He did not consider it however, being for the most part preoccupied by the events that had brought about this improbable change; events that had surged out of nothingness to overturn his bleak, pointless life and thrust him into the circles of Serenstad's most powerful as some kind of a principal player.
But what kind of a player was he? That his life of ale-swilling and corrosive self-pity now seemed to belong to someone else, long ago, was a source of both surprise and satisfaction to him, but with his new-found well-being and increasing excitement about his strange burgeoning skills, came darker thoughts. It was as if he had struggled at last from some great, clinging morass, but finding himself safe on firm ground, armed and armoured even, gradually realized that he was on the enemy's shore. An enemy whose numbers, weapons and intent he knew nothing of. And there was no retreat open to him; he could move only forward. It was not possible for him to return to his old ways now, to plunge back into the morass. Too much had been awakened inside him.
Thus, sensing his charge's preoccupation, Estaan had eventually gently abandoned his instruction for the day and advised his pupil to, ‘Go back to your quarters and sit and think. I'll attend to the other matter you wanted me to look at.'
And thinking for the most part was what Antyr had been doing, though, he mused, shifting position slightly to relieve a stiff leg, to little avail. He had spoken to the Duke and Arwain with great confidence about the possible intentions of the Mynedarion and his guide, and indeed he had felt confident. But who was he to interpret the motives of such creatures, such men?
Yet even on reflection, his conviction did not waver. The Mynedarion and his guide would not return lightly to the Threshold for some time. This had been confirmed when they had faltered at the prospect during the Bethlarii envoy's dream. But why …?
The thoughts circled again.
The Mynedarion's longing for him had been beyond dispute. ‘You shall be my guide,’ the dark figure had said amid the din of the storm, and the memory of the cloying desire that had surrounded the words hung in Antyr's mind like a sickness. But the guide, the Master who had brought the Mynedarion to the Threshold, had been afraid; afraid enough to draw his sword, despite the awesome power of his ghastly companion.
Of what he had been afraid, however, Antyr could only surmise. Was it simply the sight of a stranger approaching him so purposefully? Unlikely, Antyr decided, remembering Nyriall's reference to a battle he had encountered in one of the other Threshold worlds. Some at least of the Threshold worlds were obviously well populated. And the sword had been drawn before Tarrian's and Grayle's hunting spirits had merged with him to make him truly formidable.
Suddenly it came to him that the guide had been afraid to lose his charge. He had been afraid that the Mynedarion would, for some reason, discard him in favour of this new arrival …
An ill-focused power struggle formed in Antyr's mind. Not only was he now a player in the affairs of Serenstad and the Duke, he was a player in the affairs of the Mynedarion and his guide, and who could guess at their intention beyond seemingly fomenting war between Bethlar and Serenstad?
The revelation felt like a step forward, but he could clarify the matter no further. And other thoughts still bewildered him. What had possessed him to venture after Nyriall, to seek out a Dream Finder's dream-the dream that couldn't be-and a dead man's dream at that? And then to walk into that storm, towards the heart of that raging darkness? And as for how he had escaped …? It was beyond Tarrian's or Grayle's ability to tell him. The whole experience seemed to defy all analysis.
His thoughts circled and swirled, and his moods came and went; now fearful, now courageous, now sad, now happy. But he arrived at no conclusions.
He looked down at his two Companions stretched out asleep in front of the fire. Tarrian was on his side with his nose close to the fire, while Grayle was on his back with his front legs daintily crooked in the air and his back legs splayed wide. Had he been awake it would have been a deliberate posture of submission, but now it was simply a brief unstable equilibrium, and very soon he would roll over into some other position.
So relaxed, Antyr thought. Just to watch them motionless was to learn about the true nature of movement.
Then an imp took hold of his foot and poked Tarrian with it.
'Hedonist,’ Antyr said. ‘Why can't you fret awhile like I am instead of hibernating?'
Tarrian did not move but a patronizing sigh filled Antyr's head. ‘We don't need to fret,’ came the reply. ‘You're doing more than enough for us all.'
Grayle chuckled and slowly rolled over.
'Thank you for your support,’ Antyr retorted caustically.
'Our pleasure,’ the two wolves replied simultaneously with some mirth.
'You've both been suspiciously quiet these last two days,’ Antyr said, ignoring their patronizing. ‘What have you been up to apart from finding every eating hall and kitchen in the palace, and ingratiating yourselves with cooks and servants?'
'Thinking, like you. And talking, and listening,’ Tarrian answered.
The reply was more serious than Antyr had expected and for a moment he did not know what to say.
'Talking and listening to whom,’ he said, eventually.
Tarrian struggled to his feet and stretched himself luxuriously before lying down again. ‘Talking to each other. Listening to you,’ he replied.
'To me?’ Antyr said, in some surprise.
'Oh yes,’ Tarrian replied. ‘We're as confused as you about everything that's happened. We need to know what you've made of it all.'
'Precious little, I'm afraid,’ Antyr said, wearily. ‘My thoughts simply go round and round, getting nowhere.'
'You misjudge yourself,’ Tarrian said. ‘Your whirling thoughts are necessary to feed the true knowledge that lies deeper inside you.'
'In my wolf self?’ Antyr retorted ironically; the topic was not unfamiliar.
'Indeed,’ Tarrian replied, in like vein. ‘In your wiser self. The part of you that truly knows, when the thinking mind alone cannot. I've told you often enough, just follow your nose.'
Antyr rubbed his eyes for no particular reason. He did not disagree with his Companion. Dream Finding was a born gift and while, to those possessing it, techniques could be taught and learned, it was at heart beyond rational explanation. And the strange bond between Dream Finder and Companion was rooted in trust; a trust that could only come from some deep inner certainty.
And it must still be so, he realized abruptly. In doing the things that he had done, he had acted correctly. Just as the two wolves, in doing what they had done, had acted correctly. That logical reasons could not immediately be found to justify their actions was irrelevant. Dream Finding came first from within-from a logic not immediately apparent. Whatever attributes had awakened in him must be no different in their nature from those that were already there and which he took for granted. Just like roots hidden in the dark soil. Unseen they grew and changed, and from them, into the light, came trees and flowers and grasses for all to see. And they, in their turn, sustained the roots.
'See. You got there in the end,’ Tarrian said. ‘Laboured away and arrived at the answer you've known all your life.'
Antyr looked at the wolf narrowly, but the comment was straightforward and quite without irony.
True,’ he said, after a moment. ‘But it's not enough. I still feel I must have reins in my hands. Knowledge of what I'm doing. Control over it.'
He faltered and, sitting upright, became agitated. ‘Who knows what these people can do? What powers they can bring against us? Faith in my ordinary Dream Finding skill is one thing. I have experience-past knowledge to guide me. But this …?'
Tarrian crawled along the floor towards him and flopped across his feet. Grayle did the same. Antyr leaned forward and stroked the two wolves. For the moment, it seemed that nothing else could be said about his concerns.
With a brief touch of remorse he turned to the needs of his Companions. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said. ‘I've been so preoccupied with my own problems I've ignored you entirely, haven't I?’ Under other circumstances such a comment might have provoked an acid response from Tarrian, but all Antyr felt was a wave of understanding and support.
