Now they were being taken to their official quarters.
'What have I done?’ Antyr said to Tarrian.
'The right thing for once,’ Tarrian retorted. His excitement swept over Antyr. ‘Working for the Duke himself,’ he exulted. ‘Just like your father. I never thought I'd see the day.'
The comment released a long-restrained bubble of resentment within Antyr. ‘You might have mentioned that, incidentally,’ he said, sourly.
'To what point?’ Tarrian replied immediately. ‘You felt overshadowed by your father as it was. To be constantly reminding you that he once worked for the Duke would only have depressed you further. Besides, it's none of your business, you know that.'
'Well…’ Antyr concluded sulkily.
'Oh, come on,’ Tarrian said. ‘It's not important, nor ever was. But if it'll make you feel better you should know that he was never resident here, not once. Now forget it. We've present matters to concern ourselves with now. Just be thankful that the Duke will deal with Menedrion for us and that we'll be close to the heart of events where we can be of real value.'
'You'll forgive me if I don't share your enthusiasm,’ Antyr replied. ‘But just how are we going to be of value? I certainly don't know what's happening let alone know what to do about it. And now it seems there might be a war in the offing. Ye gods, it's awful.'
'These are your quarters, sir,’ the servant said, his high, fluting voice unwittingly interrupting the silent conversation. He was holding open a door.
Startled, Antyr managed to stutter his thanks as he stepped into the room.
'Nice,’ said Tarrian, who was already inside and sniffing out the bounds of his new territory. ‘Very nice.'
As Antyr gazed around, he felt his dark preoccupations yielding to Tarrian's continuing elation. And it was indeed a nice room. Plainly decorated and with a few pictures and some elegant furniture, it was not as lavish as the Duke's rooms by any means, but it was certainly better than those he had occupied previously.
The servant finished lighting the lamps and then withdrew with a final fluted instruction that Antyr shouldn't forget to wear his temporary badge of office and that, if he needed anything, he was to ring the bell.
When he had gone, Antyr stood still and silent for some time. Then he felt the soft pile of the carpet under his feet and a smile sneaked on to his face. Tarrian chuckled. ‘That's better,’ he said. ‘If we keep our wits about us, and keep well clear of politics, we can do very well for ourselves here.'
Images of unlimited supplies of food drifted into Antyr's mind and he nodded knowingly. ‘I admire your altruism and sense of civic duty, dog,’ he said.
'I'm impervious to your sarcasm,’ Tarrian replied. ‘This is splendid, and I intend to enjoy it while I can.'
Antyr sat down on a nearby chair. Suddenly he was tired. It had been a bizarre and exhausting day and he realized that both emotionally and physically he was drained.
'The bedroom's through there,’ Tarrian offered.
Antyr nodded and, heaving himself to his feet again, he trudged off in the direction that Tarrian had indicated.
The sight of the bed merely increased his feelings of fatigue and pausing only to kick off his boots he flopped down on to it without either dignity or ceremony.
'I've not even got anything to wear,’ he thought vaguely, as he drifted into sleep. ‘I'll have to go back home tomorrow … and … pick … up…'
Tarrian looked at the sleeping form for a moment and then dropped down with a noisy breath and a dull thud and almost immediately joined his friend in sleep.
Nothing disturbed the dreamless sleep of the Dream Finder and his Companion that night and when Tarrian's voice woke him gently the next morning Antyr half expected to see summer sunshine pouring in through the windows, so rested was he.
But the light was only that of the lamps which he had left burning all night. He glanced at the window. The sky outside was still a wintry grey.
A winter campaign. The thought came suddenly and unbidden and made him shiver despite the warmth of the room. What madness was afoot in Bethlar?
'Let's attend to our own problems,’ Tarrian said, catching the thought. ‘Good grief, Antyr. There's not even a war yet and you're already doing pike drills.'
Antyr was about to remonstrate with him, but the wolf was in high spirits and taking the lead. He mimicked the high-pitched voice of the servant who had acted as their guide the previous night. ‘Put on your temporary badge of office…’ then, himself again, ‘…And let's find some food.'
'Sorry,’ Antyr managed, with some sincerity, stretching himself luxuriously. He reached down and stroked Tarrian, then another cold thought struck him. The Duke! Had anything happened during the night while his newly appointed Dream Finder had been lying unconscious?
'No,’ Tarrian answered. ‘I've been keeping watch on both of you. Something unusual was happening somewhere, I think, I kept getting whiffs of it.’ Briefly he became excited. ‘I feel so sharp … so far-seeing … it's incredible…’ Then it was set aside. ‘But nothing untoward came near you, and Ibris scarcely dreamed at all.’ There was an uncharacteristic note of awe in his voice. ‘He's a stern man. Such control. More so than I remember. I'm sure he knew I was there.'
'That's not possible,’ Antyr said off-handedly, still stroking him.
'Maybe,’ Tarrian said. ‘But the impossible happened in Menedrion's dream, didn't it? Anyway, that was my feeling. We'll see if he mentions it if we meet him today.'
Antyr stood up and scratched himself.
'Really!’ Tarrian exclaimed, mocking again. ‘Can't you do that outside?'
Antyr eyed him narrowly. ‘I think we should go and find Nyriall before we eat,’ he threatened.
Tarrian did not argue. ‘It just so happens that the way out passes by our refectory,’ he said smugly. ‘The special one for the Duke's personal assistants.'
Thus they resolved to eat before they ventured out into the streets that morning.
As they left their room, a man sitting nearby stood up and walked over to them. He had a confident and purposeful manner and obviously belonged to the palace. Antyr looked at him warily, suddenly filled with trepidation. Perhaps the Duke had repented of his appointment already. Perhaps they'd offended someone in their blunderings through the palace the previous day. Perhaps Menedrion …
He chose not to finish that thought.
Catching his eye, however, the man smiled affably and then bowed slightly. Uncertainly, Antyr bowed in reply.
'Antyr Petranson?’ the man inquired, though his tone indicated he knew the answer.
'Yes,’ Antyr replied, his trepidation not being eased by the use of this formal address.
'My name is Estaan,’ the man said. ‘Commander Feranc has appointed me to be your escort and to help you settle into palace life.'
He had a slight accent.
'Oh,’ Antyr said in relieved surprise. ‘That's very thoughtful of the Commander. This is a bewildering place in every way.'
Estaan nodded slightly in agreement but did not seem inclined to continue with any conversation on the topic.
'We were just going to eat,’ Antyr said. ‘Will you join us?'
There was a glint of gratitude in Estaan's eyes. ‘It's been a long and busy night, sir,’ he said, his accent a little more pronounced. ‘Breakfast would be appreciated.'
'Come on.’ Tarrian's impatient voice intruded into Antyr's mind. Having satisfied himself that the newcomer was harmless, the wolf was already halfway along the corridor. Antyr set off after him, motioning Estaan to follow.
'You know the way to the refectory already?’ Estaan asked, mildly surprised.
'He does,’ Antyr replied pointing after Tarrian who was disappearing round a corner.
A little later as they sat in a smaller and much more congenial refectory than the one they had used the previous day, Antyr weighed his escort. He had an oval, weather-beaten face, with alert, deep-set eyes and short, dark hair which was greying in places, though Antyr could not have attempted to guess his age. And though he was
