similar in size and build to Antyr, if anything slightly more spare, he had a quality about him that made Antyr feel he was much bigger.
And there was that accent.
'Where do you come from, Estaan?’ he asked eventually. Estaan glanced at him briefly as if the question had a significance beyond its immediate content, then, discreetly, he turned his eyes away. ‘Far away, sir,’ he replied after a slight pause. ‘But I am Serens now.'
Though there was no offence in the voice, Antyr sensed that his question had caught the man unawares and he raised an apologetic hand. As he did so, his several disparate impressions of the man fell into place. It was the lack of a uniform that had confused him.
'Don't call me sir, Estaan,’ he said. ‘It's not fitting. Call me Antyr. I'm just a Guildsman temporarily in the Duke's service. You're one of the Mantynnai.'
'As you wish, Antyr,’ Estaan replied pleasantly, but showing no reaction to Antyr's revelation.
'Why should a senior officer of the Duke's personal bodyguard be appointed to look after a mere Dream Finder?’ Antyr asked, provoked by this lack of response.
Estaan smiled disarmingly. ‘I think I'll have to let you question Commander Feranc on that point,’ he said with open evasiveness.
Antyr nodded knowingly and pushed his empty plate to one side.
'What do you want to do now?’ Estaan asked.
'What I want to do is one thing, what I have to do is another,’ Antyr replied, smiling ruefully. ‘I'll need to get some of my things from home, then I'm afraid I've got to seek out a colleague in the Moras district.'
Estaan nodded. ‘Well, we can ride on the first errand but we'd better walk on the second,’ he said. ‘And I'll need to wear something a little less ostentatious.’ There was some irony in his voice as his clothes were simple and virtually unadorned. They were, however, of a high quality and would be provocatively conspicuous in many parts of the Moras.
A short while later, Antyr found himself mounted on a horse carefully selected by Estaan, and clattering nervously through the damp, grey streets towards his home.
He found the brief visit strangely poignant, experiencing an unexpected sense of betrayal as he removed some of his clothes and bits and pieces from the protection of the house's stained and worn familiarity. The front door screeched its traditional call reproachfully as he closed it, and he locked it with a peculiar gentleness.
Estaan watched his reluctant parting in silence, then took the small package of goods from him and held out his hand to support him as he mounted his horse again.
Tarrian chuckled as he walked along by the two riders. ‘It's fortunate for Serenstad that you weren't needed in the cavalry,’ he said. ‘I could ride better myself.’ Antyr, however, was absorbed totally in remaining in the saddle and declined to reply.
Later again, and following Estaan's advice, it was a much more untidy pair that walked down through the city towards the Moras to seek out Nyriall.
Situated by the edge of the River Seren, the Moras was the oldest part of Serenstad. A mixture of warehouses, workshops and ramshackle, multi-storeyed houses, some occupied, some abandoned, it had grown out indiscriminately from the jetties and landing stages which had been built, and were still being built, to serve the ever-increasing numbers of barges and ships that carried the life-blood of trade to and from the city.
A hectic bustling area, packed with all manner of trades and businesses, it was also a congested and, in parts, largely decaying home for the people who served its needs in their turn; some permanent residents, many transient. Relentlessly, however, it drew all down to its decaying, disordered level and, inevitably, became also a haven for those who wished not to be seen, or who knew how to feed off the misery and squalor that grew there.
Though it was the artery for its wealth and well-being, the Moras was as far from Ibris's ‘dazzling city’ as could reasonably be imagined, and he was well aware of the horror and deprivation it housed. Yet, by a bitter irony, the very momentum of its success and frantic industry left little time and resource for its improvement and, despite considerable efforts on Ibris's part, the greater part of the Moras had remained effectively unchanged for generations.
Antyr and Estaan, with Tarrian loping along close beside them, walked steadily through the maze of narrow, crowded streets and alleyways that meandered between the tight-packed, jostling buildings.
As they moved into an area dominated by old housing, Antyr instinctively hunched his head down into his shoulders as the overhanging upper storeys of the houses began to close in overhead like watchful giants.
The lowering presence of the old buildings was made worse by the fact that nearly all of them showed signs of the settlement that was the hallmark of the area and that had resulted in the city gradually spreading up the valley's sides on to more solid ground. Indeed, hereabouts, this settlement had conspired with the original architecture to extend some of the houses so far across the narrow streets that anyone so inclined could reach from the upper windows and touch the buildings opposite.
Here and there also, crudely nailed boarding ineffectively sealed twisted doors and windows, and tattered notices pronounced buildings unsafe. While at other points, the grey sky burst through into the streets, incongruously bright, where some building had finally succumbed to the lure of gravity and collapsed completely.
Antyr was vaguely familiar with the part of the Moras in which, according to the Guild House porter, Nyriall lived, but he found that Estaan was striding through the area as if he knew it intimately.
'You seem well acquainted with the place,’ he said eventually.
'Yes,’ Estaan answered simply.
Antyr felt a twinge of irritation. The man seemed to speak only when he was spoken to and then he confided nothing other than what was sought of him.
'Did Commander Feranc tell you not to talk to me or something?’ he blurted out abruptly.
To his surprise Estaan stopped briefly, looked at him and then shook with internal mirth. ‘I'm sorry, Antyr,’ he said, setting off again when it had faded away. ‘I didn't mean to be rude, but I'm afraid that discretion becomes a deeply ingrained habit in the palace.'
Even as he spoke, he flicked out his hand to direct his charge into a narrow alley. Antyr followed him automatically, and for the moment he set his inquiry aside as he picked his way through the anonymous debris and filth that lined his path. He grimaced at the succession of foul smells that assailed him. Tentatively he reached out to Tarrian.
'Don't ask,’ the wolf warned menacingly. ‘How you creatures can live like this defies all reason. In fact, it defies everything! And if you'd got the remotest sense of smell…'
Antyr withdrew quickly and turned his attention back to his escort.
'Well,’ he said out loud, inadvertently venting some of Tarrian's anger on to the Mantynnai. ‘Why are you so familiar with this place?'
They had reached the end of the alley and Estaan led them diagonally across a noisy, crowded street before he replied. ‘Apart from silks and cotton and foods, animals and timbers and all the other things that the city uses, what else comes out of the Moras?’ he shouted above the din, looking at Antyr significantly.
'Plague,’ Antyr said.
Estaan acknowledged the reply but waved it aside. ‘Apart from plague,’ he said.
Memories of violent riots and street fighting came to Antyr. ‘Trouble,’ he replied.
Estaan nodded. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘And if guards are to be led into a place like this to sort it all out, then we need to know the terrain at least as well as the natives, don't we? What was that address again?'
Caught between the rhetorical and the actual question, Antyr stuttered briefly before he repeated the address. Estaan pointed to the entrance of a narrow street just ahead of them.
'That's it,’ he said. ‘Down there somewhere.'
They turned out of the crowd and into the quieter side street. Antyr puffed out his cheeks in weary dismay. Like many parts of the Moras, this had obviously been an attractive, if not select, area. Now, every little recess and alcove in the large, once dignified, houses that lined the street had been adapted by successive landlords to accommodate as many individuals and families as possible, and neglect hung almost palpably in the air.
Several ragged children were playing a hectic and noisy game, elfin voices already becoming raucous with the sharp-edged accent of the Moras. As Antyr and Estaan gazed around, at a loss to know where to look next, the
