‘Yes, the sword,’ Andawyr mused. ‘Strange I should think of that after all this time.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘Using my dreams to fulfil my wishes, that’s all.’
‘It’s very special, then?’ Antyr asked.
‘Oh yes. Very special. I don’t have a great many regrets in my life, but one of them is that I didn’t take the opportunity to study it further while it was here.’ Andawyr shrugged. ‘Still, we weren’t then what we are now, we’d probably not have learned much from it. Not to mention the fact that we’d a good many other things to occupy us at the time.’ He became dismissive. ‘It’s probably come to mind because I’ve been thinking about Hawklan so much today. I can’t see that it’s of any particular relevance to what happened.’
‘Tarrian thinks it is, and if you feel at all reluctant to talk about it then that’s even more reason why we should.’
A spasm of irritation passed over Andawyr’s face, though whether in annoyance at himself or at his interrogator, Antyr could not hazard.
‘You’re right,’ he said after an uncomfortable pause which he ended by fiddling with his pillow again. ‘It’s hard to know what to say about it. It was Hawklan’s sword when he fought in one of the great battles of the First Coming.’ His hand was reaching out to forestall Antyr’s startled question even before he had finished speaking. ‘There’s no point in asking,’ he said. ‘We’ve no idea how Hawklan – or some aspect of him – could be both in that time and here with us now. No idea at all. Nor has he. But it is so. Indisputably so, as far as we can tell. There are many mysteries from that time. Although I’ll admit that could well be the greatest.’ He stopped abruptly as the difficulties of this long-debated problem threatened to rehearse themselves again, then he pressed on quickly. ‘For now, let’s concentrate on our own particular mystery. As I said, the sword was, and is again, Hawklan’s, though after he was lost in that awful battle Ethriss took it for his own and reforged it. Hawklan found it this time in the Armoury of Anderras Darion. Or rather, it found him. It literally fell at his feet from a heap of weapons. Drawn to him, almost. No one knew what it was at the time, still less how it came to be there. When we realized what it was, the presumption was that Ethriss had left it there – he went unarmed to the Last Battle, definitely – but no one really knows.’
Antyr’s mind was full of questions about Hawklan but Andawyr’s manner had indicated unequivocally that he did not wish to pursue that subject. He forced his attention back to the dream.
‘So this sword is special because of its association with Ethriss – it’s a symbol of former victory?’ he posited. ‘A rallying point, like a battle flag.’
‘No,’ Andawyr said simply. ‘It’s special because it’s special. In its own right. It’s a very unusual artefact. It’s something like… a focus… a concentration of the Power itself. It’s not easy to explain. In fact, it’s not possible to explain.’ He held up two clenched and quivering fists like a petulant schoolboy. ‘I just wish I could have hold of it again.’
‘What happened to it?’
The clenched fists wilted. Andawyr looked down at them sadly. ‘Hawklan dropped it into Lake Kedrieth when Sumeral confronted him.Dropped it.’ There was reproach in his voice.
‘Hardly surprising under the circumstances,’ Oslang said sternly, offering a reproach of his own.
Andawyr recanted hastily. ‘No, of course not. Still…’ His face became thoughtful. ‘He only ever spoke about that time once – to me, anyway. I remember him saying it fell and it fell, through the darkness, until it landed with a great ringing sound. I’ve no idea why I didn’t ask him what he meant.’
‘As I recall you and the others telling me, there were a lot of strange noises at the time, to put it mildly,’ Oslang said. ‘What with Sumeral’s passing and Derras Ustramel being destroyed.’
‘True,’ Andawyr conceded. ‘But this was before all that. And he was quite clear about it. It fell and it fell through the darkness until it landed with a great ringing sound. What a strange statement. It didn’t just splash into the Lake as it fell off the causeway. More mysteries. And why have I hardly bothered to think about it since?’
