Dream Finder cohs-1

by Roger Taylor

  Antyr's encounter with Menedrion had at least overcome his hesitancy about inquiring of anyone as to where in the palace he might be and, still buoyed up, he fixed the first guard he found with an imperious stare and demanded to know the whereabouts of the Duke's private quarters.

  Fortunately, the guard in question had just seen him talking to Menedrion and gave him the information without even submitting him to a suspicious look.

  Now, as he walked through the palace, Tarrian's disturbing news conspired with the eerie problems mounting around him to unsettle him again and send his mood swinging rapidly between excitement and depression.

  Gradually, he brought his thoughts into some semblance of order. Practical problems first: he had to see the Duke about Menedrion's order that he prepare to leave the city. That was a conflict of instructions that he had no intention of attempting to resolve on his own! He could see that any meeting with the Duke about it might lead to complications concerning how it had come to pass that Menedrion had contacted him, but on balance, he decided that a naive craftsman's openness and honesty was his best protection; indeed, it was perhaps his only protection.

  Then, though largely at Tarrian's prompting, came the problem of payment. Should he try and find Aaken and debate that with him, or should he raise it with the Duke? He quailed at the prospect of either, and decided to make his final decision when he was on the battlefield itself. As for Menedrion's fee-he was glad he'd waived it.

  Then there were the other, darker, problems: the Duke's strange dream. Menedrion's even stranger one, if dream it had been. And his own frightening … visitation. It was difficult but he knew he must try to accept that he could do nothing about any of these until something else happened or unless the old Dream Finder Nyriall gave him some help. A siren voice somewhere down inside him still tried to lure him away from this terrifying, clinging quagmire he felt he was sinking into. Get drunk! Run away! But somehow he managed to shout it down.

  He shook his head as he walked along. His encounter with Pandra and Kany earlier seemed like distant memories and his aching walk to the Aphron Dennai was an eternity away.

  As for the possibility of war? True, it was only Tarrian's vaguely snatched impression, but his stomach plunged again, even though, of all his problems it was perhaps the one that he could do least about.

  'We're nearly there.’ Tarrian's voice interrupted his uneasy reverie.

  Antyr looked up with a start. He had been so absorbed that for a moment he could not remember where he was. As he gazed around he was startled to see dark windows on either side of the corridor. Then he realized that they were passing over one of the palace's many high-soaring covered walkways.

  He stopped by a window and looked out.

  'Tarrian,’ he said softly. ‘Look.'

  The wolf had been walking some way ahead, his head lowered intently, but he turned without comment and came back.

  As the two of them stared out of the window, a ghostly Dream Finder and his Companion gazed back at them, but shining through these images was the sprawl of Serenstad with its fog-blurred lights expanding steadily outwards.

  'I didn't realize we'd come so high,’ Antyr said.

  'You've been a bit preoccupied,’ Tarrian said. ‘We've come up quite a few stairs. And don't forget, the palace is built on a slope.'

  Antyr nodded absently. It was still a breathtaking sight. What must it be like on a clear day? Glancing from side to side he could just make the edges of the two buildings that were joined by the walkway; both of them disappeared up into the darkness. And what must be the view from up there?

  'Come on,’ Tarrian prompted gently. ‘Let's find our client.'

  Reluctantly, Antyr pulled himself away from the window and set off after Tarrian again.

  As they passed through the door at the end of the walkway, they emerged into what appeared to be a large foyer. It was not as brightly lit as the corridors they had been walking along, but its most striking feature was the silence as the echoing marble floor gave way to a lush carpet.

  'Where now?’ Antyr asked, instinctively whispering.

  'Nowhere,’ Tarrian answered significantly, and even as he spoke, two large guards appeared silently in front of them.

  'Have you lost your way, sir?’ one of them said politely. He had a slight foreign accent. Mantynnai, Antyr deduced. These would be the elite of the Duke's personal bodyguard; men under the direct, personal command of Ciarll Feranc. Though neither of them exuded any menace, Antyr felt afraid.

  'Have you lost your way, sir?’ the man was repeating, a little more emphatically.

  'I'm … I'm … looking for … I need to speak to the … to the … Duke. Sir,’ Antyr stammered. He braced himself for a sarcastic response, but none was forthcoming.

