Dream Finder Page 35

  ‘Yes, it is a rabbit who’s ordering you about,’ he said. ‘Don’t fret about it. Look at Tarrian and Grayle.’ Estaan glanced at the two wolves, both sitting still and subdued in a corner.

  Still preoccupied, Pandra took the rabbit out of his pocket and, putting him on the floor, nodded graciously to Estaan who had already moved to open the door.

  ‘Pick me up,’ Kany said sharply to Antyr as the two men left. ‘I want to get a close look at you.’

  Antyr did as he was bidden, taking the rabbit in both hands and lifting him up until he was opposite his face.

  ‘You are a ruffianly looking creature,’ he said as he surveyed the rabbit’s battered features.

  Kany’s nose twitched vigorously. ‘You’re no Buonardi sculpture yourself, Dream Finder,’ he replied.

  Tarrian got up and moved over to them. He put his forelegs on the arm of Antyr’s chair and intruded his nose anxiously between Antyr and the rabbit.

  Kany’s eyes narrowed. ‘Do you want a third nostril, bonzo?’ he said brutally.

  Hastily, Antyr transferred the rabbit to one hand and put the other reassuringly on Tarrian’s shoulder.

  ‘Kany, behave yourself.’ It was Pandra, returning, followed by Estaan who was carrying a large book and several smaller ones. Without ceremony, Pandra took Kany from Antyr and dropped him, none too gently, back into his pocket.

  ‘You have to be firm with him at times,’ he said. ‘He’s got a very domineering streak if he’s allowed too much of his own way.’

  Antyr nodded, understandingly. Tarrian dropped back on to the floor, but lay across Antyr’s feet.

  ‘A fine searcher though,’ Pandra added, as a small hedge against future recriminations.’A fine searcher.’

  He sat down and reached up to take the large book from Estaan. ‘Been in the family for generations,’ he said, running a finger along the engraved leather spine.

  ‘Never mind the history lesson,’ Kany said, impatiently, struggling out of Pandra’s pocket. ‘Turn up the section on the Threshold and the Rites of Mastership.’

  Pandra settled the book on his knee, opened it reverently, and began squinting at the ornately scripted index. Slowly he turned over a page. Then another.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Kany asked irritably.

  ‘I told you, there’s nothing in the main texts,’ Pandra said, without pausing in his search. ‘Contrary to your opinion, I have read most of them at one time or another, and I’d have remembered if there was anything there that dealt with anything like this. I’m looking for the appendix that deals with the Mynedarion.’

  Antyr winced. ‘What for?’ he asked nervously.

  Pandra looked at him. ‘Because that’s what’s come among us,’ he said simply.

  Antyr’s mouth went dry. He wanted to speak, but could not, and for a moment his stomach felt hollow and ghastly.

  ‘I don’t pretend to understand what you’ve just told me,’ Pandra said. ‘And to be honest I’m still a little . . . disorientated . . . by it all. But one thing rings out.’ He tapped his finger on the page absently. ‘Change,’ he said conclusively. ‘This Nyriall figure that you met, whoever or whatever he was, spoke of change. Something that came into dreams and changed them. Can you do that, Antyr?’ he asked rhetorically. ‘Can any of us? And the figures you met changed the weather. Made their own storm seemingly. And more.’

  He levered the book open and thumbed through several pages before finding what he wanted. He read for a moment then reached up and selected a volume from the pile that Estaan was still holding.

  ‘But the Mynedarion are a myth,’ Antyr said hesitantly.

  ‘So is the Threshold these days, supposedly,’ Pandra replied as he thumbed through the second book. ‘And even the Great Dream itself. Just colourful creation myths for children, and esoteric lore about our ancestors for the study of learned scholars.’

  Antyr closed his eyes. The memory of the storm that appeared out of nowhere returned to him; whirling dark thunder clouds streaked with lightning, a howling wind, full of purposeful shadows, a nerve-shredding laugh. And at the focus of it all, two motionless figures.

  He opened his eyes and looked down at his hands. They were trembling.

  A hand touched his arm gently. ‘Don’t be afraid of your fear,’ a voice said softly. Antyr turned and found himself looking up into Estaan’s face. ‘What I felt in that room, I’ve felt before,’ the Mantynnai went on. ‘It was no illusion, no trick of the mind. And fear is the true response. But it can be faced and defeated. That I’ve seen also.’

