Dream Finder

by Roger Taylor

  The guard made to speak, but Antyr, committed now, continued, his mouth dry. ‘Please understand,’ he said. ‘I may not tell you whose dreams I have searched nor what was seen there without their express permission. Duke or slave, their secrets are as safe with me as my human frailty will allow. I saw the Duke last night, but what passed between us remains between us, be it a dream search or not.’ To his own surprise, he levelled a finger at the Mantynnai. ‘Put no words in my mouth but what I speak.’

  The guard stared at him intently for a moment, his face suddenly unreadable. Then he said, ‘Come with me,’ and beckoning Antyr to follow him he went through the door that the other guard had taken.

  Clenching his fists nervously and regretting his firmness, Antyr forced his legs forward. Tarrian padded after him.

  The guard did not speak as they walked on, and Antyr noticed that he made almost no other sound either. His sword did not rattle, nor his daggers, and, for all his size, his feet fell lightly on the carpeted floor. There was just the soft hiss of his clothes and the occasional creak of his leather tunic.

  Not that Antyr had a great deal of time in which to observe this as very shortly they were at another door. It was black and simple and undecorated save for a small plate bearing the Duke’s emblem.

  The guard knocked discreetly and, almost without pause, the door opened quietly. Tarrian waited for no invitation, but went straight in. Antyr hesitated but the guard nodded him through urgently.

  The room he found himself in was in stark contrast to the ornately decorated chamber where he had met the Duke the previous night. It was large and well lit and such items as decorated the walls were maps, and plans of cities, and charts of various kinds that he could not immediately identify, though some, he noted quickly, were related to siege engines.

  These, together with the utilitarian simplicity of the room, brought images of war to Antyr’s mind again.

  Scattered about the room were several desks manned by scribes and secretaries or surrounded by groups of officers in quiet but intense conversation, and through other doors could be seen similar rooms. People came and went and over all was a soft hubbub of voices and activity.

  At the far end of the room sat the Duke behind a large table strewn with documents. There were others sitting and standing by the table, but the Duke was leaning back and talking to Ciarll Feranc, one leg thrown over the arm of his chair and the other flexing so that he was rocking to and fro on the back legs of his chair.

  A young man’s posture, Antyr thought, feeling a sudden and quite unwarranted sense of security pervade him.

  The door closed softly behind him and the guard signalled Antyr towards the Duke. Hesitantly, Antyr set off and the guard fell in behind him.

  Their arrival caused a small stir in the room, though it was largely due to the presence of Tarrian who was already wandering freely, sniffing at people and peering at documents. One or two people stroked him affectionately, somewhat to Antyr’s alarm, but Tarrian paid no heed.

  As Antyr and the guard reached the Duke, he looked at them and held up an apologetic finger to Feranc to suspend their conversation.

  A quick glance around the room had not revealed to Antyr the presence of the first guard, and now he stood before his Duke, his present escort apparently chose not to speak. There was, however, some communication with the man as both the Duke and Feranc looked at him over Antyr’s shoulder until, apparently satisfied, the Duke nodded and Antyr felt the guard move away.

  Antyr had been uncertain about exactly what he should say to the Duke, not least now because his own problem seemed to be gaining in insignificance amid this muffled activity. But, like many uncertainties, this proved to be pointless as it was the Duke who began the conversation.

  ‘You left the city today against my express order,’ he said flatly, swinging his leg down on to the floor and leaning forward on to the table.

  Antyr felt his mouth dropping open and only managed to stop it with a considerable effort. The question, how . . .? formed in his mind briefly but the dark presence of Ciarll Feranc and the whirr of efficient administrative activity around him answered it, at least in general terms, before he had formed it fully. The rattle of chains and the slamming of cell doors rang in his ears.

  Tarrian appeared by his side, looking earnestly at the Duke. Antyr stuttered his reply through parched lips. ‘I thought you were referring to leaving the city for any length of time, sire. On a journey . . .’ he managed eventually. ‘I needed to think. I merely went to the Aphron Dennai to clear my mind. I . . .’

  ‘You disobeyed my order,’ the Duke said. ‘You broke the law.’