  'If you have a message for the Duke, it could have been left downstairs, but you may give it to me,’ the guard said, still polite.

  Antyr shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don't have a message from anyone, I have to see him personally. It's important.'

  It wasn't important, he realized, as soon as he had spoken the words. It was a trivial organizational problem that certainly didn't need the personal and immediate attention of the Duke.

  Then again, another part of him said, it was important, and it did concern the Duke personally.

  Briefly the two opinions struggled for dominance, then it dawned on him that probably the worst that could happen to him would be for the Duke to have him thrown out, and, fee or no, that was not an unhappy solution to his problems. He must plough on.

  'My name's Antyr,’ he said hastily as he saw the guard's eyes begin to narrow. ‘I saw the Duke last night. He'll remember. If he isn't … available, then perhaps I could speak to Commander Feranc or Chancellor Aaken.'

  The guard's manner, however, changed perceptibly at the mention of Antyr's own name, making the references to Aaken and Feranc superfluous. His look of growing suspicion was replaced by a barely hidden curiosity. He turned to his companion, who nodded him towards a nearby door.

  'I'll see if a member of his staff can be found to look after you, sir,’ he said. ‘Would you wait here.'

  And he was gone, leaving Antyr and Tarrian alone with the other guard, an older man with a seemingly easy-going manner. However, he wore a slightly different insignia on his uniform which, coupled with the fact that it was the first guard who was running the errand, identified him to Antyr as the senior in rank.

  He looked at Antyr and smiled broadly though it did little to ease Antyr's trepidation.

  'An unusual profession, Dream Finding,’ the man said casually, his accent stronger than his companion's. ‘In my time I've met many shamans and priests and so-called wise men who'd listen to the telling of dreams and then foretell the future and suchlike, but I'd never heard of a skill such as yours until I came to this land.'

  It seemed an odd remark, but then, for all their known loyalty, the Mantynnai were foreigners.

  Antyr returned the smile nervously. ‘We make no silk here, because we don't have the knowledge,’ he said. ‘And where they make the silk I understand they make no steels because they don't have the knowledge. Not all countries practice all crafts.'

  The guard nodded and laughed softly. ‘True,’ he conceded. ‘But Dream Finding is a strange profession, for all that. I suppose I could learn how to make silk and steel if I had to, but could I become a Dream Finder?'

  'No,’ Antyr conceded in turn, warming to the man a little. ‘It's usually passed from father to son in some way, if it's passed on at all.'

  'It is a mystery then, not a craft,’ the guard went on. ‘A bridge to places beyond the sight of other men.'

  Antyr shrugged slightly. ‘A mystery to you, but a craft to me,’ he said. ‘Just as you are a mystery to me, but a craftsman also, Mantynnai.'

  The guard smiled and nodded, though, for an instant, his eyes became distant and sad.

  'Move away,’ Tarrian said softly into Antyr's mind. ‘You're hur
ting him.'

  'I heard that there was a Bethlarii envoy at the palace today,’ Antyr said, taken aback slightly by Tarrian's unexpected interruption and snatching at the first topic that came to mind.

  'There was indeed,’ the man replied.

  He offered no further explanation however, and there was a finality in his answer that made Antyr loath to press him.

  He glanced at the door through which the other guard had gone.

  'He'll be a little while yet,’ the guard said. ‘Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.’ He pointed to a wide bench seat in an alcove and his manner became jocular, teasing. ‘Is your message very urgent? Have you foreseen a great Bethlarii army mustering against us in some subtle cranny of the Duke's dreams?'

  Antyr hesitated. ‘I must speak to the Duke certainly,’ he replied. ‘Or Commander Feranc…'

  'Or Chancellor Aaken.’ The guard finished his answer for him, nodding and laughing. ‘Then you must have seen an army.'

  Antyr went suddenly cold, something had to be stopped here and he was uncertain how to do it. He leaned towards the man. ‘Dreams are beyond all understanding,’ he said, almost aggressively. ‘They spring from who knows what ancient sources deep inside us, for who knows what ancient reasons. I can foretell nothing. Nor see through mountains to distant places. I help the dreamers see their dreams again, for whatever reason they wish. And I talk to them about it if they wish. But that is all. The future is the future. Perhaps some can foresee it, perhaps not. But no Dream Finder can.'

  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 dream 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.'