The Return of the Sword

by Roger Taylor

  It came from the many tribes who roamed the vast and barren plains beyond the mountains to the north. They had been united under a powerful and ruthless leader, Ivaroth, and, fired with his ambition, were preparing to sweep down through the mountains and seize what their legends told them was their old land when the two main protagonists had fought themselves to exhaustion. As they surely would.

  ‘It gets difficult here,’ Yatsu told his now enthralled audience. ‘There was more to Ivaroth than at first appeared. He had a companion; a man, apparently blind, yet who could see, and who had . . . powers that you need to know about. We only learned of him after everything was over, from Antyr who . . . met him and . . . dealt with him. I think perhaps he should tell you the rest.’

  As all eyes turned towards him, Antyr shuffled awkwardly in his chair. Throughout the long journey from his homeland with Yatsu and Jaldaric he had pondered what had happened to him in the weeks before the terrible battle that had destroyed Ivaroth and the blind man and sent the tribesmen, broken and bewildered, back to their old nomadic life.

  Though he had prevailed in a vital and mysterious part of that battle, and though he was many times his former self, the man who had spent years slowing sinking into bitterness and drunkenness, he knew only that he felt himself inadequate to deal with the skills that he now possessed. He had left his homeland because he knew that no help would be available to him there, though he had followed little more than instinct – and, he suspected, the silent urging of Tarrian and Grayle – when he had accepted Yatsu’s and Jaldaric’s offer to take him to the man Hawklan, a healer, who ‘might be able to help.’ True, at no time since had he been seriously inclined to regret this decision, and during the journey he had learned many things: about his companions, about Hawklan and the Cadwanol and the Second Coming of Sumeral and, not least, yet more about himself. But now he was here, he was at a loss to know where to start his tale, rather like Yatsu just before him. Two other things were not helping him. One was Yatsu’s own clear, orderly and uncluttered telling, the other was an element of malicious chuckling coming from Tarrian at his pending discomfiture. He did his best to ignore this as he cleared his throat and turned stiffly towards Andawyr.

  ‘In my land, I’m what’s known as a Dream Finder. I enter into the dreams of people and, as circumstances dictate, comfort them, assure them, advise them, whatever’s needed.’ Immediately he saw questions in Andawyr’s eyes but the Cadwanwr remained silent. ‘How I do this, I don’t know. I’m afraid that’s a phrase I have to use a great deal. How any of us do it, I don’t know, though it’s not an uncommon skill in our land.’ He glanced at Yatsu and Jaldaric. ‘It’s a born skill of some kind, but I understand it’s not something you’re familiar with here.’

  Andawyr still made no comment, other than to give him a nod of encouragement.

  ‘Tarrian and Grayle here are my Companions, my Earth Holders.’ He reached down and touched the two animals gently. Tarrian’s ear flicked irritably. ‘They guide me through the dreams and protect me in some way, though again I don’t know how or from what. It’s something deep in their wolf natures, too deep for them to explain to me even if they felt inclined to.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m sorry if this is vague, I’m not used to talking about what I do.’

  ‘It’s not vague,’ Andawyr said. ‘It’s strange, that’s all. Very strange, I’ll admit. But we’ll have plenty of time to go into details, if you’re willing and if you want to stay. There’s a vast store of knowledge here and at Anderras Darion. It could well be there’s something about your particular talent just waiting to be found. And if there isn’t, we’ll learn what we can from you and then there will be. You’re doing fine. I’m intrigued, to say the least. Please carry on.’ Before Antyr could continue, however, a thought struck Andawyr and, leaning forward, he put a firm hand on Antyr’s arm. ‘Let me state the obvious, just to ease your mind. Should you have any doubts about speaking to us like this, rest assured that the very fact that Yatsu and Jaldaric have brought you here means we know you have a true need and that you’re neither fraud, madman nor charlatan. And that they’ve called you a valued friend says much more.’

  ‘He’s more than just a Dream Finder,’ Jaldaric intervened. ‘He’s a brave man. Someone with considerable resource.’ Yatsu nodded in agreement.