‘You have,’ Oslang retorted sourly. ‘Or have you forgotten delegating to me the job of organizing those High Guards to search for it?’ He turned to Antyr as though to an ally of long standing. ‘Weeks we were there. In the very bowels of Narsindal.’ He shivered massively. ‘It’s a wonder I didn’t throw all this up and go back to the family farm afterwards, I can tell you. As for those poor young men, doing their damnedest – dredging, trawling, even diving into that awful lake – diving, for pity’s sake. Some of them were so ill. You can’t imagine how dreadful it was. Blighted doesn’t begin to describe the place. Do you know…’
‘Yes, yes,’ Andawyr intervened heatedly. ‘I do recall it. And I also recall apologizing for it at great length thereafter. And several times.’ The two men eyed one another silently until Andawyr established a truce with a final schoolboy flourish. ‘Even so, I still wish I had the sword now. We must make a point of talking to Hawklan about it when we get to Anderras Darion.’
‘All of which isn’t bringing us any nearer to finding out what happened in your dream,’ Antyr said as tactfully as he could, in case Oslang decided to continue the old spat. ‘Whatever became of the sword, it is definitely lost?’ he inquired of them both.
Cursory nods confirmed his conclusion, though both men seemed to be preoccupied.
‘Then I am, too,’ Antyr declared. ‘Although I have the impression that this weapon’s more important to you than you’re prepared to concede at the moment, whether you know it or not. That might perhaps account for the unusual sensations I experienced as you made to touch it, though that doesn’t feel like an adequate explanation. And it still doesn’t account for the sudden danger.’
He glanced towards the symbols glowing softly on the panel by the door. ‘If that… Beacon thing… that machine, whatever it is, truly isn’t faulty, then why did it do what it did? And why were you surprised that it had only set off a few others in the corridor?’ He addressed this last question to Oslang.
There was a long silence and Oslang’s tone was sober when he eventually spoke.
‘The Beacons aren’t machines, Antyr. At least, not as I imagine you’d normally conceive a machine. In many ways they’re more a great store of knowledge – our knowledge, accumulated over the years. They’re all linked together, continually testing for… inappropriate… uses of the Power throughout the Cadwanen. They don’t exactly think, but it’s almost as if they did, the way they check and double-check each other constantly to provide many overlapping and different layers of defence and protection. You have to understand that they were designed to protect us against an enemy of both great cunning and great ability and that they’re very sophisticated devices. More so now than ever before. What that one signalled was a threat of the first order – a serious and unexpected use – abuse – of the Power. For such a thing to happen under normal circumstances, we’d have expected a major incursion of some kind, with Warnings sounding all over the Cadwanen. To just activate spontaneously like that really makes no sense.’
There was another long silence. ‘You’re trying to tell me that what happened was actually impossible,’ Antyr offered tentatively.
‘Yes, damn it, he is,’ Andawyr said, this time unequivocally angry. He swung off the bed. ‘Quite impossible. Let’s get out of here, I need to think properly. Oslang, take Antyr to my study. I’ll join you there shortly when I’ve washed and changed.’
‘Do you want me?’ It was Yatsu.
Andawyr looked at him and his grim expression softened into a smile. ‘Ah, the ever-patient, ever-watching Goraidin. Our silent Beacon out in the world. Where would we be without you? I’d forgotten you were here, Yatsu, I’m sorry. Thanks for what you’ve done tonight. I suspect you saved lives, keeping Oslang in his seat and our vigilant Brothers out of the room. You’re welcome to join us if you wish, but it’ll just be endless talk. There’ll be no more “experiments” tonight, you can rest assured.’
Yatsu bowed. ‘You don’t think you’ll need me to keep you two apart?’ He nodded towards Oslang.
‘I have the feeling that Antyr can cope with that,’ Andawyr replied.
Yatsu smiled. ‘Then I’ll leave you. It’s been a long day.’
Andawyr’s study was only a little way from his bedroom, but on the way to it Oslang and Antyr passed quite a few people apparently engaged on urgent, if discreet, errands. Though they received nothing but quiet, passing greetings, Antyr gained the distinct impression that they were attracting a great deal of attention.
Oslang gave him a weary look. ‘It’s going to be pandemonium tomorrow,’ he said. ‘One of the disadvantages of encouraging so many clever and irredeemably curious people to become even cleverer and more curious is that they do.’
His hangdog manner drew a laugh followed by an insincere apology from Antyr.
