Like all male Serens, Arwain had undergone the basic military training that was both necessary for the security of the city and its dominions and traditionally marked the passage of young men through into manhood. As the Duke's son and as a future officer, his training, like Menedrion's and Goran's, had been more severe than average and he had encountered enough instructors who used brutality and humiliation as their stock in trade to value Ryllans at something like his true worth.
And indeed, as yet another measure of this, Arwain realized that he was alert now. Not tense or anxious, fearful of some impending but unknowable event, but … wide-awake, for want of any more profound phrase … more aware of everything that was going on around him. It was as if Ryllans’ brief lesson had released some inner resource just as a strike on a flint box would make it burst into crackling brightness with the flame that could go on to banish any darkness.
Body and mind, both to be trusted, both to be trained, both to know their strengths and weaknesses. That was the essence of all Ryllans’ teaching. And an unthinking habit was a weakness beyond doubt.
As he walked silently by his mentor, Arwain searched for the deeper lessons that must lie beneath this last one.
Why did he always look up at the walls of this man-made pit? Was he, as he would like to have imagined, quickly and shrewdly examining the terrain for any subtle signs of change that might perhaps mean danger? Ryllans certainly would have approved of that. Or was his action simply a childish retreat into the comforting familiarity of ritual in an attempt to avoid the challenge of newness that must inevitably occur in this place?
Or was there yet some deeper unease that disturbed him? ‘This place is alien,’ he said, stopping suddenly, his breath steaming in the chilly air. Ryllans stopped also and half turned his head towards him, inviting an explanation. ‘It's a Mantynnai place, wherever you come from,’ Arwain went on.
Ryllans did not reply, but looked up at the walls as if he had not done so for a long time and gave a slight, pensive nod.
'Or perhaps not,’ Arwain went on. ‘Perhaps it's just a Serens place, made alien and sightless by your Mantynnai touch.'
'Blinded, eh?’ Ryllans said.
'Blindfolded,’ Arwain added, more compassionately.
Ryllans chuckled, intrigued. ‘Interesting,’ he said. ‘I'll think about that.'
'Or perhaps it's that lonely place that each of us carries inside, even in the middle of the crowd,’ Arwain said, warming to his thoughts, but adding, almost inadvertently, ‘especially in battle.'
'Ah,’ Ryllans said significantly. ‘You
Apart from his formal military training, Arwain had received training in the arts of war throughout his youth in the course of his normal education. He was familiar with the principles involved in the use of cavalry and infantry in many terrains, ranging from large set-piece battles across open plains, to close-quarter skirmishing in the mountains. He had been taught about the logistical problems involved in raising, maintaining and moving armies, and he had learned about siege warfare and the use of artillery and blockades and sapping.
As a classroom discipline, this had been interesting, exciting even, but subsequently he had also had much of this theory complemented by some grim practical experience as the constant political manoeuvring of the many cities and towns of the land gave rise at times to outbreaks of armed violence.
What he learned from Ryllans and the other Mantynnai in his bodyguard, however, was different.
Initially, when Ryllans had suggested that he train and practice with his bodyguard, Arwain had declined; time had lent no charm to the memories of his basic training.
Ryllans, however, knew when to charge and when to infiltrate.
'Your father has given me charge of your protection, sir,’ he said. ‘This is a relatively simple matter on the battlefield, but here…’ He waved an airy hand around the busy palace grounds they were walking. ‘It's much harder, perhaps even impossible, given the will and power of the lady Nefron even though she is confined to the Erin-Mal. And there are others with little love for the house of Ibris. Only you can truly protect yourself and protection is more than skill at arms. It's here.’ And he had patted his stomach and then tapped his temple with an extended finger. The latter in particular was to become a familiar gesture to Arwain.
At this further assault, Arwain had weakened a little, but still he held. ‘I've every faith in you and your men, Ryllans,’ he said, airily. ‘I'm sure that we'll be able to work out arrangements that will satisfy your concerns.'
Ryllans had bowed and then made his frontal attack. Fixing his lord with a polite but unflinching gaze, he said, ‘All defences can be overcome, given time, knowledge and resolution, sir. This you know from your studies. And anyone seeking your life will have these resources and also the benefit of surprise. Surround you as we may, there will always be that one moment of inattention. That opening in the shield wall for a stray arrow.’ His voice had dropped. ‘And, sir, we each of us have our price. Something, somewhere. Those who stand closest to you, armed, will be your enemies’ first choice as weapons. It was ever thus. You know this too from your studies, I'm sure.'
The clarity of vision in this remark had truly shocked and frightened Arwain, such was the reputation of the Mantynnai for loyalty and such was the faith placed in them by his father. He wavered visibly and Ryllans moved in and quietly finished him off. ‘And then there is the protection of your intended, sir. The Lady Yanys…'
Ryllans’ instruction had, however, been as far from Arwain's basic training as he could possibly have imagined. Indeed, it proved to be a continuing revelation and Arwain found a new quality developing within himself that seemed to affect almost his every action.
Not that many of the things he learned seemed, at first glance, to be very different from what he already knew. The slight changes that the Mantynnai showed him however, made them vastly different, at once easier to execute and more powerful in their effect.
'Where did you learn these things from?’ he asked once in the early days. ‘From some secret warrior sect?'
Ryllans had laughed outright. ‘No, no. What we know is far too simple to be kept secret. That's why it's so difficult for people to see it.'
'I don't understand,’ Arwain had replied, oscillating between plaintiveness and irritation.
'Just practice,’ was all that Ryllans would offer him. ‘And think. And feel.'
What won Arwain over eventually, however, was the spirit of learning and humble inquiry that permeated his new training, so utterly different was it from the brutal savagery inherent in much of his previous experience.
Now, Arwain relished his practice sessions with the Mantynnai, finding them both relaxing and stimulating if, occasionally, shattering. He sensed too that he was also being surreptitiously forged and strengthened to become part of the team that was his bodyguard.
'Better the shell, than the shrimp within,’ Ryllans had said once, casually, but with some amusement.
Arwain was greeted by the men as he approached. They were laughing at the double entrance he had had to make. Here he was not their lord, he was one of them … or nearly so. For though they were seemingly no more than men, relaxed and humorous, they were also Mantynnai. A dark bonding stillness lay at their heart.
'Having to practice door opening now?’ came one voice, with a despairing, motherly sigh.
'Don't worry, it's harder than it looks, but you'll pick it up eventually,’ came another.
Arwain turned to Ryllans in mock appeal against this welcome.
'Just practice,’ was the dismissive reply. ‘Hadryn, as we discussed, help the lord with his close-quarter work, one against many. He's still showing too much inclination to lose his awareness when he's dealt with one.’ Hadryn was a tall, black-bearded man, loose-limbed and powerful. He nodded. ‘For the moment, unarmed,’ Ryllans continued.
He turned back to Arwain. ‘Work hard on this.’ He tapped his head with his finger. ‘You turn your mind away too easily and it'll get your throat cut. You still think in terms of victory and defeat, and while you do that you will always be defeated.'
Arwain had seen this form of training and even participated in it to some extent as an attacker, but it was a form that was liable to be more frightening for the attackers than the single ‘victim’ and he had ended with an acute sense of his own inadequacy.
As Ryllans walked away towards another group of guards, he clapped his hands loudly. Arwain's assailants moved purposefully towards him.
