Roger Taylor - Dream Finder

Ibris glanced at Ryllans. ‘I've been told a little of this before, but I'd been told too that your army had destroyed the source of this power.'

'Our army destroyed only its army of men,’ Haster replied. ‘The wielder of the power was destroyed by others who came to our aid.'

'How then is he alive again, and come here?’ Ibris asked, his voice hardening.

'He isn't,’ Haster replied unequivocally. ‘But there were not only followers who fled at the end. There were disciples too. Few, but skilled to some degree in the ways of their Master, and doubtless vengeful after his destruction.'

'And we have one such here, now?’ Ibris asked.

'An old man, lean and cadaverous, blind, his eyes white,’ Antyr said before Haster could reply.

Jadric caught Haster's arm and there was a short exchange between the two men.

Haster nodded. ‘That one, I fear, we may have heard of-from others who encountered him,’ he said, a brief flash of pain and distress suffusing his face.

Ibris glanced from Antyr to Haster. ‘Can we face this power?’ he asked.

Haster did not answer immediately. ‘I don't know,’ he said eventually. ‘From the mere hands of this blind man's master, it tore apart one of our greatest cities. Though afterwards, he was strangely bound.'

There was a murmur of disbelief from the listeners at this, but Ibris silenced it with an angry flick of his hand. The memory of this same tale being told to him by Ryllans, high up on one of the palace towers, echoed through him like a waking nightmare. He motioned Haster to continue.

'We found that other forces beyond our understanding had awakened at the same time as the evil. In the end though, we had to face the armed might as best we could while others faced the power. Perhaps it will be so here also.’ Imperceptibly, Haster's tone had lightened a little, as if his own thoughts were just clearing and a faint hope had glimmered briefly. He looked intently at Antyr.

'You may well be right,’ Ibris said. ‘For the first time since Grygyr Ast-Darvad appeared, I feel an order, a pattern, emerging, albeit malign and dangerous.’ He paused for a moment, his face both anxious and resigned. ‘But it's little consolation. With what others have told me and with Antyr's tale, I must accept your story of these invaders from the north, however strange. But that being so, our position is truly grim. We're caught between two armies. One is just ahead, and known to be ferocious, while the other is already ravaging our land and is both days away and completely unknown to us. And above the whole a sinister will hovers, wielding a power we can't begin to understand.’ He looked at Haster and Jadric. ‘Will you help us further?’ he asked simply.

Haster nodded. ‘We have no choice, Lord,’ he replied. ‘But we're only two swords to add to your many. We know little or nothing of your army, its organization, its arms and fighting methods, and still less do we know anything about your land … its roads, passes, terrain…'

Ibris waved the reservations aside. ‘You have knowledge of this power,’ he said.

'Only to recognize it,’ Haster interjected quickly. ‘Not of how to oppose it. That task will lie with your man here.’ He pointed to Antyr, who started violently.

Ibris nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘He's no great warrior by our normal measure, but he's stronger and more gifted than he knows.'

Antyr spluttered. ‘Sire, I can't…'

Ibris cut him short. ‘You've less choice than any of us, Antyr,’ he said. ‘You've been lifted … snatched … from obscurity and decadence, against your will and your inclination, to find yourself among my closest advisers. Your skills have increased beyond your imaginings in a matter of only weeks. Twice now, perhaps three times, you've been drawn into the Threshold to face this … Mynedarion. Whether you like it or not, you'll be drawn to him again to … Get him a chair someone.'

Antyr had turned white, and was swaying uncertainly. The Duke's sudden command seemed to steady him a little. ‘No, no, I'm all right. I can stand,’ he said, suddenly embarrassed by his public display of weakness.

Ibris stared at him earnestly, his look both fatherly and full of the icy calculation of a commanding officer committing his troops. ‘I told you before, Antyr, that whatever happens to you, you'll be protected here completely. And whatever happens to you…’ He raised a finger vaguely, but his voice was steady and powerful. ‘…there, don't forget, you've met him before, and survived. And he's at odds with his guide. You're facing a divided enemy, Dream Finder. Remember . That's important.'

Embarrassment or no, Antyr closed his eyes and began breathing deeply to quieten his quaking insides. He wanted to run away, to be sick, to shout and scream, to be back in his old wasted ways, to be anywhere other than here, to be anything other than what it seemed he was: the sole hope of the Serens against this unseen, insane, and malevolent foe; the single tiny pivot bearing so crucially such a crushing burden.

Into his darkness, however, other thoughts rose to sustain him, albeit faintly.

Don't break. Hold your ground, hold your ground. Or die. He had survived. He hadn't been casually swept aside by this unholy city-crushing power. And, indeed, as Ibris had cruelly summarized, he had no choice. He could not knowingly enter the Threshold, but the Mynedarion could seemingly draw him there at will.

He felt Tarrian and Grayle leaning against his legs slightly, as if for comfort. The wolves’ fears reached out to mingle with his own. In turn he reached out to be with his two Companions. Ironically, their fear reassured him; it gave him a measure of the rightness of his own emotions. Both the animals were pack leaders by nature. But they were thus only because they were not afraid of their fear, and faced danger wholeheartedly when need arose. Indeed it was necessity, and necessity only, that was the driving force of their terrible ferocity and courage.

And, threading through their fear, Antyr felt that necessity asserting itself. From their own inner well-springs the two wolves had drawn the same conclusion as Ibris before he had spoken it to Antyr. They were trapped, cornered. Now they must hold their ground. Fight or die.

Antyr became angry. And he had started none of this!

He opened his eyes and met the Duke's gaze forcefully. ‘Make what dispositions you must to face this new enemy, Ibris,’ he said. ‘Tonight, to aid you, Pandra and I and our Companions will assail the Bethlarii as best we can.

'Then I shall turn about and hunt those who so far have seen fit to hunt me .'

There was stunned silence in the tent as, with a stiff, almost military bow, and without seeking the Duke's permission, Antyr turned and left.

Estaan hesitated for a moment uncertainly before following him.

Then uproar broke out. Menedrion strode forward to confront his father.

'Who the devil does he think …?'

Ibris laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, at once restraining and reassuring. With the rest of the gathering he was more abrupt.

'Silence!'

His voice rose above the noise and descended on it like a great bird of prey, extinguishing it completely.

'The man goes to fight alone against an enemy about whom he knows nothing except that he possesses a terrible power. He bears a greater burden than any of us, but he's Serens, perhaps even Mantynnai now-he'll do what he must and what he can though it destroy him. We can do no less. The lapse of a few niceties of protocol are forgivable.'

He beckoned Arwain forward and placed his other hand on his shoulder.

'We here have to help him by concerning ourselves with the enemies we can see. With the strategy and tactics we're going to need to deal with two enemies instead of one.’ He glanced round at his listeners, his look and voice designed to stamp out their alarm and replace it with stern purpose.