by Roger Taylor
'The matter's in hand, sire,’ Feranc replied. ‘I've already sent messages to the Liktors and to the garrisons to be on the lookout for unusual strangers.’ Uncharacteristically, he frowned. ‘I'm afraid I've been lax…'
Ibris waved him to silence. ‘We've all been lax,’ he said. ‘I should have had the wit to realize that too long without war would have had some dire effect on their society…’ He cast a quick, acknowledging look at Arwain. ‘And all of us should have remembered that the Bethlarii are our enemy and that just as nothing ever remains the same, so nothing changes.'
He nodded to himself pensively. ‘We'd better start mobilizing the local garrisons at least. Let's also hope we've not been lax in our training.’ It was a dark thought.
The room fell silent and the four men sat motionless for a little while, held by Ibris's concern. Then Menedrion stood up and stretched.
'Ah well,’ he said. ‘If I've got to get a company ready for escort duty I'd better make a start. What with that and entertaining my guest, I doubt I'll be getting much sleep tonight.'
Arwain looked at him sharply. There was an odd note in his half-brother's voice.
Fear? No, Arwain decided. It was relief.
Chapter 16
Antyr walked behind the servant in a trance. Without further comment, Menedrion had led him briskly away from his private quarters, and, with a curt dismissal and an order to remain in the palace, had abandoned him to his present guide; a round-faced old man with hunched shoulders and a worried frown that seemed to be permanent.
He also seemed to be none too pleased with his new duty and kept muttering, half to himself, half to Antyr.
'This isn't my job, you know … I've enough to do as it is without running around trying to find rooms for his lordship's…’ He looked Antyr up and down critically. ‘…visitors … And telling the duty guards and the cooks. I'm in charge of the laying of tables for the whole of this wing, I shouldn't be having to do this … It's not right … He should've found one of the room servants … It's just typical…'
He rang several irritable changes around this theme as he wound an elaborate pathway through the palace, but Antyr heard hardy any of them. Nor did he notice any of the statues, pictures, furniture, tapestries and other artifacts that lined his progress and that had so impressed him the night before.
Uncharacteristically, Tarrian remained silent.
Eventually they reached their destination and Antyr was shown into a small suite of rooms. He heard himself thanking the servant absently and was vaguely aware of the old man lighting several lamps and then departing, still muttering.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Antyr leaned back on it. He felt numb all over. His body seemed scarcely his own, and his mind refused to think. Some reflex carried him towards a large couch and made him lie down on it. He was vaguely aware of Tarrian padding off somewhere.
As he lay back, his eyes focused on the ceiling, but they saw nothing, and the only movement in his mind was that of Tarrian's ancient curiosity and caution as he quickly toured the bounds of this new territory.
'We're coming up in the world,’ Tarrian said when he had finished, but the remark was empty of real meaning and the words hung lifeless and regretted in Antyr's head.
Then, from nowhere, a black wave overwhelmed him. His confrontation with Menedrion had been unnerving, but somehow it had kept him upright and sane. Now, alone, he felt the full shock of the events of the past day. The very articles of faith that suffused and supported his craft had been tossed aside, as if they had never existed, and he was adrift in an ocean of madness without star or landmark to steer by. All that was familiar and solid had become alien and menacing, like a solid shore turned suddenly quicksand.
He covered his hands with his face and squeezed as if trying to reduce himself to infinite smallness and insignificance, but the blackness sought him out and rolled over and through him irresistibly, shaking and tossing him like the least pebble on that shore.
Somewhere in the middle of it, after a timeless, buffeting agony, he heard a sound; a distant moaning, sobbing. It went on for a long time, gradually coming closer. Then slowly, he realized it was himself, pouring out a great grief for some terrible, unknown, unknowable, loss.
Yet with this realization came also a faint hint of relief, and he felt the tide of blackness falter. Slowly his convulsing sobs eased and he swung himself up into a sitting position, though still his hands were over his wet face as if the sight of the reality of the world around him would shatter what sanity he still had left.
He felt Tarrian nearby, waiting, watching, with that almost frightening animal fatalism that seemed to leave him largely immune to the emotional effects of matters which he could not control.
