irritation on his father's face.
'Arwain, I need thoughtful counsel, not lectures on Bethlarii religion and elementary personal security,’ Ibris said coldly. ‘Besides you should know by now that priests of any colour don't hesitate to excuse the gullible the trappings of their creeds when political necessity demands. The man could be a Ghaler or anything, though I incline to your view that he's likely to be an officer. Probably tasked with noting our initial response to that letter. Anyway, what he is is irrelevant. To question him would have been in breach of the treaty, and at the moment all the breaches lie with them. He's been offered food, drink and rest-all of which he's declined, I understand-and he's being quietly but very well guarded by Ciarll's men.'
Arwain lowered his eyes. ‘I'm sorry, father,’ he said. ‘You're right, I should think before I speak. I'm still heated with the training and rushing over here.’ He risked a smile. ‘Perhaps I should take a leaf from the Bethlarii way and wait for your permission before I speak.'
Ibris leaned back in his chair and some of the coldness left his voice. ‘Perhaps you should,’ he said. ‘The Bethlarii are not without some worthwhile ideas.'
Then he tapped his temple with his forefinger, looking significantly at Arwain. There was a father's need in his eyes. ‘Diplomacy or battle, Arwain, always the head first,’ he said. ‘
Arwain nodded and looked down again. It was true that he had come from the training yard too heated and flustered, but it was also irrelevant. There was never an excuse for not thinking. He must calm himself before he spoke again. His father would be more troubled by this unexpected and bizarre visit from Bethlar than he would allow anyone to see and he should not have to take pause to instruct his children. He should be able to look to them for support.
Arwain looked across the crowded stateroom with its broad cross-section of Serenstad's ruling and commercial classes and the sprinkling of travellers from its dominion cities and towns. It was, he realized, a testimony to Ibris's own advice. His father's initial response to the letter must have been something to behold, yet the messenger was not hanging from the battlements. Arwain knew that it would have taken but seconds for his father to channel his doubtless monumental rage into cold calculation.
He risked a cautious irony. ‘I sit at your feet, father,’ he said. ‘Allow me to redeem myself.'
Ibris looked at him and slowly raised one eyebrow.
Arwain, in reply, raised a confidential finger. ‘Since Viernce, the Bethlarii have been much less inclined to do any extensive political or military adventuring.’ He cast a glance at Feranc. ‘I'm assuming that there's been no unusual military activity very recently. Just the usual, eternal war games and minor raiding between border villages.’ Feranc nodded a confirmation.
'I need no history lesson either, Arwain,’ Ibris said, glancing over the room impatiently.
Arwain continued. ‘They've been too long without war. The futility of their endless training saps their spirit. Indeed, peace gnaws at the very roots of the reason for the existence of their whole society. And it grieves them bitterly too that we thrive and prosper in peacetime.’ He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts. ‘They could, of course, send their army against us without pretext, but that would almost certainly turn their less enthusiastic allies on the borders against them. I don't think it's beyond imagining that some clique in the Hanestra has sent this envoy, with his … appalling … letter, to be sacrificed to your anger so that his death can be used as a justification for abandoning the treaty and beginning the old round of armed campaigning again.'
'No man goes lightly to his death, Arwain,’ Ibris said. ‘Not even a Bethlarii. Don't you confuse reality with myth. They like fighting and killing, not dying.'
Arwain pointed to the letter in Aaken's hand. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But I can't imagine that and their secret journey here being just diplomatic carelessness-an inadvertent forgetting of the details of the treaty. They're too fussy about the niceties of form when it suits them. Given that, what are we left with? I think this … envoy … and his escort, have been sent to die.’ A new thought occurred to him abruptly. ‘I'll wager that there's some fanatical new sect of their grotesque religion beginning to seize power.'
Ibris's face became impassive. ‘And my response?’ he asked.
Arwain waved his hand across the crowd. ‘Exactly what you're doing,’ he said. ‘You've scraped this civic greeting together and you're going to welcome their envoy formally and courteously, in public audience as befits a representative of a … friendly … neighbouring state.’ He looked at his father intently. ‘Your reasoning's like mine,’ he went on. ‘You've even placed a large number of your bodyguard inconspicuously throughout the crowd not only to protect yourself should this be an assassination attempt but also to protect them should they wilfully provoke this crowd to anger.’ He looked at his father expectantly, but Ibris still did not respond.
'The simple straight thrust is invariably the best and the least expected.’ Ryllans’ often given advice came back to him, and he smiled.
'Of course, with the Handira being appointed every year they may indeed simply be inept in procedural matters and you're accepting their envoy like this just to listen to what he says. However…’ He allowed himself a theatrical pause. ‘I think you hope that the absence of a violent reproach on your part will so unsettle him that, one way or another, he'll inadvertently disclose the true purpose hidden under his apparent one, or at least give an insight into their thinking.’ Ibris smiled a little and nodded approvingly. ‘Convoluted and rather long-winded, Arwain,’ he said, ‘but interesting. I am indeed going to listen to this envoy and I'm certainly going to ensure that he isn't harmed in any way, if that's possible.’ He beckoned Arwain to bend forward to that he could speak more softly. ‘But heed this. Though no arrows and spears are flying here, don't be deluded. This will be as dangerous as any battle and we'll have to ride the avalanche. When we meet this man we're going to jump from rock to rock and our sole concern is not to fall. That's all. You're learning. But don't seek too diligently to guess the motives of others, you'll miss the obvious looking for the hidden. And what you need to know, you'll learn if you just listen with your whole spirit.'
'The simple straight thrust,’ Arwain said, echoing his earlier thought.
Ibris nodded, then he looked a little pensive. ‘Besides,’ he said, almost wryly, ‘you'll find in time that you don't even know your own reasons for much of what you're doing, let alone anyone else's.'
Arwain looked at him quizzically but Ibris offered no amplification of this cryptic comment. Abruptly he was businesslike. ‘Stand at the back of my chair … here … between me and Aaken.’ As Arwain moved between the chairs, Ibris pulled him forward again and spoke in a whisper. ‘Loosen your knife and be ready but leave a clear sightline for the archers in the balcony alcoves behind us.’ Then with both ducal and paternal urgency he repeated his advice. ‘Don't speak; just listen and watch. And don't let the faintest shadow of your mind appear on your face.'
Arwain acknowledged the comment by a pressure on his father's arm and moved to the position he had indicated. He was about to ask how long it would be before the envoy arrived, when the doors at the far end of the room opened suddenly and a group of the Duke's bodyguard marched in, pikes raised.
Chapter 12
There was a flurry of activity through the crowd, then an aisle opened up before the advancing guards, and the hubbub faded abruptly.
Arwain looked at the approaching group intently. There were three Bethlarii, one walking in front of the other two. Envoy and escort, Arwain presumed, judging by the insignia that the leader wore and his easier though equally contemptuous manner as he gazed freely over the watching crowd. The other two stared fixedly forward.
They were completely surrounded by Ciarll Feranc's men, but Arwain noticed that while they maintained the pace of their escort comfortably enough, they marched in step with one another and not in step with the guards. It was a simple act but it betokened a chilling discipline.
As with most Bethlarii, it was difficult to estimate their ages as they were all bronzed and weather-beaten from their wilfully harsh life. That said, and despite their manner, they were fine-looking men, straight and limber and dressed in simple, virtually undecorated tunics. They contrasted greatly with the motley assortment of fashions, complexions and bodily shapes currently gazing at them in a mixture of amusement, distaste, plain curiosity and, in some cases, downright lust.
Arwain had to admit that even though the Bethlarii were travel-stained and patently weary, the Serens
