by Roger Taylor
And he was no courtier. He wouldn’t know what to do in this place.
Then, oddly altruistic thoughts rose up to embarrass him. Who but a Dream Finder could help the Duke with this strange happening? And if in helping the Duke he could in some way help prevent the horror of war spreading over the land again, should he not do it? Could he sleep at nights ever again if he did not, or would he be haunted by the legions of the maimed and demented who were the true legatees of a war. He recognized his father’s voice.
Tarrian was silent, though Antyr felt him prowling the edges of his mind, watching and waiting. Whatever he decided, he knew that Tarrian would remain his faithful Companion. The wolf imposed his own burden by seeking not to.
‘I am your subject, sire,’ he said, equivocating. ‘I’ll do whatever you require.’
Ibris walked across to him and placed his hands on his shoulders. Antyr felt his knees shake momentarily, then he found himself looking up into the eyes of the man, the warrior and the lover of great art and knowledge who through strength of will and strength of arms had brought a peace to the land which, though far from perfect, was longer and more prosperous than any that had been known in recorded history.
‘Antyr,’ the Duke said, his voice quiet. ‘You are indeed a free Guildsman. What I require from you is not that you obey, but that you choose. I command many people in varying degrees in the ruling of this city and its dominions; some subtly by carefully chosen words, some . . . less subtly. But those who truly help me are not those whom I command, but those who choose to follow and know that they can walk away at any time. Do you understand?’
Antyr nodded hesitantly.
‘They are few, Antyr. Aaken, my one-time shield-bearer who stood by me in the wars against my usurping kin when I was young. Ciarll here, who . . .’ He glanced towards his enigmatic bodyguard. ‘. . . appeared . . . one day, and turned the tide of a battle for me and says nothing about where he came from or where he learned his fearsome skills, and who bears some deep silence inside him. The Mantynnai, his countrymen, I suspect, though none will say; and their torment is newer and crueller than Feranc’s. Your father, briefly, though he was a distant, aloof person who kept his own strange secrets inside him. One or two others. A few. And now you. Drawn by events to my side. Is the ground under your feet to your liking?’
Antyr stammered. ‘I’m a subject. A follower of orders. Not a friend and adviser to rulers. I’ve frittered away much of my life in weakness and self indulgence. My skill at my craft is not what it should be. I fear I’d be more of a burden than a support to you.’
‘That is my choice,’ Ibris replied. ‘Will you help me as your father did, to the best of your ability, or not? Yes or no?’
‘Face the enemy,’ came a distant call in Antyr’s mind.
‘Yes,’ he heard himself reply. ‘Yes, sire.’
Chapter 18
As Feranc closed the door behind a bewildered Antyr, Ibris sat down again by the fire. He beckoned Feranc over and indicated the chair opposite.
‘An act of wisdom or folly, Ciarll?’ he asked.
‘I think his wolf seduced you,’ Feranc replied. Ibris laughed and raised an admonishing finger. ‘You’re too perceptive by half, Ciarll,’ he said. ‘But I know that wolf about as well as I know you, which is to say, quite well, and not at all. Now answer my question.’
‘It was an act of judgement,’ Feranc said.
Ibris growled disparagingly. ‘Don’t you start playing the courtier with me,’ he said.
Feranc smiled broadly. It was a sight that probably only the Duke ever saw.
‘It was an act of judgement,’ he repeated. ‘And probably a sound one, but whether wisdom or folly, only time will tell.’
Ibris’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re as evasive with words as you are with your sword blade when you want to be,’ he said. ‘What would you have done then?’
‘Not have had myself made Duke in the first place,’ Feranc replied. Then, before the Duke could offer him any further reproach, his manner changed, as if his brighter nature were afraid to be seen abroad for too long.
‘How is the ground under your feet?’ he asked, using the Duke’s own question to Antyr.
Ibris leaned back in his chair and folded his hands quietly across himself. ‘Shifting and uncertain,’ he replied sombrely. ‘Not through all the battles for the succession; not through all the innumerable wars and skirmishes with the Bethlarii and their allies, have I ever felt so unsure, so beset. Is it old age catching up with me, Ciarll?’