  Antyr was silent for a moment, then the faint rebellion that he had brought against Menedrion, returned. ‘I didn’t disobey what I took to be the spirit of your order, sire,’ he said. ‘I was no further from your men finding me than if I’d been at . . .’ He shrugged slightly. ‘. . . the market.’ The movement freed him. ‘I obeyed you as a matter of honour and respect, sire, and if I failed you in that then I accept your reproach and I truly ask your forgiveness.’ He leaned forward. ‘But I am a free Guildsman, twice served in the line. I broke no law, I can’t be constrained without . . .’

  ‘Due process of law,’ Ibris said, completing his sentence with a brief smile of amusement.

  Antyr did not feel reassured. He couldn’t read a duke’s smile, and due process or not, free Guildsman or not, the reality was that the Duke and his officers were to be obeyed!

  Ibris, however, merely began reading a document on the table in front of him. ‘What do you want, Antyr? I’m busy,’ he said casually, as if the exchange had never happened.

  Antyr started slightly at this abrupt end to the interrogation, then registering the question he glanced at the others nearby.

  Ibris followed his eyes and beckoned him to come round the table.

  ‘What is it?’ he said in a low, unexpectedly confiding voice when Antyr reached him.

  Bending low and feeling like a conspirator, Antyr mumbled his concern. ‘It’s about that order, sire,’ he said. ‘The Lord Menedrion has now ordered me to prepare to leave with him on a journey the day after tomorrow.’

  Ibris’s face darkened. ‘How do you come to be involved with the Lord Menedrion?’ he asked.

  The inevitability of the question reminded Antyr why he had not chosen to prepare an answer in advance. It was because any answer would simply be the precursor to deeper and deeper questions and increasingly difficult ethical choices for him. No inspiration came to aid him.

  ‘Sire, this is difficult,’ he said.

  ‘Answer nonetheless,’ Ibris said starkly.

  Antyr took a deep breath and jumped. ‘May we speak alone, sire?’ he said.

  Ibris frowned. ‘We’re alone enough here, Dream Finder,’ he said.

  ‘No, we’re not,’ Antyr answered with unexpected bluntness. ‘Something’s wrong and it involves yourself, your son, me, and perhaps one other, I don’t know. I can’t discuss it with you in whispers, spare me a few minutes for plain speaking.’

  Ibris’s frown deepened and he let out an impatient snort. ‘Very well,’ he said, standing up. ‘But you’re beginning to abuse the regard I had for your father. I’ll give you five minutes. Ciarll, come with us.

  ‘I’ll be back in a little while,’ he announced to the others at the table. ‘Carry on.’ He indicated a nearby door to Antyr.

  The door took them across a corridor and thence, following the Duke’s lead, into a small, intimate room lit only by a burning fire. Feranc struck a lamp into life and Ibris strode over to the fire where he stood, staring down into it for a few silent moments.

  ‘Speak as loud as you wish here, Dream Finder,’ he said, almost angrily and turning round sharply. ‘But speak quickly and to some effect, or free Guildsman or no, I’ll constrain you as you’ve never been constrained.’

  Tarrian moved across to him and curled up at his feet. Antyr glanced at Feranc. ‘May I speak of your d
ream in front of the Commander, sire?’ he said.

  ‘If it’s relevant, yes,’ Ibris replied, turning and looking at a small delicately decorated timepiece on the mantelshelf.

  Antyr took the further hint. ‘Sire, as I said, this is difficult. I must break a confidence which a dreamer has entrusted in me and I’ll need both your understanding and your protection.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ Ibris said.

  Tarrian rolled over and leaned against Ibris’s leg affectionately. Seemingly without thinking what he was doing, Ibris crouched down and stroked him.

  ‘Sire,’ Antyr began. ‘Why did you call me so urgently last night?’

  ‘You know why,’ Ibris replied, his tone less severe. ‘I felt a . . . presence . . . of some kind in my dream. As if something were trying to enter it. Something threatening.’

  Antyr nodded. ‘This is not something that’s happened before?’ he asked. ‘In my father’s time, perhaps?’