  Antyr shook his head. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But not by me. I. . .’ He stopped abruptly, realization dawning on his face. ‘I escaped because one of them wanted me to. Before Tarrian and Grayle came, one of them said, “You shall be my Guide.”’ He shuddered at the memory of the malevolent desire in the voice. ‘But the other one cried out, “No!” and . . .’ He closed his eyes again in concentration. ‘Put his blade between us . . . I’m sure.’

  Pandra, however, did not appear to be listening. ‘Yes,’ he muttered to himself as he ran his finger down successive pages rapidly. ‘There’s a lot of ifs and maybes and buts here. Mynedarion are manifestations of aberrant streams in the flux of the Nexus, whatever that means. They’re distortions in the dreamer’s Nexus ordering produced by adverse Companion reaction . . . blah blah . . . Typical academic guff. They’ll say anything bar “We don’t understand.”’ He gave a disparaging snort. ‘I don’t think some of these people would know whether they were in a Dream or a hay cart. But . . .’ He jabbed the page forcefully. ‘They say more than they realize. They all accepted that Mynedarion, whatever they are, need a willing Dream Finder if they’re to reach into dreams and beyond. It says here that they have a power, an old power of some kind, it’s not clear. Magyk’s the word they keep using, but lots of things were magic when this was written which are understood properly now. He shook his head. ‘Anyway, this power can be used to change things here, in this world. But it’s multiplied many times in the worlds of the Threshold, and is . . .’ He brought his face close to the page. ‘Beyond limit . . . in the Great Dream itself. From there they can change all things. Even the past itself. And it’s there that they always strive to reach.’

  He fell silent.

  ‘A power, beyond explanation, to rend and change, does exist.’ It was Estaan again. His voice was dark with certainty. ‘I’ve felt it. Seen its work. As have all the Mantynnai. It’s why we’re here. Have no doubts about such a thing whether you understand it or not. It was mingled in the evil in that room today.’

  Antyr and Pandra looked at him as if for a further explanation, but none came.

  ‘Which leaves us where?’ Kany said, after a moment, his voice subdued.

  ‘Couch it in whatever language you like,’ Pandra replied. ‘It leaves us with an evil power stalking the worlds of the Threshold. An evil that can enter and change dreams at will. And one guided and protected by a Dream Finder of consummate skill: a Master.’

  Antyr looked at him. ‘There are no such Dream Finders in Serenstad,’ he said, looking for solace in practicalities.

  Pandra nodded. ‘One would think so from the general state of our craft,’ he said. ‘But there are Dream Finders throughout the land. Even in Bethlar. It’s an ancient craft. Many people are Dream Finders without even realizing it. And distance in this world will mean nothing to someone who can walk in the Threshold.’

  Antyr looked down. The urge to flee was seeping into him again.

  ‘What can it . . . they . . . want?’ he managed to say.

  Pandra shrugged. ‘From what you say, there seems to be both madness and malice in one or both of them. Who can say what they want? But I’ve lived long enough to know that power always seeks more power. It needs no reason.’ He looked significantly at Estaan. ‘I think we must talk about . . . Guild matters for a moment.’

  Antyr was more straightforward. He turned to the Mantynnai. ‘Estaan, we must discuss th
e dreams of others. I’m sorry. Can you wait outside.’

  Pandra stood up, placing the books on the floor. ‘Go into the back room,’ he said, with an apologetic smile. ‘You’ll have to forgive our discourtesy, but I doubt we’ll be long.’

  ‘I understand,’ Estaan said. ‘Perhaps I’ll learn a little about Dream Finding from your books while I’m waiting.’

  Pandra snapped his fingers and took Estaan by the arm to escort him from the room. ‘I’ll find you the very book,’ he said. ‘An excellent little apprentices’ manual.’

  When he returned, he was sombre-faced and serious, however. ‘Power lies with the Duke here,’ he said, starkly. ‘And all of a sudden he seeks out a poor spark of a Dream Finder who turns out to be a Master. Very strange. Tell me about his dreams and why he sought you out.’ Then, nodding towards the two wolves and lowering Kany on to the floor, ‘And you three listen and exchange whatever you need as well.’

  Antyr recounted the events of the past two days and described the dreams of both the Duke and Menedrion. Pandra listened in silence, but his old face seemed to grow older as Antyr continued, and when, finally, he spoke, there was a marked tremor in his voice.