‘No,’ Feranc replied simply. ‘Old age merely slows the thinking a little, but the quality’s better. It seems that we’re being attacked by forces we’ve never known before, and it’s unsettling, not to say frightening. But your judgement about the Dream Finder is almost certainly sound.’
Surprise suffused Ibris’s face. ‘You accept these ramblings with considerable equanimity for a rational man, Commander,’ he said.
Feranc avoided his gaze briefly. ‘It’s the nature of my training,’ he said, almost reluctantly. ‘To see what’s there, and to see it and accept it for what it is. That is the action of a rational man.’
‘Your training?’ Ibris said quietly but expectantly. It was the first time that he had heard Feranc make any reference to the time before he had come to Serenstad. Feranc, however, ignored the invitation to amplify the remark and remained silent.
‘What have you seen then that you’re so certain of my judgement?’ Ibris went on, regretting the passage of the moment.
‘I’ve seen a Bethlarii envoy skulk into our land like a spy, in itself a profound change from their normal behaviour. I’ve seen at his shoulder the spectre of the threat of war on a scale that hasn’t been known in generations. I’ve seen him behaving in a manner which virtually asked for his immediate execution and which gives us a grim measure of his religious fervour. Then I’ve seen the man I chose to help in his battle to bring order and civilization to this land seek the aid of a drunken practitioner of a strange and perhaps fraudulent art, and I’ve seen both Duke and Dream Finder transformed by their meeting; the latter especially. Now I hear that this same Dream Finder has been drawn to Menedrion, a fact even more improbable than his being sought by you.’
Feranc’s delivery was flat and almost terse, as if he were a junior officer reporting intelligence to his seniors. He continued.
‘The Bethlarii have turned towards the darkness of the primitive certainty of their religion. In your doubt, you’ve sought aid from a Dream Finder. Both actions lie beyond reason; they come as a response to something deep inside the human spirit. I’ve learned enough through the years to know that my head will tell me when to use my heart, and my heart will tell me when to use my head, and that while I’m prepared to use both I’ll perhaps both survive and retain my sanity. I accept your judgement that the Bethlarii threat and the dreams could be related, perhaps deriving from some common source, and that being the case we must tend our Dream Finder as we’d tend our arrows and our pikes and our siege machines, even if we don’t know what to do with him.’
There was a long silence.
‘You never cease to surprise me, Ciarll,’ Ibris said eventually. ‘I’d have thought to get the sharper edge of your tongue for this last deed at least.’
Feranc raised one eyebrow quizzically but did not reply.
‘Would you care to conjecture on the nature of this common source?’ Ibris offered.
Feranc shook his head. ‘I’ve seen . . . and felt . . . many strange things in my journeyings. Enough to know that sometimes the only thing that can be done is to wait and see what happens and then accept the reality of events no matter how divorced from reason they seem. Only thus can we gain the knowledge that will give us our defence. We’re like the natives who must once have faced the first arrows.’
‘That’s not much consolation,’ Ibris interrupted. ‘They probably lost.’
Feranc smiled slightly. ‘A bad analogy,’ he said with an apologetic shrug.
‘But apt, perhaps?’ Ibris replied.
Feranc moved his hand palm downwards across himself in a cutting action as if he had nothing further to add. ‘Analogies are for teachers and storytellers,’ he said. ‘We deal with reality directly. At best, your decision about Antyr may prove crucial at some unforeseeable time in the future. At worst, the palace has another mouth, or rather, pair of mouths, to feed. And they’ll do no harm. From what I’ve found out, Antyr fought well enough when he had to, bravely even. And so far in his life, he’s been more of an enemy to himself than anyone else.’
‘He’s not afraid to speak his mind,’ Ibris added with mild indignation.
Feranc smiled again. ‘He’ll need to with you as a “client”,’ he said. ‘He’d have been counting his bruises from the palace square stones by now if he hadn’t defied you when you accused him of breaking the law. I said he was changing. Personally I’m getting to like him. Underneath his doubts I think he’s very sound.’ He paused reflectively. ‘There’s certainly more to him than meets the eye. And the wolf’s beautiful.’