  Ibris shook his head. ‘Usually, I consulted your father so that I could see a dream again because I felt it needed to be thought about; contained some message from deep within myself that I needed to hear and couldn’t during the clamour of the day. He taught me to watch and listen to my dreams so that I wouldn’t need his help.’ He smiled at some long-forgotten memory. ‘A remarkable man your father. Strove diligently to lose his best customer. If I’d had a dozen like him, we’d have had one great, glorious and peaceful state in this land spreading up even into the barbarian tribes beyond the mountains and out across the seas.’ His voice faded and he let the idea go with it. ‘It’s because of your father’s training that I sensed that this . . . presence . . . was something from outside,’ he went on, assured again. ‘But I’ve more tangible threats at the moment, Dream Finder . . .’

  Antyr raise his hand for silence. ‘Sire, I too was assailed last night by some strange power from outside. It came to me in the form of Marastrumel, the ancient personification of evil in Dream Finding lore.’

  Ibris looked at him and then at Feranc.

  ‘No one entered his room last night, sire,’ the Commander said, answering the unspoken question and again telling Antyr that for at least some of the time he had been discreetly watched. ‘Perhaps it was a dream.’ There was a hint of humour in his voice, but the Duke did not pick it up.

  ‘Dream Finders don’t, or can’t, dream, Ciarll,’ he said simply. Then, to Antyr, ‘They tell me that you’re overly fond of ale and wine, Antyr. Could Marastrumel perhaps have come to you in a bottle?’

  Antyr coloured. ‘No sir. The reproach is true but the Commander ensured that I had only water last night, and drink has only ever brought me oblivion and sickness. I fear that whatever power attacked you in your dream, sensed me and is seeking me out.’

  ‘To what purpose?’ Ibris said.

  Antyr shrugged helplessly. ‘I’ve no idea, sire,’ he said. Ibris moved away from the fire and sat down slowly on a chair nearby. Tarrian crawled along on his belly and rested his chin on the Duke’s foot. Ibris’s face was thoughtful and serious.

  ‘You mentioned my son and perhaps another person involved in this,’ he said.

  Antyr gazed awkwardly around the room, finding it almost impossible to speak the words that would break the confidence of his client.

  ‘I’ll deal with Menedrion if need be,’ Ibris said. ‘Have no fear on that score. You have my protection. Who’s the other person?’

  ‘I don’t know, sire, I . . .’ Antyr shrugged helplessly.

  Ibris’s irritation showed clearly and Antyr quailed. ‘Which brings me back to my previous question,’ Ibris went on forcefully. ‘How do you come to be involved with Menedrion?’

  ‘He sought me out, as you did, sire,’ Antyr replied, finding his voice from somewhere. ‘But he mentioned that he had been given my name by his mother.’

  Ibris’s expression changed to one of surprise, then his mouth curled into a snarl. ‘That witch. Even in the Erin Mal she sits at the heart of my dominion like a great spider,’ he said, though largely to himself. He turned to Feranc. ‘How did she find out about last night, Ciarll?’ he asked.

  ‘Assuming the Dream Finder isn’t in her pay, then any one of a dozen guards or servants might have carried the information to her,’ Feranc replied regretfully. ‘I took no great pains about secrecy.’

  Ibris waved Antyr’s burgeoning denial aside before it found tongue, and he gestured an acknowledgement of Feranc’s admission.

  ‘It’s of no matter, I suppose,’ he concluded. ‘But . . .’

  He let the sentence fade into an irritable sigh as he brought his mind back to the more pressing needs of the moment.

  ‘I’ll not pry into Menedrion’s dreams, Antyr,’ he said. ‘But why does he need you so suddenly, and why would he want you to accompany him when he leaves? He’s not a man to be frightened by shadows.’

  Antyr still hesitated. Despite the Duke’s obvious understanding of his position, he had not realized how deeply rooted was his need to protect his clients.

  ‘Time isn’t on your side, Dream Finder,’ the Duke said bluntly. ‘Speak to some purpose or leave.’

  The impossibility of his situation stood stark in front of Antyr. He needed help if he in turn was to help others. But he could obtain no help if he remained silent.

