Then, as his forces quelled the immediately surrounding countryside, and the citizens began to recover, Ivaroth splintered any consensus against him by showing unexpected and arbitrary flashes of mercy and kindness: executing some of his own men for rape and for looting, and punishing others in various ways for lesser offences. He appointed a new council of citizens to advise him, and began recompensing some of the citizens who had suffered loss or bereavement during the invasion.
Also, many of the city's most respected priests, those too old to be with the army, began to speak of dreams which revealed to them that this seeming scourge was nothing less than the will of Ar-Hyrdyn and that the Bethlarii's true future lay with those who had the vision to see the true worth of this great and powerful leader from the cold plains beyond the mountains; this Mareth Hai.
'Who could have brought such an army through the mountains without the blessing of Ar-Hyrdyn?'
It was thus a completely subdued Navra that Ivaroth left behind when he set off with an army towards his next goal, the river town of Endir.
Nonetheless, he took a liberal sprinkling of hostages and left a substantial garrison to tend the city.
Ibris frowned a little at Feranc's news.
'The two men have left Serenstad and are believed to be going to Viernce.'
'You said they'd not be found if they didn't wish it, didn't you?’ Ibris said.
'They're not hiding, or they'd have disappeared without trace,’ Feranc replied. ‘They've been quite open and straightforward in their movements, the Liktors only missed them because of the confusion of the mobilization. I've sent messages on to Viernce asking for them to join us here. I'd be surprised if they didn't come.'
Ibris's irritation showed. ‘What the devil do they want in Viernce?’ he said angrily.
'Probably more information about the Mantynnai,’ Feranc answered. ‘From the reports I've had about them, that seems to be why they're here.'
Ibris slapped his hand on the table impatiently. ‘Damn it, I'm not prepared to have these strangers…’ He stopped and levelled a finger at Feranc. ‘Are you sure you're looking for these countrymen of yours properly?’ he demanded.
Unexpectedly, Feranc smiled and then chuckled in the face of this unwarranted reproach. ‘I am, sire,’ he said with some mild irony around the title. ‘But admittedly not with the urgency that I'm helping you prosecute this war.'
Ibris scowled by way of apology. ‘I feel the need to talk to them, Ciarll,’ he said, more soberly. ‘Particularly after this.’ He fingered a paper on the table in front of him. It was a message from Menedrion. The Bethlarii had decamped from Whendrak with scarcely a token resistance. ‘It makes no sense.'
Feranc gave a slight shrug. ‘They may have misjudged the size of the forces coming along the ridges,’ he said. ‘Arwain said that their dispositions around Whendrak and their general discipline showed a remarkable degree of negligence.'
'Maybe,’ Ibris replied. ‘But remember, according to what Antyr saw in the envoy's dream, Whendrak is the lure. They may be retreating to draw us forward, extend our lines and then cut them and encircle us, or begin their true offensive in another region.'
Feranc looked at Ibris, but offered no comment.
'Yes, I know,’ Ibris said into the silence. ‘We've been over this twenty times if we've been over it once, and all the precautions that can be taken have been taken, but…’ He blew out a long, unsettled breath and tapped the paper again. ‘The Bethlarii don't yield like this. It all seems too easy.'
Feranc's expression changed. ‘Not for Arwain and Ryllans it wasn't,’ he said sternly. ‘That was a rare stand they made.'
Ibris waved an apologetic hand. ‘Yes. But you understand what I mean.'
'I think you're too concerned,’ Feranc replied. ‘There's a limit to the amount of guessing and out-guessing an enemy that can be done sensibly. From what Arwain and his officers have said, my feeling is that in their rise to power, these priests have had to purge much of the army's officer elite and install their own people. Ignorance won't tolerate knowledge. And now the army's paying the price in incompetent leadership.'
'You're probably right, Ciarll,’ Ibris said. ‘But I'd like you to raise the search for these two men a little higher in your priorities, if you would.'
Over the following days, Ibris's army, reinforced by the force from Tellar, moved westward along the Whendrak valley towards Bethlarii territory. Reports reached him from all over the land about the progress of the full voluntary mobilization. Generally it was proceeding well, though not without opposition of varying degrees in certain cities.
'I notice that apathy increases with the distance from Bethlar,’ he said acidly, looking at two almost identical returns from opposite ends of the land, Torrenstad and Lorris. ‘And I see the Guilds are organizing marches against it in Lingren.’ He paused and then became abruptly angry. ‘These people aren't fit to be fought for! What chance would the Guilds have of surviving if Bethlar took control?’ His anger mounted explosively. ‘Ye gods, we've had good men killed already. Ciarll, send to Aaken, tell him to have the leaders of this opposition arrested and conscripted under whatever war regulation he can find. If they want the power and benefits of leadership, then they can earn them by leading from the front. And tell him to make the Sened's and Gythrin-Dy's displeasure well known in Torrenstad and Lorris…’ He sent a sheaf of papers scattering across the table. ‘And all the others who're dragging their feet and hiding behind our shields.'
Then, as suddenly as he had erupted, he became calm. ‘And send our thanks and congratulations to the others. Especially Crowhell.'
He smiled and shook his head. ‘They're rogues to a man down there, but they're realists. They know what Bethlar would do to their vaunted independence, not to mention their sea trade. They've done well. Money and men!'
Reports also reached him from Meck and Nestar and other cities along the border. Still no surprise Bethlarii incursions had occurred. Increasingly it seemed that they were gathering their forces somewhere west of Whendrak for a major battle.
Before moving the main part of his army past Whendrak, however, Ibris observed the letter of the treaty meticulously, going in person unarmed to the city gate with a small, flagged escort.
He was greeted by Haynar. The Maeran's face was drawn and weary, and his eyes were full of anger and bitterness.
Ibris had carefully memorized the formal greeting that was required of him in these circumstances, but when he looked at Haynar, he said simply, ‘If you will allow us, we will give you whatever aid you need to repair the damage that has been wrought on your city and your people, Maeran. And we will help you deal with your internal dissension if you wish.'
Haynar's angry look did not soften, but no anger reached his voice when he spoke. ‘Part of me would bring down a curse on both your camps for this horror, Duke,’ he said. ‘But I judge this was none, or little, of your doing, and I accept your help for our wounded and sick, with thanks. As for our … internal dissension … as you choose to call it, little now remains.’ His mouth became a hard line. ‘The instigators have been sent to their precious deity for his judgement in the matter. Whendrak can … and will … tend its own problems of government.’ Before Ibris could reply, Haynar went on. ‘You have our permission for your army to pass by the city.'
These were the words required of the treaty.
Ibris bowed, but instead of departing, he clicked his horse forward until he was by Haynar's side. Leaning forward, he laid a hand on the Maeran's arm.
Haynar met his gaze forcefully and a grim determination filled his face. ‘This will never be again, Ibris,’ he said. ‘This city has not survived this ordeal to risk being at any time again a pawn in the ancient madness between your two peoples. I give you due warning that we shall fortify our city and arm our people, and use every device at our disposal to increase our power and influence, until we become the third great power in this land.'