Ibris watched these proceedings critically for a moment and then slowly stood up. He made no attempt, however, to shout above the din. Instead he gestured to a nearby guard, making a clapping motion with his hands. The guard nudged his fellow then the two of them swung up their shields and began beating them slowly and steadily with their swords like a great heartbeat.
Soon the persistent tattoo began to dominate the noise of the crowd, and the fury began to subside, first into a menacing rumble and finally into an awkward, expectant shuffling as all eyes turned back once again to the Duke.
Ibris nodded to the two guards and the hammering, now relentlessly loud in the silence, stopped.
He paused for a moment before speaking and when he did, his voice was calm and regretful. ‘The envoy, I fear, is fatigued from his arduous journey and has misjudged a perhaps ill-expressed remark on my part. Before he leaves we shall talk again in private and go into the details of his concerns about the Whendreachi, but…’ His voice became more commanding. ‘…you here are all witness to what has happened today. You are witness to the fact that despite many breaches of the treaty which we have with Bethlar for dealing with such matters, the envoy, Grygyr Ast-Darvad, was greeted peacefully and given due protection.’ He cast about through the crowd, catching an eye here and there. ‘Those of you, in particular, who are from our allied cities I ask especially to take note of this, so that truth may prevail over rumour. Further, I give you my word that he and his companions will continue to receive our protection and hospitality during their stay here, which shall be as long as they determine, and throughout their journey back to Bethlar.'
The consensus of the crowd was one of approval at this speech, though amid the applause were isolated cries to the effect that the Bethlarii should be ‘Strung up’ or ‘Chucked off the Aphron'.
With a wave of his hand, Ibris dismissed the crowd, then turned and left the room. The envoy and his companions were ushered after him.
Chapter 13
'I don't know whether this is becoming repetitive or alarming,’ Tarrian said as, head bent low, he loped steadily along beside Antyr and Menedrion's guards through the busy afternoon crowds that were thronging the wide streets of Serenstad's commercial district.
'Alarming,’ Antyr replied with conviction. ‘No. Terrifying. My stomach's churning. First the Duke, now Menedrion. They say he's a mad dog. Like the Duke but without his good qualities. What on earth can he want? I really don't think I want to think about any of this too closely … I think.'
'Perhaps word got round about last night. Perhaps we're becoming fashionable,’ Tarrian said optimistically. ‘You'll have to buy some court clothes. You'll be able to declare yourself Dream Finder by appointment to the Duke and his court and…'
'Stop it,’ Antyr snapped. ‘You're not helping. I told you, I'm scared.'
'You didn't have to come,’ Tarrian said off-handedly.
'Oh no. Of course not,’ Antyr replied acidly. ‘I told them we had to see someone urgently, you heard me. And you heard the guard. No threats, no arguments, just “Yes sir, of course. Would you like me to tell the Lord Menedrion to wait for you, sir?” What am I supposed to say to that?'
Tarrian offered no reply and they walked on in silence for some time, each occupied with his own thoughts.
The small outburst, however, seemed to have eased Antyr's tension. ‘Still, these two are pleasant enough, and at least we're not being marched along at dead of night like prisoners under escort this time,’ he said eventually. ‘And the Duke was a surprise. Much pleasanter than I'd imagined.'
He felt an ill-disguised wave of irritation rise up from Tarrian, but when the wolf spoke, his voice was conciliatory. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said. ‘I know this isn't much fun but all I can think about at the moment is my pads. They're sore as the devil with all the walking I've done today. And whoever thought these cobbles were a good idea must have been a shoemaker. And these crowds…'
He left the sentence unfinished, with an expression of disgust.
Then, like the sun appearing from behind a dark cloud, he brightened suddenly. ‘Still, on the whole, I'd rather be going to the palace than to the Moras district at this time of day. We can always visit Nyriall tomorrow. And there might be more food at the palace. At least they've got some regard for a creature's needs there.’ The sun retreated behind the cloud again. ‘And we can get our fee from that Aaken while we're at it. Typical civil servant. Wants this, wants that, wants it now. But doesn't want to pay for it until he's good and ready-if at all. You take some poor artisan's wife now, she's only too anxious to pay you on the dot. It's…'
'Oh, shut up,’ Antyr said, brushing the subject aside and then immediately picking it up again. ‘And by “we” getting our fee off Chancellor Aaken, I presume you mean me?'
'That's normal procedure,’ Tarrian replied sharply. ‘What good's money to me? You're the only one who can use it. You're the one with the much prized opposing thumbs, after all.'
Despite his anxiety, Antyr chuckled at the remark. One of the guards turned to him inquiringly. ‘Sorry,’ Antyr said. ‘Just something my Companion said.'
The guard looked at him uncertainly and then down at Tarrian. ‘I didn't hear anything,’ he said.
'They talk in their heads,’ the other guard said before Antyr could reply, and as if he were not there. ‘My mother used to use one. Swore by him. He had a cat. Big ginger thing.’ His expression became reflective. ‘He was all right. Bit oily, but down-to-earth when you got to know him. But that cat used to give me the creeps, especially when its eyes lit up.’ He shuddered.
Antyr smiled.
The first guard caught the expression and scowled from Antyr to Tarrian. ‘He's not talking about me, is he?’ he inquired suspiciously.
Antyr shook his head hastily. ‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘I was smiling at…’ He indicated the second guard. ‘…your friend … and the cat. Tarrian doesn't like cats either.'
'Well, him being a dog, he wouldn't, would he?’ came the knowing reply.
Tarrian's groan filled Antyr's mind.
'Can he talk to me in my head?’ the first guard asked after a short silence.
'No,’ Antyr lied.
'I'd be deafened by the echo,’ Tarrian muttered.
'Will you be quiet,’ Antyr snapped at him. ‘This is hard enough as it is.'
'Can he hear what I'm saying in my head?’ the guard persisted.
'No, no!’ Antyr lied again with great conviction. ‘It's not talking and hearing like we're doing now. It's a special thing, and we were both born with it. No one really understands how it works.'
'Oh,’ the guard replied, mollified, though still looking at Tarrian uncertainly. He screwed up his face in concentration.
'He's shouting “Cats, boy, cats!"’ Tarrian wailed in disbelief.
Antyr looked up, rubbing his slight growth of beard with casual vigour to stop himself from laughing. As he did so, he saw the familiar shape of the Ibrian monument at the far end of the long street, its spiky irregular pyramid black in the growing gloom.
'Oh, we're here already,’ he said out loud, in some relief, his voice a little strained. ‘I didn't realize we'd walked so far.'
Immediately all interest in Antyr's craft disappeared and the two guards quickened their pace. It was to little avail, however, for the street was quite narrow and still filled with all manner of people going about their many businesses and, Duke's men or no, they were obliged to continue following the pace of the many.
In the distance, Antyr saw a bright spark dancing in front of the monument. It split into smaller sparks that danced away in their turn. For some reason he felt a fleeting lightness touch him as he saw it, then its firefly dance became just one of the Guild of Lamplighters’ apprentices taking the lid off a fire bucket prior to his master and the senior apprentices lighting the torches around the monument. By tradition, the public torches of the city were lit outwards from the palace square.