Dream Finder cohs-1

by Roger Taylor

  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?

  And he was no courtier. He wouldn't know what to do in this place.

  Then, oddly altruistic thoughts rose up to embarrass him. Who but a Dream Finder could help the Duke with this strange happening? And if in helping the Duke he could in some way help prevent the horror of war spreading over the land again, should he not do it? Could he sleep at nights ever again if he did not, or would he be haunted by the legions of the maimed and demented who were the true legatees of a war. He recognized his father's voice.

  Tarrian was silent, though Antyr felt him prowling the edges of his mind, watching and waiting. Whatever he decided, he knew that Tarrian would remain his faithful Companion. The wolf imposed his own burden by seeking not to.

  'I am your subject, sire,’ he said, equivocating. ‘I'll do whatever you require.'

  Ibris walked across to him and placed his hands on his shoulders. Antyr felt his knees shake momentarily, then he found himself looking up into the eyes of the man, the warrior and the lover of great art and knowledge who through strength of will and strength of arms had brought a peace to the land which, though far from perfect, was longer and more prosperous than any that had been known in recorded history.

  'Antyr,’ the Duke said, his voice quiet. ‘You are indeed a free Guildsman. What I require from you is not that you obey, but that you choose. I command many people in varying degrees in the ruling of this city and its dominions; some subtly by carefully chosen words, some … less subtly. But those who truly help me are not those whom I command, but those who choose to follow and know that they can walk away at any time. Do you understand?'

  Antyr nodded hesitantly.

  'They are few, Antyr. Aaken, my one-time shield-bearer who stood by me in the wars against my usurping kin when I was young. Ciarll here, who…’ He glanced towards his enigmatic bodyguard. ‘…appeared … one day, and turned the tide of a battle for me and says nothing about where he came from or where he learned his fearsome skills, and who bears some deep silence inside him. The Mantynnai, his countrymen, I suspect, though none will say; and their torment is newer and crueller than Feranc's. Your father, briefly, though he was a distant, aloof person who kept his own strange secrets inside him. One or two others. A few. And now you. Drawn by events to my side. Is the ground under your feet to your liking?'

  Antyr stammered. ‘I'm a subject. A follower of orders. Not a friend and adviser to rulers. I've frittered away much of my life in weakness and self indulgence. My skill at my craft is not what it should be. I fear I'd be more of a burden than a support to you.'

  'That is my choice,’ Ibris replied. ‘Will you help me as your father did, to the best of your ability, or not? Yes or no?'

  'Face the enemy,’ came a distant call in Antyr's mind.

  'Yes,’ he heard himself reply. ‘Yes, sire.'

  Chapter 18

  As Feranc closed the door behind a bewildered Antyr, Ibris sat down again by the fire. He beckoned Feranc over and indicated the chair opposite.

  'An act of wisdom or folly, Ciarll?’ he asked.

  'I think his wolf seduced you,’ Feranc replied. Ibris laughed and raised an admonishing finger. ‘You're too perceptive by half, Ciarll,’ he said. ‘But I know that wolf about as well as I know you, which is to say, quite well, and not at all. Now answer my question.'

  'It was an act of judgement,’ Feranc said.

  Ibris growled disparagingly. ‘Don't you start playing the courtier with me,’ he said.

  Feranc smiled broadly. It was a sight that probably only the Duke ever saw.

  'It was an act of judgement,’ he repeated. ‘And probably a sound one, but whether wisdom or folly, only time will tell.'

  Ibris's eyes narrowed. ‘You're as evasive with words as you are with your sword blade when you want to be,’ he said. ‘What would you have done then?'

  'Not have had myself made Duke in the first place,’ Feranc replied. Then, before the Duke could offer him any further reproach, his manner changed, as if his brighter nature were afraid to be seen abroad for too long.

  'How is the ground under your feet?’ he asked, using the Duke's own question to Antyr.

  Ibris leaned back in his chair and folded his hands quietly across himself. ‘Shifting and uncertain,’ he replied sombrely. ‘Not through all the battles for the succession; not through all the innumerable wars and skirmishes with the Bethlarii and their allies, have I ever felt so unsure, so beset. Is it old age catching up with me, Ciarll?'

  'No,’ Feranc replied simply. ‘Old age merely slows the thinking a little, but the quality's better. It seems that we're being attacked by forces we've never known before, and it's unsettling, not to say frightening. But your judgement about the Dream Finder is almost certainly sound.'

  Surprise suffused Ibris's face. ‘You accept these ramblings with considerable equanimity for a rational man, Commander,’ he said.

