Roger Taylor - Dream Finder

An impatient snarl interrupted his eulogy. ‘Never mind the poetry, dog. Let's get on with it. Let's get our teeth into those Bethlarii behinds and give them a good shaking.'

'Ah. Ever the sensitive observer of our condition, Kany,’ Pandra said as Tarrian's ears went back before this onslaught.

Quite suddenly, his eyes filled with night and he looked at Antyr. ‘At your pleasure,’ he said.

Estaan watched the two men, Pandra lying motionless on a rough camp-bed, Antyr seated on a chair beside him. Pandra, eyes closed, was apparently asleep, but Antyr's eyes were wide open, as if he were both present in the tent and flitting through the night ways at the same time. Even for the Mantynnai who knew and liked him, he was a fearful sight.

Worse, however, were Tarrian and Grayle. Their eyes too were wide and watching, their bright sun-blazing glare seeming to penetrate into his very soul. Wherever else they might be, they were unequivocally here as well and profoundly dangerous. After a while, he turned away.

The dreamscape around and through the Bethlarii camp was like a great shimmering mirage: a glittering, iridescent cloud of shifting colours and images that were there and not there; silent sounds that rang and clamoured, incoherent yet full of meaning; time that was and that will be, and that never could have been …

Pandra breathed a long, low sigh of wonder at this vision.

'Now.’ Antyr's will formed silently within him.

Throughout the night, sleeping Bethlarii snapped sharply into wakefulness, their dreams untypically fresh and vivid in their minds, and words, sacrilegious words, ringing in their ears.

'You have been deceived by false prophets. The horsemen from the north ravage your land while you dally here, facing an enemy here only at your provocation. Abandon this field, tend to your true needs.'

Endryn waited outside Ivaroth's tent. In front of him the vast camp was almost invisible in the darkness. A few fires burned here and there and an occasional torch flickered as someone moved about between the rough lines of tents, but there was nothing that indicated the true size of the force waiting there.

Endryn, however, had little thought for such images. Fiercely he seized one hand with the other in an attempt to stop them both from trembling. He was glad of the enveloping darkness; he had little doubt that fear was written all over him.

There was silence in the tent at his back now, but nothing could have persuaded him to look into it to see the outcome of the turmoil that had erupted so terrifyingly.

In a time less than the blinking of an eye, a great blast of bitterly cold air had filled the tent, and two motionless figures had sprung screaming to life: Ivaroth's black eyes like pits of doom in his vengeful face, and the old man's sightless orbs ablaze with hatred and anger.

The old man's hands were reaching claw-like towards Ivaroth, while the Mareth Hai was drawing a knife from his belt, as Endryn retreated, full of superstitious terror.

Inside the tent, however, the pandemonium had fallen to the merest whisper, and Ivaroth was resealing his bargain with his erstwhile wilderness companion.

His murderous reflexes had brought his knife blade to the old man's throat at almost the instant of return.

'Your need for me is greater than mine for you, old man,’ he hissed. ‘If need arises my army can conquer this land without you now, while you will never find your special world without me.'

The blind man had not replied. It was not necessary. Regardless of the truth of Ivaroth's words, both knew also that, act of folly or no, Ivaroth would kill now, on the least whim, regardless of regrets later. The blind man became very still.

'Seek to deceive me like that again, and you'll die before your next heartbeat, old man,’ Ivaroth said. ‘Seek to disobey me, and you'll die no less quickly. Obey me, and, despite your treachery, I'll still take you to look for this place you cherish so.'

'But the true power lies there, Ivaroth Ungwyl. With it, we can conquer worlds beyond your…'

Ivaroth bared his teeth. ‘The true power lies here, old man,’ he said softly, pressing the point of his knife into the blind man's throat. ‘Tomorrow, we'll hold a brief ceremony, to celebrate your recovery,’ he went on. ‘Then we march to Viernce. I'll look to take it by stealth at night if possible, but if not, your power will be used to destroy its walls. If it takes a toll of you, I'll see you're properly tended, have no fear.'

Slowly, he removed the knife from the old man's throat. Then, casually, he tossed it into the air. Flickering in the lamplight, it reached its zenith and began twisting downwards. Abruptly, Ivaroth seized it and brought it plunging down towards the old man. It tore through the soiled blankets and embedded itself in the planks below, its edge just touching the old man's throat.

It was a brief but terrifying display of his natural prowess and speed with such weapons.

Without speaking, he yanked the knife free, and walked out of the tent.

Endryn started at the sound behind him.

'He's quite recovered,’ Ivaroth said, almost affably. ‘All is well. Tomorrow we begin preparations for the taking of Viernce. The men have rested enough.'

Again, Endryn was glad of the darkness to hide the riot of conflicting emotions on his face. Contradictory though it was, not least among the prayers he had uttered into the night was that Ivaroth would have slain this … demon … that had battened on to him.

'As you command, Mareth Hai,’ he replied briskly.

Ivaroth turned to return to the tent, then paused.

'There are people in this land who ply a trade known as Dream Finding, Endryn,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Send to Rendd and our other cities. Anyone practicing this peculiar skill is to be executed immediately. See to it now.'

Estaan raised a cautionary hand to the messenger who had entered Pandra's tent.

'Stay where you are, and make no sudden movements,’ he said.

The messenger needed no prompting, having seen the two yellow-eyed wolves immediately on entering the tent. He bent forward and whispered in Estaan's ear.

Estaan frowned slightly, and, thanking the messenger, cast a glance at Antyr.

'What's the matter?’ Antyr asked, his voice, distant but clear, echoing in Estaan's head.

The Mantynnai drew in a sharp breath. ‘I thought you were … asleep,’ he said, out loud.

Antyr chuckled. ‘I'm in other people's sleep,’ he said. ‘But I can see your concern. What was the message?'

Estaan hesitated for a moment. ‘Arwain and the bodyguard are preparing to leave for Viernce,’ he said. ‘I…'

'Should be with them.’ Antyr finished his sentence for him.

Estaan looked pained. ‘Yes … No … I…'

'I'll come with you,’ Antyr said. ‘Give me a moment.’ Inside the dream thoughts of the Bethlarii, Antyr watched the startled Estaan, and at the same time touched Pandra, diligently pursuing his task.

'I must leave you, Pandra, Kany,’ he said. ‘I'm needed elsewhere. Keep on with this task for as long as you can. The truth must lighten their darkness eventually. Thank you for your help and friendship.'

Pandra's anxiety washed over him, but only the words, ‘Take care,’ formed.

Kany's farewell was more robust. ‘Scent him out, hunters three. Bring him down-kill him!’ he said powerfully.

'You can't go,’ Ibris said, his face flushed with the effort of pushing his way through the bustling activity of his bodyguard as it prepared to leave.

Antyr finished tightening his horse's cinch then turned to the Duke. ‘Estaan said that, Arwain said it, everyone I've met so far has said it.’ He nodded towards Haster and Jadric who were standing nearby and watching the exchange. ‘Even those two are thinking it, though they're too polite to say anything. I'd be obliged, sire, if you'd tell everyone that I'm going with the bodyguard to Viernce and I'd value their help instead of their opposition.’ His voice was strident.