Dream Finder Read online

  Taking Menedrion’s hand in his right, Antyr again showed his empty left hand to the bodyguard and then passed it gently over Menedrion’s closed eyes.

  ‘Sleep easy,’ he said softly. ‘Whatever befalls, nothing can harm. Dreams are but shadows and you are guarded in all places by a great and ancient strength.’

  Menedrion did not so much drift into sleep as tumble into it. His whole frame sagged suddenly into the chair, his rigid arm fell limp, and his head slumped forward. Alarmed by this sudden collapse, his bodyguard started forward but Antyr stopped him with a gently raised left hand.

  ‘He’s only asleep,’ he said. ‘Look at his breathing. Just ease his head back and put a cushion behind it to make him comfortable.’

  Despite his soft speech there was a commanding quality in Antyr’s manner that made the bodyguard accept the role of nursemaid without demur.

  ‘Have you seen a Dream Search before?’ Antyr asked, his voice becoming fainter.

  The man shook his head, still avoiding Antyr’s gaze.

  ‘Very well,’ Antyr said. ‘It’s nothing very exciting, but don’t be alarmed if either the Lord or I speak strangely or if Tarrian whines or growls. And don’t interfere or let anyone else interfere except another Dream Finder. Above all, don’t touch me. If you do, the wolf will attack you and it’s unlikely I’ll be able to get back quickly enough to save you. Do you understand?’

  The man nodded and mumbled an uncertain, ‘Yes, sir.’

  Satisfied, Antyr followed Menedrion into the darkness, although, somewhat to his alarm, he had the feeling of being drawn after him, falling uncontrollably, almost.

  He seemed to touch the moment of dark silence for only the most fleeting instant, yet it was also a slow eternity, and his awareness was at once sharper and more insubstantial than he had ever known before.

  And too, the shimmering lights and sounds that were suddenly there and yet which had always been there, were more vivid and intense than ever before, swirling and dipping around and about him; dancing wild formless dances, and singing wordless, broken, songs; now near, now far.

  Then he was whole and at the Nexus of the dreams of Menedrion, at the heart of the myriad leaking images from the edges of his lifetime’s dreams that formed the portals of entrance for those who could find them.

  But only the Companion, the Earth Holder, had that skill. Here Tarrian must lead, and Antyr follow.

  Then Antyr realized that Tarrian was not beside him. For an instant his hold on the Nexus wavered and his heart jolted as a choking spasm of panic began to seize him. But even before his heart could beat again, the wolf was there; unseen but whole and strong.

  ‘So fast, so fast.’ Tarrian was breathless and, for a moment, almost incoherent. ‘What happened? . . . it doesn’t matter . . . hold on to me . . . hold tight . . . I nearly lost you . . . you dwindled into the distance . . . alone . . . unbelievable . . .’ He became quieter. ‘Your talent wakens, Antyr, it sweeps all before it. Take care, I fear you can go where I can’t. I hold the earth here, solid and true, but you must hold me now, for both our sakes. Hold me tight. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ Antyr replied hesitantly, countless questions forming in his mind which he ignored only with difficulty. ‘And no, my control’s uncertain. What shall we do? Go on or withdraw?’

  Doubt hovered around them.

  ‘Not my choice to make, Dream Finder,’ Tarrian said after a moment. ‘You know that. If it’ll help, Menedrion’s doing this at the instigation of his mother because of a strange dream he’s had. It disturbed him greatly but he’s also concerned that by consulting you he’ll look ridiculous.’

  Doubt.

  To retreat now would be to face the wrath of the Duke’s son, drawn into what he saw as this ludicrous, even humiliating, performance – a business for merchants’ wives – and then being casually told by this charlatan that he wasn’t quite up to the job today!

  But, fearful though the consequences of that might be, Antyr wavered. He had been beaten and humiliated before now and survived; in the sometimes too realistic war games that had been part of his army training; at the hands of thieves and gangs of youths as he had staggered home too late at night; in drunken brawls at various inns. Fear of that must not stop him withdrawing if he felt that some greater danger for all three of them lay ahead.

  But what danger could lie in a dream? None, surely – you are guarded in all places by a great and ancient power – the time-honoured pledge. But the eerie presence in the Duke’s dream returned to him, and then the hooded figure with the lamp.

  Yet there was pain here, too. Pain that Menedrion’s undoubted courage could not contend with. Antyr did not need Tarrian to tell him that. Menedrion’s embarrassment was proof enough of the man’s distress.

  Suddenly his motivation became important to him. The feeling rose within him that whatever decision he made, it would be the reason he made it that would be important and not the decision itself.

  And scarcely had this conclusion appeared than he realized he must go forward. Not because he was afraid of Menedrion’s anger, though it was no pleasant prospect, or even because somehow he sensed that such a reverse in his life now might redirect it into bitterness and wretchedness for ever. But because of Menedrion’s pain. This was what the strange gift of Dream Finding was for. Retreat would not only be failure, it would be a betrayal.

  Despite the clarity of this vision, however, he knew that he was not wholly master of events and that, in some way, circumstances were shaping his deeds for him, bearing him along. Certainly he knew he could not justify his decision rationally; betrayal of what? for example. And indeed, in the wake of his commitment, other, more selfish reasons bobbed to the surface, mocking its altruism. Curiosity: what was happening to him? what could the Duke of Serenstad’s son possibly have dreamt that so disturbed him? And fear: whatever the vision of the hooded figure with the lamp was that had taken him from the protection of his Earth Holder, he knew that he must hold his ground at no matter what cost, and that to break and flee was to invite both pursuit and capture . . . destruction . . .?

  A weight lifted from him suddenly, and he gazed into the Nexus, shimmering and swirling, cloud-streaked with black and red like a battlefield sunset, resonating with the jangling clatter of screaming men and horses, laughing women, clashing arms and clinking goblets.

  Here, he, the Dream Finder, was master. None could gainsay that. None could oppose him with impunity.

  ‘Adept.’

  The word formed somewhere, soft and transient; a chance pattern in the clamour.

  He reached down and felt the unseen powerful presence of Tarrian.

  There was a timeless pause, then, softly, but with the urgency of a hissing arrow, he said, ‘Go, hunter. Find what has to be found. Go!’

  Chapter 14

  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 mem
ory 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.

&
nbsp; ‘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.’