even in his rooms at the palace.
Hailing outriders dispelled his fancy, but Menedrion ignored them and rode straight to the cart. The driver made to halt, but Menedrion waved him on and swung from his saddle directly on to the small platform at the rear.
Inside, the hospital cart was lit by a swaying lamp and sitting opposite him as he entered was his company physician. He could not see the man's face in the dim light, but his head was bowed slightly and Menedrion presumed he was asleep.
Baring his teeth, he stepped forward to shake him awake angrily, but a voice stopped him.
'Irfan, what's happening?'
Menedrion turned. It was Arwain. He was lying on a low bunk, a bandage about his head. His eyes were open and inquiring. He was alive! Menedrion knelt beside him and as he did so, Ryllans entered.
'Lord Arwain needs rest, gentlemen. Please don't disturb him further.'
It was the physician. He was standing behind the two men, very much awake. And his voice and manner were unequivocal. He outfaced the two warriors.
'He woke up sharply a few minutes ago,’ he said, answering the unasked question. ‘Don't ask me why or how. Head injuries are peculiar and such recoveries aren't unheard of; a lot depends on the individual's inner resources. I think he's out of whatever danger he might have been in, but he does need rest and a little natural sleep, so I must ask you to leave, or at least remain here in silence.'
Arwain's hand came out and caught Menedrion's sleeve.
'What's happening?’ he asked again.
'You were struck by a stone as we left the Council hall in Whendrak,’ Ryllans replied softly.
Arwain ignored the answer and drew Menedrion lower. His face was anxious. ‘For my sanity, Irfan. Did you dream as I did just this moment, and was there someone else present?'
'Yes,’ Menedrion replied simply. ‘The city in ruins, the archway. We shared the same dream, and an old Dream Finder and his Companion saved us from some danger at the arch.'
Arwain lay back, his manner easier. ‘Dream Finder,’ he muttered. ‘Dream Finder.’ Then he frowned. ‘What were you doing using a Dream Finder?’ He put his hand to his head, agitated again. ‘And father. He's been using one. What …?'
Menedrion anticipated the physician whose hand was coming out to end the discussion. ‘Rest easy,’ he said. ‘There's nothing to worry about. You're on your way home now and father will tell you what he's been up to when you get there. I'm escorting the Bethlarii back home.'
Arwain looked doubtful, but a long, loud yawn possessed him before he could pursue the matter, and his eyes started to close, albeit reluctantly. The physician took Menedrion's arm and with a glance motioned both him and Ryllans to the door.
Outside, Menedrion shivered. It was the first time he had noticed the morning cold.
'Ryllans, I got the bones of this affair from your messengers, but what the devil's going on?’ he demanded angrily. Taking the reins of his horse from one of the guards, he mounted. ‘And why the devil didn't you look after him properly?'
Ryllans ignored the criticism, but related the events at Whendrak accurately and quickly. His telling was too insistent and detailed for Menedrion not to pay attention and, when the tale was finished, his mood was quieter. At least here was something he could deal with; enemies with weapons and all too human malice in their hearts.
He pulled his cloak about him. ‘We have to go past Whendrak with the envoy, Ryllans,’ he said. ‘What's your advice?'
'Avoid the city and the nearby routes,’ Ryllans said, without hesitation. ‘The problem must be serious if such fanatical Bethlarii supporters have actually been appointed to the Council, and another Serens’ presence so soon will almost certainly cause more unrest.'
'The ridge way then?’ Menedrion said.
Ryllans nodded. ‘And take some of my company with you. They can quietly drift into Bethlarii territory when the envoy's left. We need to find out how far their army's been mobilized.'
Menedrion looked at him in some surprise. ‘As bad as that already?’ he asked.
'I think so,’ Ryllans replied. ‘And that's what I'm going to report to your father when I get back. The Bethlarii can mobilize more quickly than we can, we can't afford to delay. We can always stand down again if I'm wrong.'
Despite the grimness of their conversation, Menedrion chuckled. ‘You'll be popular with Chancellor Aaken,’ he said. ‘Have you any idea how much it costs to mobilize the army to its attack strength? All the wages and compensation for taking men from their trades? And the disruption to commerce? We'll need no formal challenge, they'll hear Gythrin-Dy howling all the way to Bethlar.'
Ryllans blew out a steamy breath into the cold morning air and, his own mind still dark with his recent concern about Arwain, answered the remark seriously. ‘I know how much it'll cost both in money and lives if the Bethlarii move on Whendrak and we're caught with unprepared companies and regiments scattered all over the land. And I know which way some of our less enthusiastic allies will jump as well.'
Menedrion, sobered by the cool response, nodded in agreement. ‘Anyway, that decision is my father's, fortunately. You choose the men you want to go over the border and give them their instructions.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘I think it would be better if they didn't join our company, but continued on with you for a while and then returned quietly and shadowed us. That envoy doesn't miss much and he'd certainly notice your field uniforms suddenly appearing in the middle of all our fancy dress.'
Ryllans saluted. ‘I've chosen and instructed them already, sir,’ he said. ‘If you don't require me further I'll go and confirm details with them right now.'
Menedrion nodded and then dismounted and returned to the hospital cart. He remained quietly by his sleeping half-brother, his erstwhile rival, for a long while after the platoon had moved quietly past the awakening camp.
Later that day, the company, strung out to some length along the narrow ridge way, passed by Whendrak. The weather was cold, misty and damp, but occasionally the mist lifted and the city could be seen in the distance below.
Pausing on a grassy knoll, Menedrion stared at it in some distress. Columns of black smoke were rising from it at many points, and, as far as he could see, the various gates were all closed. He was not certain whether or not it was his imagination, but he thought he heard the faint sound of clashing arms and shouting crowds wafting on the chilly mountain air.
Grygyr Ast-Darvad joined him. With an effort Menedrion made his face impassive. With considerably less effort, the envoy's face remained so.
'Did you think to keep the persecution of our people away from my sight by taking this route?’ Grygyr asked. ‘Ar-Hyrdyn's breath blows away the mist of your deceit.'
Surreptitiously, Menedrion took a very deep breath and drove his fingernails into his palms to remind himself of his father's instructions.
'As I told you, envoy,’ he said, slowly and carefully. ‘We received word that there's been some rioting in the city, and that the mood of the Whendreachi was uncertain. As my first responsibility here is your safety I deemed it necessary to take a route that would keep us well away from the city.’ Then, letting his restraint slip slightly, he added, ‘And if you can see any of your people, as you call them, being persecuted from this distance, I commend your eyesight.'
Without waiting for a reply, he pulled his horse away and rejoined the company.
The brief remainder of the journey was without incident. They dropped back down into the valley and eventually came to the tall standing stone that had been placed there to mark the formal boundary between the territory of Bethlar and the neutral region around Whendrak. It was a bleak, desolate area, and apparently deserted, but Menedrion had little doubt that, somewhere amid the crags, Bethlarii eyes would be watching keenly.
Bearing in mind his father's remark that it would do the Bethlarii envoy little good to be seen to be being feted by the Duke's son, Menedrion drew the company up in formal array on the east side of the stone, and offered them for inspection. The envoy refused as curtly as he had refused every other courtesy, but Menedrion rode close to him and obliged him to move along the line while he bombarded him with fatuous pleasantries so that, to a distant observer, it might seem that they were in earnest conversation.