  ‘Menedrion as well,’ he said. ‘And drawn into the Threshold apparently. Power seeks power. I was right. I hoped that perhaps it might have been you that brought all this about in some way, but it seems not. It seems that, whoever these two are, they’re trying to possess the dreams of our leaders, or worse, draw them into the Threshold . . .’ He paused as if reluctant to continue.

  ‘Where they can be killed, or perhaps possessed themselves,’ Antyr said, remembering the shadows that closed about him.

  Pandra closed his eyes and nodded. ‘I fear you’re right,’ he said. ‘If the Treatise is correct, and it seems to be from what you’ve said about that storm suddenly coming from nowhere, then they already have great power in the Threshold. If they’re choosing to assail our leaders then they must be seeking power in this world.’

  His voice jerked the words out unhappily.

  ‘What are we to do?’ Antyr asked after a long silence.

  Pandra shook his head reflectively. ‘Your father’s shadow is reaching down to us, Antyr,’ he said. ‘Good flows from good. Just a conscientious man with his client was your father, but the trust he built up in the Duke has sustained him and given him self-knowledge enough to protect himself when the need arose, albeit without realizing it.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps, but what can we do?’ Antyr repeated, impatiently.

  Pandra shot him a mildly reproachful glance. ‘Because of your father’s work with the Duke, we can tell him the truth,’ he said sternly. ‘And we must tell him about Menedrion’s dream too. Under the circumstances it’s a necessary breach of confidence. From what you say, I’m sure he’ll believe us and he may well have his own ideas about what’s happening.’

  * * * *

  It took them little time to reach the palace from Pandra’s house, but it proved no easy task to gain an audience with the Duke.

  ‘There’s been a noisy cabinet meeting, by all accounts,’ Estaan said, returning from his first attempt. ‘And he’s due at the Sened shortly to make some kind of statement about this envoy. There’s all manner of people clamouring to see him: merchants, Gythrinwr, diplomats . . .’

  Antyr looked around. The wide hallway they were standing in was indeed busy with guards, messengers, officials bustling about urgently.

  ‘What about Aaken and Feranc?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re no use anyway. We need to speak to the Duke,’ Pandra said, before Estaan could reply. He turned to the Mantynnai, unexpectedly resolute. ‘Young man. You’re a soldier. Cut your way through to him, at whatever cost, and tell him that his Dream Finder must speak to him, immediately, on a matter of the utmost importance.’

  Estaan hesitated.

  Pandra took his arm, urging him forward. ‘You say you felt an evil that you’ve felt before,’ he said. ‘That makes you the wisest here. Be your own judge of the urgency of the matter.’

  Estaan rubbed his chin doubtfully, then set off again.

  It was some time before he returned, and he was looking somewhat flustered when he did.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, breathing noisily. ‘I’ve got you five minutes. And it’s cost me five years of growth the mood the Duke’s in!’

  Antyr could appreciate Estaan’s concern as soon as he stepped into the Duke’s room. The figure before him was not the affable, almost fatherly figure that had greeted him on their previous meetings. This was a powerful leader of men . . . leader of armies . . . preparing for battle. That it was predominantly a political battle at the moment, rather than a military one, made his manner no less formidable.

  ‘Five minutes,’ he confirmed, holding up his fingers, before Antyr could speak. He glanced at Pandra and the two wolves. ‘And don’t abuse my regard for your father and respect for your craft by expecting to bring in all your drinking cronies.’

  As much to his own surprise as anyone else’s, Antyr, grim-faced, strode towards the Duke. The Duke’s eyes widened angrily in response to his manner, but Antyr did not wait for any reproach. ‘The old man I went to see for advice is dead,’ he said. ‘Murdered, I think, by the same . . . people . . . power, that tried to enter your dream.’

  ‘Murdered, you think?’ Ibris said with heavy and impatient emphasis. ‘You’ve seen corpses enough in your time, haven’t you?’

  ‘Murdered I’m certain,’ Antyr returned. ‘Though not by any means that either you or I have seen before.’

  ‘I want no riddles,’ the Duke retorted. ‘Speak plainly. And who the devil is this anyway?’ He flicked his hand towards Pandra, who stepped forward hesitantly to introduce himself. Antyr spared him the deed. ‘This is Indares Pandra, sire. A Dream Finder who knew my father and who still respects and knows the old ways. I sought his help.’

