Tarrian leapt forward like the bolt from a great siege catapult. A massive and unstoppable momentum. The colours and sounds of the Nexus flew past and through them, layering and dividing, blurring with the speed of their travel yet still motionless and clear, as is the nature of things that dwell at the edges of dreams.
The colours intensified, the sounds grew. Antyr, drawn with his Companion, drew in a great breath as their tumbling charge increased.
'What's happening?’ he said, though in excitement, not fear.
'We're searching the Nexus,’ Tarrian said, his voice made unsteady by the pounding ferocity of his pace.
'No. Never like this,’ Antyr shouted.
'No. Never like this,’ Tarrian confirmed. ‘I see more clearly, I hear more clearly. The scents … The scents…’ His voice faded and Antyr was overwhelmed by the perfumes of countless grasses and trees, flowers and birds, insects and animals, all mingling yet distinct, rich and subtle; and each with its own coherent tale as clear as the sights and sounds around him, though spoken in some strange, alien tongue.
But it was gone almost before he could register what it was, though the memory of it pervaded his entire body like the lingering image of the sun behind suddenly closed eyes.
Tarrian had taken him deep into his wolf nature, something he had never even attempted, or perhaps wished to do, before; least of all when he was searching the Nexus.
The journey continued, timeless and eternal, the two travellers silent. Antyr, awestruck; Tarrian, hunting; hunting for that which only his wolf nature could know.
Colour and sounds.
'What's happening?’ Antyr asked again, though it was a different question this time.
'I don't know,’ Tarrian replied. ‘But it's of your creating, no one else's. Just be, and trust.'
Colours and sounds.
'You are more than you seem,’ Tarrian said. ‘And you are guided by a great and ancient strength.'
'Guarded,’ Antyr corrected.
'Guided,’ Tarrian repeated.
'I don't…'
Abruptly they were still again, though the Nexus still swirled and sang around them. Colours and sounds.
'Hush,’ Tarrian said. ‘We're here. We're here. Yes. This is the place. The portal we seek. Menedrion's choice.’ Antyr could feel the wolf testing his many senses. Then came a doubt.
Antyr gazed around. He was himself still, and still in the Nexus, though now it was dimmer and quieter, as if a great curtain had fallen across it.
'What's the matter?’ he asked. ‘This hasn't happened before. Why am I not in the dream?'
A low rumbling growl formed in Tarrian's throat. ‘The portal is strange,’ he said.
Antyr felt the word shimmer and echo about him. ‘What do you mean, strange?’ he asked, anxiously.
'False … strained … distorted…’ Tarrian gave up. ‘I don't have the words,’ he admitted. Then, almost immediately. ‘It's not his, not Menedrion's … not wholly anyway … it leads beyond…'
Antyr felt a cold wind blowing about him. A wind that had travelled over a great plain and drawn an ancient frozen chill from it.
Then he was alone, peering into the bitter darkness. He could make out a bulky form in front of him. Vague though it was, however, it was unmistakably Menedrion …
Even as he formed the question in his mind, he was with Tarrian again in the strange, subdued part of the Nexus that the wolf was holding them in.
'You are guarded by a great and ancient power.’ The words came to mind unbidden and unexpectedly, and he muttered them to himself almost desperately, like a prayer for deliverance.
Then, to Tarrian, his voice cracking with sudden hysteria, ‘What happened? What in the devil's name happened? That was Menedrion. How could I be in the dream and not be the dreamer?'
The Nexus whirled and crackled, and Tarrian's reply was distant and frightened. ‘You slipped from me,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘No. You were drawn from me. Or you left. Through the portal … the portals.'
Antyr reached out and felt the powerful presence of his Companion. The wolf was trembling. From somewhere he found a semblance of calmness. ‘What do you see, Tarrian?’ he asked. ‘What do you … sense? Describe it to me, however inadequate the words.'
Tarrian whimpered. Antyr held his unseen form close.
'What do you see?’ he pressed gently.
'Portals within portals,’ Tarrian replied, as if staring at something intently. ‘Ways within ways. A rent in the fabric of the Nexus. A besieging army … no, that's his image … I think. A power from beyond. A hunter. Ah …!'
Tarrian's voice became a cry of horror and dismay. ‘This is not the dream! This is the now. We're at the portal of the dream being dreamt by another!'
'No. That's imposs…’ Antyr began, panic mounting inside him. But before he could finish, Tarrian let out a great howl, a howl that arced up and spanned the length and depths of the Nexus. And even as it rose up, it became another voice. The voice of Menedrion. A voice full of challenge and fear.
