On the other battlefield, the two great hosts were moving apart. The Serens moving from line to column and marching eastward back towards Whendrak, the Bethlarii dispersing and scattering to their various homes. The battle unfought.
As Menedrion had raised his lance to give the signal to advance, Feranc had laid a hand on his arm, untypically excited.
'No,’ he had said. ‘Not yet. Their line's going to break. If we attack they'll unite again, for sure.'
And even as he spoke, the Bethlarii line began to disintegrate.
Within the hour, ghalers, under flags of truce, had brought the news to Menedrion.
'There has been growing discontent at the increasing power of the priests,’ was their gist. ‘Few of us wanted this conflict, and fewer still applauded the manner of its making. Now we have received word that Navra, Endir, indeed the whole north-east, have been taken by a horde from across the mountains and that even now they may be moving against your own territories. It seems that the priests meddled in the affairs of the gods, and our whole land is now to pay for their folly.'
'I'd not have you linger further in superstition and ignorance,’ Menedrion told them. ‘No gods brought you that word, only my father's Dream Finders. It was they who discovered the reality of the deception that had been wrought on you and they visited you last night both to tell you the truth and to undermine your will to fight.'
It was a crucial admission.
'The dreams were but a test by Ar-Hyrdyn,’ the priests had claimed in both bewilderment and desperation, as years of resentment at their oppression had begun to flicker into life amid the battle-ready Bethlarii following Antyr and Pandra's strange sending. Then, exhausted stragglers had arrived from Endir to confirm the news in graphic detail, and all further priestly persuasions and threats had been swept aside.
Now Menedrion's revelation dispelled the last, lingering doubts in the minds of the Bethlarii that they had been both brought to the field and dismissed from it at the whim of some god.
The leader of the ghalers stepped forward and took Menedrion's hand. ‘You and I would have fought a more honourable war than this, Duke to be, had true cause arisen. When all this is concluded, we shall debate an honourable peace.'
'You and I might well, soldier,’ Menedrion replied. ‘But you have your Hanestra and your Council of Five…'
The Bethlarii looked at him resolutely.
'When all this is concluded, we shall debate an honourable peace,’ he said again, slowly and deliberately.
Ibris, standing to one side, smiled as he felt a will the equal of his own and knew that the words needed no qualification.
The ghaler spoke again. ‘But now we march for the north-east to relieve our cities and punish these invaders. That done, we shall send proper envoys to both Whendrak and Serenstad to discuss due reparation and the drawing up of a further treaty between us. The rule of the priests is over.'
'May the speed of your march ring down in legend, Bethlarii,’ Menedrion replied. ‘We go, too, though another way. Even now, I fear I may be losing my father's son and his finest warriors against this foe.'
When Menedrion and Feranc and the remainder of Ibris's regiment of bodyguards came to the farmhouse, however, it was to witness the stomach-turning horror of the cleansing of the battlefield.
The task had fallen to a reserve battalion from Viernce who had come in response to one of the many messengers that Ibris had sent following Antyr's revelation about Ivaroth.
The torn and mangled bodies of horses and men were being dragged across the churned earth to be thrown on to great bonfires. Birds and small animals were scurrying about the field and, despite the cold, clouds of flies were appearing. Those injured men abandoned by their fleeing companions and whose injuries could be treated, were duly tended, but many could only be given ease by the physicians’ long knives.
No count of Ivaroth's dead was made, though it numbered many hundreds. Of Arwain's force, some fifteen had died; six of the Mantynnai, nine Serens.
When the Bethlarii reached Navra and Endir, it was to find the cities abandoned by the tribesmen. They followed the trail of their reckless retreat for some way, but, exhausted from their own prodigious forced march across country, they made no attempt to pursue them into the mountains.
The tale of the return of the tribes to the plains is for another time.
Ivaroth's body was found on top of the hill, but there was no sign of the blind man.
'Where is he?’ Ibris asked Antyr, concerned that this terrible individual might return in avenging fury, but the Dream Finder just shook his head and said, ‘I don't know, sire. But he's gone from this world. And he's twice blinded now.'
Ciarll Feranc and the Mantynnai talked long to Haster and Jadric as they rode back from the battle, but that, too, is a tale for another time.