'I'm sorry,’ Antyr managed eventually.
Tarrian did not reply, but moved over to him and leaned heavily against his leg. A pack thing. One of Antyr's hands relinquished his face and reached down to stroke the soft fur. More sobs shook him.
'I'm sorry,’ he repeated.
Again Tarrian did not reply. He did not understand, at least not fully, so he could offer nothing. Yet in knowing that he did not understand, he offered everything he had. Antyr patted him, finding some solace in the purposeful presence of the wolf's powerful frame.
'I don't know what brought that on,’ he said, his voice unsteady.
'You don't need to,’ Tarrian said. ‘It was necessary and you allowed it. It was a wise act.'
This time it was Antyr who did not reply.
The two sat in silence for a long time, then, eventually, Antyr started hunting through his pockets for a kerchief.
'There are towels and water next door,’ Tarrian said.
Antyr heard himself chuckle weakly as he stood up and followed Tarrian's direction. ‘Thank you, Earth Holder,’ he said. ‘It's as well one of us keeps his feet on the ground.'
But the darkness had not left him completely and it welled up again as he worked the small, silvered pump handle and watched a stream of water splutter into a plain white bowl. The water glittered with the lamplight as it swirled and danced around the bowl, obeying hidden laws that were as immutable as those binding Antyr's craft were now capricious. The sight seemed to mock him and he felt his body begin to shake uncontrollably.
He reached out and steadied himself by leaning against the wall as he dipped his other hand into the water and splashed his face carelessly with it.
The effort seemed to take all his strength and slowly he slithered to the floor.
Again Tarrian came and sat by him, silent, but solid.
'I'm so frightened,’ Antyr said, after a long silence.
'Yes,’ Tarrian said. ‘You reek of it.'
Antyr gave a soft rueful laugh at his Companion's simple bluntness, but still his body was reluctant to move. Tarrian lay down patiently.
'What's the matter with me?’ Antyr asked after a further long silence.
Tarrian looked at him, but did not speak.
'Too much change, too fast?’ Antyr said, turning and resting his forehead against the cold, tiled wall. ‘Too much foolishness. Too much weakness.'
'You're too harsh on yourself,’ Tarrian said, standing up and walking out of the small washroom as if he were no longer needed. ‘What's happening to you is perhaps a little of all those things, but mainly it's an attack. An assault at your very soul.'
Antyr rolled his head from side to side against the tiles.
'That's what I've come to say to myself. That's what I told Menedrion. But what does it mean?'
He struggled to his feet awkwardly and followed Tarrian.
'What does it mean?’ he repeated.
'It means you're being attacked,’ Tarrian replied.
'Damn it, Tarrian,’ Antyr shouted. ‘Talk sense. My head … everything's … whirling.’ He clenched his fists savagely and then let his hands fall limply to his sides. ‘I need some clarity, not more riddles. I feel so lost. So helpless. I'm not even sure about my own
sanity any more.’ Then, angrily. ‘And if I'm being attacked, then presumably so are you. Why aren't you frightened?'
It was a pointless question, he knew. Tarrian was an animal. He carried some human traits, just as Antyr carried some wolfish traits, but it was not in his true nature to be afraid of what he could not immediately sense. Tarrian responded to circumstances as a mirror reflects an image, even though his slight humanity made the mirror blur and shake a little at times.
'I am,’ Tarrian replied. ‘Your fear wakens fear in me like an echo. But that's all it is: an echo. Your fear is fear of many things. Fear of yourself, your weakness, the unknown depths inside you. Then there's fear of Menedrion, of the Duke, of your dead father's reproach, of my contempt…'
Antyr raised a hand to stop him. ‘And of the hooded figure with the lamp,’ he said.
'Yes,’ Tarrian replied. ‘Him certainly.'
'And what do I do with this grand chorus of fears?’ Antyr went on, his voice hardening.
Tarrian stared at him. A cold, grey, wolf's stare. ‘Live or die,’ he said simply.
'What the hell's that supposed to mean?’ Antyr's voice cracked into a squeak as his anger forced the question out.