  Feranc avoided his gaze briefly. ‘It's the nature of my training,’ he said, almost reluctantly. ‘To see what's there, and to see it and accept it for what it is. That is the action of a rational man.'

  'Your training?’ Ibris said quietly but expectantly. It was the first time that he had heard Feranc make any reference to the time before he had come to Serenstad. Feranc, however, ignored the invitation to amplify the remark and remained silent.

  'What have you seen then that you're so certain of my judgement?’ Ibris went on, regretting the passage of the moment.

  'I've seen a Bethlarii envoy skulk into our land like a spy, in itself a profound change from their normal behaviour. I've seen at his shoulder the spectre of the threat of war on a scale that hasn't been known in generations. I've seen him behaving in a manner which virtually asked for his immediate execution and which gives us a grim measure of his religious fervour. Then I've seen the man I chose to help in his battle to bring order and civilization to this land seek the aid of a drunken practitioner of a strange and perhaps fraudulent art, and I've seen both Duke and Dream Finder transformed by their meeting; the latter especially. Now I hear that this same Dream Finder has been drawn to Menedrion, a fact even more improbable than his being sought by you.'

  Feranc's delivery was flat and almost terse, as if he were a junior officer reporting intelligence to his seniors. He continued.

  'The Bethlarii have turned towards the darkness of the primitive certainty of their religion. In your doubt, you've sought aid from a Dream Finder. Both actions lie beyond reason; they come as a response to something deep inside the human spirit. I've learned enough through the years to know that my head will tell me when to use my heart, and my heart will tell me when to use my head, and that while I'm prepared to use both I'll perhaps both survive and retain my sanity. I accept your judgement that the Bethlarii threat and the dreams could be related, perhaps deriving from some common source, and that being the case we must tend our Dream Finder as we'd tend our arrows and our pikes and our siege machines, even if we don't know what to do with him.'

  There was a long silence.

  'You never cease to surprise me, Ciarll,’ Ibris said eventually. ‘I'd have thought to get the sharper edge of your tongue for this last deed at least.'

  Feranc raised one eyebrow quizzically but did not reply.

  'Would you care to conjecture on the nature of this common source?’ Ibris offered.

&n
bsp; Feranc shook his head. ‘I've seen … and felt … many strange things in my journeyings. Enough to know that sometimes the only thing that can be done is to wait and see what happens and then accept the reality of events no matter how divorced from reason they seem. Only thus can we gain the knowledge that will give us our defence. We're like the natives who must once have faced the first arrows.'

  'That's not much consolation,’ Ibris interrupted. ‘They probably lost.'

  Feranc smiled slightly. ‘A bad analogy,’ he said with an apologetic shrug.

  'But apt, perhaps?’ Ibris replied.

  Feranc moved his hand palm downwards across himself in a cutting action as if he had nothing further to add. ‘Analogies are for teachers and storytellers,’ he said. ‘We deal with reality directly. At best, your decision about Antyr may prove crucial at some unforeseeable time in the future. At worst, the palace has another mouth, or rather, pair of mouths, to feed. And they'll do no harm. From what I've found out, Antyr fought well enough when he had to, bravely even. And so far in his life, he's been more of an enemy to himself than anyone else.'

  'He's not afraid to speak his mind,’ Ibris added with mild indignation.

  Feranc smiled again. ‘He'll need to with you as a “client",’ he said. ‘He'd have been counting his bruises from the palace square stones by now if he hadn't defied you when you accused him of breaking the law. I said he was changing. Personally I'm getting to like him. Underneath his doubts I think he's very sound.’ He paused reflectively. ‘There's certainly more to him than meets the eye. And the wolf's beautiful.'

  'Seduced you too, did he?’ Ibris said.

  Feranc's smile broadened again. ‘If you'll excuse me, sire. I have duties to attend to,’ he replied.

  Ibris nodded. ‘I'll join you in a few moments, Ciarll,’ he said. ‘I need to think a little.'

  Feranc stood up and bowed.

  As he reached the door, Ibris clicked his fingers. ‘Ciarll,’ he said, his brow furrowed. ‘Some time tonight or tomorrow tell Menedrion I need to speak to him. And make sure that Antyr's being looked after properly before you go back, will you? Rooms and procedures etc.’ He tapped his mouth thoughtfully. ‘And that Aaken pays him for last night and makes proper arrangements for a stipend,’ he added. ‘You know how “forgetful” he can get about such matters when it affects the palace purse.'