Dream Finder Read online

  Kany sidled over to the book and peered at it, his nose twitching. ‘And?’ he asked.

  ‘Master of the monosyllable, this one,’ Tarrian muttered, prompting another prod from Antyr’s foot.

  ‘I was visited by such an apparition last night,’ Antyr said bluntly. ‘And separated from the protection of my Companion.’

  Pandra’s eyes widened in disbelief and then alarm. He drew in a noisy, shocked breath. Kany made a strange, high, whistling sound.

  ‘Separated? What do you mean? What happened?’ the old man managed, after a moment, his face full of concern.

  Briefly, Antyr told him, aware that Kany and Tarrian were communicating between themselves as he did.

  When he had finished, the dusty silence of the library seemed to close around the group. Pandra shook his head in dismay. ‘I’ve never heard the like,’ he said, eventually. ‘Never. How could such a thing be? If you weren’t a Dream Finder I’d say you’d been dreaming.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Antyr said. ‘That’s why we’re here. Floundering around. Searching for anything that might tell us what’s happening or what to do.’

  ‘It should be a matter for the Guild Council, I suppose,’ Pandra said, without conviction. ‘But it’s not what it was.’

  He pursed his lips and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. ‘Fees seem to be the only thing that they’re interested in these days. And anyway, I wouldn’t trust some of them to find the Duke’s palace on Viernce Liberation Day, let alone a dream. And as for dealing with this . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Kany, what do you think?’

  ‘I think I’m too old for this,’ the rabbit replied. ‘And so are you. I’ve heard Tarrian’s side, and it’s bad. Beyond anything we can help with. Take me home.’ There was a brief private communication between the two which ended with Pandra picking the rabbit up and placing him back in his pocket. He threw an appeal for understanding to Antyr.

  Antyr nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It was thoughtless of me to burden you with such a problem. Maybe I will take it to the Council, after all. They should know about it even if they don’t know what to do with it.’

  ‘They’ll either form a committee to look into it, or strike you off the roll for intemperance,’ Kany said unexpectedly.

  Antyr’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘I’m sorry, I had to do a little burrowing into you,’ Kany said sincerely, but in a tone of regretting the need rather than the deed. ‘But if it’s any consolation, the wolf’s right. What happened was none of your doing.’

  Antyr shot an angry glance at Tarrian who must have conspired in this intrusion, but his reproach was met with the same attitude. ‘Companion’s need,’ Tarrian said, almost tersely. ‘Who knows what danger we’re in. And we need all the help we can get.’ Adding privately, ‘He might be a bad-tempered old rodent, but he’s sharp, believe me.’

  Antyr heard the justice in Tarrian’s words but he still felt humiliated by this clandestine observation of his inner thoughts. ‘Damn you both,’ he said turning away. ‘You could have asked.’

  Kany chuckled darkly in the warm comfort of Pandra’s pocket. ‘Since when does a hunter tell the prey what’s going on?’ he said.

  ‘He means you’d have shut him out, Antyr,’ Tarrian interjected hastily, seeing Antyr’s jaw tighten. ‘It’s very difficult not to. Especially when you’re afraid.’

  Pandra reached across and laid a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t be angry,’ he said. ‘You know he’s right. Kany’s confirmed the reality of what happened. Something like that could have been an accidental coincidence of thoughts between you and Tarrian. A sort of unknowing mutual deception. I’ve heard of such things happening. Never actually met anyone to whom it’s happened, mind you, but . . .’

  Antyr put his hands to his head and closed his eyes. He had not even been aware of the faint, flickering hope that he now felt dying out, but its passing left him feeling starkly alone.

  And frightened.

  He stared into the shapeless colours that flitted behind his eyelids, and wished himself far away.

  ‘I need a drink,’ he said bitterly, only just overcoming an urge to sweep all the books off the table.

  ‘Have as many as you like,’ Kany said brutally. ‘Drink yourself into a stupor if you want, but you’re the focus of this problem and it won’t go away.’

  ‘How the hell do you know anything?’ Antyr said angrily.

  ‘I know because I’m old, like the wolf here,’ Kany snapped back, in like vein. ‘A damn sight older than you, I might add. And because I know most of my strengths and weaknesses.’