In Ibris's dominions, much was changed and much remained the same.
The massacre of Larnss’ reservists invoked shock and dismay throughout the land, while the stand of Arwain's force at Kirstfeorrd threatened to become legendary.
Antyr's role in the darker battle that had been fought that day was known only to a few, and even he laid no claim to understanding what he had truly done.
The Sened and the Gythrin-Dy talked and debated at endless length. The Guilds and the great trading houses protested at the disruption of the full voluntary mobilization, though none railed too loudly. The realization that their land could be threatened by powerful forces from beyond their borders did more to ease the more excessive internecine political squabbling and feuding than any amount of Ibris's urgings.
Even Nefron was strangely subdued, and erstwhile opponents of Ibris found they no longer had her covert support. Indeed, it was whispered that from the cold and bitter ashes of their long-spent passion, green shoots of friendship were appearing …
Arwain returned to his wife, while half-heartedly, Menedrion returned to his various conquests. Soon, however, he married a beautiful, sloe-eyed woman. A childhood companion who had been ever by him, watching, waiting, silently tending to his foolish needs until the time when he would more truly know both himself and her.
Ibris noted with some irony that it was his peace-loving son who had fought the terrible battles and his warrior son who had sealed the peace. He noted too that they were both the wiser now, and he was well pleased.
His other son, Goran, returned to his painting and architectural studies, having been placed by his father, for want of anything more suitable, in charge of the building of temporary barracks for the many volunteers and reservists gathered in by the mobilization. ‘You like studying buildings, don't you?’ Ibris had told him.
Pandra returned to his retirement, though not for long. Within a month of his return he was proving to be a considerable thorn in the side of the Council of the Guild of Dream Finders. Several members resigned-in protest at his lack of respect, they said-as did their Companions: cats, for the most part.
Haster and Jadric made to leave the land as quietly as they had arrived, but Ibris, beginning to understand them, intercepted them personally.
'What of your duty to your king?’ he said, appearing in front of them as they prepared to ride from the palace. ‘Aren't you to take the Mantynnai back for an accounting and judgement?'
Haster smiled at the ambush. ‘Our duty to our queen, and our people, Lord, is to seek out our erstwhile countrymen and let them know that an accounting is required of them. We know what your Mantynnai have done since they came here and we shall carry their accounting for them.'
'You have that authority, soldier?’ Ibris pressed.
Haster's smile widened. ‘I shall account for it,’ he replied.
Ibris nodded. ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘But, your intentions notwithstanding, I must tell you that you may not now leave here.'
Haster's eyes narrowed slightly, but Ibris cast a glance upwards by way of explanation. Drifting lazily down from the dull grey sky were the black silhouettes of the first winter snowflakes.
'The mountains will be impassable, the seas bad. Stay with us until the spring,’ Ibris said.
Haster cast a reproachful eye at the snow, now beginning to fall more rapidly. ‘We have some skill in such travelling, Lord,’ he said. ‘And there are far worse who followed as the Mantynnai did. They were weak and foolish, and lured into evil as many of us could have been. They have long atoned. But there are others who did deeds for which they must be found and returned home for accounting and judgement, no matter where they hide, no matter how long it takes.'
Ibris frowned with concern at the grim resolution in the man's voice, but he persisted. ‘Nevertheless, stay with us until the spring,’ he said again. ‘Tell us about your people and their ways, and about your own terrible war that's cast its shadow this far. Bring your light to dispel it.'
Only Antyr seemed ill at ease. Politely declining the honours that Ibris would have thrust upon him, he returned to his own home and occupied himself with such matters as repairing the gutters and decorating, and oiling the screeching door. At Tarrian's urging-‘Don't be so blistering stupid, man!’-he did not decline Ibris's offer of a generous pension for life.
His new-found friends, however, visited him frequently and gossiped about palace affairs and occasionally tried to urge him to move into the greater comfort of the palace. But always he declined.
'I have to think,’ he said. ‘I have to understand what I saw, what I did. But I'm well,’ he would conclude with a sad smile.
