Dream Finder

although to us it was merely a man; a good friend and helper to our ailing king, as we thought.

'Over many years, he was the king's faithful adviser and physician, and as the king became progressively weaker he took upon himself more and more of the burdens of state; and with them, inevitably, the reins of power. And, too, he did countless small, seemingly worthwhile things that in reality began subtly to undermine the qualities that made our people strong and free.

'Eventually, as his truer nature came nearer the surface, and voices began to be raised against his conduct, some of the most loyal lords complained directly to the king. But he was almost insane with his illness, and, in a rage, he had them imprisoned.'

He shook his head at some memory. ‘Then a man came from another land close by and exposed the evil for what it was.'

He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. His voice was calm but noticeably controlled when he continued. ‘Great harm was done to our city that day. Buildings broken and crushed like so many children's toys. Hundreds died.'

'This man came with an army? Laid siege to you?’ Ibris inquired, confused by the remark and also anxious to say something that might relieve Ryllans of some of his burden.

Ryllans turned and looked straight at him. ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘He came with only one companion, and faced the king's … physician … on the palace steps. The damage to the city was wrought by no more than a wave of the hand.'

Ibris's brow furrowed and, despite himself, he glanced at Feranc. His bodyguard, however, made no response, and his face was unreadable.

'A wave of the hand, Ibris,’ Ryllans repeated, stepping outside the protocol of their relationship to emphasize the truth of what he was saying. At the same time, he pointed to his eyes. ‘I was there, wearing the livery of the man as he did the deed and showed himself for the demon he truly was. And showed us the power that he commanded and that could be ours also.'

Ibris could not contain himself. ‘I know neither gods nor devils, Ryllans. Only men with godlike and diabolical ways…'

Feranc laid a hand gently on his arm and motioned him to silence.

Ryllans looked at him again. ‘The word was ill chosen,’ he said. ‘It came from my stomach, not my head. Such as I've learned about him since is that he was indeed a man but that his … soul … was wholly corrupted by his possession of a great and ancient power.'

He paused briefly.

'After this terrible meeting, he slew the king and took possession of the land, with such as ourselves at his side. Then came civil strife and all the horrors that that implies; kin against kin; treachery, mistrust; darkness. And in the end the loyal lords raised an army and marched to meet us.’ He shook his head reflectively. ‘Some said that his crushing power was bound in some way, but, whatever the cause, he withheld it and we were defeated. The lords broke our army and he fled. Fled into the cold mist-land to the north with us at his heels.'

He fell silent again for some time, and his voice was very soft when he spoke again, as if afraid it might be overheard. His slight accent became more pronounced.

'There we learned that the one we followed was but the servant of another. A great source of evil that felt as if it had come from the beginning of all time.'

'A man?’ Ibris asked, his eyes wide at the continuing pain in Ryllans’ voice.

The Mantynnai made a dismissive gesture. ‘No one ever saw him, or even his citadel, but his will was everywhere…’ He looked at the Duke. ‘Both feeding on and nurturing the devils in men. It was said that his malevolence had spanned the ages and had once spanned the world, and that, reawakened, he was preparing to do so again.'

He shuddered suddenly and swayed violently. Instinctively, both Ibris and Feranc reached out to catch him, but he set them aside gently at the same time as he accepted their support.

'But the lords and their allies followed us with a great army. Larger than anything this land has ever known.’ An expression almost of pride came on to his face. ‘As it stood against us, it stretched far beyond the sight into the dank mists and teeming rain. Rank upon rank. They, like us, were drenched and chilled and their colourful pennants and flags hung limp and lifeless, but we could feel their will assailing us across the plain even as we waited. Waited with many times their number in savage readiness, and with his will charging our spirits. Soon the enemy would be utterly defeated and we would sweep out into the world and to power and wealth.

'But it was we who were defeated, despite our numbers and our cruel troops. And somewhere, beyond our seeing, our master and his master were … taken from the battle … I don't how … suddenly, they were gone, and we were lost.

'Then, we scattered and fled, over mountains and plains, through deserts and wildernesses. Through the years. And as we fled, we gained a little wisdom. And finally we came here and saw a faint echo of our homeland and its king. Here we resolved that we must stand and seek to serve where previously we had sought to rule. Here we must atone.'

Ryllans fell silent, his eerie tale finished. Ibris wrapped his arms about himself as if infected by the chill mists and rain that had fallen on that last battle. There had been such power in Ryllans’ telling that for a moment he felt himself small and utterly defenceless; a pawn in some greater game; his life's achievements mean, tawdry and pathetic.

He held out his hand and looked at it, then at his city. That men, even good men, could follow evil leaders, he knew all too well. But could a man possess a power that could crush a city with the merest wave? It wasn't possible …

But he could not dismiss such a witness as Ryllans. And the Mantynnai had not spoken in allegory and metaphor. He had seen what he had seen and he had told of it truthfully.

Ibris's thoughts whirled. Feranc offered no support. Indeed, his whole manner seemed to have become more distant and enigmatic than ever as he had listened to Ryllans’ tale.

Not possible! The words echoed around his head, clung to his thoughts like a crawling, suffocating creeper clings to a tree.

His knowledge of Ryllans hacked at them. Just as his city seen from this tower was not the city that would be seen from the streets below, so he knew that he had to stand where Ryllans stood to see what he saw.

Had not he himself believed Antyr with his tale of worlds beyond this one, where a dead man lived again, and strange men possessing a power to change by means not understandable to ordinary men, moved freely and manipulated his enemies? Had he not believed him strongly enough to mobilize his entire country for war as never before, and to jeopardize his own position as ruler?

'Your story verges on the unbelievable, Ryllans,’ he admitted simply, at last. ‘But I've known you too long to do other than believe you totally. Time will perhaps reconcile me to the strangeness of it.'

To break the unreal atmosphere pervading their high eyrie, he became practical.

'You fear that this … man … and his master are perhaps come here after fleeing the field?’ he asked.

Ryllans frowned thoughtfully. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head definitely. ‘They were gone utterly. Not just fled. Gone from inside us, never to return. There were other powers fighting that day. We were but part of a greater battle. My master and the one he served both fell to some other hand, I'm sure, but I could not say they were … dead … slain. Could you slay the sky, the wind? But they were gone.'

'Then what's so distressed you all?’ Ibris asked.

'The power is there for all to use, who can master it,’ Ryllans replied. ‘And there were darker followers than we in those days. Disciples.'

'And one such might be here?'

'Someone with his … skills … is here,’ Ryllans answered.

His unequivocal tone seemed to strike Ibris clear through and he felt a whirl of fear twist in his stomach. In spite of himself he exorcised it with a reproach. ‘How could you and the others have followed this … man … when you learned the truth?’ he asked.

Ryllans bowed his head slightly, then looked at him squarely. ‘We erred,’ he said, though with neither excuse nor plea in his voice. ‘Now we atone as best we can.'

As he knew it would when the question left his lips, Ibris's reproach rebounded on him. ‘You are punished