  ‘I know my weaknesses well enough,’ Antyr replied acidly. ‘As does everyone else in Serenstad judging from the amount of advice I’m given about them.’

  ‘I really am too old for you humans and your endless foolishness,’ Kany said wearily. His voice was suddenly quieter, but there was such restrained fury in his reply that Antyr quailed before it. ‘It’s your strengths you don’t know, not your weaknesses.’

  The rabbit’s words seemed to burn into Antyr’s head.

  ‘Strengths, Antyr,’ Kany repeated, more gently, and speaking privately to him. ‘Pandra here is a fine Dream Finder. One of the old school. Cares about his craft, cares about his clients, and me. I couldn’t wish for better. But you’re different. You’re far beyond him. I can tell that even without working with you. And Tarrian is beyond me. He keeps it from me but he must have been touched by humans of rare skill in his growing.’ He paused, puzzled. ‘And by something, someone, else . . . strange . . . subtle . . . but . . .’

  His voice drifted into silence.

  Antyr, still shaken by the unexpected power radiating from such an incongruous source, picked up his last word. ‘But what?’ he said in some despair. ‘I’m not aware of any strengths in myself. And if I were, what use is this strength if I can’t know how to use it?’

  Kany was silent and Antyr could feel his sense of impotence.

  ‘There’s old Nyriall, of course, perhaps he can help,’ said Pandra.

  Antyr felt Kany’s mood fill with self-reproach and then brighten. ‘Ah,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’m a useless old doe. I’m getting so forgetful. Of course, Nyriall. And he’s got a wolf for a Companion too. Or he used to have.’ He became ecstatic. ‘Yes, yes, that’s it. Go now. Go quickly. See Nyriall.’

  Antyr found himself standing up under the urgency of Kany’s appeal.

  ‘Where does he live?’ he asked in some bewilderment.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Kany said brusquely. ‘See that old fool of a porter. He’ll have it somewhere in one of his precious books. Go along. Hurry up.’

  Bustled out of the library by Kany’s urging, Antyr turned to Tarrian as they trotted up the stairs. ‘What are we doing, running about like this at the behest of a rabbit?’

  ‘I really can’t comment about a fellow Companion,’ Tarrian said, with dignity.

  ‘Yes. Unless they happen to be feline,’ Antyr replied with some amusement, finding an unexpected release in the simple physical activity of walking. ‘I noticed he had you jumping as well.’

  Tarrian glowered at him. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I just deferred to an older colleague as is fitting.’

  Antyr was still chuckling at Tarrian’s discomfiture as they crossed the wide hallway with a purposeful clatter.

  Reaching the main door, they found they had to wait through another of the porter’s rambling rituals after Antyr made his request for the address of Nyriall. First came the look over the eye glasses and then the scowl at this interruption to his duties. Next came an inquiry: ‘And what is the reason for wanting this address?’

  ‘Don’t take that,’ Tarrian said indignantly. ‘It’s none of his business, cheeky old devil.’

  ‘A Dream Finding matter,’ Antyr said diplomatically but firmly, returning to the porter a portion of his scowl.

  Then came another search through the book, even more leisurely than before, and finally there was a pai
nstaking search for paper, pen and ink and a writing down of the address. Throughout this Antyr managed to maintain a fixed smile, but as the porter finally began to wave the paper with exaggerated slowness in order to dry the ink, Tarrian put his forelegs on the counter and, craning forward, fixed him with a grim grey-eyed gaze.

  The porter thrust the paper into Antyr’s hand quickly and gave him a surly nod of dismissal.

  Antyr looked at the smudged writing as he moved to the door and his heart sank.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Tarrian asked.

  ‘Dream Finder Nyriall might find favour with our bumptious rabbit, but seemingly not with anyone else,’ Antyr replied. ‘He lives in the Moras district.’

  Before Tarrian could voice his opinion on this revelation, however, the main door opened and two soldiers entered. Antyr recognized the livery of the Duke’s bodyguard again and he stepped back to let them enter. As they passed him, he saw they wore the insignia of the eagle without the lamb. They were the guards seconded to Lord Menedrion.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Tarrian said as Antyr made to leave. ‘Let’s see how Happiness here treats the Duke’s men. I doubt they’ll be as patient as we were.’

