar.  How may I serve you?"
    Warming to genuine courtesy, Medair smiled.  "It's a two-fold problem," she began.  "The first is a trace.  I have reason to believe a trace was set on me some days ago.  I'm not certain where the one who has set it is, precisely, but I would like to purchase a charm to obfuscate matters."
    Dark eyes narrowed, but his voice lost none of its polite regard.  "If the trace has already been established, it cannot be broken – not without interference with the caster."
    "I understand that.  But a well-away or something which will off-centre the trace, so that I cannot be precisely pinpointed – do you have anything of the sort available?"
    "You are a mage, Miss...?"
    "ar Corleaux.  I have studied, but do not have the strength for most of the spells, unfortunately."
    He nodded, still watching her with dark, probing eyes.  "An invested spell is no little thing.  Will not one of ordinary duration suffice?"
    "Not really."
    "Very well.  You would like this immediately, I gather?  It will not come cheaply."
    Medair shrugged, dipped a hand into her pocket, and placed a sapphire on the desk.  His brows rose.  "As to the other task," Medair continued, placing a ruby beside the sapphire. "There is a geas on me.  I would like it broken."
    The Adept gazed at the two gems, which winked like mismatched eyes.  He probably thought her a jewel thief, fleeing from justice.  "Would you prefer gold instead?" she asked.  "I carry gems, since they are so compact, but if they're not suitable I can arrange for coin."
    "Not at all, Miss ar Corleaux.  These are, in fact, more than generous."  He reached out a long, bony arm and scooped the red and blue up.  "I believe there is an invested spell of the type you desire in storage.  If you will follow me, we will fetch it and then see about the geas."
    With a certain amount of caution, Medair trailed him through the House.  Her reward was a circle of malachite depending from a thin leather cord, which she immediately hung about her neck.  Catching the Adept's eye, she found him smiling with full comprehension.
    "It's not a perfect cure," he warned.  "This would spread a trace focus out over perhaps a five-mile area, but only so long as the caster is not in your presence, whereupon the misdirection would become plainly obvious.  Now we shall see to your geas.  I will need much help, depending on the strength of the caster.  Follow me."
    He collected four women and two men, a couple of whom were in the middle of instructing.  They invited their classes along, rather as if a geas-breaking were some rare and amusing game.  They took her to a large empty room with a high roof and no windows, and Medair was directed to stand in the centre of a star chalked on the floor.
    "The problem with the geas," said Adept an Selvar to the assembled audience, "is that it takes on a dimension which far outstrips the caster.  Even if one of you –" he