made him keep silent.
'They're not Bethlarii, officer,’ Haster interrupted, his voice authoritative. ‘Though they might be in league with them as they must have passed through their territory. They're tribesmen from beyond the northern mountains. We travelled through their land to come here and the horse the lad rode is one of theirs without a doubt. Go and look for yourself. You've not seen a horse like that in these parts ever, I'll guarantee you.'
'I haven't seen one like yours, if it comes to that,’ the Liktor retorted with some indignation. ‘But I'm not going to make an invasion out of it. And I can't go rousing the garrison on the strength of a dead horse, and the gullibility of two strangers for the tale of a fevered reservist who's probably nothing more menacing than a deserter.'
Haster fixed the man with a cold gaze, his presence suddenly powerful and dominant. ‘You won't rouse the garrison, officer,’ he said. ‘The commander there will, when he's considered all the relevant information which I would ask you to deliver as soon as possible. If it's a mistake, which I doubt, then no harm's been done, and if the lad's story is accurate, then every moment is vital.'
Despite a good effort, the Liktor could not hold Haster's gaze, and he glanced down quickly at some papers on the desk in front of him. Haster continued before he could speak. ‘As for being strangers, you're quite right. We're both strangers and outlanders, visiting your land for the first time. We've no desire to become involved in one of your wars.’ He reached into his cloak and pulled out a document. ‘However, we're travelling this road at the request of a Commander Ciarll Feranc to see the Duke with the army at Whendrak. As a result of our encounter today we'll now be travelling there as fast as we can. The danger's real, no matter what you might think about it. Please take the lad's story to the commander at Viernce with the same dispatch.'
He offered the document to the officer sufficiently long for him to note the Duke's insignia, then, with a salute, he turned and strode out of the office. Jadric followed him, his face set.
When the Liktor, discomfited and flushed, stepped outside after them, it was to see them galloping down the village street. ‘Reckless riding,’ he muttered to himself crossly, adding peevishly, ‘and you'll not get to Whendrak at that speed, my lords, fine though your horses are.'
'We'd better do as they say, corp. They sounded like Mantynnai to me.'
The intrusion came from a cadet Liktor who had sat silently in the background during the discussion and who now emerged behind his senior to watch the outcome. Part of his training today included learning when to keep silent. The Liktor scowled down at him ferociously.
'Have you finished those mobilization reports I gave you to do, yet, cadet?’ he thundered.
Ivaroth looked down at the blind man, lying on the rough bed. He was torn as ever. Part of him wanted to finish the old man off; rid himself of this fearful creature. That's what it'll come to in the end, he thought, as he had many times before.
Yet still he watched the rising and falling of the man's chest anxiously, like a mother with a new-born child.
Still he needed him. Needed him to sustain himself with the personal power that made him the greatest and most feared warrior among all the tribes.
He cursed himself for his folly in driving the old man to so outreach himself in attacking the fleeing messenger. But he had become so used to the old man using his power directly on physical objects as well as firing his own inner fighting spirit, that it had never occurred to him that it was anything other than effortless. The old man had broken spear shafts and sword blades, shaken the earth, causing horses to stumble, lit fires, all with a flick of his hand. And, of course, there were the wild, almost unbelievable excesses he indulged in when they visited the worlds beyond. Nothing Ivaroth had seen had prepared him for the toll that destroying that messenger had seemingly wrought.
The old fool must have known what would happen. A memory of the slowly shaking head returned to Ivaroth reproachfully. Yet the old man had obeyed!
His need for me must be greater than mine for him, Ivaroth concluded. Despite his concerns, the thought elated him.
It must indeed be so. The old man had stuck to their bargain faithfully; making no demands, still less, threats, that he should be taken into the worlds beyond to search for this other place he had so lusted after at one time. He had obeyed all Ivaroth's orders without question or delay: tampering with the occasional dream to quell some rebellious lieutenant, or some doubting Bethlarii priest; strengthening his arm so that he could deal with some offender spectacularly; many small things.
I've beaten you, old man, Ivaroth concluded. You're prepared to destroy yourself at my whim because of the fear that I won't take you to the worlds beyond again.
It was a good feeling.
Yet Ivaroth still had his own needs. And they were considerable. He could not keep his army idle here for much longer. Tight though his grip was on the captured territory, it was only a matter of time before news of his invasion would leak out, and then the vital element of surprise would be lost. He wanted no major encounters until the two great armies beyond Whendrak had fought one another to a standstill, leaving him only the weakened and battle-weary remnants to deal with. And, too, a sudden faltering in their advance might well turn his own people on him. And without the old man's power he was virtually defenceless.
Something had to be done. And he could not ask the aid of any of the tribal shamans; that would seal his fate utterly.
The sound of voices outside the tent broke into his thoughts. Then, the door flap was pulled open and Endryn entered.
Instantly, Ivaroth felt his lieutenant's doubt and fear, screwed tight into anger. He went cold. It was as if the thoughts he had just had of his downfall had somehow reached out and begun their own fulfilment. Endryn was like the sudden icy wind that presaged the blizzard.
True to his character, however, Ivaroth struck first, straight to the heart, and without hesitation. Endryn had scarcely taken a step into the tent when Ivaroth beckoned him forward urgently.
'As ever, you read my mind, Endryn,’ he said, taking his arm in a powerful and urgent grip. ‘I was about to send for you.'
He led him towards the old man. ‘He needs my aid, Endryn,’ he said. ‘He's done much for our people that cannot be told, but now he's been stricken by his too-zealous help to our cause.'
Endryn looked uncertainly from Ivaroth to the unconscious form on the bed.
Ivaroth finished his kill. ‘I can't abandon him now,’ he said, before Endryn could speak. ‘He's been too faithful a servant.’ Then, lest this loyalty sound too implausible, he added pragmatic self-interest. ‘And he'll be even more so if I can save him.'
'I don't understand, Mareth Hai,’ Endryn managed at last. He ventured into the tacitly forbidden territory of Ivaroth's relationship with the old man. ‘What has he done?’ he risked. The question provoked no rebuke, however. Instead, Ivaroth placed a hand to his forehead and sat down on a chair by the bed. ‘Many things,’ he replied. ‘Things beyond simple understanding.’ He looked earnestly at his lieutenant. The black irises of his eyes had spread to give him the terrifying gaze of the Dream Finder. Endryn, despite himself, turned away. ‘He's a bridge to the powers that shape our destinies, Endryn.'
'The gods?’ Endryn exclaimed incredulously, despite himself. ‘He's a shaman?'
Ivaroth shook his head irritably and waved an angry and dismissive hand. ‘Tricks and deceits for controlling the ignorant and the foolish, Endryn,’ he snarled, an unwitting echo of Endryn's own thoughts but minutes earlier. ‘There are no gods, you know that. This man knows the ways of the true power. The power of the wind and the thunderstorm, the power that carved out the valleys and peaks of the mountains, that levelled our own endless plains. And the power that can shape the minds of our enemies.'
Endryn, taken aback by this unexpected revelation, gazed about almost vacantly. Then, habit drew him back inexorably into his old patterns of thought and tribal loyalty.
'What do you want me to do?’ he asked.
'Guard me,’ Ivaroth replied, simply. ‘I must go after him and I'd have you wait beside me while I'm searching.’ Endryn began to frown uncertainly, his mind turning incongruously to horses and search patrols. ‘Allow no one to disturb us,’ Ivaroth continued. ‘