  Tarrian’s prognostication was correct.

  ‘You,’ said the first man authoritatively, slapping his hand smartly on the counter.

  Antyr and Tarrian chuckled privately at the alacrity with which the porter stood up and, smiling sycophantically, began rubbing his hands together.

  The soldier eyed him coldly. ‘We’re looking for the Dream Finder Antyr. Where can we find him?’

  The porter’s eyes gleamed knowingly.

  Chapter 11

  Arwain was still soiled and sweating as he dismissed the messenger and walked towards the large stateroom that he had indicated.

  Already puzzled by the sudden summons from his father, Arwain’s curiosity was further heightened by being directed towards this particular room. It was not the one which the Duke normally used for day-to-day business matters, but one of several small halls which were generally used for private entertaining and minor state occasions, such as the presenting of an honour or the receiving of some petition or a work of art. Yet no such occasion had been planned for today as far as he knew.

  Two servants opened the double doors to admit him, at the same time releasing the considerable hubbub that was filling the room. Taken aback by the unexpected noise, Arwain hesitated, then stepped inside quickly.

  The room was very full. Looking around, he saw his father was at the far end, sitting in a large wooden chair richly inlaid with gold and decorated with engraved marble panels. From the top of it stared the glittering, watchful eyes of a great eagle.

  Indeed, so skilfully had the bird been carved and painted, that no matter where an observer stood in the room, its eyes would always seem to be staring at him. Significantly, its wings were raised slightly so that it might be either landing or just about to take flight after some prey. The detail that Arwain always appreciated, however, was in the carving of the talons, which had been done in such a way that they appeared to be crushing the wide, carved, top rail of the chair.

  Seated either side of the Duke were Ciarll Feranc and Aaken Uhr Candessa, the one very still, the other fidgeting restlessly. In front of them was a semicircle of empty floor while behind them stood various other of the Duke’s close advisers. Behind the whole arced a semicircle of the Duke’s bodyguard.

  The rest of the hall was filled with a random assortment of senior court officials, both civilian and military; high-ranking Senedwr and Gythrinwr, standing conspicuously apart; various lords and their advisers; some senior Guild officials; several of the city’s major merchants, and a leavening of scholars and artists. As usual too there were petitioners from Serenstad’s allied towns and cities, distinctive in their local dress and noticeably brighter eyed than the normal courtiers.

  Arwain raised his eyebrows in surprise. This was a far larger gathering than normally surrounded his father. Had he indeed forgotten some formal event that required his presence? He could remember nothing and, moreover, there was a feeling of tension in the air which had an uncharacteristically sharp edge to it.

  As he made his way towards his father, Arwain also saw that several of the Duke’s bodyguard were wearing their normal court clothes and mingling casually with the crowd.

  With a little gentle pushing and apologizing he managed eventually to reach the empty space in front of his father.

  ‘Father,’ he said, stepping forward a few paces.

  The Duke, who had been talking quietly to Aaken, turned to him and beckoned him forward.

  ‘Ye gods, Arwain, you look like an ostler’s rag,’ he said, then, wrinkling his nose, ‘and you smell like one, too. What have you been doing?’

  ‘Just training with Ryllans and the others,’ Arwain replied. Ibris gave a shrug eloquent with both approval and regret. ‘Ah well, I did tell you to come immediately so I suppose it’s my own fault.’ He took Arwain’s arm and pulled him forward so that he could talk more quietly. ‘Anyway, you’re here,’ he said. ‘Menedrion’s nowhere to be found, as usual, and Goran’s down at Farlan looking at some new marble that one of our merchants has managed to import from somewhere . . .’ He furrowed his brow and waved his hand to bring his conversation from the desirable to the necessary. ‘It’s perhaps as well you look so rough. We’ve a Bethlarii envoy coming. Ciarll’s men are bringing him and his escort from the Norstseren Gate right now.’