Then to Haster and Jadric one day, he said, ‘I fear my ignorance. I feel I have a great … gift … but I've no measure of it. And struggle as I may, I become no wiser about it.’ He was silent for some time. His two listeners waited. ‘It burdens me fearfully. They said I was scarce an apprentice,’ he said, eventually. ‘I need to learn, but no one here can help me.'
Haster and Jadric looked at one another, and spoke briefly in their own language. Then they spoke to Antyr.
The city was alive with the Winterfest, the celebrations for the winter solstice. Snow covered the rooftops and piled up on sills and walls, and when swept aside by diligent householders left icy strips of treachery for the unwary. At night, the Guild of Torchlighters, chilly-fingered but diligent, ensured that the city glowed with a brilliance and beauty which, in all conscience, belied its true nature. Such is the way with snow.
Ibris, stepping briefly away from the grand feast of the solstice night, stood silently looking out over his glittering city. ‘I'm glad you came tonight, Antyr,’ he said to the unusually spruce figure at his side. ‘It distresses me that I can do so little for you after all you've done.'
'Do as you've always done, sire,’ Antyr replied. ‘Build your great city and tend its people as they learn to tend themselves. I could ask you to do no more.'
Ibris nodded. ‘It seems a little impersonal,’ he said.
Antyr smiled. ‘Very well then,’ he said. ‘If you wish to present me with a personal gift, tell Aaken to pay my pension on time in future. It'll stop Tarrian pestering me about it.'
Ibris laughed and gave his most solemn word.
Later, there was a soft knock on Antyr's door. He did not seem surprised, nor did either Tarrian or Grayle raise any alarm. Picking up his bag and pulling his cloak tightly about him, he opened it. It made no sound.
Silent in the cold, torchlit snow stood two horsemen. With them was a pack horse and a riderless horse with two large panniers.
As Antyr emerged, a figure appeared from the shadows. Both the riders started slightly.
'You've lost none of your old skill … Ciarll,’ Haster said. He leaned forward and took Feranc's hand. ‘It's been good to find you again. It still grieves me that we didn't look longer for you after the winter campaign. Will you return with us also, or are you come to take Antyr?'
Feranc shook his head. ‘No, neither,’ he replied. ‘I smelt your plot and I've come to say my farewells. Grieve no more … Haster … No one could have found me in my flight, but your guidance carried me through the mountains and my madness as if you'd been by my side. My place is here now, like the Mantynnai. And while Ibris builds in the image of my birthland, I serve the king … the queen … still.'
Haster nodded and released his hand.
Feranc turned to Antyr and took his hand. ‘Live well and light be with you, Dream Finder,’ he said. ‘I shall tell the Duke of your needs. And that you will return again one day.'
Then, silently, he was gone.
Antyr motioned his two Companions forward, and with a rather undignified, leg-scrabbling effort, hoisted them into the panniers.
'We will take you to a land that borders ours and which we must pass through on our way home,’ Haster had said. ‘It's a land finer even than ours and there's a place there where you will find great knowledge. And a man of great wisdom: a healer. My heart tells me it is important that you meet him.'
'Are you comfortable?’ Antyr asked his Companions. Tarrian's drowsy voice drifted back to him.
'Yes,’ he said. ‘This is really quite commodious.’ He yawned noisily. As did Grayle: deep, silent, Grayle. ‘It'll be nice to be home again. To hear the Song. To see … the healer.'
'What?’ Antyr said, his voice squeaking incongruously as he peered into the pannier. ‘Where we're going is your land?'
'Yes,’ came the sleepy reply.
'Why didn't you tell me?'
'You never asked.'
Antyr reached into the pannier and stroked the now sleeping Tarrian's head, then he walked round the horse and stroked Grayle's.
Gently lowering the lids of the panniers he looked up at the front of his house. The door stood open, and in the hallway a bent candle shone faithfully from its cracked earthenware holder.
He stepped inside and picked up the holder and the flint box beside it. Then he looked into his darkened house; his father's house; his childhood's house.
'Thank you,’ he said softly, and a little hoarsely.
He closed the door slowly and quietly.
The snow crunched under his feet as he returned to his guides and his eyes were bright as he looked up at them.
Then he raised the candle to his face, and gently blew out the light.
So ends the tale of Antyr, the Dream Finder … for the moment.
Meanwhile …
There is Farnor's tale …