‘Seduced you too, did he?’ Ibris said.
Feranc’s smile broadened again. ‘If you’ll excuse me, sire. I have duties to attend to,’ he replied.
Ibris nodded. ‘I’ll join you in a few moments, Ciarll,’ he said. ‘I need to think a little.’
Feranc stood up and bowed.
As he reached the door, Ibris clicked his fingers. ‘Ciarll,’ he said, his brow furrowed. ‘Some time tonight or tomorrow tell Menedrion I need to speak to him. And make sure that Antyr’s being looked after properly before you go back, will you? Rooms and procedures etc.’ He tapped his mouth thoughtfully. ‘And that Aaken pays him for last night and makes proper arrangements for a stipend,’ he added. ‘You know how “forgetful” he can get about such matters when it affects the palace purse.’
‘Yes,’ Feranc agreed, not without some feeling. ‘He can be a very zealous guardian of our coffers at times.’ Then, in an echo of Tarrian’s own observation, ‘Antyr could well starve to death in this place if we’re not careful.’
Ibris nodded. ‘Him starving is one thing,’ he said. ‘That wolf starving is another.’
As Feranc quietly closed the door, Ibris turned and stared again into the flickering landscape of the fire with its black cliffs and crags, and its clefts and fissures glowing red and scorching yellow under the touch of invisible winds. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees and allowed the fire to fill his vision.
Smoke swirled hither and thither, sparks rose and scattered up into the blackness of the chimney or tumbled in cascades into the depths. Spurts of flame burst out angrily. The more he looked, the more intense and complex became the activity.
Where can such frenzy come from? he thought as he glanced at the unburnt coals at the edge of the fire, black and lifeless; just so many dull, inert stones, their appearance not giving the slightest indication of the forces bound within.
* * * *
Once again, Antyr found himself following a servant in a daze. He and Tarrian had been taken from one office to another and had their names and needs noted by one officer after another. At each stage they had been treated with increasing deference, especially after a brief intervention by Ciarll Feranc at one point, but Antyr was in no mood to notice.
Now they were being taken to their official quarters.
‘What have I done?’ Antyr said to Tarrian.
‘The right thing for once,’ Tarrian retorted. His excitement swept over Antyr. ‘Working for the Duke himself,’ he exulted. ‘Just like your father. I never thought I’d see the day.’
The comment released a long-restrained bubble of resentment within Antyr. ‘You might have mentioned that, incidentally,’ he said, sourly.
‘To what point?’ Tarrian replied immediately. ‘You felt overshadowed by your father as it was. To be constantly reminding you that he once worked for the Duke would only have depressed you further. Besides, it’s none of your business, you know that.’
‘Well . . .’ Antyr concluded sulkily.
‘Oh, come on,’ Tarrian said. ‘It’s not important, nor ever was. But if it’ll make you feel better you should know that he was never resident here, not once. Now forget it. We’ve present matters to concern ourselves with now. Just be thankful that the Duke will deal with Menedrion for us and that we’ll be close to the heart of events where we can be of real value.’
‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t share your enthusiasm,’ Antyr replied. ‘But just how are we going to be of value? I certainly don’t know what’s happening let alone know what to do about it. And now it seems there might be a war in the offing. Ye gods, it’s awful.’
‘These are your quarters, sir,’ the servant said, his high, fluting voice unwittingly interrupting the silent conversation. He was holding open a door.
Startled, Antyr managed to stutter his thanks as he stepped into the room.
‘Nice,’ said Tarrian, who was already inside and sniffing out the bounds of his new territory. ‘Very nice.’
As Antyr gazed around, he felt his dark preoccupations yielding to Tarrian’s continuing elation. And it was indeed a nice room. Plainly decorated and with a few pictures and some elegant furniture, it was not as lavish as the Duke’s rooms by any means, but it was certainly better than those he had occupied previously.
The servant finished lighting the lamps and then withdrew with a final fluted instruction that Antyr shouldn’t forget to wear his temporary badge of office and that, if he needed anything, he was to ring the bell.
