Dream Finder cohs-1

by Roger Taylor

  Estaan hesitated.

  Pandra took his arm, urging him forward. ‘You say you felt an evil that you've felt before,’ he said. ‘That makes you the wisest here. Be your own judge of the urgency of the matter.'

  Estaan rubbed his chin doubtfully, then set off again.

  It was some time before he returned, and he was looking somewhat flustered when he did.

  'Come on,’ he said, breathing noisily. ‘I've got you five minutes. And it's cost me five years of growth the mood the Duke's in!'

  Antyr could appreciate Estaan's concern as soon as he stepped into the Duke's room. The figure before him was not the affable, almost fatherly figure that had greeted him on their previous meetings. This was a powerful leader of men … leader of armies … preparing for battle. That it was predominantly a political battle at the moment, rather than a military one, made his manner no less formidable.

  'Five minutes,’ he confirmed, holding up his fingers, before Antyr could speak. He glanced at Pandra and the two wolves. ‘And don't abuse my regard for your father and respect for your craft by expecting to bring in all your drinking cronies.'

  As much to his own surprise as anyone else's, Antyr, grim-faced, strode towards the Duke. The Duke's eyes widened angrily in response to his manner, but Antyr did not wait for any reproach. ‘The old man I went to see for advice is dead,’ he said. ‘Murdered, I think, by the same … people … power, that tried to enter your dream.'

  'Murdered, you think?’ Ibris said with heavy and impatient emphasis. ‘You've seen corpses enough in your time, haven't you?'

  'Murdered I'm certain,’ Antyr returned. ‘Though not by any means that either you or I have seen before.'

  'I want no riddles,’ the Duke retorted. ‘Speak plainly. And who the devil is this anyway?’ He flicked his hand towards Pandra, who stepped forward hesitantly to introduce himself. Antyr spared him the deed. ‘This is Indares Pandra, sire. A Dream Finder who knew my father and who still respects and knows the old ways. I sought his help.'

  Ibris grunted dismissively. ‘You set my own bodyguard on me, Dream Finder,’ he said. ‘I don't know how you managed that, but this matter of importance had better be just that or…'

  'It is, sire,’ Antyr said, cutting across him. ‘What do you know of the Threshold?'

  Ibris scowled at the interruption, but Antyr's abrupt question provoked an automatic answer. ‘It's part of your Dream Finding mythology, isn't it?’ he replied. ‘Worlds beyond the dreams. Real worlds like this one. Worlds within worlds. And beyond them again is supposed to be the Great Dream.'

  'Not mythology, sire,’ Antyr said, without giving him pause. ‘But truth. I've been to one of the Threshold worlds twice, perhaps three times, these last two days. And met the power that tried to enter your dream…'

  'Enough,’ Ibris said fiercely, his face set. ‘I haven't time for this.’ He rounded on Antyr. ‘I had some reservations about seeking your help in the first place, Antyr. Now I see they were right. You're not your father's son, you're just another charlatan hoping to find an easy living by gulling me with woolly-headed nonsense.’ His lip curled. ‘Travelling to other worlds! What kind of a fool do you take me for?’ He turned towards the door. ‘Estaan!’ The Mantynnai appeared almost immediately.

  Ibris turned back to Antyr. His presence seemed to fill the room. ‘Out of regard for your father you'll not be punished for this pathetic chicanery, but make sure you never cross my way again, and keep your tongue to yourself if you don't want to lose it. Get them out of here, Estaan. I'll speak to you later.'

  Estaan stepped forward. There was regret and dismay in his eyes but the purposefulness of his stride was clear enough.

  Antyr held out a shaking hand to stop him. Estaan hesitated and glanced at the Duke. ‘Sire,’ Antyr said, his voice trembling like his hand, but nevertheless, intense. ‘Do as you wish. I'm well content to go back to my old life. I'm a wiser man by far than I was two days ago, and I want no more adventures such as I've had today. But be alert tonight, for everyone's sake. Whatever my father taught you, hold to it, and above all be yourself and trust yourself. There is a threat to you. And have someone, anyone, guard your son's sleep. He has neither your knowledge nor your will. He's already been drawn into the Threshold, and it's only by a chance intervention by someone else that he hasn't been overwhelmed, perhaps killed, yet.'