  Ibris grunted dismissively. ‘You set my own bodyguard on me, Dream Finder,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how you managed that, but this matter of importance had better be just that or . . .’

  ‘It is, sire,’ Antyr said, cutting across him. ‘What do you know of the Threshold?’

  Ibris scowled at the interruption, but Antyr’s abrupt question provoked an automatic answer. ‘It’s part of your Dream Finding mythology, isn’t it?’ he replied. ‘Worlds beyond the dreams. Real worlds like this one. Worlds within worlds. And beyond them again is supposed to be the Great Dream.’

  ‘Not mythology, sire,’ Antyr said, without giving him pause. ‘But truth. I’ve been to one of the Threshold worlds twice, perhaps three times, these last two days. And met the power that tried to enter your dream . . .’

  ‘Enough,’ Ibris said fiercely, his face set. ‘I haven’t time for this.’ He rounded on Antyr. ‘I had some reservations about seeking your help in the first place, Antyr. Now I see they were right. You’re not your father’s son, you’re just another charlatan hoping to find an easy living by gulling me with woolly-headed nonsense.’ His lip curled. ‘Travelling to other worlds! What kind of a fool do you take me for?’ He turned towards the door. ‘Estaan!’ The Mantynnai appeared almost immediately.

  Ibris turned back to Antyr. His presence seemed to fill the room. ‘Out of regard for your father you’ll not be punished for this pathetic chicanery, but make sure you never cross my way again, and keep your tongue to yourself if you don’t want to lose it. Get them out of here, Estaan. I’ll speak to you later.’

  Estaan stepped forward. There was regret and dismay in his eyes but the purposefulness of his stride was clear enough.

  Antyr held out a shaking hand to stop him. Estaan hesitated and glanced at the Duke. ‘Sire,’ Antyr said, his voice trembling like his hand, but nevertheless, intense. ‘Do as you wish. I’m well content to go back to my old life. I’m a wiser man by far than I was two days ago, and I want no more adventures such as I’ve had today. But be alert tonight, for everyone’s sake. Whatever my father taught you, hold to it,
and above all be yourself and trust yourself. There is a threat to you. And have someone, anyone, guard your son’s sleep. He has neither your knowledge nor your will. He’s already been drawn into the Threshold, and it’s only by a chance intervention by someone else that he hasn’t been overwhelmed, perhaps killed, yet.’

  Estaan took his arm firmly, lifting him up on to his toes, but Antyr held Ibris’s gaze.

  Ibris raised his hand and Estaan paused.

  ‘Tarrian,’ Ibris said. ‘I felt you prowling the edges of my sleep last night, for which my thanks. Am I to believe this tale?’

  ‘I’ve mixed with humans long enough to learn how to lie, Ibris,’ Tarrian replied. ‘My word’s no better than his. Use your nose when your wits fail you, pack leader.’

  Ibris scowled at him, then motioned Estaan away. ‘Five more minutes,’ he said tersely.

  Nervously, Antyr recounted his tale once more, as briefly as he could.

  When he had finished, Ibris looked at Estaan. ‘And you felt some of this . . . presence?’ he asked.

  Estaan nodded. ‘I was terrified, sire,’ he said simply. ‘There was a power there that I’ve felt before and have no wish to feel again.’

  Ibris looked at him narrowly. ‘From before your arrival here?’ he said. Estaan bowed by way of reply, but did not speak.

  Ibris’s manner softened slightly. ‘Wait outside all of you, I need to think for a moment,’ he said.

  As the door closed behind the three men, Ibris stepped over to an alcove and drew back the partly closed curtain.

  The tall figure of Ciarll Feranc stepped out of the shadows.

  Chapter 23

  Ibris put his hand to his head wearily. ‘What did you make of all that, Ciarll?’ he asked.

  Feranc shrugged slightly. ‘Very strange,’ he replied. ‘Estaan’s Mantynnai, he sees things the way they are better than most. If he admits to being terrified then it was for some good reason. What did the wolf say to you?’

  Ibris smiled. ‘Told me to use my nose,’ he replied with a chuckle. ‘Called me a pack leader.’ He sat down and stretched his legs wearily. ‘Fair comment I suppose and, for what it’s worth, I don’t think the Dream Finder’s lying, or trying to ingratiate himself. But his tale is so preposterous.’