When they entered Andawyr’s study, lights came on to reveal a room that was markedly different from his bedroom. It bristled with quiet efficiency. Two walls were lined with simple, elegant shelves stacked with books and scrolls. All of these were set out in a neat and orderly fashion and were clearly labelled. They complemented several sets of drawers of various sizes that in their turn were also carefully labelled. A series of small tables served as satellites to a large one in the centre of the room, and there were two decorated panels that Antyr now knew to be mirror stone windows.
‘Different, isn’t it?’ Oslang said, correctly interpreting Antyr’s hesitation and his surprised expression.
‘It is indeed,’ Antyr replied.
Tarrian and Grayle pushed past them to make their own detailed examination of the room.
‘There is a reason for this,’ Oslang went on, confidentially. ‘When Andawyr says that tidiness isn’t his strong point, it really is a gross understatement.’ Oslang tapped his temple. ‘In here there are thoughts as sharp as crystals, lines of logic straighter than the horizon at sea, a childlike clarity of vision, and leaps of intuition for which the word inspired is also an understatement. But out here…’ He shook his head. ‘He’s a disaster. So this place is in the nature of a compromise. It’s his and, for the most part, his alone, but we…’ He tapped his chest. ‘Keep it – and the records of his work – tidy and in good order. It causes a little friction from time to time, but on the whole it works.’
‘Compromise?’ Antyr queried.
‘The compromise is that he lets us keep the place – and him – in some semblance of order and, in return, we feed him.’
‘Oh, that kind of a compromise,’ Antyr laughed, taken again by Oslang’s quietly acid manner. ‘I’m familiar with the idea. It’s what I would call doing as I’m told.’ This time Oslang laughed, a deep, restrained affair that nevertheless lit up his face. He ushered Antyr to a seat at the large table.
‘Speaking of which,’ Antyr finally voiced the question that had occurred to him several times since his first meeting with Andawyr. ‘Who does tell anyone what to do around here?’
Oslang gave him a puzzled look, obliging him to stumble on awkwardly.
‘There seems to be an almost total absence of formal authority here. Andawyr is described as the Leader, and you are the Under Leader, yet you wear no special clothes or insignia. Andawyr’s living quarters seem to be no different from anyone else’s, at least from the outside. He eats in a public refectory. You’re both spoken to by the likes of Ar-Billan and Usche – your juniors in every sense – as casually, as openly as…’ He paused.
‘As you and I are talking now?’ Oslang prompted. ‘As equals.’
‘Well, yes,’ Antyr agreed.
‘Does this disturb you?’
‘No,’ Antyr said without hesitation, though his tone gave the contrary answer. ‘Quite the opposite… I think. It’s just that I find it very unusual. Where I come from – particularly in the palaces of the rich and powerful – it’s quite the reverse. People know their places and everyone else’s and have due regard for them. Respect for those in authority is conspicuous.’
Oslang looked at him narrowly. ‘I think you mean that a show of respect to those with power is conspicuous, don’t you? That people behave in ways that best serve their own ends – be it survival against the arbitrary abuse of authority by others, or the gaining of that authority for themselves – ambition.’
‘I suppose I do,’ Antyr agreed reluctantly after some thought. ‘That’s quite often the case. But not always. There are some in authority who are both feared and quite genuinely respected.’
‘But only some.’
Antyr began to flounder. ‘Yes… but… I didn’t mean to criticize the way you do things here…’
Oslang smiled. ‘I’m just teasing you a little,’ he said. ‘Something of a risk with a guest, but my feeling was that you’d take it in good part.’ Before Antyr could in fact respond, Oslang edged his chair a little closer and became instructive. ‘I’m at far greater risk of sounding smug when I tell you about us, because it was an interesting question. There is authority here, of course. A pecking order’s inevitable whenever there’s more than one person present – it’s the nature of the creatures we are. But, on the whole, it’s not a rigid thing and we manage to avoid the worst excesses of the pack.’ Tarrian’s ears went up. Abruptly, Oslang was earnest. ‘We were created by Ethriss to acquire knowledge – and perhaps wisdom – so that it could be brought to bear against a terrible enemy. But he also told us to go beyond – to search forever – because our greatest enemy will always be ignorance – ignorance of ourselves, ignorance of the world around us. So that’s what we do – what we’ve always done, with varying degrees of success. We accumulate knowledge both for its practical value and its own sake – for the beauty and wonder we find there. We set great faith in reason – in open inquiry – truth seeking – testing by both argument and experiment – testing ruthlessly.’