  Seeing his guest’s further embarrassment at this unexpected praise, Andawyr again came to his aid. ‘He’d have to be to put up with you two for any length of time.’ Then, with exaggerated sternness, ‘And let’s have no more interruptions, young Jaldaric. Have you forgotten the Fyordyn ways of Accounting already?’ He motioned Antyr to continue.

  Encouraged, the Dream Finder plunged on. ‘My father – my late father – had been Duke Ibris’s Dream Finder once, long ago, and when the Duke began having strange dreams he asked me for help. What I – we – discovered, eventually, was that Ivaroth was himself a Dream Finder, albeit an untrained one, and that he was using his skill to assail the Duke and also the leaders of Bethlar to foment the war between the two cities for his own ends as Yatsu told you. What we also discovered was that his Earth Holder was not an animal, but a man. I didn’t even think such a thing was possible. And he was terrifying.’ He shuddered as old memories flooded over him. ‘He was what we could call a Mynedarion – a person who has the ability to affect physical things, to change them, with a mere gesture – or with a thought – I don’t know.’ He gesticulated unhappily. ‘You must understand that as far as I was concerned – as far as any Dream Finder, any rational person, was concerned – Mynedarion were mythical – part of a quaint tale come down through the ages about how the world was made – not real flesh and blood.’ Antyr made a slashing action with his hand to cut through his own confusion. ‘But he was real and he did have powers of some kind. Powers that defied logic but that he used to sustain Ivaroth as ruler of the tribes and that he didn’t hesitate to use against either people or things as the whim took him. He was dementedly evil.’

  His manner and sudden passion brought a deep stillness into the room and when he spoke again his voice was soft, as though the words themselves might bring some retribution in their wake. He continued speaking directly to Andawyr.

  ‘When we enter a dream, there is a place we know as the Nexus: a place into which our client’s many dreams, past and present, leak, as it were. From there, our Earth Holder, our Companion, guides us to and through the Portal of the dream where our client’s need lies. In the dream, we become the dreamer and can sustain or comfort him as needed and quite often learn enough to be of further help on waking. This is what all of us can do. It’s our gift and, given the gift and a suitable Companion, there’s neither difficulty nor mystery in the use of it.’

  His black-eyed gaze held Andawyr.

  ‘As you might appreciate, a great deal of thought has been given over the years by learned men as to how such a gift could come about – why such a thing should be possible. And while much has been written and conjectured, there’s more speculation than hard fact, and the whole business is mingled with storytelling and legend. However, there’s a dominant belief that some – we would call them Masters – can move through what are known as Gateways in the dreams themselves and into the Antechambers of the Threshold to the Great Dream itself.’

  His hesitation returned.

  ‘You were there, man, tell them! They need to know.’ Tarrian’s command jolted him but he still found it difficult to continue.

  ‘The Antechambers are . . . other worlds. Places as real and as solid as where we are now, but . . . not here.’

  Oslang shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Andawyr’s hand came out to still him and his look urged Antyr on.

  ‘The Great Dream itself is the place – though place is hardly an appropriate word – in which all things and all times exist. It’s believed that, just as dreams leak into the confusion we call the Nexus, so these worlds are but echoes of the Great Dream.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s said that only the most gifted can fin
d the Inner Portals that lead to the Great Dream. Such individuals are known as Adepts. More fully, Adepts of the White Way. Tradition tells us that there were few Masters and even fewer Adepts, and all of them lived in times long gone. Times at the beginning of time when we were known as Dream Warriors, and charged by MaraVestriss, the creator of all things, with the duty of protecting Mynedarion – those in whom he had vested his own power – from Marastrumel, the Evil Weaver, whom he had created to be his companion and who turned against him.’ He released Andawyr and looked round at the others.

  ‘I did tell you it was difficult,’ Yatsu said into the ensuing silence.

  Andawyr nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes. But even at first hearing, there are some disconcerting resonances in the tale.’ He turned to Antyr. ‘Where are you in this . . . hierarchy of Dream Finders?’ he asked.

  The silence returned until, very softly, Antyr replied, ‘I don’t know. I was perhaps better than average at my job when I chose to be, but nothing more. But, as I said, Masters, Adepts, these were just part of our tradition. Not real.’

