I told Tezdal of all my dreams, and those Rwyan had known. I told him all I knew of the dragons (little enough, that), and of Urt’s dreams. I told him of the pattern. I told him of the crystal Urt had brought us, and all we’d learned from that stone.
And as I spoke, I came to a kind of belief. It was tainted with doubt (all the time there was a skeptical voice inside my skull, whispering in my ear that this was only phantasmagoria; the last, wild imaginings of folk condemned to inevitable death), but through that doubt I saw a spark of hope. I could not forget how vivid those dreams had been, and it seemed to me my words kindled the flame. I wondered if I went mad.
When I was done, Tezdal rose and brought the decanter to the table. He filled Rwyan’s cup and mine, then his own. He drank deep and looked me in the eye.
“Do you believe this?” he asked.
I hesitated before I shrugged and said, “I cannot say you aye, only that it seems mightily strange.” I could not, then, meet Rwyan’s gaze.
He looked to her and asked the same question.
She nodded. “I do.”
Tezdal emptied the cup. “Then tell me what it means.” Rwyan said, “I cannot give clear answer. I can only tell you I believe we none of us need die; that there’s hope.”
“Of what?” he demanded. “How?”
Rwyan smiled. “Of intervention. Of some power beyond our understanding that offers us escape. From death and from war-some hope of a future without this conflict that binds us all to its bloody cause. A hope of peace. Between your people and mine; between we Dhar and the Changed. Hope of a different world; perhaps a better world.”
For a long time Tezdal stared at her. I had the feeling then that our future hung suspended on a fragile thread of belief in creatures of legend. Creatures likely long gone into the mists of time. Dead and forgotten by all save we Storymen.
Yet still there were the dreams; so vivid, so real, I felt the flame of my burgeoning hope surge fiercer. I felt, somehow, that to doubt was to betray that power that came to me in sleep, that I could not-nor should-turn my back on those great eyes that judged and offered hope.
I heard Rwyan say, “Daviot first sowed these seeds in my mind. I did not believe him then; I do now. I believe there is some pattern woven between we four. Between him and me, and you, and Urt. I believe we are summoned to change our world.”
She took my hand as she spoke, and smiled at me, and I felt horribly ashamed that I had doubted her.
Tezdal said, “By dragons?”
Rwyan went on smiling as she shrugged. “Perhaps the gods work their will through dragons. I cannot say-I’d not assume to interpret such commands. But this I tell you-that I believe we’ve hope. And do we ignore what these dreams have told us, we betray a greater cause than any held by Ahn or Dhar or Changed.”
Tezdal studied her face awhile. His own was a kaleidoscope of emotions. What mine showed, I cannot say: confusion, I suppose, or hope-for her voice was a clarion calling me to a victory in which I could hardly dare trust, but neither ignore.
Tezdal asked, “Then what shall I do?”
I saw the beginnings of belief on his face; I heard hope in his voice. I heard Rwyan say, “First, find some means to speak with Urt. Delay Allanyn. Dream again-I believe the answer shall come. Stand ready when it does.”
He studied her for long moments, intently as if he’d draw his answers from her sightless gaze. She faced him calm, her lovely face resolute. Then he ducked his head, that simple motion somehow become a formal admission, and said, “I shall. But best this promised answer come soon-I think neither Allanyn nor my brothers shall allow you too much more time.”
Rwyan stood and took his hands. “Only believe, Tezdal, and perhaps well find the way to change this world.”
He smiled, and gave us both a formal bow, and went out the door. I looked to Rwyan and asked her, “Do you truly believe all this?”
She said, “Yes,” and kissed me. And asked, “Do you not?”
I could only sigh and shrug: I’d not her faith, then. I thought I’d spun out yarns of fancy, the weavings of a young man’s imagination, and she caught in them, like a netted fish that swims hither and yon, not seeing the skeins that drift ever closer until finally they close and mesh the catch firm, until it dies.
I should have trusted her better. She was ever wiser than I.
No word had come from either Urt or Tezdal; but neither had we been summoned by the Raethe or Allanyn appeared to gloat. That last I considered a favorable sign that Tezdal had succeeded in delaying her, and therefore came to believe truly in Rwyan’s prognostications. Or perhaps he had only endeavored to save the lives of two friends. Or perhaps he had taken the Way of Honor and was given whatever funerary rites were the Kho’rabi custom, of which none thought to inform two Dhar prisoners.
I had little appetite that night, either for the food served us or for Rwyan. I held her and we made love, but my mind was ever on the morrow and what it should likely bring. I felt lost.
And when the dream came, both stranger than before and clearer, it slung me further into confusion. It was as though some message came to me, but writ in language I must struggle to comprehend.
I sat atop some craggy peak, all jagged stone that thrust stark fingers at a darkened sky. Cloud hid the land below, and a fierce wind stabbed my naked skin. I looked about, thinking to find companions-Rwyan, Urt, and Tezdal-but there were none: I was alone.
Then thunder filled the air, and all around me settled vast forms, not quite distinguishable, but misty, impressions of wide wings and fangs and claws. I cowered under the observation of eyes that studied me with an alien passion. It was as if I stood under the gaze of gods, their interests greater than a mere man’s, and born of other concerns, higher and unknowable.
I felt afraid: I knelt.
And into my mind came a question: Why do you fear us?
I answered, “Are you truly real?”
And the voice said, We are real You called us; now we call you. Shall you answer, or shall you die?
I said, “I’d not die.”
And the voice said, Then have faith. You called us. We heard you then, and now we answer you. Believe!
I said, “And do I? Shall you save us, all of us?”
And the voice said, Those who believe, aye. They are chosen, and those we shall save.
I asked, “Are you gods, then?”
And the voice belled laughter that blew me down, my hands raised to protect my ears, and said, Not gods. But your salvation, do you believe.
I said, “Give me a sign then.”
And the voice said, You are the sign, Daviot. And Rwyan; Urt and Tezdal. Call us, and we come. We are salvation.
I said, “Then come. Take us out of this place.” And the voice said, So be it. But shall you pay the price? I said, “What price?”
And the voice gave me back, Life over death.
I said, “Yes. Only save Rwyan, and whatever price you name I’ll pay.”
And the voice answered me, Stand ready.
The wings spread then, hiding the sky, and from all those glowing eyes I felt a promise, a pledge of absolute certainty, even as I was beaten down by the thunder and cowered beneath that terrible wind as my ears were dinned with shrieks of triumph, as if all the wolves in the world howled in unison.
I woke filled in a manner I cannot properly describe with confidence. It was like the cessation of an illness, the abatement of fever: when you fall asleep sweat-drenched and troubled and wake cool, knowing the sickness gone. I felt I had made a decision. The burgeoning dawn seemed somehow brighter. I smiled.
Beside me, Rwyan stirred. I stroked her cheek and her eyes opened. She “looked” at me and smiled. “You dreamed,” she said, and it was not a question, but confirmation that we shared this thing.