by Roger Taylor
The latter part of his remark was obviously spoken for Kany's benefit, but it provoked no response, and Antyr could feel the three Companions talking urgently at some level below his awareness.
Pandra leaned forward confidentially. ‘That miserable porter at the Guild House said you'd been arrested by the palace guards. Quite smug he was about it. I was most concerned…’ He tailed off absently, then, ‘And I've been thinking about your story … That separation from your Companion … One gets into such a rut, one forgets. It came to me last night, though I'm hesitant to mention it, it sounds so foolish…'
'I've been into one of the worlds of the Threshold,’ Antyr blurted out starkly, before Pandra could continue.
Pandra stared at him blankly at first, then his face became a mixture of excitement, disbelief, and alarm. He looked at Antyr intently. ‘You seem no madder than you did yesterday,’ he said with unexpected bluntness. ‘And I don't think I am. We must talk…’ He flicked a significant glance towards Estaan.
'Shall I wait outside?’ Estaan said, intercepting the look.
Antyr shook his head. ‘This is Estaan,’ he said to Pandra. ‘He can stay, for the moment, at least. He's been a witness to today's events and he … felt … something himself. And he's one of the Mantynnai. He was instructed to look after me after…’ He looked about the room self-consciously. ‘After I was appointed to be the Duke's Dream Finder.'
Pandra raised an eyebrow but scrutinized Estaan first. ‘Mantynnai, eh?’ he said. ‘Kany?'
'He is,’ the rabbit replied after a brief pause. Pandra nodded sagely.
Estaan shifted uncomfortably as this unseen judge announced his verdict.
Pandra turned again to Antyr, eyebrow still raised. ‘Your fortunes seem to be rising, young Antyr,’ he said with some irony. ‘Arrested one minute, Dream Finder to the Duke next. And now escorted personally by the Mantynnai.'
'I wasn't arrested,’ Antyr said, shaking his head. ‘I was being sought out by another … important … client.’ He waved his hand irritably. ‘But that doesn't matter at the moment.'
His expression became anxious. ‘How well did you know Nyriall?’ he asked.
'Hardly at all,’ Pandra replied. ‘I've met him once or twice at Guild meetings, but it was a long time ago. An unusual man. You could feel that, just by speaking to him. But a bit too much of an idealist from what I've heard. Seemed to think he could do something about everybody's happiness.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘But you've got to accept reality sooner or later, haven't you? There's only so much you can do for anyone. And you'll do no one any good by starving to death for them.’ He paused, then said, ‘I gather from the past tense in your question that he's probably done just that.'
Antyr shook his head. ‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘But I'm afraid he is dead. Though far more strangely than by starvation.'
Pandra waited.
Plunging in, Antyr told of his visit to Nyriall and the strange events that had passed there.
The old Dream Finder was silent for a long time when Antyr had finished.
'Then they're truly there.’ The voice was Kany's, and it was subdued, awe-stricken almost. ‘The worlds of the Threshold. Truly there. Just like it says in the Treatise. I'd never given it two minutes’ serious credence; this is an age of reason, isn't it? And now you've been there. And even drawn your Companions after you. All three of you there, for a brief moment … I didn't believe you, Tarrian, Grayle. I'm sorry…'
'But what does it all mean?’ Antyr asked. ‘And why's it happening to me? I'm no … Master. I've had no special training. Nor done any special study. In fact, if the truth be told, I've neglected my craft as diligently as others have pursued theirs.'
Pandra shook his head. ‘You ask unanswerable questions, Antyr,’ he said. ‘It seems you are a Master, regardless of your application to your craft. Your … great … talent is perhaps as chance a thing as any Dream Finder's ordinary one. And there's neither rhyme nor reason as to why that's handed down to some and not to others. At least, no reason that we can see.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps you went … astray … because of the extent of your ability. Great talents are not always a blessing. I've a client who's a fine painter; brilliant even. His work is much praised and some of it is actually hung in the palace. But he sits far from easy in his life. He's a peculiarly tormented individual.'
Antyr grimaced. ‘Master,’ he muttered to himself in denial. ‘Maybe you're right. I don't know. I certainly don't feel like one.’ Wilfully, he moved away from the subject. ‘But, whatever I am, I've still to find out what's happening, and why. I have to find out who those two figures were and what they were doing there, creating such havoc and…'
His face became grim as the thought formed in his mind. ‘Murdering Nyriall!'
The words hung in the air like acrid smoke and for a while no one spoke.
'You can walk away,’ Pandra offered tentatively. ‘It might have been something that Nyriall brought on himself and it may have died with him.'
Antyr shook his head. ‘No. I don't think so,’ he said. ‘The evil in it was something I'd felt before. And I've got the feeling that if I run, it'll follow me. Predator after prey.'
Silence returned to the room.
'We must look in the Treatise first,’ Kany said eventually, his voice determinedly calm. ‘You've been thrashing about so frantically in your fatigue and fear, and Tarrian's been so full of guilt at what he sees as his responsibility for failing to stop your seemingly relentless decline, that you've failed to consider the most obvious source of information.’ He paused. ‘As have we, if I'm honest. Too old. Too stupid. Go and get the book, Pandra.'
Pandra hesitated.
'Go on,’ Kany snapped, his normal manner reasserting itself. ‘It's on the top shelf in the back room.'
'I know,’ Pandra replied testily. ‘But I don't see what good the Treatise is going to be. I don't remember anything in it about how to become a Master, how to reach the Threshold or…’ He paused as if suddenly recollecting something.
'No, you never read it properly,’ Kany shouted into his reverie. ‘Dream Finders never do. Learn a few tricks then think they know it all. Now go and get it. You, Mantynnai, go and help him, it's heavy and it's on a high shelf. We can't afford physician's fees if he falls off something and injures himself.'
Estaan stood up uncertainly, still unsettled by this strange conversation that was half spoken out loud and half echoing in his head. He looked at Antyr who, despite his own confusion, could not prevent himself from smiling.
'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 str
eak 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 the 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, reme
mbering 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.'