Roger Taylor - Dream Finder

This was the Mynedarion!

White, sightless eyes sought him out. Visions of desire and power filled him. Wells of limitless ambition opened within him and gushed forth. All things could be his. Here was his guide.

'Reach out and seize your destiny, Dream Finder.’ A myriad voices filled his head. ‘Towns and cities and all their peoples will bow down before you at your least gaze.'

Sunlight caught the blade of the knife as it left Ivaroth's hand, and the bright light dimmed the vision. Antyr's gaze turned to his attacker. Night-black eyes possessed him.

And then he was his attacker; gripping his treacherous wilderness companion with confused and murderous hatred and launching the blade towards the heart of the apparition that this … demon … had drawn here, before returning to …

There was a fleeting vision of a huge camp. And horses … so many horses. And a great army … brought over the mountains. Cities taken. Battles fought. And a land to be conquered … and, deep, deep below, beyond the knowledge of the man, a chorus of whispering voices demanding … vengeance!

And he was himself again. Powerless to move as the circling blade arced relentlessly towards him. The Mynedarion began to reach out towards him, and his mouth opened to form a cry.

Antyr's mind urged his body, but it was too slow, too sluggish, too clouded …

Then there was clarity and simplicity. He was wolf. Traversing the strange world between and beyond the dreams and the Threshold, where the Companions waited and watched and hunted.

Untrained, unhindered reflexes possessed his body. It twisted and swayed to one side and its hand reached out and seized the hilt of the passing blade with almost contemptuous ease.

With a great cry of rage, Ivaroth caught the blind man and the two fell back, fading and dwindling into nothingness.

Antyr stared at the place where they had stood, then at the knife in his hand.

'Where did you get that?'

The question was Estaan's.

Antyr swung up from his bed in confusion, stumbling over Tarrian and Grayle who were also struggling to their feet.

Tarrian was full of excitement. ‘Those paws of yours are really awkward,’ he said. ‘And are you slow! You nearly got yourself killed, standing there like that.'

Antyr, however, could not speak. He gazed vacantly at the knife in his hand and then let it fall as he dropped back down on the bed. He leaned forward and embraced the two wolves, silently and passionately.

Estaan, white-faced, bent down and picked up the knife. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked again. ‘It was in your hand, just as you woke up, but it wasn't there before.’ His whole manner was alive with concern and confusion.

Antyr raised his hands in a plea for a brief respite.

'It's an army knife,’ Estaan went on, unable to restrain himself. ‘A captain's…'

'I must see the Duke, right away,’ Antyr said, ignoring Estaan's agitation and standing up again, unsteadily. Estaan pushed the knife into his own belt and reached out to support him.

There was considerable activity in and around the Duke's tent when Antyr and Estaan arrived. Uncharacteristically, Antyr pushed his way through the guards at the doorway and entered the tent without announcement. Estaan and the two wolves followed in his wake.

Ibris turned angrily towards the interruption. The look on Antyr's face however stifled the oath that his mouth was forming.

Antyr waited on no ceremony.

'A great army of horsemen,’ he blurted out. ‘From the mountains. I have seen the Mynedarion and his guide. I have been the guide. They've come to conquer the land. Take it for their own.'

His message delivered, Antyr felt strangely emptied, then words came to him unbidden.

'The Mynedarion is an abomination,’ he said. ‘He is in many places at once. His power is fearful, and his ambitions unfettered. He must be found and destroyed.'

He shivered and then, his mind clearing, he braced himself for a rebuke.

To his horror, however, the Duke's eyes widened in fear and he became aware of the tension that pervaded the atmosphere of the now-silent tent.

'The trap closes,’ the Duke said softly, then, his composure returning, ‘How …?'

Antyr shook his head. ‘I was drawn there. By the Mynedarion. I think he has … need of me. His guide is a strange Dream Finder. For an instant I was him. I saw all these things. Then he tried to kill me.'

'He awoke with this in his hand,’ Estaan interjected, stepping forward and proffering the knife to the Duke. ‘It's standard issue. A captain's knife. It came from nowhere. Just appeared.'

Ibris looked at the Mantynnai and then at the knife. Then he put his hand to his head and sank back into his chair.

'No more!’ Menedrion's powerful voice shattered the dreadful silence. ‘I don't know what all this trickery's about, but we've got a real enemy only a day away and we're wasting precious time listening to this nonsense.'

'With respect, Lord, this is not nonsense, as I suspect you well realize.’ The speaker was Haster. His face showed fatigue and his clothes were stained with the evidence of a frantic journey, but his voice was calm and quiet. Behind him stood Jadric.

Menedrion rounded on him furiously. ‘Speak when you're spoken to, stranger,’ he said savagely. ‘It's bad enough that you sneak into our land, at the behest of some far distant king, to judge our finest warriors for some alleged crime committed years ago. Now you burst in here, ranting about an invasion from the north. By horsemen from over the mountains…'

He stopped abruptly with an angry gesture as he realized he was recounting Antyr's message.

Haster withstood the onslaught without showing any signs of emotion, holding Menedrion's gaze patiently.

'Our monarch is a Queen now, Lord,’ he replied quietly. ‘The King was slain. And we did not come to judge the Mantynnai, as you call them. We came to find them and to tell them that an accounting is required of them.’ He turned to Ibris, still sitting with his head bowed. ‘But now, far more urgent matters are to hand.’ He pointed to Antyr. ‘This man is of your land, I presume, and I've no idea how he's learned what he's learned. None could have travelled here from Viernce as fast as we did. But what he says accords with what the soldier told us. Weigh both of us as you see fit, then decide. But do it quickly.'

Menedrion started forward angrily at Haster's abrupt and authoritative conclusion.

'No, Irfan.’ It was Ibris. Menedrion stopped, reluctantly, but maintained a relentless glare at Haster. The Duke looked up. His face was weary, but the tone of his voice was unequivocal. ‘These men are guests and have ridden hard to bring this news. That, you can see for yourself. Now Antyr comes to tell us the same, unasked, and stricken himself in some way if you care to look at him.'

Menedrion did not reply, but looked suspiciously from Haster to Antyr and back.

'But there's more, isn't there?’ Ibris said, returning to Haster. ‘You can have learned little of us from your short stay here, and an unexpected army at our backs is of no concern to you as foreigners. Something the reservist said told you not only that he was telling the truth, but also that some greater danger threatens us all. Is that not so?'

Haster turned to Ryllans and then to Estaan and the other Mantynnai who were in the tent.

'Your answer is important,’ Ibris said. ‘Weigh it well.'

'Yes, I understand,’ Haster said slowly. ‘You're correct. The danger that threatens you is the power that ravaged our own land and carried us into war many years ago.'

Ibris looked at him narrowly. ‘Is there fear in your voice, Haster?’ he asked.

'There's fear to my very heart, Duke,’ Haster replied. ‘But it doesn't cloud my vision. I am heartsick and weary of fighting and travelling, but what is, is, and must be faced as such, however much I'd rather sit by my hearth and wish everything otherwise.'