  ‘Yet?’

  ‘Yet I’ve been to other worlds – worlds that were not this one. I’ve walked in them, breathed their air, felt their sun. And I’ve been somewhere that I believe to be the Great Dream insofar as I could perceive it. There I saw, in ways that are not seeing as we understand it, the myriad worlds of the Threshold – shifting, changing, coming together, drifting apart, flickering in and out of existence, endlessly.’ His eyes widened. ‘All knowledge was there. Everything was there.’

  Andawyr spoke very softly. ‘How did you come there?’

  ‘I told you, I don’t know. I know so very little about my gift. That’s why I’m here, searching.’

  ‘You wish to go there again?’

  Antyr did not speak for a long time. ‘It’s not a place where people belong. It’s not a place we can begin to comprehend.’

  ‘Then why are you searching?’ There was a penetrating coldness in the question. Both Yatsu and Jaldaric flinched slightly, seeing their travelling companion thus pinioned.

  Antyr lowered his eyes for a moment. When he raised them, it was Andawyr who found himself transfixed. ‘Because something is wrong. Something is flawed. He was there too. Ivaroth’s Earth Holder, with his corruption and his awful power. And others. How he had come there I don’t know. Perhaps it was through me, perhaps through Ivaroth, perhaps through some unknowable conjunction of the two of us. But it shouldn’t have been. Yet he was there, and in search of still more power. He was possessed by a desire to rend and destroy all that he saw and reshape it after his own way.’

  Despite the bright sunlight being carried into the room by the mirror stones, Antyr’s face was drawn and grim.

  ‘Yatsu said that you “dealt with” this man,’ Andawyr said. ‘Unusually for a Goraidin, that had a hint of euphemism about it.’

  ‘I dealt with him,’ Antyr replied flatly. ‘And Ivaroth too. For he was there also.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve learned so much about myself. And not all of it’s been to my liking.’ For a moment it seemed that he was going to break down, but he composed himself. ‘Ivaroth I killed in the way men kill. He attacked me and I was lucky. He died on the knife of one of his own victims. The blind man . . .’ He shook his head. ‘For an instant he was my Earth Holder, he became me, and I him, as is the way. And in that instant I understood him. Saw to the heart of him. Saw the tortured route he had followed, the desires that bound him. And when he attacked me I returned his own power, his own inner knowledge of himself, to him. In pity, you understand, not malice. But it destroyed him. Sent him to places beyond this world.’

  Andawyr glanced at Yatsu who answered his question before it was asked.

  ‘Ivaroth’s body was found, but there was no sign of the blind man. But he existed all right. Many people saw him. And it seems he knew how to use the Power and use it well.’

  ‘He’d been taught.’

  It was Antyr. Andawyr turned to him sharply.

  ‘What I learned from him faded almost immediately. It always does. But some impressions lingered, for what they’re worth. Someone, at some time, loomed large in his life – literally – a tall, powerful figure – someone who held him in thrall with the knowledge and the promise of power he offered. And whatever took his sight was . . . a great light, or . . .’ He searched for a word. ‘. . . something that was torn from him, something that was bound to him in the deepest way.’ He nodded. ‘Yes. It was a loss. A terrible, wrenching loss.’

  ‘You sound almost sorry for him,’ Yatsu said.

  ‘How could I not be?’ Antyr replied without hesitation. ‘Who am I to say that I might not have travelled his way in his circumstances? You’re a soldier, you understand that. But sorrow for how he came to be as he was gave me no qualms then about what I did to him, nor does it now. I’d have had it otherwise but I’d no choice. He was evil beyond imagining. Removal from this world was all that was left for him, for all our sakes.’

  There was a long silence. Attention turned to Andawyr who was looking out at the sunlit valley. ‘Twice now you’ve referred to him as being gone from this world.’ He turned and smiled slightly. ‘Have you picked up our Goraidin’s unexpected flair for euphemism?’

  There was enough humour in his tone to lighten the dark atmosphere that had crept over the group. Antyr returned it.

