Antyr could not dispute this precautionary recommendation, though he had expressed some concern that, not fully understanding what was happening, he might prove inadequate to the task.
Ibris could well have replied that, inadequate or not, Antyr was all they had to oppose these strange attackers, but instead he just looked at him and said, bluntly, ‘You won't be.'
It had done little to reassure Antyr, but he had done as he was bidden and, with Tarrian and Grayle, had assiduously guarded the Duke's sleeping hours, while Pandra and Kany had guarded Menedrion's. In addition, they had wandered through the night thoughts of the camp in search of the untoward. It had been a disturbing experience, full of doubts and fears and longings for home, shot through with red and screaming strands of madness and bloodlust. But they had found nothing unusual and had reported the same to the Duke.
Ibris had nodded knowingly. ‘They're waiting,’ he said. ‘Waiting to see what happens at Whendrak. Don't lower your guard.'
What guard? Antyr mused wryly, as the comment came back to him, but he did not voice the question.
Alongside the baggage train, the infantry flank guards were walking stolidly on in loose order, some alone and silent, others in groups, talking and laughing; above all, laughing.
The sound brought back memories to Antyr of his own time in the line; there were few things to compare with the camaraderie brought about by a common discipline and a common danger. And it lingered long after grimmer memories had sunk into the darker recesses of the mind.
Perhaps it was this selective recollection that helped keep such monstrous folly as war alive in the world, he thought, with a mixture of irony and bitterness as he looked at the young faces walking beside his wagon. Always it was the young who paid the price of their elders’ greed and pride and foolishness.
Yet people were predominantly forward-looking and hopeful, and by their nature they could not, would not, burden themselves constantly with the horrific memories that were necessary if such folly was to be prevented in future.
Balance was all. To remember all was to choke the future with the vomit of the past. To forget all was to leave the ground fallow for its re-creation.
'A deci for your thoughts,’ a voice said, interrupting his reverie. It was Estaan. He jumped up on to the wagon.
He was smiling broadly and Antyr responded as he moved along the seat to make a space for him. ‘They're worth more than that,’ he said with a profound shake of his head. ‘I've just solved all the world's problems.'
Estaan declined the seat and remained standing on the edge of the platform, supporting himself by holding the corner upright of the wagon. He drew in a hissing breath laden with reservation. ‘We'd better recruit another army then,’ he said. ‘It's people like you who start wars.'
Then he laughed loudly, infecting Antyr and Pandra and even raising a soft, shaking chuckle from Bannor.
As he subsided, it occurred to Antyr, not for the first time, that here was balance. The Mantynnai knew, remembered, and progressed. They protected the weak and they taught the less able to protect themselves where they could. Much of his time training with Estaan had been spent in considering the harsh logic of violence, and the insight derived from that revealed many other things. Indeed, it was a defensive weapon as potent as any sword and any amount of instruction in its use.
'It's a fine day, gentlemen,’ Estaan went on. He lifted his head and scented the air. ‘The fields are preparing for rest. Winter's on its way, sharp and clear.'
'We are going to war,’ Antyr said in some surprise at this enthusiasm.
'We're not there yet, and it's still a fine day whether we have a war or not,’ Estaan retorted, smiling again. He leaned out from the wagon and made an expansive gesture. ‘Look at those birds, those trees, everything.'
Further debate on the matter was ended, however, by the arrival of a messenger. Antyr judged that he was scarcely of an age to be serving his compulsory army duty. Probably lied about his age, he thought, and, with the thought, he had a vision of fretful parents moving about their house in awkward silence, unable to look at one another for fear that they would see in each other's eyes the spectre that the boy had invoked.
'Lord Antyr,’ the boy began, breathless and flushed. ‘Would you attend on the Duke immediately, please.'
Tarrian chuckled at the boy's wide-eyed promotion of the Dream Finder to the aristocracy. ‘He's probably misheard,’ he said. ‘The Duke probably said old, not lord.'
'We'll be along straight away,’ Antyr replied to the messenger, poking Tarrian with the toe of his boot.
Estaan jumped down from the wagon and Antyr followed him. He unhitched the horses from the back of the wagon and handed Antyr the reins, then he watched with quiet approval as Antyr carefully adjusted his sword before he mounted.
Tarrian and Grayle jumped down also and, weaving nimbly through the infantry, disappeared at speed into the fields.
Kany's stern, and very loud, injunction followed them. ‘No rabbits!'
The ‘or else!’ implicit in the tone made even Antyr quail.
It took the two men some time to reach the head of the long, marching column, and when they did, there was little of Estaan's appreciation of the day to be found.
The interior of the large wagon that the Duke was using as his march headquarters contrasted starkly with the surroundings in which Antyr had previously seen him. Its lines were simple and functional and it was undecorated and contained nothing, as far as Antyr could see, that was not absolutely necessary.
Antyr took in the whole ambience of the place instantly as he and Estaan were ushered in by a guard. Yet he belongs here just as he belongs in one of his lavish staterooms, he thought, as he saw the Duke sitting at a small, robust table. He was facing the door.
Looking up, the Duke nodded an acknowledgement, as did Menedrion and Ciarll Feranc who were sitting at the sides of the table.
A slight frown crossed Ibris's face and he gestured to the guard who had admitted Antyr and Estaan.
'Arrange for Antyr's wagon to be brought to join the advance train here. It's too far away,’ he said. ‘Attend to it immediately, please.
'I want to keep you up to date with everything that's happening,’ he said to Antyr, as the officer left. ‘I don't know how you ended up in the baggage train, but…’ He shrugged dismissively and picked up a paper from the table.
'We've had word from Arwain,’ he went on. ‘When he arrived at Whendrak he found two full Bethlarii divisions surrounding the city and more troops arriving. To delay them from moving down the valley, he launched an attack last night which inflicted quite heavy casualties on the enemy, and he's now taking up a defensive position in anticipation of their response.'
A battalion against two divisions! Antyr thought. He could not read the Duke's impassive face, but either Arwain had taken leave of his senses or the situation at Whendrak was truly desperate. A scuffling outside the door interrupted his conjecture.
Antyr's head suddenly filled with characteristic abuse, then there was a loud bark and the door was banged open noisily.
'Sorry. He didn't seem to know who we were,’ Tarrian said to everyone as he dropped down on to all fours. He and Grayle padded noisily across the wooden floor. An indignant and flustered guard appeared in the open doorway.
Impassive at the heroism or folly of his son, Ibris allowed his irritation to show at this trivial incident. ‘He didn't,’ he said crossly. ‘It's just another administrative oversight.'
He waved to the guard. ‘It's all right,’ he said. ‘These animals are quite tame, they're to be allowed to roam where they please.'