  Arwain’s face darkened. ‘An envoy?’ he said. ‘And escort? Here? Now?’ He put his hand to his head and shook it as if to waken himself. ‘Without a formal request? Notice to the Sened and the Gythrin-Dy? Toing and froing of heralds etc? Endless debates about location and precedence? Have they forgotten we’ve a treaty with them which deals with these procedures? What are they up to?’

  Ibris acknowledged Arwain’s bluster with an offhand shrug, and, taking a letter from Aaken, held it out to his son. Arwain wiped his hands on his tunic, took the letter, and unfolded it carefully. It was written in the harsh, angular script typical of the Bethlarii scribes.

  ‘To our vassal, Ibris of Serenstad. You will receive our envoy and discuss with him a matter of great mutual concern. His person and escort of three are inviolate. Harm to them will constitute an act of war.’

  Underneath this brief missive was an illegible signature and the seal of the Handira, the council of five that governed Bethlar.

  Arwain looked up from the sheet and stared at his father open-mouthed. ‘This is unbelievable,’ he said. ‘Coming unannounced is a breach of the treaty, as is bringing their own escort, but . . .’ He gaped as he struggled for words, waving the paper about vaguely. Ibris took it from him gently and returned it to Aaken. ‘The tone. It’s arrogant by even their standards. Their vassal! It’s a . . . wilful provocation . . . How did it get here?’

  ‘It arrived barely an hour ago,’ Ibris said, watching his son carefully. ‘Brought by a Bethlarii Ghaler disguised as a messenger from Hyndrak, and . . .’

  Arwain interrupted before Ibris could continue. ‘In disguise? A Ghaler?’ he exclaimed. ‘A Bethlarii foot soldier?’ He shook his head. ‘Never. Their colours are sacred. A Ghaler wouldn’t go into enemy territory with them covered under any circumstances. It would be sacrilege. Whatever the man is, he’s no Ghaler. He’s probably one of their officer corps. And probably an assassin. Has he been questioned? Searched? Don’t let him near you . . .’

  Arwain stopped as he caught a small admonitory gesture from Ciarll Feranc and looked up to see the irritation on his father’s face.

  ‘Arwain, I need thoughtful counsel, not lectures on Bethlarii religion and elementary personal security,’ Ibris said coldly. ‘Besides you should know by now that priests of any colour don’t hesitate to excuse the gullible the trappings of their creeds when political necessity demands. The man could be a Ghaler or anything, though I incline to your view that he’s likely to be an officer. Probably task
ed with noting our initial response to that letter. Anyway, what he is is irrelevant. To question him would have been in breach of the treaty, and at the moment all the breaches lie with them. He’s been offered food, drink and rest – all of which he’s declined, I understand – and he’s being quietly but very well guarded by Ciarll’s men.’

  Arwain lowered his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, father,’ he said. ‘You’re right, I should think before I speak. I’m still heated with the training and rushing over here.’ He risked a smile. ‘Perhaps I should take a leaf from the Bethlarii way and wait for your permission before I speak.’

  Ibris leaned back in his chair and some of the coldness left his voice. ‘Perhaps you should,’ he said. ‘The Bethlarii are not without some worthwhile ideas.’

  Then he tapped his temple with his forefinger, looking significantly at Arwain. There was a father’s need in his eyes. ‘Diplomacy or battle, Arwain, always the head first,’ he said. ‘Always. It’ll tell you when to use your instincts. I’m sure that Ryllans has told you that, I know I have often enough.’

  Arwain nodded and looked down again. It was true that he had come from the training yard too heated and flustered, but it was also irrelevant. There was never an excuse for not thinking. He must calm himself before he spoke again. His father would be more troubled by this unexpected and bizarre visit from Bethlar than he would allow anyone to see and he should not have to take pause to instruct his children. He should be able to look to them for support.

  Arwain looked across the crowded stateroom with its broad cross-section of Serenstad’s ruling and commercial classes and the sprinkling of travellers from its dominion cities and towns. It was, he realized, a testimony to Ibris’s own advice. His father’s initial response to the letter must have been something to behold, yet the messenger was not hanging from the battlements. Arwain knew that it would have taken but seconds for his father to channel his doubtless monumental rage into cold calculation.

  He risked a cautious irony. ‘I sit at your feet, father,’ he said. ‘Allow me to redeem myself.’