‘How did she find out about last night, Ciarll?’ he asked.
'Assuming the Dream Finder isn't in her pay, then any one of a dozen guards or servants might have carried the information to her,’ Feranc replied regretfully. ‘I took no great pains about secrecy.'
Ibris waved Antyr's burgeoning denial aside before it found tongue, and he gestured an acknowledgement of Feranc's admission.
'It's of no matter, I suppose,’ he concluded. ‘But…'
He let the sentence fade into an irritable sigh as he brought his mind back to the more pressing needs of the moment.
'I'll not pry into Menedrion's dreams, Antyr,’ he said. ‘But why does he need you so suddenly, and why would he want you to accompany him when he leaves? He's not a man to be frightened by shadows.'
Antyr still hesitated. Despite the Duke's obvious understanding of his position, he had not realized how deeply rooted was his need to protect his clients.
'Time isn't on your side, Dream Finder,’ the Duke said bluntly. ‘Speak to some purpose or leave.'
The impossibility of his situation stood stark in front of Antyr. He needed help if he in turn was to help others. But he could obtain no help if he remained silent.
He had no choice. The rights and wrongs of his breach of confidence would have to be debated later.
'I'm sorry, sire,’ he said. ‘But it's hard for me to do this, and I do it only because no other alternative seems to be open to me.'
The Duke looked at him, waiting.
'Lord Menedrion had a dream last night which alarmed him greatly,’ Antyr said suddenly. Almost immediately he felt a sense of relief at being able to voice his concerns. ‘When we searched for it, I found myself separated both from the dreamer and my Companion and in some strange place beyond the dream, where Lord Menedrion was being assailed by many enemies. Between us, Tarrian and I brought him back, but…’ He faltered, but Ibris asked no questions in the silence. ‘I don't know what happened, sire. I've never known anything like it. All I could suggest was that we keep watch on him tonight to see if anything further happens…'
'And now he'll be awake all night working and won't need you until tomorrow,’ Ibris said quietly, turning to stare into the fire again. He was silent for a long time.
'You've heard about the Bethlarii envoy, I presume?’ he said, eventually.
'Vague snatches of gossip from overheard conversations, sire,’ Antyr replied. ‘I don't know anyone here to discuss such matters with.'
Ibris nodded again. ‘You will, Dream Finder,’ he said, with some heavy humour. ‘You will, I fear.'
Antyr, though puzzled by this remark, made no comment.
Ibris was silent again for a little while, then, ‘Quite suddenly, and without any warning we find ourselves facing the possibility of total war against the Bethlarii. How does that strike you, twice server?'
'With horror,’ Antyr answered, more quickly and definitely than mature reflection would have advised him.
Ibris continued staring into the fire, but Antyr saw his eyebrows rise at this response. ‘Wouldn't you welcome the chance to find glory and adventure battling against your city's foes, Guildsman?’ he asked.
'I'll fight if I have to,’ Antyr replied, suddenly reckless. ‘For my city and for myself. But only if I have to. And I certainly won't welcome it. There's adventure enough just walking the city streets at night.’ He pointed to the mantelshelf. ‘And there's more true glory in that timepiece there than there is in a lifetime's wars.'
He sensed some kind of a response from Feranc, but the bodyguard was standing at the edge of his vision and he could not identify it properly.
Ibris glanced up at the mantelshelf. ‘I wish the Bethlarii had your vision,’ he said after a brief silence. Then he stood up, gently disturbing the apparently sleeping Tarrian. His manner became brisk. ‘But, as ever, they don't. And, as ever, we may all have to pay the price of their blindness.'
He turned round and looked at Antyr squarely. ‘I can't make head nor tail of what you're talking about, Dream Finder, but I know that I was attacked and I've no reason to doubt what you say about your own, and Menedrion's experiences.’ He glanced at Feranc. ‘Equally I can't make head nor tail of what the Bethlarii are up to. But I don't have to see spears and swords to smell an ambush, so, as far as I'm concerned, the two events are related, and right now I'm not going to fret about the logic of it all.'
Feranc nodded, and Antyr stood very still, feeling himself suddenly the focus of terrible and unknowable forces swirling about and beyond him. Tarrian moved to his side.
'Antyr,’ the Duke said, his voice calm. ‘I absolve you of your oath of loyalty as a Guildsman and a reservist. I give you free choice, without reproach. Will you stand by me and help me, or take your fee and return quietly to your home to pursue your calling in peace.'
It was not what Antyr had been expecting. He had been anticipating either being thrown out or perhaps being ‘volunteered’ into service by virtue of ‘Needs of the State'.
He hesitated. A cascade of conflicting thoughts tumbled through his head in an instant. What could he do? He didn't know what was happening. Was this some trick? Would the Duke indeed allow him to walk quietly away if that was what he chose to do? And what about Menedrion? Would he find out what had happened? And who would protect …? The hooded figure with the lamp appeared abruptly amid the turmoil. Who was he? And what threat did he offer? Would standing near to the Duke draw the phantom on or send it gibbering into the darkness?
And he was no courtier. He wouldn't know what to do in this place.
Then, oddly altruistic thoughts rose up to embarrass him. Who but a Dream Finder could help the Duke with this strange happening? And if in helping the Duke he could in some way help prevent the horror of war spreading over the land again, should he not do it? Could he sleep at nights ever again if he did not, or would he be haunted by the legions of the maimed and demented who were the true legatees of a war. He recognized his father's voice.
Tarrian was silent, though Antyr felt him prowling the edges of his mind, watching and waiting. Whatever he decided, he knew that Tarrian would remain his faithful Companion. The wolf imposed his own burden by seeking not to.
'I am your subject, sire,’ he said, equivocating. ‘I'll do whatever you require.'
Ibris walked across to him and placed his hands on his shoulders. Antyr felt his knees shake momentarily, then he found himself looking up into the eyes of the man, the warrior and the lover of great art and knowledge who through strength of will and strength of arms had brought a peace to the land which, though far from perfect, was longer and more prosperous than any that had been known in recorded history.
'Antyr,’ the Duke said, his voice quiet. ‘You are indeed a free Guildsman. What I require from you is not that you obey, but that you choose. I command many people in varying degrees in the ruling of this city and its dominions; some subtly by carefully chosen words, some … less subtly. But those who truly help me are not those whom I command, but those who choose to follow and know that they can walk away at any time. Do you understand?'
Antyr nodded hesitantly.
'They are few, Antyr. Aaken, my one-time shield-bearer who stood by me in the wars against my usurping kin when I was young. Ciarll here, who…’ He glanced towards his enigmatic bodyguard. ‘…appeared … one day, and turned the tide of a battle for me and says nothing about where he came from or where he learned his fearsome skills, and who bears some deep silence inside him. The Mantynnai, his countrymen, I suspect, though none will say; and their torment is newer and crueller than Feranc's. Your father, briefly, though he was a distant, aloof person who kept his own strange secrets inside him. One or two others. A few. And now you. Drawn by events to my side. Is the ground under your feet to your liking?'
Antyr stammered. ‘I'm a subject. A follower of orders. Not a friend and adviser to rulers. I've frittered away much of my life in weakness and self indulgence. My skill at my craft is not what it should be. I fear I'd be more of a burden than a support to you.'
'That is
'Face the enemy,’ came a distant call in Antyr's mind.
'Yes,’ he heard himself reply. ‘Yes, sire.'