Antyr's spirit cried out in protest at the events he felt happening around him. They were beyond anything in his experience. Beyond any of the logic and reason that sustained the Dream Finder's art. Despite Tarrian's presence, he felt lost and alone in a maelstrom of insanity. A maelstrom that he had released in some way and that he must control. But what could he do?
While his mind whirled and fretted, however, some other part of him rose and followed after the cry of the wolf.
And he was by Menedrion again, hulking in the cold darkness. Terrifyingly, Tarrian was not there, but Antyr refused to accept the paralyzing thoughts of the impossibility of this that tore frantically at him. As in battle, only an immediate acceptance of the reality of his position, however strange, could help either him or Menedrion.
And Menedrion needed help. He was beset. Unarmed, he crouched, fists clenched, eyes and teeth gleaming viciously even in the gloom. Round and round he turned as dark shapes converged on him from every side.
Antyr could not make out the nature of this enemy, but he could smell their anticipation beginning to overtop their hesitancy, and he could sense their terrible hunger. A sound like a winter wind blowing through rattling reeds filled the air.
'I am with you, Lord,’ he said gently, gathering the voice from he knew not where, as if Menedrion were just another excitable client facing an unpleasant nightmare. ‘Have no fear, for these are but creations of that fear. I have come to scatter them and bring you safe to the light again.'
Antyr knew the lie in his words, but knew too that in some way, Menedrion's black battle anger would doom him here if he remained.
Standing straight, he gazed around at the dark, closing horde. He had the strange sensation that within him was a flickering light that could sustain him if he knew how to use it. And indeed, as his night-black eyes swept across the approaching shapes, they hesitated.
'Who dares assail my charge?’ he heard himself say, but his voice was no longer gentle. It was deep like thunder and seemed to unfold through the darkness like a great wave, sweeping the din of Menedrion's enemies before it.
'Who?’ he heard himself repeat, but terrifyingly louder. The circling shapes fled abruptly, disappearing imperceptibly into the distant, deeper, darkness.
Only one figure remained. More solid than the rest.
It hissed and swayed and reached out towards Menedrion, hands clawed. ‘He is mine,’ it said, its voice cutting the darkness like shards of glass. ‘He will join the…'
Antyr felt Tarrian beside him.
'Withdraw now, Lord,’ Antyr said, still calmly, his voice a mixture of his own and Tarrian's. ‘Follow the wolf. My power will protect your back like a shield. Withdraw.'
Then both Menedrion and Tarrian were gone, and Antyr was alone in the darkness with the searching figure. It let out a flesh-crawling hiss of anger and frustration and turned towards Antyr. Briefly, he felt the wash of the ancient hatred he had felt as the hooded figure had left him the previous night. Then, abruptly, he sensed … recognition … and the hatred became an overpowering lust. Its corrupt malevolence appalled him, and he raised his arms as if to protect himself from it.
The figure hesitated.
Without knowing what he was doing, Antyr reached up and drove his hands into the darkness. Then, with a great cry, he tore open its very fabric.
Light flooded in upon him like a roaring cataract, and for a timeless moment he felt himself being lifted bodily and swept along uncontrollably.
Then he was falling … falling … falling …
Menedrion burst into wakefulness with a great roar just as Antyr toppled over backwards on his chair and went sprawling on the luxuriant carpet.
As he struggled to find his bearings, Tarrian was by his side, his bright yellow eyes searching into him. In the span of a heartbeat, Antyr saw several images of himself alternating with those of Tarrian as the wolf entered and left him, almost hysterically, seeking reassurance.
'Enough,’ he managed to say, as he struggled to his knees and put his arms about the animal for mutual support and comfort. ‘Enough. We're back. We're…'
He stopped as he became aware of Menedrion, standing nearby, his head in his hands and swaying ominously.
'Lord!’ Antyr cried, scrambling unsteadily to his feet. ‘We're safe now…'
As he stepped forward however, the bodyguard, white faced and wide eyed, interposed himself. He levelled a trembling knife at Antyr's throat.
Antyr began to raise his hand in conciliation but even as he did so he became aware of the bodyguard's focus changing and in the corner of his vision he saw Tarrian, yellow eyes blazing savagely, hair bristling and top lip curling to expose his massive teeth in their flesh-tearing totality.
'Put the knife down, for pity's sake!’ Antyr gasped in dismay. ‘Now! Tarrian will kill you if you don't, and I won't be able to stop him.'
