Roger Taylor - Dream Finder

'We don't know where this force of northerners is, save that it's somewhere between Rendd and Viernce. We may assume that if its leader-a Dream Finder, I'd remind you … is at this moment tending the needs of his … client … then the force is presumably camped.'

Arwain made to speak, but Ibris, still holding his shoulder, shook him silent gently, and continued.

'That situation may, and probably will, change rapidly now that there's been this encounter with Antyr, but still we have a little time, and we must use it to the full.'

He released his two sons and walked across to a table littered with maps and charts.

'Obviously we can't move a large infantry force so far across country either quickly enough or without giving the day here to the Bethlarii. Equally obviously, we can't allow this force to fall on Viernce.'

Arwain's question escaped. ‘Surely they'll not attack a walled city with just cavalry?’ he said.

Ibris nodded pensively. ‘One would imagine not,’ he said. ‘But from what little I know about the plains’ people, there are many tribes, and they spend much of their time quarrelling among themselves. It's fair to assume, therefore, that if a leader has arisen capable of uniting these tribes and bringing a large cavalry force over the mountains, then he's a man not to be underestimated. My immediate feeling is that such a man will use stealth and cunning where he can. Good tactics against a walled city. But he may have siege engines and skilled sappers for all we know.'

He tapped a chart absently with his finger, his face grave. ‘Besides, perhaps walls are no hindrance to this … Mynedarion … and his strange power.'

Menedrion frowned and, stepping close to Ibris, half whispered the thought that no one else dared to voice. ‘You don't believe this nonsense about him being able to destroy a city with his bare hands?'

'I can do no other,’ Ibris answered starkly but equally softly. ‘Twice I've heard it and the first time was from a witness whose word I know is beyond dispute.'

Menedrion stared into his father's face, for an instant his eyes were those of a frightened eight year old. Ibris nodded in understanding. ‘One step at a time, Irfan,’ he said, taking his son's arm in a purposeful grip. ‘I don't know what game is being played here, or by whom, but I know that your part is to smash the Bethlarii army. I know also that you're the only one who can do it.'

Menedrion's face hardened again as the grim leader within him gradually reasserted itself. He stepped back with a curt bow of acknowledgement and Ibris continued.

'However, their intended tactics at Viernce are of little relevance. What we must do is stop them reaching the city.'

He raised his hand to forestall the inevitable questions.

'Time is against us now. Accordingly, tomorrow, or as soon as is possible, the army, under Menedrion, will march at full speed against the Bethlarii and engage them immediately with a view to winning as rapid a victory as possible.'

The announcement swept away the uncertainties cloying the atmosphere.

Ibris ploughed on. ‘And, tonight, leaving as soon as they're ready, my personal bodyguard will ride across country to oppose this new enemy. They'll be under the command of Arwain, and accompanied by Haster and Jadric if they're willing.'

There were murmurs of concern.

'To move so fast, such a force could carry little in the way of weapons, what use would they be against a large cavalry force?'

'Your bodyguard is the heart of our army.'

'Gentlemen,’ Ibris said sternly, before the debate gathered momentum. ‘The bodyguard have their swords and they will take their bows and as many arrows as they can carry. In their hands these will offer defence against both cavalry and infantry. They'll seek out the enemy and hold him for as long as they can by whatever means. At the same time messengers will be sent to Viernce, Drew, Stor and Serenstad to warn them to levy all remaining reservists to go to their aid.'

'That's damn near the women and children,’ someone muttered, but Ibris ignored this remark.

'As for the Bethlarii, they're obviously preparing for a set-piece battle. They've not harassed us or our supply lines, tried to sway our weaker allies by either force or argument, launched diversionary assaults elsewhere along the border.’ His voice became bitter. ‘Their actions still make little sense, but I imagine they're looking for one huge, and final, encounter. Something that will be looked on with favour by Ar-Hyrdyn.’ He paused for a moment to let his anger subside. ‘Such a battle, as you know, will be won by the most disciplined side, and my bodyguard could add little to what we already possess. On the other hand, no one other than they could move overland and oppose these new invaders with any semblance of a chance of holding them until larger forces can be raised.'

There was silence when he had finished speaking. Whatever reservations any of his advisers might have had about his decision, they were insufficient to overcome the combination of his analysis and his will.

Pandra listened to Antyr's tale with increasing distress.

'What can I do?’ he asked when it was finished.

Antyr pulled his chair closer to the old man and leaned forward urgently. ‘Just help me tonight, Pandra,’ he replied. ‘We have to set aside everything we've ever held precious about our craft. We have to go into the Bethlarii dreams and tell them the truth about how they've been misled.'

Pandra shook his head anxiously. ‘We're not Mynedarion, Antyr,’ he said. ‘We can't change what they're dreaming. We…'

'We can enter their dreams, and speak to them,’ Antyr interrupted. ‘Nothing more.'

'Speaking to a dreamer to reassure him when he's asked you to be there is one thing. Blazing in like some sweating messenger is another,’ Pandra rejoined. ‘Anyway, they'll probably just wake up.'

'Maybe,’ Antyr agreed. ‘But we must do it nonetheless. I promised Ibris I'd do something before I went hunting for the cause of all this … horror.'

'Before what ?’ Pandra exclaimed, half standing.

Antyr repeated his intention awkwardly.

'High time too!’ The voice was Kany's.

'Shut up,’ Pandra said sharply, slapping his pocket.

'And how do you propose to hunt this … creature?’ he went on, returning to Antyr.

Antyr reached out and placed a hand on Pandra's arm. ‘I don't know,’ he answered. ‘But somewhere there's a way to him other than being drawn in by him. And I must find it. My every nerve feels alive and raw with expectation. It's as if the whole dreamscape around us is crying out under some assault. Since I saw that abomination so close, so clear, I've felt a terrible presentiment. I feel powers gathering like those that must have shaped the world itself.'

Pandra's face creased into unhappiness. ‘You're imagining things,’ he said, without conviction. ‘You're just tired and frightened. After all…'

Antyr shook his head. ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘I'm frightened, certainly. But I'm imagining nothing. My mind's clear and sharp. Bars are being forged that will cage us all, or beat us into nothingness, and only I can do anything about it.'

Pandra fell silent.

'What can I say?’ he asked after a moment.

Antyr shrugged. ‘I don't think there's anything,’ he replied. ‘Just help me tonight, and then keep watch as you've done every other night.'

Pandra allowed himself a small sigh of resignation. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But I'm not even sure I can reach the Bethlarii from so far away.'

'You will.’ It was Tarrian who answered his doubts. ‘Your skill has grown from its closeness to Antyr. As has Kany's, and ours. His very presence clears the ways, strips away our blindness and confusion, opens up vistas…'