'It means live or die,’ Tarrian repeated.
'You're not helping,’ Antyr said, dropping his head into his hands again.
Tarrian padded over to the window and jumped up to place his forepaws on the sill. ‘I can't,’ he said, peering curiously from side to side through the window. ‘Not yet. All this is from inside you. From somewhere deep in your human nature. I can feel your pain, but its cause is beyond anywhere I can reach. You'll have to deal with it yourself. All I can do is watch and be here. But what I said is true. You have to decide whether you want life or death. If death, then jump out of this window now, and I'll mourn you. If life, then don't, in which case your next decision is fight or surrender.'
Antyr shuddered as the wolf's cold logic broke over him. He looked up at him, silhouetted against the deepening dusk outside.
Then, slowly, he stood up and walked to the window to join him. Tarrian dropped down and backed away a little as he approached. After some awkward fiddling with the catch Antyr threw the window open and leaned forward on to the sill. Tarrian watched him, motionless.
The chilly late afternoon air struck cold on Antyr's still-damp face and he blew out a long breath that misted, paused, and then silently faded. Unlike his room of the previous night, this one did overlook the city, though little was to be seen of it in the encroaching darkness.
Nonetheless, it was not without splendour. Such of the spires, domes, towers and sweeping avenues of Ibris's ‘dazzling city’ as could be seen from this vantage were marked out, illuminated and shadowed by a myriad of mist-haloed torches and lamps, giving them an unexpectedly delicate, restful quality. As he watched, Antyr saw other, more distant lights springing to life. The Guild of Lamplighters conscientiously pursuing their allotted task, setting at bay each night's darkness with their lights. It gave him a sudden feeling of security.
Almost abruptly he realized that though he felt blasted and empty, he also felt alive, and free, and glad to be so. Tarrian had had to state the options but they had never really existed, as both of them knew.
He closed the window.
'So much for deciding the strategy,’ he said with a nervous smile. ‘Tactics, I fear, may present more of a problem.'
He returned to the couch and lay down again, though this time with some relish. It was the soldier's euphoria brought on by knowing that the battle would not now be fought until the morrow; that for the next hour or so he was immortal and immune to all his ills. He had known it before.
'Before the fear and the confusion return, let's talk,’ he said. ‘About who and how and why and about what we can do.'
Tarrian flopped down on the floor beside the couch and rested his head on his paws. ‘Who, how and why, we don't know,’ he said. ‘As to what we can do, we can look at what's happened and think about it and that will arm us for what happens next.'
'Perhaps,’ Antyr said.
'No,’ Tarrian said decisively. ‘It'll arm us definitely. Don't forget that whatever's happening, we've survived so far, despite being caught totally unprepared. And too, Ibris survived, by dint of his will, and Menedrion survived his first dream by dint of…’ He paused.
'By dint of what?’ Antyr said knowingly. ‘By dint of some strange intervention by some other … person … or power. It was a fair reproach he made. What do we make of that as masters of our trade, dog? As farriers and fletchers?'
Tarrian was pensive. ‘Nothing,’ he said after a moment. ‘We just note it and remember it, like everything else.'
Antyr nodded reflectively. ‘And what about me?’ he asked tentatively. ‘What's happened to me?'
He felt a sensation from Tarrian that he could only describe as a glow. Turning, he looked down at him, but the wolf was still lying stretched out with his head on his paws and his eyes half shut.
'What was that?’ he asked sharply.
'What?’ Tarrian replied.
'That,’ Antyr answered in mild exasperation, then, hesitantly, ‘that … glow.'
'Glow?’ said Tarrian with amused tolerance. ‘What are you talking about?'
'You know full well what I'm talking about,’ Antyr said, leaning up on one elbow. Then Tarrian's true feelings leaked through. ‘Ye gods, you're excited,’ Antyr exclaimed. ‘I'm being pursued by … demons … from god knows where, and you are excited…'
Tarrian chuckled. ‘Yes. Sorry,’ he said, insincerely. Antyr searched about for a suitably angry rebuke but the wolf's feelings welled up and dominated him.
