Roger Taylor - Dream Finder

The old fool must have known what would happen. A memory of the slowly shaking head returned to Ivaroth reproachfully. Yet the old man had obeyed!

His need for me must be greater than mine for him, Ivaroth concluded. Despite his concerns, the thought elated him.

It must indeed be so. The old man had stuck to their bargain faithfully; making no demands, still less, threats, that he should be taken into the worlds beyond to search for this other place he had so lusted after at one time. He had obeyed all Ivaroth's orders without question or delay: tampering with the occasional dream to quell some rebellious lieutenant, or some doubting Bethlarii priest; strengthening his arm so that he could deal with some offender spectacularly; many small things.

I've beaten you, old man, Ivaroth concluded. You're prepared to destroy yourself at my whim because of the fear that I won't take you to the worlds beyond again.

It was a good feeling.

Yet Ivaroth still had his own needs. And they were considerable. He could not keep his army idle here for much longer. Tight though his grip was on the captured territory, it was only a matter of time before news of his invasion would leak out, and then the vital element of surprise would be lost. He wanted no major encounters until the two great armies beyond Whendrak had fought one another to a standstill, leaving him only the weakened and battle-weary remnants to deal with. And, too, a sudden faltering in their advance might well turn his own people on him. And without the old man's power he was virtually defenceless.

Something had to be done. And he could not ask the aid of any of the tribal shamans; that would seal his fate utterly.

The sound of voices outside the tent broke into his thoughts. Then, the door flap was pulled open and Endryn entered.

Instantly, Ivaroth felt his lieutenant's doubt and fear, screwed tight into anger. He went cold. It was as if the thoughts he had just had of his downfall had somehow reached out and begun their own fulfilment. Endryn was like the sudden icy wind that presaged the blizzard.

True to his character, however, Ivaroth struck first, straight to the heart, and without hesitation. Endryn had scarcely taken a step into the tent when Ivaroth beckoned him forward urgently.

'As ever, you read my mind, Endryn,’ he said, taking his arm in a powerful and urgent grip. ‘I was about to send for you.'

He led him towards the old man. ‘He needs my aid, Endryn,’ he said. ‘He's done much for our people that cannot be told, but now he's been stricken by his too-zealous help to our cause.'

Endryn looked uncertainly from Ivaroth to the unconscious form on the bed.

Ivaroth finished his kill. ‘I can't abandon him now,’ he said, before Endryn could speak. ‘He's been too faithful a servant.’ Then, lest this loyalty sound too implausible, he added pragmatic self-interest. ‘And he'll be even more so if I can save him.'

'I don't understand, Mareth Hai,’ Endryn managed at last. He ventured into the tacitly forbidden territory of Ivaroth's relationship with the old man. ‘What has he done?’ he risked. The question provoked no rebuke, however. Instead, Ivaroth placed a hand to his forehead and sat down on a chair by the bed. ‘Many things,’ he replied. ‘Things beyond simple understanding.’ He looked earnestly at his lieutenant. The black irises of his eyes had spread to give him the terrifying gaze of the Dream Finder. Endryn, despite himself, turned away. ‘He's a bridge to the powers that shape our destinies, Endryn.'

'The gods?’ Endryn exclaimed incredulously, despite himself. ‘He's a shaman?'

Ivaroth shook his head irritably and waved an angry and dismissive hand. ‘Tricks and deceits for controlling the ignorant and the foolish, Endryn,’ he snarled, an unwitting echo of Endryn's own thoughts but minutes earlier. ‘There are no gods, you know that. This man knows the ways of the true power. The power of the wind and the thunderstorm, the power that carved out the valleys and peaks of the mountains, that levelled our own endless plains. And the power that can shape the minds of our enemies.'

Endryn, taken aback by this unexpected revelation, gazed about almost vacantly. Then, habit drew him back inexorably into his old patterns of thought and tribal loyalty.

'What do you want me to do?’ he asked.

'Guard me,’ Ivaroth replied, simply. ‘I must go after him and I'd have you wait beside me while I'm searching.’ Endryn began to frown uncertainly, his mind turning incongruously to horses and search patrols. ‘Allow no one to disturb us,’ Ivaroth continued. ‘ No one . I'll seem to be asleep, but you're not to attempt to wake me, whatever happens or however long it takes. I shall return. And he with me. Do you understand?'

Endryn shook his head then straightened up. ‘No, Mareth Hai,’ he answered bluntly. ‘But I'll obey your orders and I'll guard you with my life, as ever.'

Ibris's army moved relentlessly deeper into Bethlarii territory. Increasingly, reports were coming back to him that the Bethlarii were gathering in force to meet him and, increasingly, his own doubts grew. There was a wrongness about all this.

It's hardly surprising that Dream Finders are involved in this, he thought with dark amusement. It has all the qualities of nightmare about it. The unannounced and seemingly demented envoy, Grygyr Ast-Darvad; the explosive deterioration of government at Whendrak; the news of the Bethlarii's massive mobilization, and his own response to it. The killing of heralds.

He shook his head. So many things, large and small.

And not least among these was the presence of Antyr with his strange, burgeoning powers and his fears and doubts. And too, the mysterious shadow from the past that so unsettled the Mantynnai.

Each day, he and his advisers efficiently and skilfully dealt with the many and complex problems that arose in the moving of a great army and the simultaneous ruling of a land. To his relief, much of the internecine squabbling between his dominion cities had indeed faded in the face of this common threat. Yet for all the reassurance he found in this, he had the feeling, as he had remarked to Arwain at the arrival of Grygyr Ast-Darvad, that he was actually riding an avalanche, and that he was doing no more than keep an unsteady balance. One slip and …?

Somehow, from somewhere, he-and the Bethlarii-were being manipulated. And all of them were trapped.

He called Antyr to him.

Antyr was pale when he entered the command tent. And Tarrian and Grayle remained watchfully beside him where previously they would fawn mockingly about the Duke. Estaan stood a discreet distance away. Despite his Mantynnai control, he looked tense and uncertain.

Ibris's broader concerns slipped from him. ‘What's the matter?’ he asked immediately.

Antyr shook his head. ‘I don't know,’ he replied. ‘All through the day I've felt … a tension … an unease, growing.’ There was fear in his voice, and his hand was opening and closing nervously about the pommel of his sword which was now always about his waist.

Ibris stood up and moved towards him, but there was a hint of a curl in Tarrian's lip, and Antyr raised a hand to keep him away.

'I feel I'm being … drawn away,’ he said. ‘Nyriall said something like that happened to him…’ He grimaced. ‘I don't know what it is. But … whatever happens … just put some men around me … under Estaan … he understands as well as anyone. If I fall, no matter where, just guard me. That's all. Don't touch me. The wolves can do no other than protect me, though they die for it, and if they die, then wherever I am, I too am lost.'

Concern filled Ibris's face. His mind swam with questions, but he knew that Antyr had told all he could.