  Estaan took his arm firmly, lifting him up on to his toes, but Antyr held Ibris's gaze.

  Ibris raised his hand and Estaan paused.

  'Tarrian,’ Ibris said. ‘I felt you prowling the edges of my sleep last night, for which my thanks. Am I to believe this tale?'

  'I've mixed with humans long enough to learn how to lie, Ibris,’ Tarrian replied. ‘My word's no better than his. Use your nose when your wits fail you, pack leader.'

  Ibris scowled at him, then motioned Estaan away. ‘Five more minutes,’ he said tersely.

  Nervously, Antyr recounted his tale once more, as briefly as he could.

  When he had finished, Ibris looked at Estaan. ‘And you felt some of this … presence?’ he asked.

  Estaan nodded. ‘I was terrified, sire,’ he said simply. ‘There was a power there that I've felt before and have no wish to feel again.'

  Ibris looked at him narrowly. ‘From before your arrival here?’ he said. Estaan bowed by way of reply, but did not speak.

  Ibris's manner softened slightly. ‘Wait outside all of you, I need to think for a moment,’ he said.

  As the door closed behind the three men, Ibris stepped over to an alcove and drew back the partly closed curtain.

  The tall figure of Ciarll Feranc stepped out of the shadows.

  Chapter 23

  Ibris put his hand to his head wearily. ‘What did you make of all that, Ciarll?’ he asked.

  Feranc shrugged slightly. ‘Very strange,’ he replied. ‘Estaan's Mantynnai, he sees things the way they are better than most. If he admits to being terrified then it was for some good reason. What did the wolf say to you?'

  Ibris smiled. ‘Told me to use my nose,’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘Called me a pack leader.’ He sat down and stretched his legs wearily. ‘Fair comment I suppose and, for what it's worth, I don't think the Dream Finder's lying, or trying to ingratiate himself. But his tale is so preposterous.'

  'Dream Finding is something I've no experience of,’ Feranc said. ‘But there are many strange things in the world and the wolf's advice is sound under the circumstances.'

  Ibris nodded thoughtfully. ‘Strange indeed,’ he said. ‘I can't avoid feeling that events are moving quite beyond my control. As if some … outside … power were forcing them along.'

  Feranc waited impassively.

  Then, rather awkwardly, Ibris said, ‘The Mantynnai came much later than you, but they are your countrymen, aren't they?’ He looked at Feranc, almost plaintively. It was a subject he had touched on lightly at times, but Feranc had never responded and he had never pressed the question.

  Feranc nodded. ‘They are,’ he said, without deliberation. ‘But I know none of them, nor why they're here. And, clear-sighted though they are, I doubt any of them know me for one of their countrymen.'

  Ibris rested his head on his hands. Feranc's almost casual admission was in itself oddly unsettling. As if in some way it implied further the importance of events far beyond his knowledge or his will.

  'You understand that nothing would have made me pry into this but a great sense of unease and Estaan's specific reference to his past,’ he said. ‘You know that I accept them for what they are, here and now, and for what they've been since they came to this land. Just as I've always accepted you.’ Feranc nodded again.

  'But tell me what you can that might give me some guidance,’ Ibris went on. ‘Tell me what there is in your country that could terrify one of my Mantynnai.'

  Feranc sat down opposite the Duke, his face unreadable. ‘This is my country, Ibris,’ he said. ‘But I understand your need.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I kno
w of nothing in my birthland that could produce such a reaction. It was a country with a strong … soldierly … tradition. But it wasn't warlike. It was civilized, peaceful, well governed, and above all free. A rare balance, as I've found on my travels since. Strength doesn't bring freedom, but freedom can't survive without true strength; the strength that comes from inside a people. The strength to see your neighbour wearing a sword and to be glad of it, knowing that he is well capable of using it, and will draw it to protect you if need arises.’ He paused and his eyes became distant and unfocused.

  'Why did you leave?’ Ibris asked, almost immediately regretting the haste of the question.

