Menedrion scowled. ‘I thought you could enter dreams without the knowledge of the dreamer,’ he interrupted.
Pandra raised a hesitant hand. ‘That's true, sir,’ he said. ‘But I can tell you already that you're right about the envoy. Antyr kept watch on him last night and he spoke to your father about what he encountered there. He didn't tell me anything except that it was useful and that I should keep clear of the envoy's dreams myself.’ Briefly he held Menedrion ‘s gaze. ‘He was quite emphatic about it, sir. My task is to protect you, not to venture into regions where I might well be lost, and you with me.'
Menedrion's jaw tightened. Nothing untoward had happened while he had slept the previous night, and the subtle presence of Pandra and Kany had been oddly reassuring, but though he was still uneasy about going to sleep, it unsettled him in some way to have this odd pair in his entourage as ‘protectors'.
Pandra noted his returning tension. He became confidential. ‘But he also said that, though we should not lower our guard, he felt the danger to you and your father had actually become less because of his own encounter in the Threshold.'
Menedrion shook his head. ‘I don't understand any of this,’ he said finally. ‘My bodyguards carry swords and shields. And I need enemies that I can take a sword to, not all these shadows … vague images.'
He fell silent, his face perplexed.
'This whole business is unmanning me,’ he said eventually, lowering his head. ‘And I've actually got a stiff jaw being … diplomatic … to that stone-faced Bethlarii, knowing that he's as anxious as I am to try knocks with me.’ He looked up, his face frustrated. ‘Now I have to have my sleeping hours patrolled by an old man and a rabbit.'
Under other circumstances, Pandra might have chuckled at such an observation, but it needed no great sensitivity to see that Menedrion was in a dark mood, and would have to be handled carefully. Before he could speak, however, a face appeared briefly round the door of the wagon.
'Who wanted their bed making harder?’ it said irritably, then, without waiting for an answer, it disappeared and several wooden boards were precipitated noisily through the door followed by a large canvas tool bag. The wagon shook under the impact as it landed. ‘You civilians don't know you're born,’ continued the face, as its owner followed and plunged straightway into the bag. He raised his voice to make himself heard over the noise of his rattling tools. ‘Everyone else is moaning because the ground's too hard, as if it was my fault, for crying out loud. And it's fetch this, fetch that, as if I didn't have my own duties. And now your bed's too soft. I've more important things than this, you know…'
He stopped suddenly as he looked up from his bag in search of the culprit and found himself staring into Menedrion's face. There was a brief, confusing flurry as he stood up hurriedly and saluted; not easy in a low, crowded wagon and with a large saw in one hand. Both Pandra and Menedrion were obliged to take evasive action.
'At ease,’ Menedrion said grimly, when the wide-eyed man came to a shaking stillness at last, but before he could find the words to fill his desperately working mouth.
The man's stamping foot shook the wagon again.
Menedrion seemed to be holding a brief debate with himself, then he stood up. ‘Tell him what you want and then join me outside,’ he said tersely to Pandra.
A few moments later, Pandra climbed carefully down the steps of the wagon; behind him a desperate hammering began. Despite himself, Pandra could not forbear a subdued laugh.
Menedrion, however, seemed still to be preoccupied by his own thoughts and Pandra laid his amusement at the pioneer's antics on one side. He seemed to have established some rapport with this wild, dangerous son of Ibris, but he had no illusion about understanding him, and knew only too well that an injudicious familiarity might bring down a dire punishment, if not on his own head, by virtue of the protection his age and Ibris's will offered him, then on some other innocent's such as the churlish pioneer.
Falling in beside Menedrion he looked about him at the purposeful activity of the company establishing its camp around them. All manner of noises filled the air: hammering and banging, shouted commands, laughter, oaths, some vigorous but tuneless singing, the occasional bark of a dog somewhere, the neighing of disturbed horses …
And it smelt of damp, newly crushed grass, savoury meats from an impromptu kitchen somewhere, smoke from the dozens of torches that were transforming the camp into a flickering world of brightness and shadows.
'May I speak, sir?’ he said eventually.
Menedrion grunted.
'I don't think you should concern yourself with what's happening in the dream worlds,’ he said. ‘There's nothing you can do except follow my, or Antyr's, advice. There's some Dream Finder blood in your family's veins without a doubt, that's why you sensed the Bethlarii's pain. But the true skill hasn't been given to you and you're helpless there. As helpless as I'd be these days in an infantry line.'
'Does this have a point?’ Menedrion said.
Pandra felt the edge in his voice, but continued.
'Strange forces are moving against us, sir,’ he said, watching Menedrion carefully. ‘Forces that none of us understand, but which will destroy us if we don't accept their reality. And the reality is that they're attacking you through your dreams and only a Dream Finder can truly protect you.'
A twitch of impatience made a fleeting appearance on Menedrion's face, but Pandra went on, his voice unexpectedly forceful.
'You know the truth of that, sir,’ he said. ‘You've felt it and you're too clear-sighted to deny it.'
Menedrion did not reply.
'The cavalry trust the infantry to split the enemy line so that they can drive into it,’ Pandra continued. ‘The infantry trust the cavalry to guard their flanks and rear. If you climb a siege tower you trust your engineers know their work and that it won't collapse under you. So it is here. You must trust me and get on with the tasks that are yours. I'm your shield-bearer in the dream world. Kany and I might be just a rabbit and a frail old man here, but our Dreamselves are not so. We've more than enough skill to protect you. Kany on his own has spirit enough to quell a wolf; you've felt that too, I know.'
Menedrion stopped and looked at him, doubt beginning to replace his angry impatience.
'You must fight where you fight best, sir,’ Pandra said, almost reckless now. ‘Not cloud your judgement with matters beyond your knowledge and training. Your task is to help your father avoid war with the Bethlarii, or, if that fails, to arm his army from your forges and lead it against them. If you fail in this, then we're all lost.'
'And if you or Antyr fail against these … powers … as you call them?’ Menedrion asked soberly.
Pandra looked into his eyes. ‘Then, too, we're probably all lost,’ he replied slowly.
'This isn't easy,’ Menedrion said, expelling a noisy breath.
'Have you ever fought a battle that was?’ Pandra retorted. ‘Or one that wasn't different from every other? Or one that didn't cause you pain and loss even when you won?'
Menedrion did not reply.
Pandra went on. ‘Each new weapon that's invented, each new tactic that's thought of, always breeds its own reply. Defences are invented that were never dreamt of before. So it is here. Despite feeling the reality of what's happened to you, you still rebel at the idea of strange forces assailing us through our dreams. Yet, just as they came from some place beyond our knowledge, in response to them comes an equally strange, improbable defender; a poor spark of a man, seemingly hell-bent on destroying himself for most of his life, suddenly thrust forward by … fate … chance … who knows?’ He echoed Feranc's words. ‘Just like some inconsequential pikeman who somehow rallies his comrades when they're about to break.'
He hesitated. ‘I think perhaps we must accept, sir, that we may not be the principals in this conflict. We may be unwitting participants in some greater battle. But whatever, we must each face the enemies that we can face and trust others to do likewise.'
Menedrion looked up into the night sky. It was too dark to see the clouds and the air was full of rising sparks and a swirling haze of smoke from fires and torches. ‘I concede your conclusions,’ he said. ‘They're scarcely profound. But let's not pretend this is some “battle of the gods” we're involved in, Dream Finder. Somewhere at the back of it all are men. What you could be usefully doing is finding them. Once you've done that…’ He slapped his sword hilt. ‘I'll need no magic skills for dealing with them.'
Then with an abrupt though not discourteous nod, he dismissed Pandra and strode off through the hectic
