Roger Taylor - The Return of the Sword

He could feel Tarrian and Grayle reaching out, testing their surroundings just as they would whether in the city or in the mountains. Once he would also have felt Tarrian resisting a deep desire to roam the dreamways unfettered, but that was gone now. Somehow, between them, the two wolves fulfilled this desire, though in what manner neither of them ever spoke of nor could any interrogation elicit.

‘This way. This way.’ Tarrian’s familiar and expected call billowed into his mind. The sounds and sights of the Nexus moved around and through him and, though there was no sensation of change, Dream Finder and Earth Holder were Andawyr.

They were in the mountains.

‘As you see and feel, so shall we,’ Antyr said. It was the traditional assurance to a client.

‘Aah,’ said Andawyr. ‘Interesting.’

The same thought was occurring to Antyr. He had entered many dreams and witnessed many fantasies, but even though there was a degree of commonality between many of them, each one had not only been unique but had always contained visions that surprised him, albeit not always pleasantly.

His surprise now was not at the vaulting span of Andawyr’s imagination, but at his control. Antyr had known clients who were deeply aware of their dreams and who could, to some extent, manipulate them in order to move within a world where wishes that were perhaps forbidden or impossible in the waking world could be freely fulfilled. But this was very different. Andawyr’s control was like nothing he had ever encountered before. Yet…

‘Where shall we go?’

Antyr did not reply, nor would he. Only at some moment of great terror might he gently touch the dreamer, to give a little reassurance, otherwise he would just watch and listen, and feel. The time for talking was on waking.

‘Ah. I see. My dream, my choice,’ Andawyr deduced correctly.

He was looking down at his reflection at the edge of a motionless lake. Everything was vividly intense. Snow-covered peaks, bright in the sunlight and sharp against the blue sky, were all around him. They too were reflected in the lake, but so clearly that it was difficult to know which was real and which was image. A giddying ambivalence oozed into the scene but Andawyr forbade it. As he looked up, the mountains were still bright and clear, but the sky was filled with dark and menacing clouds.

‘Come along,’ he said to Usche and Ar-Billan. ‘We must reach Anderras Darion before the storm comes.’ Neither spoke, but stood looking at him expectantly.

They were not dressed for hard walking, he thought. He should be more careful with his charges. On the other hand, some things they had to learn the hard way.

The wind was screaming all about him, shaking and battering him. It threw stinging white spears of snow into his face as he struggled along the corridors of the Cadwanen, dimly lit by familiar symbols whose meaning had slipped away from him.

They blinked distantly and urgently through the streaked gloom, the touch of their uncertain light turning the flying snow into black, prison bar streaks.

It’s very bad this year, Andawyr thought. I must get this place swept out.

The snow was deep, and curving drifts piled up against the walls, blocking the doorways and wilfully stifling the symbols. Andawyr’s calves were aching with the effort of walking and he was beginning to breathe heavily.

The tall figure by his side turned and looked down at him.

‘Hawklan, I didn’t know you were here. What a happy surprise. We were coming to see you, but the weather seems to be unseasonable.’ He could not go on. The wind was like a solid wall and he was exhausted.

‘Let’s sit here for a moment.’

He moved into the lee of the figure and rested against him. ‘You’ve found the Sword, I see. That’s good.’ He looked at the hilt of the black sword with its inner motif of intertwined strands. They seemed to stretch for ever, across a dark void filled with countless stars. There was such mystery in this thing, he had to know…

He reached out to search into it…

Then a force was tumbling him violently into wakefulness.

His heart was pounding so fiercely that it threatened to choke him, his hand was being gripped tightly and he was surrounded by confusion and noise. It took him some time to realize what was happening.

The two wolves were barking frantically and a strident, wavering note was filling the room. It was a chilling sound. One that should never be heard here. It emanated from two symbols by the door, as did a baleful, pulsating red light, though Andawyr did not need to look to know this. Frozen in this masque was Oslang, eyes wide and mouth gaping, while Yatsu was little better, half standing with one powerful hand extended sideways to prevent the Cadwanwr leaving his seat.

An urgent knocking made itself heard above the din, then the door burst open. Yatsu was on his feet and the first person through the door found himself spun around and pushed into others close behind him. Several of them went sprawling.

‘Stay where you are, all of you!’

Yatsu’s powerful command overrode the mounting confusion in the room. The wolves stopped barking and slithered close to Antyr, their tails low and wagging hesitantly. He let Andawyr’s hand fall, then slumped forward and began cradling their heads.

Oslang was grasping the arms of his chair, his gaze oscillating desperately between Yatsu and Andawyr. ‘Can I move now?’ he demanded of the Goraidin.

‘Antyr?’ Yatsu called out in his turn.

The Dream Finder straightened up and stared blankly at the two men and the crowded doorway for a moment. Then he released the wolves and held up a pleading hand. ‘A moment, a moment,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Let me get my wits back. There’s no danger now.’

‘The hell there isn’t,’ Oslang shouted angrily, pointing towards the symbols. ‘What do you think that is?’

Antyr looked at him helplessly.

‘Still that and see how many others have been activated, Oslang. See how far it’s spread.’

It was Andawyr. He had swung out of bed and was unsteadily fastening his robe about him. Oslang hesitated, torn between the instruction and attending on his friend. A gesture from Andawyr brightened the lights. ‘See how far it’s spread,’ he repeated, firmly. ‘And for mercy’s sake, still the damned thing.’

He acknowledged the small but obviously anxious group being held at bay in the doorway by Yatsu. ‘Well done, all of you,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. Just a little experiment that went awry, I’m afraid. Help Oslang get the measure of it, then get back to your beds. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

Oslang, brow furrowed, was peering closely at the symbols. Their pulsing red light lit his face, etching its lines deeply. He looked as though he were staring down into a furnace. Then, apparently satisfied but still fretful, he placed his hand over each in turn. The noise stopped immediately and the redness faded until both symbols were still and pale again. The sudden silence jolted breaths of relief from everyone.

Oslang took Yatsu’s arm. ‘Well done to you as well. Thanks for not hurting any of them.’ Then he disappeared into a babble of voices in the corridor.

‘An explanation wouldn’t go amiss,’ Yatsu said to Antyr and Andawyr as the door closed.

‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ Andawyr said, dropping back on to his bed.

He looked at Antyr. ‘What happened in there? What happened to “Dreams are shadows? Nothing can harm?”’ There was both fear and anger in his voice. His expression softened, however, as he saw the pain of the Dream Finder’s face.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Antyr replied, though his voice was weak. ‘Just shaky.’