  Feranc started slightly from his reverie. ‘The countries on our borders were very different from us, but similarly blessed with peace and order, and self-knowledge. Then one of them was attacked. Hordes of barbarians came to their shores, burning, killing, destroying…’ He shook his head. ‘We went to their aid. We could do no other. I was a … King's man … like I am now, albeit more lowly. But my … regiment … was special-very highly trained-the eyes of the King's army, and a secret dagger in the heart of the enemy. There weren't many of us.'

  He stopped. Ibris remained silent.

  'I saw such things … did such things. Things that must inevitably change the direction of a man's life ever after.’ He shook his head slowly and pensively. ‘When word reached us that the enemy was routed and had fled back to the sea, I think I just wandered away, out of those freezing mountains.’ He wrapped his arms about himself involuntarily. ‘I scarcely remember. I just knew I couldn't go home. I was defiled in some way.’ Ibris grimaced at the distress his request had caused.

  'I just wandered and wandered. South. Away. Anywhere,’ Feranc went on. ‘From land to land, people to people. Until I came here. Saw a faint shadow of my homeland in this city and its dominions. And you, striving relentlessly to better it all. Here I'll stay, I thought. Put my peculiar skills at the service of this man. Build the heart of my country here anew.'

  Ibris reached across and touched his arm gently. ‘I'm sorry, Ciarll,’ he said. ‘I didn't mean to disturb such painful memories.'

  Feranc smiled slightly. ‘There's little or no pain in them now,’ he replied. ‘Even though they're with me every day. I couldn't be of any value to anyone if they weren't. Now I'm more whole. And Serens. Besides, your need is great, and I was lucky. I was taught by wise men, so while I did foul things, they were none of them truly avoidable. I have at least the consolation that I can face my conscience. I can account for my deeds.'

  He fell silent.

  'And the Mantynnai?’ Ibris asked, tentatively, after a moment.

  Feranc frowned thoughtfully. ‘I don't know,’ he said. ‘They've not been trained as I was, very few were. But they've all been in the King's service at some time, I'd say, or at least been trained by his men. It's difficult to say exactly, they're a very mixed bunch.'

  Ibris looked surprised. ‘That's the last thing I'd have said,’ he remarked. ‘It doesn't need much of a soldier's eye to pick one of them out of a crowd.'

  Feranc nodded. ‘True,’ he said. ‘But what you see is the unifying effect of whatever drove them from their country. I see many different traits in the way they conduct themselves. And their fighting techniques are fascinating. They reveal a great deal. I can recognize the basis of all of them but, quite independently, they've also developed them in the very direction that I was trained to. I had a teacher once who said that all paths become the same eventually if pursued for the right reasons. I didn't know what he meant then, but I do now.'

  'But why would they leave their country?’ Ibris asked gently as Feranc fell silent once more.

  Feranc shook his head. ‘I don't know,’ he said. ‘But I feel that they left bearing an even greater burden of guilt and pain than I, and that, for all their calm and quietness, most of them are a long way from being truly at peace with themselves. They're driven by something. That's why they stood and died at Viernce. Even now I think they'd form a ring around you and die to a man if need arose.'

  'And you, Ciarll?'

  'I might,’ Feranc replied, with an unexpected smile.

  Ibris smiled too, but his face was soon dark again.

  'It's just occurred to me,’ he said, very slowly. ‘That perhaps once they followed this evil that Estaan spoke of.'

  'A sad thought,’ Feranc replied softly. ‘But perhaps apt. Though I can't imagine what it could have been. For the most part, even the barbarians who invaded our neighbours were not evil. They were misled and ignorant, and by virtue of their ignorance, they did evil deeds which warranted armed opposition. But that wouldn't frighten a man like Estaan. It would make him reach for his sword.'

  'So presumably something happened in your land since you left?’ Ibris said.

  Feranc nodded. ‘Presumably,’ he echoed. ‘But I doubt the Mantynnai will tell you, me, or anyone. Nor do I think we should ask. If they know of some strange threat, then they'll take steps against it. I think we must watch them and learn that way, until perhaps an opportunity for an open question presents itself.'