The bodyguard hesitated and Antyr sensed Tarrian preparing to spring. In desperation he lashed out wildly at the bodyguard's hand before the wolf launched his inevitable attack. Momentarily distracted by the sight of Tarrian, the bodyguard was unprepared for the suddenness of Antyr's slap and the knife was knocked from his hand. It twisted and glittered through the bright lamplight to fall silently on to green sward carpet several paces away.
'No!’ Antyr roared, both to Tarrian and the bodyguard, stepping back rapidly and holding his empty hands out in a gesture of helplessness. Then, to the bodyguard, pleading, ‘Don't move. Please. Don't threaten me. The lord's safe and when Tarrian sees I am, so will you be.'
The bewildered man looked from Antyr to Tarrian and then back at his master. Though Menedrion was still obviously in a dazed condition, he was more steady now, and his eyes were beginning to focus.
'Keep your distance then, Dream Finder, and we'll all be safe,’ the bodyguard said, recovering somewhat. Though his voice was unsteady his manner was purposeful. He looked back at Menedrion again. ‘Sir. Are you all right?’ he said urgently. ‘What did they do to you? What happened? The noises you were making were fearful. I didn't know what to do for the best.'
'Leave us,’ Menedrion said, after a moment.
'Sir?’ The bodyguard hesitated, casting another wary glance at Antyr and Tarrian. ‘The wolf…'
'Leave us!’ Menedrion shouted angrily, then, relenting almost immediately, he gave an uncharacteristic smile of self-reproach and reached out a placatory hand. ‘There's no danger here. Truly, no danger,’ he said, his smile broadening. ‘None that I can't handle now I'm awake, anyway,’ he added. ‘Just a particularly strange and vivid dream. And I need to talk to the Dream Finder alone about it now.'
Reassured by Menedrion's easier manner the bodyguard did as he was bidden, albeit with some reluctance. ‘I shall be within call, sir,’ he said with quiet defiance, as he bent down to pick up his knife. Menedrion nodded.
When the bodyguard had left, however, Menedrion's facade cracked and the tumult beneath burst through.
'What happened, Dream Finder?’ he said, his eyes wide with anger and fear. ‘That was not the dream I had last night. The place was the same, and the enemy, but it wasn't my dream. And you were not there then. It was some other … person … and they possessed me. Somewhere between sleep and waking…’ His final words tailed off.
'I know it wasn't your dream, sir,’ Antyr replied simply. ‘But I don't know what happened.'
The answer did not please Menedrion. ‘I warn you, Dream Finder. Peddle me no foolishness in the hope of wringing yourself a higher fee, or ingratiating yourself at court,’ he said grimly. ‘I'm no empty-headed courtier's woman to be gulled by such tricks, and you'll find that life can become most unpleasant if you think otherwise. Do you understand that fully?'
'I do, sir,’ Antyr replied with as much dignity as he could muster in the face of Menedrion's powerful presence. ‘And I've told you the truth. I don't know what happened just now. I've never known anything like it before, nor have I heard or read of such a thing. Nor has Tarrian, who worked with my father for many years before he came to me.'
Menedrion looked at him narrowly.
'You came highly recommended, Antyr,’ he said darkly. ‘You're a Guildsman. Dreams and all to do with dreams are your province. “I don't know” won't do. What use is a farrier who doesn't know how to shoe a horse? Or a fletcher who doesn't know how to make an arrow?’ He pointed at Antyr threateningly, and spoke very slowly. ‘Now, stop this nonsense and tell me what happened?'
Antyr swallowed. ‘You were attacked, Lord Menedrion. I … we don't know how, or why, or by whom. But you were attacked here today just as surely as we were at Herion.’ Released, Antyr's words became almost a babble. ‘It was not a dream we found ourselves in, nor any dream you've ever had. Had that been so, I'd have been you within it. A Dream Finder can't be separate from the dreamer. That's…’ He waved his hands in search of a word. ‘Basic … Fundamental … Just not possible-any more than I could occupy your place in that chair while you're in it when we're awake. We were in another place…'
'In another place,’ Menedrion echoed in exasperation. ‘How could we be in another place when we never left this one, man? Did we saddle up and ride there? Grow wings and fly? I warn you, Dream Finder…'
Antyr flinched at the growing menace in Menedrion's voice and his throat went dry. ‘Sir, if I could say anything that would remove me from your anger, I would say it. But it would be a betrayal on my part to speak anything other than the truth…'
'Truth! What truth?’ Menedrion burst out. ‘If you know the truth then tell me.'
’ … The truth as I see it,’ Antyr finished. ‘And the truth is, that I don't know what the truth is.’ Menedrion stood up. Antyr raised a hand. ‘Sir, I beg of you, listen to me…'
'Listen to a babbler, who doesn't even know his own trade?'
