Dream Finder

'What of your duty to your king?’ he said, appearing in front of them as they prepared to ride from the palace. ‘Aren't you to take the Mantynnai back for an accounting and judgement?'

Haster smiled at the ambush. ‘Our duty to our queen, and our people, Lord, is to seek out our erstwhile countrymen and let them know that an accounting is required of them. We know what your Mantynnai have done since they came here and we shall carry their accounting for them.'

'You have that authority, soldier?’ Ibris pressed.

Haster's smile widened. ‘I shall account for it,’ he replied.

Ibris nodded. ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘But, your intentions notwithstanding, I must tell you that you may not now leave here.'

Haster's eyes narrowed slightly, but Ibris cast a glance upwards by way of explanation. Drifting lazily down from the dull grey sky were the black silhouettes of the first winter snowflakes.

'The mountains will be impassable, the seas bad. Stay with us until the spring,’ Ibris said.

Haster cast a reproachful eye at the snow, now beginning to fall more rapidly. ‘We have some skill in such travelling, Lord,’ he said. ‘And there are far worse who followed as the Mantynnai did. They were weak and foolish, and lured into evil as many of us could have been. They have long atoned. But there are others who did deeds for which they must be found and returned home for accounting and judgement, no matter where they hide, no matter how long it takes.'

Ibris frowned with concern at the grim resolution in the man's voice, but he persisted. ‘Nevertheless, stay with us until the spring,’ he said again. ‘Tell us about your people and their ways, and about your own terrible war that's cast its shadow this far. Bring your light to dispel it.'

Only Antyr seemed ill at ease. Politely declining the honours that Ibris would have thrust upon him, he returned to his own home and occupied himself with such matters as repairing the gutters and decorating, and oiling the screeching door. At Tarrian's urging-‘Don't be so blistering stupid, man!’-he did not decline Ibris's offer of a generous pension for life.

His new-found friends, however, visited him frequently and gossiped about palace affairs and occasionally tried to urge him to move into the greater comfort of the palace. But always he declined.

'I have to think,’ he said. ‘I have to understand what I saw, what I did. But I'm well,’ he would conclude with a sad smile.

Then to Haster and Jadric one day, he said, ‘I fear my ignorance. I feel I have a great … gift … but I've no measure of it. And struggle as I may, I become no wiser about it.’ He was silent for some time. His two listeners waited. ‘It burdens me fearfully. They said I was scarce an apprentice,’ he said, eventually. ‘I need to learn, but no one here can help me.'

Haster and Jadric looked at one another, and spoke briefly in their own language. Then they spoke to Antyr.

The city was alive with the Winterfest, the celebrations for the winter solstice. Snow covered the rooftops and piled up on sills and walls, and when swept aside by diligent householders left icy strips of treachery for the unwary. At night, the Guild of Torchlighters, chilly-fingered but diligent, ensured that the city glowed with a brilliance and beauty which, in all conscience, belied its true nature. Such is the way with snow.

Ibris, stepping briefly away from the grand feast of the solstice night, stood silently looking out over his glittering city. ‘I'm glad you came tonight, Antyr,’ he said to the unusually spruce figure at his side. ‘It distresses me that I can do so little for you after all you've done.'

'Do as you've always done, sire,’ Antyr replied. ‘Build your great city and tend its people as they learn to tend themselves. I could ask you to do no more.'

Ibris nodded. ‘It seems a little impersonal,’ he said.

Antyr smiled. ‘Very well then,’ he said. ‘If you wish to present me with a personal gift, tell Aaken to pay my pension on time in future. It'll stop Tarrian pestering me about it.'

Ibris laughed and gave his most solemn word.

Later, there was a soft knock on Antyr's door. He did not seem surprised, nor did either Tarrian or Grayle raise any alarm. Picking up his bag and pulling his cloak tightly about him, he opened it. It made no sound.

Silent in the cold, torchlit snow stood two horsemen. With them was a pack horse and a riderless horse with two large panniers.

As Antyr emerged, a figure appeared from the shadows. Both the riders started slightly.

'You've lost none of your old skill … Ciarll,’ Haster said. He leaned forward and took Feranc's hand. ‘It's been good to find you again. It still grieves me that we didn't look longer for you after the winter campaign. Will you return with us also, or are you come to take Antyr?'

Feranc shook his head. ‘No, neither,’ he replied. ‘I smelt your plot and I've come to say my farewells. Grieve no more … Haster … No one could have found me in my flight, but your guidance carried me through the mountains and my madness as if you'd been by my side. My place is here now, like the Mantynnai. And while Ibris builds in the image of my birthland, I serve the king … the queen … still.'

Haster nodded and released his hand.

Feranc turned to Antyr and took his hand. ‘Live well and light be with you, Dream Finder,’ he said. ‘I shall tell the Duke of your needs. And that you will return again one day.'

Then, silently, he was gone.

Antyr motioned his two Companions forward, and with a rather undignified, leg-scrabbling effort, hoisted them into the panniers.

'We will take you to a land that borders ours and which we must pass through on our way home,’ Haster had said. ‘It's a land finer even than ours and there's a place there where you will find great knowledge. And a man of great wisdom: a healer. My heart tells me it is important that you meet him.'

'Are you comfortable?’ Antyr asked his Companions. Tarrian's drowsy voice drifted back to him.

'Yes,’ he said. ‘This is really quite commodious.’ He yawned noisily. As did Grayle: deep, silent, Grayle. ‘It'll be nice to be home again. To hear the Song. To see … the healer.'

'What?’ Antyr said, his voice squeaking incongruously as he peered into the pannier. ‘Where we're going is your land?'

'Yes,’ came the sleepy reply.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'You never asked.'

Antyr reached into the pannier and stroked the now sleeping Tarrian's head, then he walked round the horse and stroked Grayle's.

Gently lowering the lids of the panniers he looked up at the front of his house. The door stood open, and in the hallway a bent candle shone faithfully from its cracked earthenware holder.

He stepped inside and picked up the holder and the flint box beside it. Then he looked into his darkened house; his father's house; his childhood's house.

'Thank you,’ he said softly, and a little hoarsely.

He closed the door slowly and quietly.

The snow crunched under his feet as he returned to his guides and his eyes were bright as he looked up at them.

Then he raised the candle to his face, and gently blew out the light.

So ends the tale of Antyr, the Dream Finder … for the moment.

Meanwhile …

There is Farnor's tale …