When he had gone, Antyr stood still and silent for some time. Then he felt the soft pile of the carpet under his feet and a smile sneaked on to his face. Tarrian chuckled. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘If we keep our wits about us, and keep well clear of politics, we can do very well for ourselves here.’
Images of unlimited supplies of food drifted into Antyr’s mind and he nodded knowingly. ‘I admire your altruism and sense of civic duty, dog,’ he said.
‘I’m impervious to your sarcasm,’ Tarrian replied. ‘This is splendid, and I intend to enjoy it while I can.’
Antyr sat down on a nearby chair. Suddenly he was tired. It had been a bizarre and exhausting day and he realized that both emotionally and physically he was drained.
‘The bedroom’s through there,’ Tarrian offered.
Antyr nodded and, heaving himself to his feet again, he trudged off in the direction that Tarrian had indicated.
The sight of the bed merely increased his feelings of fatigue and pausing only to kick off his boots he flopped down on to it without either dignity or ceremony.
‘I’ve not even got anything to wear,’ he thought vaguely, as he drifted into sleep. ‘I’ll have to go back home tomorrow . . . and . . . pick . . . up . . .’
Tarrian looked at the sleeping form for a moment and then dropped down with a noisy breath and a dull thud and almost immediately joined his friend in sleep.
Nothing disturbed the dreamless sleep of the Dream Finder and his Companion that night and when Tarrian’s voice woke him gently the next morning Antyr half expected to see summer sunshine pouring in through the windows, so rested was he.
But the light was only that of the lamps which he had left burning all night. He glanced at the window. The sky outside was still a wintry grey.
A winter campaign. The thought came suddenly and unbidden and made him shiver despite the warmth of the room. What madness was afoot in Bethlar?
‘Let’s attend to our own problems,’ Tarrian said, catching the thought. ‘Good grief, Antyr. There’s not even a war yet and you’re already doing pike drills.’
Antyr was about to remonstrate with him, but the wolf was in high spirits and taking the lead. He mimicked the high-pitched voice of the servant who had acted as their guide the previous night. ‘Put on your temporary badge of office . . .’ then, himself again, ‘. . . And let’s find some food.’
‘Sorry,’ Antyr ma
naged, with some sincerity, stretching himself luxuriously. He reached down and stroked Tarrian, then another cold thought struck him. The Duke! Had anything happened during the night while his newly appointed Dream Finder had been lying unconscious?
‘No,’ Tarrian answered. ‘I’ve been keeping watch on both of you. Something unusual was happening somewhere, I think, I kept getting whiffs of it.’ Briefly he became excited. ‘I feel so sharp . . . so far-seeing . . . it’s incredible . . .’ Then it was set aside. ‘But nothing untoward came near you, and Ibris scarcely dreamed at all.’ There was an uncharacteristic note of awe in his voice. ‘He’s a stern man. Such control. More so than I remember. I’m sure he knew I was there.’
‘That’s not possible,’ Antyr said off-handedly, still stroking him.
‘Maybe,’ Tarrian said. ‘But the impossible happened in Menedrion’s dream, didn’t it? Anyway, that was my feeling. We’ll see if he mentions it if we meet him today.’
Antyr stood up and scratched himself.
‘Really!’ Tarrian exclaimed, mocking again. ‘Can’t you do that outside?’
Antyr eyed him narrowly. ‘I think we should go and find Nyriall before we eat,’ he threatened.
Tarrian did not argue. ‘It just so happens that the way out passes by our refectory,’ he said smugly. ‘The special one for the Duke’s personal assistants.’
Thus they resolved to eat before they ventured out into the streets that morning.
As they left their room, a man sitting nearby stood up and walked over to them. He had a confident and purposeful manner and obviously belonged to the palace. Antyr looked at him warily, suddenly filled with trepidation. Perhaps the Duke had repented of his appointment already. Perhaps they’d offended someone in their blunderings through the palace the previous day. Perhaps Menedrion . . .
He chose not to finish that thought.
Catching his eye, however, the man smiled affably and then bowed slightly. Uncertainly, Antyr bowed in reply.
‘Antyr Petranson?’ the man inquired, though his tone indicated he knew the answer.
