again, will we, Tarrian?'
'No,’ echoed Tarrian's voice in his head. ‘I'm sorry, it was thoughtless of me to leave you out, Estaan.'
Estaan's head twitched slightly and he looked at Antyr. ‘It's a strange sensation this speaking into the mind without sound. How do you do it?'
Antyr laughed and raised his hands in an admission of ignorance. ‘How do you walk? How do you breathe?’ he asked. ‘I've no idea how we do it. It's just something we were born with. An ability to see a little way into one another's minds, and to speak without talking. Many things about Dream Finding are profoundly strange and not remotely understood.'
Estaan's eyes narrowed. ‘You can see into people's minds then,’ he said, as if confirming a suspicion. There was a slight edge to his voice that made Antyr suddenly nervous.
It was Tarrian who answered however. ‘No, he can't,’ he replied. ‘Except in so far as I enable him to. But I can.'
'How much, how easily?’ Estaan asked, almost sharply.
'It depends,’ Tarrian replied quietly. ‘Sometimes the house is open, lights blazing, and I can wander easily from room to room. Sometimes it's locked up tight and I can scarcely peer through the windows.’ His voice became firm. ‘But I don't look unless I'm asked to, or unless I think someone represents a danger.'
Estaan looked down at him suspiciously. ‘How do I know you're not searching my mind right now?’ he asked awkwardly.
'You don't,’ Tarrian replied bluntly. ‘You have to trust me. You have to ask, is this wolf an honourable man? and then weigh the implications of your answer.'
Estaan paused and looked at Tarrian again. ‘You're teasing me, I gather,’ Estaan said.
'Only a lot,’ Tarrian said, with a laugh. ‘But, I'll answer your real question if you wish.'
'What do you mean?’ Estaan said defensively.
'I mean that there are times when I hear people without intending to. As I am with you now,’ Tarrian replied.
The group was broken up momentarily by a boisterous crowd of apprentices emerging from a building. They ran off down the street, laughing and shouting.
'What do you mean?’ Estaan repeated as the noise of the apprentices receded, at the same time lifting his hand to shield it from the suddenly brilliant sunlight flooding the street.
'I can hear you when you shout,’ Tarrian replied. ‘It's a common problem with humans, they're invariably shouting. They seem to have little or no control over their minds. We spend most of our time trying not to listen.'
'I don't understand,’ Estaan said, becoming almost agitated in his manner.
'The answer to the question you're shouting is, no, I know nothing of your history before you and the other Mantynnai came to this land,’ Tarrian said firmly. ‘If it's any consolation to you, it's in some dark, closed portion of your mind which, believe me, nothing would possess me to enter. And such bits as I sense leaking out, I refuse utterly to heed. Does that answer your question?'
Estaan stopped walking and put his hand to his mouth pensively. ‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment. ‘I think it does. I'm sorry I doubted you. But what did…'
'Ask him yourself. That was nothing to do with me,’ Tarrian interrupted brusquely.
As if compelled against his will, Estaan turned to Antyr.
'What did you mean when you said I was tortured?’ he asked. Antyr met his gaze. The sun struck the faces of the two men and threw half of them into deep shadow. ‘I don't know,’ he said. ‘I spoke as I felt. I meant you no insult or pain. I said also that you have strange deep strengths within you. All of this I still feel. What do you want me to say?'
Estaan let out a deep breath. ‘Nothing,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘Forgive me. So many strange things are happening. Old memories, old feelings, are rising to the surface that we … I … had thought long buried. It's as though some great force is beginning to shake the whole world and, do what we may, we'll not be able to avoid the consequences.'
Antyr offered no reply. Estaan's thoughts chimed too much with his own.
Abruptly Estaan straightened up, as if the simple speaking of his concerns had released him from them. ‘Still, we can do no more than fight the fight we find ourselves in, can we? And stay alert and aware if we want to survive. Nothing worse can happen to us than has already happened. And this time we'll be ready.'
Antyr let this enigmatic remark pass. He had not relished this inadvertent excursion into the dark reaches of the Mantynnai's mind, brief though it had been.
'Talking about survival,’ he said, snatching at the word. ‘When I was in the Threshold I had everything with me that I had had in Nyriall's room.’ He rattled the contents of his pockets to demonstrate. ‘The traditional formal dress for a Dream Finder includes a sword and two daggers and that must be why, so that they'd be armed if they entered the Threshold. In future I intend to wear a sword and carry at least two daggers, so that I can defend myself if need arises. Will you help me choose some weapons and give me some advice about using them?'
Estaan looked uncertain whether to be concerned or amused. ‘Tut tut,’ he said, opting for the latter and turning to the regulations governing the military responsibilities of Serenstad's citizens. ‘Every adult male Serens is supposed to keep and maintain…’ He began to count on his fingers. ‘… A pike, a bow and three score arrows, carry at all times a serviceable sword, and…'
Antyr raised a pleading hand. ‘I'm serious,’ he said. ‘I need your help. That was a real world I found myself in and apart from the storm, that was a real sword that someone drew against me. And Nyriall said that he found himself on the edge of a great battle at one stage.’ He became earnest. ‘I've done basic swordwork and I've had to use one once or twice in combat. I didn't kill anyone, I don't think, but I just need…'
'I'm sorry,’ Estaan said, recanting his light-heartedness. ‘I'll help you in any way I can.’ Antyr looked relieved, but Estaan looked at him solemnly. He took his arm, fatherly almost. ‘You must understand, Antyr. Fighting alone, man to man, is different from fighting in the line. A weapon doesn't make a warrior. That comes from inside. Reliance on a weapon can literally prove fatal. Without the true knowledge of your worth to yourself, carrying a sword may only mean that you're carrying it for your enemy to take and use against you. It may be that you're stronger and better protected unarmed.'
Antyr looked at him uncertainly. ‘I think I understand,’ he said cautiously. ‘And the reason I haven't got a sword is
Estaan smiled the sad smile of the professional warrior for the reluctant amateur. ‘You shall have both,’ he said. ‘And the best I can find.'
The sinking sun began to turn red, turning Ibris's dazzling city into one of glittering ruby and garnet. A few delicate pink clouds drifted idly overhead, but on the horizon they were lowering black. Antyr twisted the ring on his finger again and then turned back towards the palace.
Later, he prepared himself for the clandestine observation of the Bethlarii envoy. Feranc showed him the envoy's quarters. The man's bed was in a corner. ‘I've had the rooms behind and to the side emptied,’ Feranc said. ‘Choose whichever you feel will be the best for your vigil.'
Tarrian and Grayle sniffed around the room curiously. Antyr looked at the bed. Its sheets and covers were obviously of the finest quality and delicately decorated with embroidered patterns. But they had been pulled back and meticulously folded in a manner that could only have been done by a soldier.
The sight brought memories back to him of his own time in barracks and the strange mixture of loneliness and close companionship that the disciplined communal living had inspired. For the first time since he had accepted the Duke's order, he felt a twinge of remorse at the ‘ambushing’ of this man, virtually alone among his enemies. It did not deflect him from his intention to fulfil the order, nor set aside the reasons for it, but, ironically, it made him feel a little easier.
'It'll make no difference,’ he said. ‘Choose the one which will be the least disturbed during the night.'
Feranc placed him in the side room. It was furnished identically to that of the envoy, but Tarrian and Grayle nevertheless examined it just as thoroughly.
'What time will he retire?’ Antyr asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Feranc smiled slightly. ‘Fairly soon, I think. He's responded to Lord Menedrion in largely the same way that the lord has responded to him. There's certainly no anxiety by either to be longer in one another's presence than
