Rendd and our other cities. Anyone practicing this peculiar skill is to be executed immediately. See to it now.'
Estaan raised a cautionary hand to the messenger who had entered Pandra's tent.
'Stay where you are, and make no sudden movements,’ he said.
The messenger needed no prompting, having seen the two yellow-eyed wolves immediately on entering the tent. He bent forward and whispered in Estaan's ear.
Estaan frowned slightly, and, thanking the messenger, cast a glance at Antyr.
'What's the matter?’ Antyr asked, his voice, distant but clear, echoing in Estaan's head.
The Mantynnai drew in a sharp breath. ‘I thought you were … asleep,’ he said, out loud.
Antyr chuckled. ‘I'm in other people's sleep,’ he said. ‘But I can see your concern. What was the message?'
Estaan hesitated for a moment. ‘Arwain and the bodyguard are preparing to leave for Viernce,’ he said. ‘I…'
'Should be with them.’ Antyr finished his sentence for him.
Estaan looked pained. ‘Yes … No … I…'
'I'll come with you,’ Antyr said. ‘Give me a moment.’ Inside the dream thoughts of the Bethlarii, Antyr watched the startled Estaan, and at the same time touched Pandra, diligently pursuing his task.
'I must leave you, Pandra, Kany,’ he said. ‘I'm needed elsewhere. Keep on with this task for as long as you can. The truth must lighten their darkness eventually. Thank you for your help and friendship.'
Pandra's anxiety washed over him, but only the words, ‘Take care,’ formed.
Kany's farewell was more robust. ‘Scent him out, hunters three. Bring him down-kill him!’ he said powerfully.
'You can't go,’ Ibris said, his face flushed with the effort of pushing his way through the bustling activity of his bodyguard as it prepared to leave.
Antyr finished tightening his horse's cinch then turned to the Duke. ‘Estaan said that, Arwain said it, everyone I've met so far has said it.’ He nodded towards Haster and Jadric who were standing nearby and watching the exchange. ‘Even those two are thinking it, though they're too polite to say anything. I'd be obliged, sire, if you'd tell everyone that I'm going with the bodyguard to Viernce and I'd value their help instead of their opposition.’ His voice was strident.
'Steady,’ Tarrian whispered to him.
Ibris met Antyr's black-eyed gaze squarely, torn between anger, respect and concern. He waved a hand at the gathering group of men.
'These are hard, highly trained men,’ he said. ‘Young men for the most part. My best. They'll be riding like the devil and fighting a dreadful battle against who knows what odds at the end of it. They won't be able to nurse you along the way or protect you when you reach the enemy. If the journey doesn't kill you, the…'
'
Ibris wavered.
'They can tie me to my horse if I look like falling off,’ Antyr pressed.
'And the wolves?’ Ibris asked. ‘They can't run all that way.'
'Throw them in panniers,’ Antyr replied shortly.
'What!’ Tarrian's indignation was considerable.
'Throw them in panniers,’ Antyr repeated firmly. ‘They can sleep. They'll need to be fresh when the hunt starts.'
Tarrian's indignation faded slightly.
Haster walked across to them. ‘If it's your wish that he goes, Lord, we'll tend him,’ he said. ‘He can ride between us, he'll be no burden.'
'But you must be exhausted yourselves,’ Ibris protested.
'We're tired certainly, but we've finer horses than yours, lord,’ Haster said. Unexpectedly he smiled. ‘And we've learned the art of sleeping as we ride.'
Ibris growled and then gave a resigned shrug. ‘As you wish, Dream Finder. You must go where your heart leads you. Take care. And my thanks to you.'
A little later, Antyr found himself mounted between the two strangers, with Tarrian and Grayle ensconced in panniers.
Tarrian had protested more than a little at the indignity of being lifted into his, but was now almost asleep. Grayle was as silent and deep as ever.
Antyr watched Ibris and then Menedrion embracing Arwain, then, almost before he realized what was happening, Arwain had swung up into his saddle and, with a stomach-churning lurch, his horse surged forward into the night.
Chapter 40
The day was full of winter brightness. A cloudless blue sky, brilliant sun, and a windless cold.
It was a day for brisk walking through ragged, leafless country lanes or along hilly ridges or across manicured parks.
A day for warm reassuring clothes and a warm fireside and warm company to return to.
It was a day especially apt for celebrating life, but, albeit reluctantly, Ibris's army had risen to a misty dawn, to celebrate death. It had risen shivering with the cold and the fear: the fear of impending battle, the fear of showing fear, the fear of failing in command, the fear of edges and points, of missiles and flailing hooves, of looking into the face of the unthinking, fear-spawned, personal hatred of the enemy and, worst of all, of random, cruel chance.
Quickly the army had drawn noise and bustling activity over its nakedness like a familiar blanket.
And now it moved across the rolling Bethlarii landscape in battle formation; the sun glinting off spear points and armour, shields and harness, and brightening the surcoats and pennants and flags emblazoned with their many devices.
The air was filled with the soft clatter of marching and riding men, punctuated occasionally by shouted orders to maintain the line, and made purposeful by the ominous tattoo of the pace drums. A dark green trail marked the passing of the host as the dew-damped grass was relentlessly crushed under hoof and foot.
Visibility being good, and being some way from the Bethlarii position, Ibris and Menedrion rode at the front of the line with several other senior officers and aides. No one spoke.
A small group of riders appeared in the distance. Ibris motioned a signaller to halt the advance.
The pace drums stopped with startling suddenness and for a moment it seemed to Ibris that the ensuing silence was absolute.
As the riders drew nearer, the noise of the thousands of now waiting men began to assert itself.
'It's Feranc's patrol,’ Menedrion said.
Ibris nodded and clicked his horse forward, motioning Menedrion to follow him.
As Feranc's men reached them, Ibris sent the men back to the waiting officers to make their reports. Even as he did so, he saw Feranc's eyes flicking along the length of the waiting army.
'Your bodyguard, the Mantynnai, Arwain?’ he asked as Ibris turned back to him.
Ibris told him what had happened the previous night. After he had heard the tale, Feranc lowered his head. Ibris waited for his reaction, concerned.
'The Dream Finder has gone with them?’ Feranc said, after a long pause.
Ibris nodded awkwardly, somewhat taken aback at this unexpected response.
Feranc grimaced in sympathy. ‘It'll be a bad journey for him,’ he said. ‘A dark grim night he'll not forget.'