"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, Keridahclass="underline" 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."
Sendel lifted a hand in compromise, although she looked anything but convinced. "Documents in Xarus' warrens will be destroyed, unexamined. For now, his apartments in Falcon Black will be sealed, and we can argue about the disposal of their contents another time. Go find Tarsus, so that we might move on to what is truly important."
Formalising peace. Planning the future. Medair watched as Vorclase began issuing orders, Sendel was claimed by a secretary, and Illukar sent Islantar and Ileaha to keep company with Avahn, since news of the device had postponed any attempt at gate-summoning. Then he had a chance to stop and smile at her, touch her hand and make her heart turn over. She was immediately overcome with dread that she might lose him; foreboding quite as strong as her previous conviction about Vorclase.
"I’d like to come with you," she said, trying to keep sudden dread from her face.
Illukar obviously sensed her unease, and glanced thoughtfully across the room to where Vorclase was instructing the few guardsmen left in Castle Black. "Do you feel he plans some sort of trap?" he asked, leading her into the next room, where a sparse meal had been set.
"Not yet. Though he seems anxious to preserve Tarsus." Medair did not feel equal to trying to explain what had prompted her request, and looked down unhappily.
"Stay close to me, then," Illukar said, not pressing her.
Vorclase was back with them before she had a chance to do more than outline her worry about Avahn and Ileaha. The Decian Captain spread a detailed map on the table and let them study it while he chewed on a fruit-studded bun. There were far more lines than Medair had expected, and she was distracted both by her inexplicable fear for Illukar, and by Vorclase. He was an uncomfortable ally.
"I’ve only marked the main routes," Vorclase said, keeping a businesslike tone. "Snares are circled and in the corridors you’ll see three score marks near the ceiling. Stay to the left, and you should avoid setting them off. I haven’t bothered noting the alarms – there’s no-one left to warn." His eyes flicked briefly to Medair.
"Where did you last see Tarsus?" Illukar asked, and Vorclase indicated the rough centre of the middle layer. There was the outline of a small room.
"You’ll be wanting to fire this place anyway, if you really do plan to torch everything worth reading. There’s half a dozen exits from it, and I’m only sure of the one he didn’t go down, which leads back to the southern stair. We’ll work on the assumption that he’s still in this area, block off these points and drive him into here." An unbroken stretch of looping corridor. "Then it will be up to you, Keridahl. Hold him still, knock him unconscious, do whatever it takes to get that thing off him without hurting him."
"Is Tarsus a mage?"
"No. Wanted to be, didn’t have the talent." Vorclase stood up, restive, and collected his map. "Let’s get this over with."
"And how long has this little affair of yours been going on?"
Medair glanced at Illukar, who stood a short way back from the line of men blocking the tunnel, engrossed in preparing a set-spell. There was no sign that he’d heard, that he had concentration to spare for listening. Kel ar Haedrin had. Medair could tell from the way the Velvet Sword had shifted her stance.
She turned to look at Vorclase, whose mouth was twisted into a cynical line. This would be only the first of many such enquiries, and not by any means the most contemptuous.
"One day," she replied, with quiet dignity.
His eyes narrowed. "A celebratory fling? Can you truly be Medair an Rynstar? Herald of the Empire? Grevain Corminevar’s Voice?"
"I am Medair," she said, feeling primarily sad. "I am no longer Herald. There is no Empire. Grevain died centuries ago."
"At White Snake hands."
"So I’m told." She shook her head. "Save your breath, Captain. I don’t need to justify myself to you." Nor did she want to try. It had taken her too long to reach this point as it was.
The look he gave her then reminded Medair forcibly of her location: deep under Falcon Black with two Decian guards for escort. "You consider yourself above reproach? What of Tarsus? You didn’t so much as attempt to discover the truth of his story. Why was that? What happened to all this not taking sides guff you were spouting in Finrathlar? Lasted until the Lord High here gave you a come-hither look?"
"It lasted until Athere was attacked."
"And then you decided a White Snake sat the throne better than your Emperor’s rightful heir. And killed half Decia. And you think you can convince me that was the right thing to do?"
"No." Medair sighed, then looked away as Illukar moved, lowering his hands. His face was that particularly expressionless mask which he wore when he was withholding all opinion. "I’m not trying to convince you that it was the right decision, because it wasn’t; not for Decia." Her voice wavered and she took a calming breath, her eyes on the guard standing behind Illukar, who made no effort to hide his hatred. "It was right for Palladium, however. It’s taken me a long time to accept that Ibisians aren’t my enemy any more, that my war is long over. Your war is over now, Captain."
"Forgive and forget? It doesn’t work that way, Herald."
"I know." She couldn’t begin to explain her struggle to rise above her own hatred.
Vorclase shook his head, and turned his attention back to the tunnel along which, if all went to plan, the heir to a dead Empire would soon be driven. Illukar’s fingers brushed the back of Medair’s hand and she tried to smile at him. A day was a very short time to have been together, and she wanted to touch and talk to him about things which had nothing to do with war. Constrained by the importance of their mission and the antipathy of the Decians, all she could do was stand at his side and wait for Tarsus.