He raised a finger to forestall a question from Antyr. ‘And in this search we despise no source of knowledge. Insight comes from the strangest of places. Andawyr will listen to a stable-hand as keenly as he would to me or any of the other senior Brothers. Sometimes the least word can change a perspective completely – shine an unexpected light into the darkness – sometimes a darkness you didn’t even know was there. And anyone who joins us has to learn that from the outset. We try to minimize the more corrosive effects of our personal vanities with honesty and trust. Not that it’s always possible by any means – it’s no easy lesson to learn. We’re still pack animals at heart and more than a little fallible. But on the whole we aspire to be a community of self-sufficient, co-operating individuals and the authority that any of us holds has strong roots in both ability and general consent. It helps, of course, that it’s an exciting time with many new things happening and plenty for everyone to do both here and out in the world. I suppose what you might call the “government” of this place is both structured and unstructured. Structured in that each of us, of course, has specific responsibilities and must account for any failure to fulfil them. Unstructured in that everyone also accepts responsibility for the whole.’ He chuckled. ‘Andawyr, for example, will do more than just chat to stable-hands. If the stable needs cleaning and everyone else is better employed, he’ll clean it himself.’
‘That’s a metaphor, I presume,’ Antyr said.
‘Absolutely not,’ Oslang laughed. ‘How do you think his robe gets in such a mess?’
Antyr’s eyes widened. ‘I can’t imagine the Duke of Serenstad cleaning the stables, still less some of his officers. Then again, when he was younger, he was always at the forefront of the battle. At least in war he wouldn’t ask of others what he wasn’t prepared to do himself.’
‘And they followed him loyally as a result?’ Oslang said.
‘Many did, for sure,’ Antyr replied. ‘But his rule of the city was far from the triumph of reason and logic you seem to have here. Conspiracy and plotting were the norm, with endless different factions jostling for power.’
Oslang laughed again. ‘That was just because I said it all very quickly. I wouldn’t call it a triumph by any means. It’s pretty good, but we’re not without a fair amount of downright inefficiency, and some of the petty squabbling and rivalry that goes on between ostensibly rational adults wouldn’t be tolerated in a schoolyard, believe me. As for power, there you have it. What is power over others? I order you to do something, you refuse, so by superior strength or the threat of it, I force you to. But then, having set the rules, as it were, I’ve constantly to be on my guard that someone won’t do the same to me. That’s how it goes, isn’t it?’
Antyr frowned. ‘Yes, but it works well enough, especially when your superior strength allows you to kill me with impunity.’
Oslang’s face became serious. ‘Yes indeed. I apologize. I didn’t mean to trivialize what you said. Ethriss knows, we above all understand it’s a fundamental mistake to imagine that violence solves nothing. Indeed, it’s perhaps because we have such a frightening measure of the power that can be made available for the terrorizing – the destroying – of others that we set such store by our way.’
‘Aha. By your solemn faces I see you’ve been putting the world to rights in my absence.’ It was Andawyr. He sat down next to Antyr and clapped his hands jovially.
‘And who better to do it?’ Oslang said emphatically, relaxing back into his chair. ‘We were just coming to defining the purpose of humanity.’
Andawyr made a disparaging face. ‘Oh, an easy one, eh? Our purpose – the purpose of humanity – is to discover all the secrets of the universe, and to find out both where we came from and where we’re going to. Next question!’
Antyr risked entering into the spirit of their exchange. ‘And will we do it?’ he asked.
Andawyr’s reply was unexpectedly serious. ‘Oh yes,’ he said with a calm smile. ‘Without a doubt. It may take some time, though.’
A scornful sound, not dissimilar to a raspberry, filled the minds of Antyr and Andawyr. It came from the two wolves. Grayle had his head on his paws and was staring at them, Tarrian was scratching himself vigorously.
‘Would you like to join in the debate?’ Andawyr asked caustically.
‘You’re not ready for it yet,’ Tarrian replied. ‘Carry on. We’ll join in as soon as you’ve something interesting to say.’
Antyr gave a disclaiming shrug.
