deduced. These would be the elite of the Duke's personal bodyguard; men under the direct, personal command of Ciarll Feranc. Though neither of them exuded any menace, Antyr felt afraid.
'Have you lost your way, sir?’ the man was repeating, a little more emphatically.
'I'm … I'm … looking for … I need to speak to the … to the … Duke. Sir,’ Antyr stammered. He braced himself for a sarcastic response, but none was forthcoming.
'If you have a message for the Duke, it could have been left downstairs, but you may give it to me,’ the guard said, still polite.
Antyr shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don't have a message from anyone, I have to see him personally. It's important.'
It wasn't important, he realized, as soon as he had spoken the words. It was a trivial organizational problem that certainly didn't need the personal and immediate attention of the Duke.
Then again, another part of him said, it was important, and it did concern the Duke personally.
Briefly the two opinions struggled for dominance, then it dawned on him that probably the worst that could happen to him would be for the Duke to have him thrown out, and, fee or no, that was not an unhappy solution to his problems. He must plough on.
'My name's Antyr,’ he said hastily as he saw the guard's eyes begin to narrow. ‘I saw the Duke last night. He'll remember. If he isn't … available, then perhaps I could speak to Commander Feranc or Chancellor Aaken.'
The guard's manner, however, changed perceptibly at the mention of Antyr's own name, making the references to Aaken and Feranc superfluous. His look of growing suspicion was replaced by a barely hidden curiosity. He turned to his companion, who nodded him towards a nearby door.
'I'll see if a member of his staff can be found to look after you, sir,’ he said. ‘Would you wait here.'
And he was gone, leaving Antyr and Tarrian alone with the other guard, an older man with a seemingly easy-going manner. However, he wore a slightly different insignia on his uniform which, coupled with the fact that it was the first guard who was running the errand, identified him to Antyr as the senior in rank.
He looked at Antyr and smiled broadly though it did little to ease Antyr's trepidation.
'An unusual profession, Dream Finding,’ the man said casually, his accent stronger than his companion's. ‘In my time I've met many shamans and priests and so-called wise men who'd listen to the telling of dreams and then foretell the future and suchlike, but I'd never heard of a skill such as yours until I came to this land.'
It seemed an odd remark, but then, for all their known loyalty, the Mantynnai were foreigners.
Antyr returned the smile nervously. ‘We make no silk here, because we don't have the knowledge,’ he said. ‘And where they make the silk I understand they make no steels because they don't have the knowledge. Not all countries practice all crafts.'
The guard nodded and laughed softly. ‘True,’ he conceded. ‘But Dream Finding is a strange profession, for all that. I suppose I could learn how to make silk and steel if I had to, but could I become a Dream Finder?'
'No,’ Antyr conceded in turn, warming to the man a little. ‘It's usually passed from father to son in some way, if it's passed on at all.'
'It is a mystery then, not a craft,’ the guard went on. ‘A bridge to places beyond the sight of other men.'
Antyr shrugged slightly. ‘A mystery to you, but a craft to me,’ he said. ‘Just as you are a mystery to me, but a craftsman also, Mantynnai.'
The guard smiled and nodded, though, for an instant, his eyes became distant and sad.
'Move away,’ Tarrian said softly into Antyr's mind. ‘You're hurting him.'
'I heard that there was a Bethlarii envoy at the palace today,’ Antyr said, taken aback slightly by Tarrian's unexpected interruption and snatching at the first topic that came to mind.
'There was indeed,’ the man replied.
He offered no further explanation however, and there was a finality in his answer that made Antyr loath to press him.
He glanced at the door through which the other guard had gone.
'He'll be a little while yet,’ the guard said. ‘Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.’ He pointed to a wide bench seat in an alcove and his manner became jocular, teasing. ‘Is your message very urgent? Have you foreseen a great Bethlarii army mustering against us in some subtle cranny of the Duke's dreams?'
Antyr hesitated. ‘I must speak to the Duke certainly,’ he replied. ‘Or Commander Feranc…'
'Or Chancellor Aaken.’ The guard finished his answer for him, nodding and laughing. ‘Then you
Antyr went suddenly cold, something had to be stopped here and he was uncertain how to do it. He leaned towards the man. ‘Dreams are beyond all understanding,’ he said, almost aggressively. ‘They spring from who knows what ancient sources deep inside us, for who knows what ancient reasons. I can foretell nothing. Nor see through mountains to distant places. I help the dreamers see their dreams again, for whatever reason they wish. And I talk to them about it if they wish. But that is all. The future is the future. Perhaps some can foresee it, perhaps not. But no Dream Finder can.'
The guard made to speak, but Antyr, committed now, continued, his mouth dry. ‘Please understand,’ he said. ‘I may not tell you whose dreams I have searched nor what was seen there without their express permission. Duke or slave, their secrets are as safe with me as my human frailty will allow. I saw the Duke last night, but what passed between us remains between us, be it a dream search or not.’ To his own surprise, he levelled a finger at the Mantynnai. ‘Put no words in my mouth but what I speak.'
The guard stared at him intently for a moment, his face suddenly unreadable. Then he said, ‘Come with me,’ and beckoning Antyr to follow him he went through the door that the other guard had taken.
Clenching his fists nervously and regretting his firmness, Antyr forced his legs forward. Tarrian padded after him.
The guard did not speak as they walked on, and Antyr noticed that he made almost no other sound either. His sword did not rattle, nor his daggers, and, for all his size, his feet fell lightly on the carpeted floor. There was just the soft hiss of his clothes and the occasional creak of his leather tunic.
Not that Antyr had a great deal of time in which to observe this as very shortly they were at another door. It was black and simple and undecorated save for a small plate bearing the Duke's emblem.
The guard knocked discreetly and, almost without pause, the door opened quietly. Tarrian waited for no invitation, but went straight in. Antyr hesitated but the guard nodded him through urgently.
The room he found himself in was in stark contrast to the ornately decorated chamber where he had met the Duke the previous night. It was large and well lit and such items as decorated the walls were maps, and plans of cities, and charts of various kinds that he could not immediately identify, though some, he noted quickly, were related to siege engines.
These, together with the utilitarian simplicity of the room, brought images of war to Antyr's mind again.
Scattered about the room were several desks manned by scribes and secretaries or surrounded by groups of officers in quiet but intense conversation, and through other doors could be seen similar rooms. People came and went and over all was a soft hubbub of voices and activity.
At the far end of the room sat the Duke behind a large table strewn with documents. There were others sitting and standing by the table, but the Duke was leaning back and talking to Ciarll Feranc, one leg thrown over the arm of his chair and the other flexing so that he was rocking to and fro on the back legs of his chair.
A young man's posture, Antyr thought, feeling a sudden and quite unwarranted sense of security pervade him.
The door closed softly behind him and the guard signalled Antyr towards the Duke. Hesitantly, Antyr set off and the guard fell in behind him.
Their arrival caused a small stir in the room, though it was largely due to the presence of Tarrian who was already wandering freely, sniffing at people and peering at documents. One or two people stroked him affectionately, somewhat to Antyr's alarm, but Tarrian paid no heed.
As Antyr and the guard reached the Duke, he looked at them and held up an apologetic finger to Feranc to suspend their conversation.
A quick glance around the room had not revealed to Antyr the presence of the first guard, and now he stood before his Duke, his present escort apparently chose not to speak. There was, however, some communication with the man as both the Duke and Feranc looked at him over Antyr's shoulder until, apparently satisfied, the Duke