  He had no choice. The rights and wrongs of his breach of confidence would have to be debated later.

  ‘I’m sorry, sire,’ he said. ‘But it’s hard for me to do this, and I do it only because no other alternative seems to be open to me.’

  The Duke looked at him, waiting.

  ‘Lord Menedrion had a dream last night which alarmed him greatly,’ Antyr said suddenly. Almost immediately he felt a sense of relief at being able to voice his concerns. ‘When we searched for it, I found myself separated both from the dreamer and my Companion and in some strange place beyond the dream, where Lord Menedrion was being assailed by many enemies. Between us, Tarrian and I brought him back, but . . .’ He faltered, but Ibris asked no questions in the silence. ‘I don’t know what happened, sire. I’ve never known anything like it. All I could suggest was that we keep watch on him tonight to see if anything further happens . . .’

  ‘And now he’ll be awake all night working and won’t need you until tomorrow,’ Ibris said quietly, turning to stare into the fire again. He was silent for a long time.

  ‘You’ve heard about the Bethlarii envoy, I presume?’ he said, eventually.

  ‘Vague snatches of gossip from overheard conversations, sire,’ Antyr replied. ‘I don’t know anyone here to discuss such matters with.’

  Ibris nodded again. ‘You will, Dream Finder,’ he said, with some heavy humour. ‘You will, I fear.’

  Antyr, though puzzled by this remark, made no comment.

  Ibris was silent again for a little while, then, ‘Quite suddenly, and without any warning we find ourselves facing the possibility of total war against the Bethlarii. How does that strike you, twice server?’

  ‘With horror,’ Antyr answered, more quickly and definitely than mature reflection would have advised him.

  Ibris continued staring into the fire, but Antyr saw his eyebrows rise at this response. ‘Wouldn’t you welcome the chance to find glory and adventure battling against your city’s foes, Guildsman?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll fight if I have to,’ Antyr replied, suddenly reckless. ‘For my city and for myself. But only if I have to. And I certainly won’t welcome it. There’s adventure enough just walking the city streets at night.’ He pointed to the mantelshelf. ‘And there’s more true glory in that timepiece there than there is in a lifetime’s wars.’

  He sensed some kind of a response from Feranc, but the bodyguard was standing at the edge of his vision and he could not identify it properly.

  Ibris glanced up at the mantelshelf. ‘I wish the Bethlarii had your vision,’ he said after a brief silence. Then he stood up, gently disturbing the apparently sleeping Tarrian. His manner became brisk. ‘But,
as ever, they don’t. And, as ever, we may all have to pay the price of their blindness.’

  He turned round and looked at Antyr squarely. ‘I can’t make head nor tail of what you’re talking about, Dream Finder, but I know that I was attacked and I’ve no reason to doubt what you say about your own, and Menedrion’s experiences.’ He glanced at Feranc. ‘Equally I can’t make head nor tail of what the Bethlarii are up to. But I don’t have to see spears and swords to smell an ambush, so, as far as I’m concerned, the two events are related, and right now I’m not going to fret about the logic of it all.’

  Feranc nodded, and Antyr stood very still, feeling himself suddenly the focus of terrible and unknowable forces swirling about and beyond him. Tarrian moved to his side.

  ‘Antyr,’ the Duke said, his voice calm. ‘I absolve you of your oath of loyalty as a Guildsman and a reservist. I give you free choice, without reproach. Will you stand by me and help me, or take your fee and return quietly to your home to pursue your calling in peace.’

  It was not what Antyr had been expecting. He had been anticipating either being thrown out or perhaps being ‘volunteered’ into service by virtue of ‘Needs of the State’.

  He hesitated. A cascade of conflicting thoughts tumbled through his head in an instant. What could he do? He didn’t know what was happening. Was this some trick? Would the Duke indeed allow him to walk quietly away if that was what he chose to do? And what about Menedrion? Would he find out what had happened? And who would protect . . .? The hooded figure with the lamp appeared abruptly amid the turmoil. Who was he? And what threat did he offer? Would standing near to the Duke draw the phantom on or send it gibbering into the darkness?