‘Well, it’s another perspective, I suppose,’ Andawyr said, looking at the wolves enigmatically. Then he took Antyr’s arm. ‘Are you fully recovered?’ he asked. ‘No after-effects of any kind?’
‘No, none at all. And you?’
‘Still puzzled, that’s all. And concerned.’ He leaned his chair perilously backwards and reached out to take some papers from a nearby chest of drawers. Dropping them on the table he rifled into his gown and finally produced a pen. He began doodling idly.
‘A first-order Warning set off, Oslang. Highly localized. Your initial thoughts.’
Oslang drummed his fingers on the table. ‘First and last thoughts, I’m afraid – none,’ he replied. Andawyr continued to look at him expectantly. Apparently cornered by this, Oslang gave a noisy sigh. ‘I’d have thought it impossible,’ he said. ‘But I saw and heard it, therefore it isn’t. So I’d have to say that it was a very unlikely event – low probability. But even then, I’m not sure where to start looking.’
‘To find an unlikely event, look in an unlikely place, presumably. Your thoughts, Antyr.’
The suddenness of the question startled Antyr. ‘I’ve no idea.’ The words blustered out. ‘I told you. It was mainly reflexes that brought us back. There was precious little conscious thought. But it makes no more sense to me than it seems to do for you. Nothing was unusual about the dream other than the absence of the control you normally have – hardly a disturbing thing in itself. Tarrian and Grayle have found nothing untoward or they’d have told me by now. Whatever it was, it came out of nowhere and without any warning, and my feeling – and that’s all it is – is that it was associated with that sword.’
Andawyr nodded, but, as he had with Oslang, kept on looking at Antyr as if expecting more. Antyr dithered. He pointed to the Beacon symbols by the door. ‘Just how do those things work? Exactly what is it they detect?’ he asked.
Andawyr followed his gaze thoughtfully, then turned back to him. He did not address the question, however. ‘You’re here, in this strange place, so far from your own land, because you’re no ordinary Dream Finder, are you? You told us that somehow you’d been able to move to worlds that were as real as this but different from it.’
‘Yes.’
‘What control do you have over this ability?’
‘None that I’m aware of. I suppose that’s one of the reasons I’m here.’ He glanced at Oslang. ‘My ignorance burdens me.’
‘Why?’
Again Andawyr’s question startled Antyr, though the Cadwanwr did not wait for an answer. ‘Why shouldn’t this ability be a source of excitement and liberation to you? An opportunity to explore realms that few others can even dream of, let alone travel to.’
Antyr was shaking his head. ‘You don’t understand. There’s a subtle feeling of wrongness about being in another world.’ He stopped. ‘No, that’s not correct. There was a subtle feeling of wrongness about me when I was in another world. A feeling of… inadequacy… inappropriateness. This gift, if gift it is, and however it came to me, was – presumably still is – substantially beyond my control. I didn’t know what I was doing. What I did I did by instinct. I was parted from my Earth Holders. They were hunting through a realm that was separate from me – somewhere between the worlds. For all I know I could’ve been lost in one of those worlds for ever – my body here perhaps neither dead nor alive.’ He shuddered as fears he had not experienced for a long time returned to him. ‘I’d forgotten how awful it was. And, too, in those worlds there was a deep feeling of intruding, of my presence having consequences that I couldn’t see.’
Andawyr’s eyes reflected his pain. ‘And now my ignorance burdens you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been worse than thoughtless. I was so intrigued by your story that I’ve behaved appallingly. After such a journey, the least you were entitled to was a little time doing nothing. And there I go, imposing on you. Dragging you into my dreams, of all places. Now questioning you into the deep hours of the night.’ He brushed the papers to one side and slapped the table. ‘The Beacons are all quiet. Nothing untoward’s happening. I can’t apologize too abjectly for my disgraceful conduct. Get off to your bed and some rest. Tomorrow you can lounge in it all day or wander about to your heart’s content. We can talk about all this some other time, whenever you feel like it.’
He made to stand up, but Antyr stopped. ‘No. I am tired, but I doubt I’d be able to sleep after what’s happened. I’d rather talk for the time being.’ He looked at Andawyr shrewdly. ‘Why didn’t you answer my question about the Beacons? That’s the second one you’ve avoided.’
