Thus is Ryllans punished, and so am I now, he thought.
He reached out and took Ryllans’ arm. ‘Forgive me,’ he said.
Ryllans laid his hand over the Duke's in acknowledgement. ‘There is more,’ he said.
'Tell it,’ Ibris said quietly. ‘Then we will gather it all and consider.'
He was aware of both Ryllans and Feranc looking at him sharply, but the moment was gone before he could question them, and Ryllans was speaking again.
'When our army broke and scattered, no pursuers were sent after us to cut us down in vengeance and hatred. Our opponents … our own people and their allies … were savage and fearsome in combat, but they stayed their hand in victory.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps it was there we began to learn,’ he said softly.
'But it is the way, the law, of our people to demand an accounting from wrongdoers, and they will allow neither time nor distance to remit that.'
Ibris frowned. Arwain's remark about the two men returned to him. It had slipped from him in the turmoil of the past few days.
'The men that Arwain spoke of,’ he said. ‘The ones on the bridge. They're your countrymen?'
Ryllans nodded. ‘From their bearing, their clothes, their horses, they were king's men, beyond a doubt.'
Feranc turned away suddenly but Ibris did not notice the movement.
He opened his arms in a gesture of dismissive indifference. ‘This is
He turned to Feranc before Ryllans could reply. ‘Have these … king's men … made any representations at the palace for audience?’ he asked.
Feranc shook his head, but did not speak. Ibris turned back to Ryllans. ‘Could you have been mistaken?’ he asked, his voice softening. ‘Many people come to the city. Perhaps they were simply foreign merchants. You'd not long received Estaan's news. You were upset…'
'There was no mistake,’ Ryllans replied. ‘They were king's men, and they must surely be here searching for us.'
Ibris spun on his heel and slapped his hands down violently on the stone parapet. A large part of him wanted to curse these intruders into oblivion. Two men, in the name of sanity! Come to
But the wiser part of his nature recognized his anger as fear.
Fear at whatever it was about these king's men that could so disconcert-not frighten, he noted-his Mantynnai: the men who had fought and died for him. The men whose gradual influence had improved beyond recognition the fighting qualities of his army. The men whose loyalty had given him the sureness and stability to lead his people forward, away from the endless debilitating cycle of internecine warfare and futile, waiting peace.
His anger left him suddenly, and when he spoke, his voice was calm and even.
'Ciarll, find these men urgently. It shouldn't be difficult, by all accounts. Bring them … ask them … if they would be kind enough to attend on me as soon as possible.'
He turned back to Ryllans. ‘I note the pain that this tale has cost you, my friend, and, as ever, I stand in debt to your courage and honesty,’ he said. ‘But we're on the verge of war. Organizing the greatest mobilization ever, to face who knows what strange dangers. I can allow nothing …
Ryllans bowed and Ibris turned towards the tower doorway, beckoning the two men to follow him.
As they walked down the tower's stone steps, Ibris welcomed the clatter of their feet as it further dispelled the disturbing atmosphere of Ryllans’ tale and, he realized abruptly, Feranc's deep withdrawal.
'Do you wish me to begin looking for these men immediately?’ Feranc said, his voice matter of fact, and giving the lie to Ibris's thoughts even as they occurred.
'Yes,’ he said, with a slight start, then, ‘No. No. Not yet. I think we should talk to Antyr first. This old enemy of Ryllans is assailing us, and the Bethlarii, through our dreams, for some end of its own, and while Antyr's quite frank about not understanding what's happening, he's nevertheless the one who knows the most about it, whether he realizes it or not. I think we-you-Ryllans, should tell him all that you can.'
'Yes,’ Ryllans replied.
They left the tower through a heavy wooden door carved with a great battle scene; two huge armies locked in conflict and the air above them full of fighting birds. The carving was extraordinarily vivid and lifelike and spread out from the door across the stone jambs that framed it.
Ryllans pulled the door shut with an echoing boom which resonated around the hall they had entered. He looked down at the door's great iron ring, then briefly squeezed it, as if for comfort, before letting it fall. As it struck the door, it made an unusually melodic note which lingered in the air and seemed to follow the trio as they strode away.
Gradually, the corridors became busier and Ibris felt the new, hectic routine of the palace beginning to close around him-a familiar armour.
He did not allow it to seal him off from his new revelation, however. Indeed he allowed his thoughts about Ryllans’ tale to eddy to and fro freely, knowing that this alone would enable them to find some equilibrium in time. For the moment he resolved to consider only the simple practical matter of the two foreigners searching out his Mantynnai.
The whole affair seemed to him to be at once both trivial and profound. The wish of some distant and unknown monarch for retribution for offences committed so long ago was not worthy of the slightest consideration when set against the present dangers now threatening the land. Even the Mantynnai's offence, presumably treason, was of no great import in the context of a civil war. All countries had such conflicts at one time or another, and generally only the principals suffered punishment when they were resolved.
And what could two men achieve?
Yet these two who had come quite openly and yet so quietly to his city, had disturbed the Mantynnai more than he had ever known.
They reached the small hall where Estaan had been training his charge, and Ibris set his concerns aside for the moment.
As they entered, Antyr, red-faced and panting, was laying about him with a wooden training sword and Estaan was parrying and avoiding the blows. Antyr had eventually overcome his reservations about attacking correctly, and, for the most part, his blows were accurately placed and purposeful. Estaan moved around and through them with an ease and quietness which, while frustrating, not to say, infuriating, for Antyr, was wholly deceptive.
Ibris placed his finger to his lips for silence as they entered and, for a little while, the three of them watched the two protagonists. As they did so, Tarrian and Grayle sidled stealthily over to them and began fawning about the Duke.
Feranc smiled slightly.
'That's enough, you rascals,’ Ibris said, bending down to stroke them. ‘Don't think that I don't know how to deal with flattering courtiers…'
At the sound of his voice, Estaan turned slightly and Antyr slipped past his blade and charged him heavily. The Mantynnai went sprawling across the floor. Both Ryllans and Feranc laughed and clapped spontaneously, but Antyr, startled either by his temerity or his success, stopped suddenly and put his hand to his mouth like an errant child.
Immediately, Ryllans cried out, almost as if in pain. ‘Don't stop! Finish him! Finish him!’ he shouted, striding forward urgently. But it was too late. Estaan had rapidly regained his feet, and before Antyr could respond his sword had been brushed aside and the Mantynnai's sword run across his midriff.
