them about it. My trust in them is total.'
'But…'
'Total, Arwain!’ Ibris said definitively. ‘The Mantynnai won't let anything threaten this land. In this matter we must wait on their will. However…’ he motioned Antyr to sit down. The wolves circled down to rest at his feet. ‘Their … unease … is duly noted and I'll be giving them every opportunity to talk about it.'
'And the two riders on the bridge that they recognized and who disturbed them as much as Estaan's message?’ Arwain added, his voice still soft and urgent.
Ibris hesitated at this news, then, ‘Tell me later,’ he said, a flick of his hand ending the conversation. ‘Right now, just tell Antyr about your dreams.'
Arwain hesitated, loath to have his concerns set aside so lightly.
'Now, Arwain!’ Ibris said quietly but unequivocally.
Arwain hesitated again briefly, then with some awkwardness recounted the two dreams he had seemingly shared with Menedrion.
When he had finished, Antyr turned to Ibris and shook his head. ‘I've no explanation,’ he said. ‘But your sons are sensitives, just as you are, sire. When Menedrion was threatened, Arwain was drawn to him and saved him. When Arwain was in danger of slipping into the Threshold, Menedrion was drawn to him in turn. I'll speak to Pandra, and Tarrian and Grayle will speak to Kany, but I doubt we'll find an explanation.’ He raised his hand to prevent Ibris's pending interruption. ‘However, I feel no danger here. Something deep inside your sons draws them to protect one another. They're bound by some old tie of blood. It's good.'
'But why was Arwain attacked in his dream?’ Ibris asked anxiously.
'He wasn't,’ Antyr replied. ‘I don't know how he came to find the Gateway to the Threshold. Perhaps it was something to do with his earlier contact through Menedrion's dream, perhaps it was his injury…’ A thought occurred to him. People often died from apparently slight head wounds. Could it be that some injuries led them towards and through a Gateway? He left the idea unspoken. ‘But there was no power drawing him forth, no malign presence. He felt none and had they been aware of one, Pandra and Kany would have snatched him away on the instant. He was in danger, but he wasn't attacked.'
Ibris looked uncertain. He turned again to Arwain. ‘How do you feel?’ he asked.
Arwain was quietly battling for self-composure. Had it not been for his own experience he would not have given any of the current proceedings a moment's credence. Now, however, he had no choice but acceptance.
'Oddly enough, both more and less bewildered, more and less alarmed,’ he replied. ‘Less, because I'm reassured that I'm not going mad; more, because it seems to make both us and the Bethlarii part of some game between players who're beyond our reach and beyond our measure in power. How can we protect ourselves from such … creatures?'
'People,’ Antyr corrected. ‘One with a gift like my own, though greater, and one with a rarer, stranger, gift still. But people nevertheless. Not mythical creatures, not gods.'
'But as powerful as gods, from your telling,’ Arwain replied. ‘And I ask again, how can we protect ourselves from them?'
'After our encounter with them, I don't think any of you will be assailed again,’ Antyr said. ‘I think they'll be reluctant to wander indiscriminately through the Threshold again, judging by their treatment of the envoy.'
'But if?’ Arwain persisted.
'Then knowledge will be your best protection,’ Antyr replied. ‘Knowledge of who you are and who they are, and that dreams are but shadows of your own making. In addition you should remember that even in ignorance, you and your brother watched over one another. And now Pandra and Kany will be watching you as well.’ He pointed to the two wolves, seemingly asleep across Ibris's feet. ‘We will watch for the Mynedarion and pit ourselves against him if we come upon him. You must turn your mind to the enemy you can face-the Bethlarii.'
'But…'
Antyr's hand came out to silence him. Ibris raised an eyebrow in some amusement as he noted the growing confidence of Petran's son.
'The Mynedarion will come. Have no doubt about it,’ Antyr said, his black eyes peering into Arwain's powerfully. ‘He's mad with power and desire. That much I've felt for myself. And though he pursues an end we can't see, you've no choice now but to cut off his sword arm-the Bethlarii army. That done, if it can be done, then perhaps his intention may become clearer.'
'Sound strategic thinking,’ Ibris said to Arwain, with a slight smile.
When Antyr had left, Ibris summoned Ryllans and Feranc again.
'Two things,’ he began. ‘Firstly, take especial care of my son here. With all the confusion of mobilization there's a great deal of unusual coming and going about the palace and for all we're preparing to meet the Bethlarii, we'd be ill advised to ignore our normal enemies, not least my wife. Her reach and malice are considerable…’ He forestalled an interruption by Feranc. ‘I know you've increased the guard on the Erin-Mal, Ciarll, but Nefron has many friends who're not my friends, and many of my friends who are caught in her grip, and my stomach says caution, so I mention it to you. Take what action you see fit and keep me informed.'
Feranc bowed.
'Secondly, there is the disturbance among the Mantynnai,’ Ibris went on.
Ryllans stiffened slightly. Ibris looked at him squarely. ‘I have no doubts about your loyalty,’ he said quietly. ‘And I'll press you on no matter. But I gather that you've encountered … aspects … of these recent happenings in the past-before your time here. Arwain will tell you and Ciarll everything that's happened here tonight with Antyr, then I want you to talk with your companions and come to me with what you feel I need to know.’ He cast a brief, significant glance at Ciarll Feranc to impart the message.
'Remember this,’ he said, placing his hands on Ryllans’ shoulders. ‘
Chapter 30
Antyr sat alone in his room. A fire, lit by a servant, burned cheerily in a corner grate, and several lamps, also lit by a servant, complemented the fire's earnest efforts. Heavy velvet curtains, drawn by Antyr himself, stood solid and purposeful between the light and warmth of the room and the yellow, dank darkness, moving softly and treacherously through the city streets outside.
Antyr was oblivious to the comfort of his surroundings, however. He was rapt in thought. Save for his attendance on the Duke to listen to Arwain's dreams, he had done little else but think since reporting the details of the envoy's dreams to the Duke in person following his more unorthodox nocturnal visit.
Ibris had listened, asked a few questions, thanked Tarrian with a knowing smile for the dream that the wolf had retrieved for him, and then dismissed them politely.
'What am I supposed to do now?’ Antyr asked Estaan surreptitiously after he had left the Duke. Estaan had laughed.
'You're a Ducal adviser now,’ he said. ‘You don't do anything.’ Then recanting a little. ‘Sorry, I couldn't resist that,’ he added, insincerely. ‘But you've no specific duties, so if the Duke hasn't asked you to do anything, then you can please yourself what you do until he sends for you.’ He raised a cautionary finger. ‘Then, you run, and you prepare to go without sleep. If you'll take my advice, you'll make the most of whatever leisure comes your way.'
They had spent some time wandering about the palace, with Estaan generally continuing to instruct Antyr in the ways of the vast sub-culture of palace life. In particular, he introduced him to those who held the real administrative power and responsibility in the palace, and whose friendship would be ‘worthwhile'. He also advised him about various individuals who were ‘best avoided', and also what to say and do if he was accosted by any of the guards. ‘It'll be some time before they all get to know you.'
It was a bewildering lesson for the Dream Finder, though had he paused to consider, he might have realized that the ways of his own lifestyle up to the last few days would seem no less complex to a stranger thrust suddenly into it.