Some part of Antyr's infantry training fastened his feet to the floor in spite of his overwhelming desire to flee. An unexpected twist of anger curled inside him. ‘Sir,’ he almost shouted. ‘I didn't tout for your business like some lick-spittle court tailor. You chose me. You had me sought out and brought here. You asked me to search for your dream. Sir, I do know my trade. Better than many. But you must let me think…'
Menedrion clenched his massive fists.
'I can't stop you doubting me, sir,’ Antyr went on, still just managing to hold his ground. ‘But…’ Inspiration came, from his own remark earlier. ‘Go to the Guild. Ask anyone there-anyone-if it's possible for Dreamer and Finder to be separate as we were.'
The room fell very silent as he stopped speaking.
'If he attacks me, do nothing,’ Antyr said privately to Tarrian, even though he knew the request was pointless.
'That's not in my choice, you know that,’ Tarrian confirmed. ‘But I don't think he's going to. I think you've held his charge, pikeman.’ There was relief in the remark, not flippancy, but Tarrian's manner was distracted, as if he were listening to something very carefully. ‘He's so confused I can barely snatch a coherent thought,’ he said. Then he paused, and Antyr caught a whiff of his irritated concentration. ‘But he's thinking as well as he's able under the circumstances.’ Another pause. ‘He's frightened and he wants help. But he's lucid enough to see that whether he doubts or believes you, there are problems he'd rather not face…'
The silence grew. ‘He wants simplicity, Antyr. Battlefield simplicity…'
Antyr seized the moment even before Tarrian could finish. ‘We find ourselves side by side in the same rank, sir,’ he said hesitantly. ‘Trust is something that perhaps we have no choice about.'
Menedrion's expression changed slightly, and his manner became quieter, less menacing.
'He thinks he's going mad,’ Tarrian said quickly, as if just glimpsing some fleeting prey.
Antyr had been avoiding Menedrion's gaze so far, mindful of the Lord's first reaction. Now he straightened up and looked at him directly. Menedrion flinched, but this time it was he who held his ground.
'There's a danger here, sir,’ Antyr said. ‘To you and, I suspect, to others. A danger that's none of our creating. A danger from … somewhere outside. From someone outside. And it's as real a threat as Bethlarii bigotry and malice. That I'm certain of, though I know no more, except that only a Dream Finder can help oppose it.’ He hurried on before Menedrion could accuse him of self-seeking again. ‘Whether me, or another, doesn't matter. And I waive any fee for this day's work. But ask the question of the Guild that I gave you before you decide my fate, or what you should do next. And if I can serve you again, I will.'
There was another long silence. ‘From outside?’ Menedrion said, eventually.
'Yes, sir,’ Antyr replied.
Menedrion's brow furrowed and he shook his head as if to dispel too many conflicting ideas. ‘How can you know that this … dream … wasn't from somewhere inside, some strange disturbance of the mind?'
Antyr in his turn shook his head, but with the confidence of a man certain in his resolution. ‘How do you know when to commit your forces in battle, sir?’ Antyr replied. ‘You do it when your head and your stomach tell you, and they know through years of study and experience. So I know. But where a battle decision is subtle and difficult, and fraught with hazard, this is as clear to me as knowing that I'm here now and not out in the fog. And…’ He stopped.
'And?’ Menedrion demanded.
Antyr took a deep breath. ‘And I've felt a similar assault … a presence … in the dream of another before…'
'Who? When?’ Menedrion leaned forward, his eyes wide. ‘What happened?'
'I can't tell you who, sir, or what happened,’ Antyr replied nervously. ‘Not without the dreamer's permission. Their secrets are as sound with me as are yours. But it was very recent.’ Then, anxious to deflect Menedrion's curiosity, ‘And I too have been … sought out by some strange … power. I was about to seek the help of another Dream Finder when your men found me at the Guild House.'
Menedrion put his hand to his head. Trust and angry doubt distorted his features. ‘I don't know,’ he said after a while. ‘You seem honest enough. And I'm no bad judge of men usually. But all this is beyond me…’ He clenched his fist and looked at it as if wishing to see a sword there and a problem that it could solve.
'You mentioned farriers and fletchers, sir,’ Antyr said. ‘You can judge their work by your own needs for what they make, but isn't the finding and casting of iron a mystery quite beyond you? And the choosing of woods and feathers?'
Menedrion looked at him suspiciously. His ownership of many of the city's workshops and forges was an object of some cautious superciliousness by certain factions of the court. However, he sensed no subtle insult. ‘That's not the same,’ he said, flatly.