Tarrian stood up and looked at him, his tail wagging. ‘Didn't you feel the way we went into Menedrion's Nexus, and the way we hunted, searched it?’ Briefly, Antyr was there again, amid the whirling splendour. ‘The clarity, the speed, the effortlessness,’ Tarrian declaimed. ‘How could I not be excited. How could you not be excited?'
'Very easily,’ Antyr said. ‘Have you forgotten where it landed us? Or more correctly, me? In some strange place beyond … outside … the dream. Alone, separated from the dreamer and apart from you? It scared me witless, that's how I can't be excited.'
'But you survived,’ Tarrian said breathlessly. ‘You drew me to you, just as you did last night. You protected the dreamer and you routed your attackers.'
'But I don't know how!’ Antyr said in some anguish.
'It doesn't matter!’ Tarrian almost shouted. ‘It doesn't matter. You won. Both times. You won!'
'But…'
'No buts,’ Tarrian said. ‘You won. And, admittedly at no thanks to yourself, and god knows how, you're ten times the Dream Finder you were a mere day ago. It's as if these … attacks … have woken something in you. Prodded something into life that was drowning in doubt and ale.'
Antyr frowned. ‘But, but, but, but,’ he said starkly, refusing Tarrian's optimism.
Tarrian quietened a little. ‘Yes, all right,’ he conceded. ‘There's still more questions than answers, but we're not defenceless, Antyr. Even if we don't yet know where our … your … strength lies, it's still there when it's needed.'
Questions indeed, Antyr thought, as they surged around his mind. But they were all unanswerable and had become a meaningless circle. Somehow he brushed them aside and sat up. The euphoria was still there. He was still immortal for an hour or so.
'Well, we can't do anything now, anyway,’ he said. ‘We'll have to see what the night brings, and then, if we're spared, we'll go and see this … Nyriall … in the morning. One way or another we'll be wiser then, and another opinion won't go amiss. And you'll enjoy meeting another wolf, won't you?'
'Not necessarily,’ Tarrian said coldly.
Antyr did not pursue the matter.
'In the meantime what shall we do?’ he went on. ‘I don't know what time Menedrion will be retiring, but from what I've heard it'll be late. Or at least late before he goes to sle
ep.'
Tarrian stretched himself luxuriously. ‘I think food then our fee,’ he said. ‘That old moaner who let us in said to ring that bell if we wanted anything.'
A few minutes later, after receiving elaborate directions from the bewildered servant who had eventually answered their summons and who seemed to know nothing about their presence there, they were walking through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace again, in an attempt to find the Chancellor's office.
'I'd have preferred to have eaten first,’ Tarrian said.
'You heard the man,’ Antyr replied. ‘The Chancellor's office will be shut shortly. Make your choice, we either go to the refectory for a meal, and then wait another day for our fee. Another day for memories to fade,’ he added significantly. ‘Or wait a little for your food and get the money now.'
'All right, all right,’ Tarrian replied. ‘It's just that I haven't eaten for…'
'Ten minutes,’ Antyr said caustically.
Tarrian maintained a dignified silence for a moment, then he turned off down a flight of stairs. ‘Down here,’ he said. ‘I hope you're paying attention to the way we're going.'
'Right at the bottom, along the corridor, across the hall, bear right after the decorated archway…’ Antyr began reciting.
'All right,’ Tarrian interrupted unkindly, adding, ‘Let's see how you manage coming back.'
'I'm not envisaging any difficulty,’ Antyr replied haughtily.
Tarrian gave an anticipatory ‘We'll see’ grunt.
'Right, here.'
'Left!'
A little while later, and after explaining themselves to three separate servants from whom they inquired about the route, they arrived at a door bearing the worn and cryptic legend ‘Chanc Gen’ in ancient capital letters.
'Oh dear,’ Tarrian said ominously. ‘He's too mean to have the sign on his door repainted. I don't think this is going to be easy.'
As Antyr reached out to push it, the door opened to reveal a palace messenger. There was a brief dance as the two men both hesitated in the doorway and then stepped sideways and forward simultaneously. Tarrian ploughed through the resultant collision regardless, ensuring complete confusion.