student’s elbow. It was obviously a stunning blow. Renir’s right arm fell numb against his side, but he did not give up. He blocked another blow to his head, swung a leg and upended Shorn again.
The mercenary rose with a smile, and the two men touched fists to signal the end of their training for the day. Renir clapped Shorn on the shoulder, then looked around for the old men. Spotting them in the crowd, they made their way over.
“He’s getting better,” said Wen grudgingly as they approached. “Not many men could put Shorn on his arse. Still, bet he couldn’t best him with a blade in his hand.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said Bourninund.
“I sincerely hope he’ll never have to,” said Drun.
“What do you think then?” said Renir as he made his way to them. “Pretty nifty, eh?”
“Don’t get cocky, lad,” said Wen.
“Not bad, bit slow off the mark,” said Bourninund.
“Bit of encouragement wouldn’t go amiss,” complained Renir.
“Don’t pay them any mind, Renir. Can we talk?” Drun inclined his head.
“Suppose so. My arm’s still numb, by the way. Thanks, Shorn.”
“My arse is numb, too,” said Shorn with a rueful grin. “Won’t be long now before you can beat any man in a fair fight. Different with the blade, though. We’ll practise that tomorrow.”
“Look forward to it,” Renir said, and let Drun lead him away.
They walked until they reached the edge of the island ship, and Drun sat lightly looking out over the seas. In the distance, the sky was a purpling bruise, a storm heading inland from the ocean. The wind was still calm, but it would not be long in coming. Already the temperature was dropping, and this far north it was chill, despite the bitter glare of the twin suns.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you. Sometimes I forget you’re just as important a part of this company as Shorn, or I. You might not be a child of prophesy, but I see a greatness in you.”
“Stop kidding around, Drun,” said Renir bashfully. He sat next to the priest, buttoning his jerkin against the chill outriders of the storm.
“I don’t play, Renir. Neither should you.” Drun pinned him with a serious eye. “It can’t wait any longer. I’ve been putting off talking to you, perhaps in error, but too long. I think we should talk about your dreams.”
Renir shook his head, his long hair hiding his face from those dangerous, bright yellow eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t ask. It became my business when it began affecting you. I can’t let anything endanger us on our journey. Shorn must reach the wizard, or the old ones will return, and everything we know will be burnt away. You have changed since we have been on the road, Renir. For the better, I believe, but there is something strange going on, and I must know what it is if I am to help. You cry out, sometimes you talk in your sleep, and sometimes you twitch, and lash out, but it can go on no longer. You are not alone. Everything you do affects us all. We are all linked now.”
“Then why don’t you talk to Wen? If anyone is a danger to us, it’s Wen and his seer’s grass.”
“I won’t pretend I’m not chary of talking to him, but his addiction serves a purpose as surely as your dreams. Fate finds a path for all of us. I don’t doubt we were set on this path from our birth, and perhaps Carious and Dow have watched over us since our father’s fathers were born. We all serve fate, in our own way. Now, tell me of your dreams, and don’t leave anything out.”
Renir fiddled with his jerkin for a few moments, and considered holding onto his dreams, but only for a second. Drun was right. He might well be risking his friends. How many times had he cursed the others for keeping their secrets? He would not fall into the same trap. No matter how hard it might be to stay true.
He began to talk, reluctantly and haltingly. He was embarrassed by some of his dreams, and frightened, too. But if he could not trust Drun, he could trust no one. It had taken him many months to believe in Shorn. That trust was earned, sometimes the hardest way of all, in the midst of battle. Drun was different, though. He asked little but what a man was willing to give. He had not asked Renir to risk his life on this journey. That had been his choice.
No time to regret, and no chance to go back. He was committed. It was with that sense of commitment that he found the courage to talk.
“I dream of a witch. She has changed me, in ways I never imagined possible. I heal faster and more completely than is natural. It doesn’t feel wrong, exactly, but it is strange. I haven’t spoken of it with you because…well, I was afraid.”
Drun said nothing, but looked away from Renir. He felt it might be easy for the fledgling warrior if he was not scrutinised while he unburdened himself.
“I was afraid you would try to fix me, or take this gift away. I like it, Drun. I feel so much more…complete… than I ever did. I feel braver, stronger…it is most unusual, but I don’t think there is anything malign about it. The witch gives, but she never takes.”
“Do you know anything of the lore of witches?”
“I do. I know there is always a price. But she has not demanded it.”
“And she will not, not until the time comes when she does. With a witch you never know the price, not until it is too late.”
“But she does not feel evil. Besides, in my dreams, I have never had the chance to ask about the price. They are always too busy, and she talks constantly…I can barely get a word in edgewise.”
“And you can think, react, in your dreams?”
“In the witch dreams, yes. In others, no.”
“Then it is a visitation. You are a dreamer, no? I would imagine you have always had vivid dreams.”
“Just ordinary dreams, I suppose. Nothing strange about them. Aside from the witch.”
“And what does she tell you?”
“I can’t always remember. I do know she gives me warnings, sometimes, like…don’t trust Wen…who Shorn’s son was…things like that. It’s as though she knows the future.”
“Does she ever harm you?”
Renir seemed to Drun to think of an answer overly long, but the priest did not interrupt.
“When it began, I was terrified. I think I know why, though.”
Drun was interested. “Why, do you think?”
“I fought it. I have come to accept it. It is like…having a friend. I don’t know as I trust her — I wouldn’t trust anyone who barged in on my dreams…but she has only given me knowledge, and this strange power to heal. Also, this may sound strange…”
“Very little sounds strange to me, Renir.”
“You’ve never heard my story of the bewildered goose before.”
“And probably have no need to. What is strange?”
“I think she likes me…I get the impression that when I don’t do what she wants, she is angry, but only because she is worried for me. I think she wants me to live, but also to do the right things…I don’t know, it’s almost like all women. Perhaps there is nothing strange about it. I suppose most women find a way to push men into doing what they think is best for them, even if the man doesn’t think so.”
“Women are often wiser than men,” Drun mused, largely to himself, but Renir heard him.
“Well, I think this one has the makings of me. It’s like she knows me better than I know myself, sometimes. She knows things about me I have never spoken out loud…all my embarrassments — and there have been a few — all my fears, my hopes, my dreams. Can a visitor read minds in the dream world?”
“No, you can converse, or remain silent. You can be truthful, or deceitful, and the visitor would never know.”
“And yet she seems to know.”
“Perhaps she is merely perceptive.”
“Yes,” said Renir, “But it seems to be more than just that.”
Drun picked at the hem of his cloak, which was bunched around his knees. The Seafarers had made it for him. It was a fine, thick cloak. They would need it when they went ashore.
Renir looked at his own. It was threadbare, and far too thin for the north.
He sighed. Forever the poor relation on this trip. Still, at least he was better clothed than Wen. The giant