'It's exactly the same,’ Antyr risked. ‘Judge me by my deeds so far. You can inquire of others afterwards, and I'm powerless before you.'
Menedrion did not answer.
'Tell me about the dream you had that sent you looking for me, sir,’ Antyr said, picking up the chair he had been using, and forcing himself to relax. ‘You said it was the same place, and the same enemy … and that someone possessed you.'
Still Menedrion did not speak.
'Sir?’ Antyr prompted. ‘Do you want me to leave?'
Menedrion scowled. ‘What will happen when I sleep again?’ he asked unexpectedly.
Despite himself, Antyr grimaced. Menedrion had voiced the concern that had been hovering on the edges of his own thoughts.
'I don't know, sir,’ he answered immediately and straightforwardly. Then, more insistently, ‘But tell me about the dream that's disturbed you and why you sent for me instead of one of the more … popular … Dream Finders who tend courtiers, Senedwrs and the like.'
'Your name was given to me by my mother,’ Menedrion said irritably, annoyed at being distracted from his main anxiety. ‘What relevance is that?’ he added, though in a tone that suggested he wanted no answer.
Nefron!
It was not, as Menedrion had said, of any relevance to their present problem, but to Antyr it was a matter for some alarm, and he recoiled inwardly from the revelation, as he felt himself take an inadvertent step into the treacherous marshland of palace politics.
No one at the palace knew him-even the porter at the Guild House didn't know him! No one except those few who had been involved in his visit to the Duke. His name could only have come to her attention through one of these, who must be among the Duke's chosen. He felt chilled at the thought of his name being bandied about such politically charged circles. Another loose piece to be discarded when the play was over!
For a moment the fear of the very real dangers that faced casual players in Serenstad's political life set aside the darker mysteries that were waiting in the shadow lands of sleep.
'Forget it!’ Tarrian said, sharply, jolting him back to the present. ‘The danger there is only for those who threaten others. Concentrate on the matter in hand, that's far more serious.'
'The dream, sir,’ Antyr persisted, accepting Tarrian's advice. Another military analogy occurred to him. ‘I must have intelligence about our enemy if I'm to decide what to do.'
Menedrion grunted, then, a little self-consciously, he retold the tale he had told to his mother a few hours earlier, neglecting the assault on the girl. When he had finished, he looked at Antyr.
'And can I sleep tonight?’ he asked again.
Antyr pondered what Menedrion had told him, but it gave him no insight. Rather, it raised more questions and uncertainties. He felt his feet reach the end of the road and an abyss open up in front of him. ‘I still don't know, sir,’ he said. ‘I see two choices. Tarrian and I can stay and watch over you tonight, or I can seek out the other Dream Finder I mentioned.'
Menedrion frowned. ‘What prevents you doing both?’ he asked.
'Nyriall lives in the Moras district,’ Antyr replied.
Menedrion's frown deepened and he looked Antyr up and down. ‘You're precious little advertisement for your trade, yourself, Antyr,’ he said. ‘Now you tell me that this person you need advice from isn't some senior Guildsman, but someone even more impoverished than you!'
Antyr's temper flared abruptly. ‘When you go into battle do you use a ceremonial sword, sir? Embossed, engraved, inlaid, beautified-useless? Or do you choose a simple well-balanced one that will hold its edge?'
Menedrion sat up and glared at him. ‘Curb your insolence, Dream Finder,’ he said angrily. But he answered the question. ‘I use a sword I've used before. One I know I can rely on.’ And he went no further with his rebuke. Nor did Antyr apologize.
Menedrion stood up purposefully. ‘You'll have to stay here, then,’ he said. ‘Though it's damned inconvenient. I had … plans … for tonight. Still, you can't go wandering round the Moras at this time, especially with the fog coming down again. And I'm not sending an escort in, it'd start a riot for sure.’ He banged his fist into his hand and swore in frustration.
'We needn't disturb your plans, sir,’ Antyr said helpfully. ‘We don't need to be in the same chamber, just nearby will suffice. And we can't begin our watch until you're asleep anyway.'
This seemed to mollify Menedrion to some extent, but a knocking on the door forestalled any further debate.
'Come in,’ he shouted.
The door opened to reveal the woman who had escorted Antyr through the palace. She beckoned Menedrion forward and there was a brief whispered conversation.
When it was finished, the woman left and Menedrion turned to Antyr, frowning. ‘Come with me. I'll find a servant to look after you,’ he said. ‘An urgent matter has arisen.'