  Ibris sat silent for some time. ‘You're right,’ he said. ‘We must trust them. They'll do nothing that will allow any harm to happen to Serenstad. God knows, they'd no reason to stand and fight at Viernce, but they did, and if they hadn't, then we wouldn't be here today. And they would fight to the death for me if need arose.’ He looked at Feranc. ‘As I would for them,’ he added deliberately. ‘Whatever they did and whatever drives them, they're fine and true men now, by any measure. Perhaps like you, they see some … what was it you said? Some shadow of their homeland here. But whatever it is, we owe them a debt beyond measure.’ He paused. ‘We must just be careful that we don't allow them to sacrifice themselves to assuage some long-past misdeed.'

  Feranc bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  'But I still don't know what to do with this Dream Finder and his wild tales of worlds beyond,’ Ibris said, in some exasperation.

  'Nothing's changed much since last night,’ Feranc said quietly. ‘Except that the Dream Finder seems to be growing in stature almost as we watch him.'

  'Yes,’ Ibris agreed. ‘He's a more powerful spirit than he realizes. A true Serens.'

  'A true man,’ Feranc corrected.

  'Yes,’ Ibris said softly.

  'Take him seriously,’ Feranc said, uncharacteristically authoritative. ‘If only for the effect he had on Estaan. He's no charlatan, we both feel that. He believes what he's seen and he's struggling with something, beyond a doubt.'

  Ibris looked uncertain.

  Feranc leaned forward, suddenly almost animated. ‘Consider the worst, however improbable,’ he said. ‘A strange, malign power loose among us. Attacking us through our dreams in some way. You can raise an army to face the Bethlarii and many of us can help you lead it. But who can fight a foe that can come through the darkness into our sleeping minds and perhaps kill us there?'

  Ibris watched him.

  'You can't charge cavalry against a city wall,’ Feranc went on. ‘And you can't tunnel under an infantry line. Tactics and troops change with circumstances. If we need someone to … fight … in dreams then we must have someone who understands dreams, who can enter them, and who's no coward. And heed his warning about Menedrion. I've already told him that you want to see him today. You must tell him about all this and ensure that he's … guarded … in his sleep, however these people do that kind of thing. And speak to the man again now. Question him. Listen to him. And give him immediate access to you at all times.'

  Ibris's eyebrows went up.

  'At all times,’ Feranc repeated. ‘I'll be honest, the man intrigues me. You yourself likened him to the kind of man who springs up from nowhere in a broken pike line and somehow pulls it together again. And it's only another mouth or so to feed at worse. If he becomes troublesome or foolish he's easily dealt with.'

  'I recall,’ Ibris said, sitting up. ‘Find Menedrion and bring him he
re immediately, no matter what he's doing-or to whom-then bring them all back in. And you may as well stay yourself, I doubt there's any point trying to hide you from those wolves. They probably knew you were there all the time.'

  Menedrion needed little persuasion to leave his duties as host to the Bethlarii envoy.

  'Father, my face is aching with smiling at that black-hearted, intolerant bigot,’ he blustered as he entered the room. His clenched fist came up. ‘The sooner we…’ He stopped as he saw Antyr.

  'What's he doing here?’ he demanded.

  'He's here for the same reason you are,’ Ibris said, curtly. ‘Because I told him to be.'

  Sensing his father's mood, Menedrion held his tongue, but he gave Antyr a look of such menacing suspicion that Ibris was obliged to speak again. ‘You can rest assured he's done you no ill-service, Irfan,’ he said. ‘And since he attended you he's been appointed as one of my senior advisers.’ He looked narrowly at his son.

  Menedrion seemed to be considering commenting but in the end he just sniffed loudly, and sat down heavily on a nearby chair.

  Ibris turned to Antyr. ‘Tell me everything again,’ he said simply.

  Antyr was less than happy at being the object of dispute between Ibris and Menedrion, and far from certain about his status in such a gathering following the Duke's earlier outburst. He stepped forward however, and did as he was told: telling of his visits to both the Duke and Menedrion, and ending with his experience at Nyriall's, adding this time Pandra's conjectures about the Mynedarion.

  There was a brief silence when he had finished, then Menedrion gave a blast of disgust. ‘What blithering nonsense,’ he burst out derisively. ‘Wondrous worlds in the great beyond. Magicians conjuring thunder and lightning out of nowhere. I didn't believe tales like that when I was three. What's it going to be next? The Winterfest Giver with his red cloak and white beard? What are we doing here, father? We've all got important matters to attend to.'