  ‘No. I’ve picked up their painful insistence on accuracy. I don’t know whether the man’s dead or not. He was just gone from where we were. And gone from this world. He was no longer a threat. And he was hurt – badly hurt. That I do know.’

  Andawyr’s eyes narrowed. ‘So many, many questions,’ he said. ‘I can see why you’d feel the need to seek help.’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘It would be much easier for us all if we could just declare that you’re rambling due to a sickness of the mind, but I fear you’re all too sane. And, in any case, I’d have you stay here if only to find out more about your splendid Companions.’ He clapped his hands and just managed to restrain himself from reaching down to stroke the two wolves. ‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish, though I’d feel obliged to warn you that while you’re sane now, you might well not be after dealing with our incessant questioning.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Yatsu muttered.

  Before Andawyr could respond to the taunt, Antyr said, ‘I doubt you can ask as many questions as I’ve asked myself, but I appreciate your kindness and thank you for it. I’d welcome the opportunity to learn more about who I am and what’s happened. Not only because of my ignorance about my own abilities, but because there were others as evil as he bound in that place . . .’ He stopped.

  ‘And?’ Andawyr prompted.

  ‘As I said, something’s wrong. While I was there I “saw” something which has been returning to me constantly, and which disturbs me in a way I can’t explain. It’s as though I’ve seen a hurt deep in the heart of the way the world itself is made.’

  Chapter 4

  Andawyr had been about to rise but he froze as Antyr spoke. The coincidence of Antyr’s words with his own recent concerns suddenly made him feel afraid.

  ‘Finish your tale, Antyr,’ he said quietly. ‘I shouldn’t have interrupted you. Tell us about this . . . hurt . . . you found, and the others you saw there.’

  Both Grayle and Tarrian opened their eyes and looked at him.

  ‘I saw no one. Only the blind man. The others I heard. Voices ringing around and through me.’ Instinctively Antyr wrapped his arms about himself as the memory of their cold presence returned to him. ‘They were captive there, they said. Chained by others, long ago. Others like me. For using – misusing – what they called the true power. They called me an Adept – cried the word out in a frenzy. They were waiting for the blind man to bring me to them. They needed me so that they could be free again – free to move amongst the Threshold worlds – to wreak vengeance. Their ambition was the same as the blind man’s – to destroy everything and to remake it in a fashion o
f their own.’

  He chuckled humourlessly. ‘Somehow, I defied them, or rather I spoke defiantly to them. Threatened them with the name they’d given me and added my own personal menace as best I could. “I am an Adept of the White Way. Heir to those who bound you here.”’ He shrugged, then curled his lip in a self-deprecating sneer. ‘Whistling in the dark, I suppose. It had as much effect as it would on you. I was less than an apprentice, they told me. As if I didn’t realize that for myself. A thing of clay and dross with the merest spark of past greatness in me.’ Antyr paused, mulling over the cold dismissal, still vividly with him. Then a flicker of triumph displaced his bitter sneer. ‘Still, I defeated them. When the blind man fell, they fell with him. Bound again by their own malevolence.’

  He looked at Andawyr. ‘But they’re still there. Still festering, waiting, until some other innocent stumbles upon them. Someone less fortunate than I was. And they told me there were others, too; that their punishment was but part of a greater ill and that they were only the vanguard for the reshaping that was to come.’

  Andawyr waited for a moment, unsettled by this eerie tale, then asked again, as casually as he could. ‘And the hurt you thought you saw. The hurt deep within the world.’

  ‘I’ve no words for that,’ Antyr went on. ‘I didn’t see as we see here. Nothing there was as it is here. This place is a vague shadow by comparison. As am I. I was both part of and separate from everything. All I can tell you is that there are countless worlds, somehow both here and not here, and that they are being disturbed by a wrongness which emanates from here. I’m sorry I can’t explain it better, but those are the only words I can find. Though the memory keeps returning to me – disturbing me.’

  ‘Your words are fine,’ Andawyr said. ‘And your pain needs no explanation.’

  He massaged the remains of his nose.

  ‘Ar-Billan, what do you make of all this?’ he asked abruptly.