This time it was Andawyr who was startled. He fidgeted with the papers for a moment and threw a quick glance at the Beacon before replying. ‘You’re right. I was going to say that I was distracted, but I think that might be a lie – a conversational sop. The truth is, I’m not sure why I didn’t answer your question.’ He frowned. ‘There’s nothing about the way the Beacons work that needs to be hidden from common knowledge.’
‘Perhaps the other place to look for an unlikely event is under our noses,’ Oslang said.
Andawyr nodded. ‘Indeed, we should know that by now, shouldn’t we?’
He went over to the Beacon, motioning the others to follow him. Humming quietly to himself he touched the panel. Antyr let out an incongruous, ‘Oh!’ as the panel and a section of the wall around it became alive with symbols and numbers. Tarrian and Grayle wandered over to see what was happening.
For several minutes Andawyr and Oslang studied the panel intently. Occasionally one of them would touch one of the symbols, bringing about a cascade of change amongst the others. Finally Antyr could not restrain himself. ‘What does all that mean?’ he asked.
Andawyr puffed out his cheeks. ‘I’m not avoiding your question this time, Antyr, truly, but I can’t begin to explain this to you. You just don’t know enough.’
‘I think I’m in the same position,’ Oslang said, resting a finger on a long string of figures and shaking his head in bewilderment. ‘These seem to confirm our original conclusion.’
‘That what happened was impossible?’
Oslang muttered something under his breath that made Andawyr raise his eyebrows and click his tongue censoriously.
‘Oslang’s a student of some very interesting old languages,’ he said to Antyr by way of explanation. Oslang coloured and cleared his throat.
‘We’re just going to have to study these at leisure and in great detail,’ he said, ignoring Andawyr’s amusement. ‘There are anomalies – paradoxes – in these figures that simply shouldn’t be there. It’s almost as if…’
Andawyr caught his arm and turned quickly to Antyr. ‘Your question,’ he said. ‘What do the Beacons detect? Oslang touched on it before. They detect uses of the Power that are either from other than one of us, or directed to some divergent – destructive – end. They do nothing that we can’t do as individuals, but they do it better, continuously, thoroughly – without flagging and with great sensitivity and accuracy. Under our noses, Oslang. Under our noses. That’s where it is, I can smell it.’ He jabbed a finger towards the panel. ‘For an instant there must have been a source of the Power here. A considerable source.’
‘But you and I would have felt something that was strong enough to cause such a Warning.’
‘Not if that instant was very short.’
‘Veryshort,’ Oslang confirmed.
‘Perhaps even between the moments,’ Andawyr said, looking at him significantly.
Oslang straightened up and returned his gaze with a challenging one of his own. He made two attempts at starting before he finally managed to speak. ‘That is highly conjectural, to say the least. But even if I allow it – which I don’t – it still leaves us with the problem of where such a manifestation could come from.’
‘It’s not that conjectural,’ Andawyr rebutted. ‘It’s just that you’re reluctant to accept the implications.’
‘Who wouldn’t be?’
‘Maybe, but that’s irrelevant, isn’t it? It wouldn’t be the first time everything we think we know has been upended.’
‘Just make your point.’
‘My point is that the only explanation or at least the best so far – is that Antyr, with his strange ability, which he admits he cannot control, reached out and brought into this world, for that moment between the moments, Hawklan’s sword.’
Oslang shook his head, not in denial, but as if to clear it. ‘Too fast, too fast. Too many unfounded leaps.’ He grimaced guiltily and gave Antyr an apologetic glance. ‘We don’t know what Antyr’s ability is. What he’s experienced isn’t necessarily what he thinks he’s experienced. We need to talk with him at length. We…’
‘We need to take it at face value for the moment,’ Andawyr interrupted. ‘We already have some interesting hard facts from Yatsu and Jaldaric, and even from this evening’s limited exercise I can tell you that Antyr has an ability that’s…’ He gesticulated wildly. ‘At right angles to every direction we know.’ He became excited. ‘Antyr, is it possible…’
He stopped.
Antyr, eyes closed, was swaying unsteadily.
Tarrian and Grayle moved menacingly to his side.