Roger Taylor - Dream Finder

A memory of Tarrian uttering the same rebuke when he had first met Ibris returned to Antyr and, as then, he found himself obeying without conscious thought. It helped-a little.

Tentatively, he began to test out his protesting limbs and to look beyond himself. All about him were weary-looking men, most of whom, he noted, were also trying to ease life back into stiffened limbs. The sight of this common discomfort made him feel a little ashamed of his complaining.

To a man they were grimy with travel, and their bedraggled condition was heightened by the brilliant sunshine that flooded over the scene. Steaming breaths however, confirmed the temperature that he himself was just beginning to be aware of.

Looking around he saw that they had stopped at what appeared to be a deserted farmhouse. Beyond it lay bleak rocky countryside which gave testimony to why it had been deserted. A little way off, a rough road wound down a shallow incline between two small hills and dipped straight down into a river. A ford, Antyr presumed.

In the distance, dark clouds were building.

Antyr took a long draught from his canteen. It was cold and it seemed to etch out his insides, almost painfully, as he swallowed. He drew in a sharp breath. The jolt helped to clear his mind further and the darkness looming ahead of him came into sharper focus. So too did his own position. Whatever happened now, there could be no way back to anything that had ever been before; neither the bad nor the good.

'Where are we?’ he asked Estaan after a moment.

'Somewhere south of Rendd,’ Estaan replied. ‘The farm's called Kirstfeorrd.'

'And the enemy?'

Estaan shrugged and motioned Antyr to follow him. As they wended their way through the resting men, Antyr noticed the horses being corralled at the rear of the building. A small wave of guilt passed over him. Ibris's bodyguard, he knew, took pride in tending their horses before themselves.

'My horse?’ he asked, a little shamefacedly. ‘I didn't…’ Estaan patted his arm and smiled appreciatively. ‘It's been tended. Don't worry about it.'

He walked on, but Antyr stood watching the horses. Splendid, trusting creatures, he thought. Would it ever enter your heads to treat us as slaves? To lead us into mayhem and slaughter for some whim of your own?

As he watched, one of them staggered and fell over. For a moment it thrashed about on the ground in distress, scattering the other horses. Then it lay still, foam trickling from its mouth and its eyes white and wild. Almost immediately a soldier was by its side, stroking the frightened head. Another joined him, and there was a brief discussion.

Antyr turned away, knowing the outcome. As he looked at the retreating form of Estaan, the sound of a powerful axe blow reached him. He flinched involuntarily.

Arwain was leaning over an old table examining a map when Estaan and Antyr entered the farmhouse. Ryllans and other Mantynnai were with him.

For an instant, the enormity of what had happened swept over Antyr. At his word, the finest of Ibris's army had been torn from what would undoubtedly be a fearful and vital battle, to exhaust themselves in a dash across the country to face an enemy he thought he had seen in a brief exchange with the strange warrior who was guiding the Mynedarion.

He felt cold.

Then he recalled that the two strangers, Haster and Jadric, had brought similar news at the same time and his immediate concern eased a little. He noticed that the two men were standing a little apart, watching quietly, though their manner was politely diffident rather than aloof.

He wished Tarrian and Grayle were here; he would have liked to learn more about these two men who seemingly came to threaten the Mantynnai with retribution for old misdeeds, yet who were now followed by them. And, also, who had secured the respect of the Duke almost on the instant.

They looked as travel-stained and weary as everyone else, but then, they had undertaken this journey twice within the last few days.

'This is the most likely route for a large force moving south from Rendd.’ Arwain's voice interrupted his reverie. ‘And there's no evidence that anything of any size has passed this way so far. We'll just have to hope this is the way they'll come and prepare accordingly.'

Antyr went cold again. If the army that he had seen came, he'd probably be wiped out with all the others. But if it didn't come …

The memory of the great horde in Ivaroth's mind was still vividly with him, but despite that and despite the confirmation of Haster and Jadric, he still felt disturbed by the weight of the decisions being made on the strength of his vision.

'We can send scouts out when the horses have rested a little,’ someone said.

Arwain nodded unhappily. Then he turned to Haster and Jadric. ‘We're indebted to you beyond measure for your message and your help in carrying us through the night. There's little more I can offer you by way of thanks under these circumstances, but I can't ask you to stay with us here. This isn't your war, this isn't your battle, I…'

Haster stopped him. ‘It's both our war and our battle, Lord,’ he said. ‘Had you chosen not to believe us then we'd have had to fight it alone.'

Arwain frowned and then smiled uncertainly, glancing round at the Mantynnai to see if he could find some indication of how he should respond to this strange utterance, but there was only acceptance and agreement to be read in their faces.

'I don't pretend to understand,’ he said with a dismissive lift of his hands. He echoed his father's words to Antyr. ‘You must do as your hearts bid you.'

Unexpectedly, both Haster and Jadric smiled. ‘Our hearts bid us flee,’ Haster said. ‘It's our knowledge and our duty that tells us we must stay. If we don't stand now, then someone else will have to in the future, and far more will then perish. This we know from the past. And if we, soldiers by calling, don't stand now, to protect those less able, what worth are we to anyone, not least ourselves?'

Arwain bowed slightly. ‘You teach me my own duty,’ he said, without rancour. ‘You honour us with your help. I'll not deny that two more swords will be of value. Though I'm still far from certain how a force this size is going to stop the horde you've all described.’ He nodded towards Antyr. ‘I suppose we'll have to go out and find them and start…'

There was a commotion outside.

'I don't think that will be necessary, sir,’ Antyr said. As he spoke, Tarrian and Grayle burst into the room and took shelter under the table.

'They're here!’ Tarrian's voice sounded simultaneously in the heads of all those present. ‘Minutes away.'

Haster and Jadric started noticeably, both raising their hands to their heads in disbelief. There was no time for explanations, however, the two wolves were followed by cries from outside carrying the same information.

Arwain was the first out of the farmhouse, his face dark and grim. Emerging from between the two hills on the other side of the river came a column of riders. They were walking, and in loose formation.

'String your bows,’ Arwain shouted unnecessarily as he strode through his men towards the small wall that ringed the farmhouse. ‘I'm going to try and talk to them, for what it's worth, but if we have to engage them, you know what to do: standard procedure; bring down the horses first, then the men, as need arises.'

Antyr looked at the lengthening line of horsemen and then, for the first time properly, at the soldiers around him. His eyes widened. ‘How many of us are there?’ he whispered to Estaan.

'A hundred and six,’ the Mantynnai replied. ‘We lost thirty-three on the way.'

Antyr felt the breath leave his body and for a moment he thought he was going to suffocate. He mouthed the number to himself in disbelief. He had not realized they were so few. When he had set out with them it had been dark and all had been confusion and uproar.