understand?'
Endryn shook his head then straightened up. ‘No, Mareth Hai,’ he answered bluntly. ‘But I'll obey your orders and I'll guard you with my life, as ever.'
Ibris's army moved relentlessly deeper into Bethlarii territory. Increasingly, reports were coming back to him that the Bethlarii were gathering in force to meet him and, increasingly, his own doubts grew. There was a wrongness about all this.
It's hardly surprising that Dream Finders are involved in this, he thought with dark amusement. It has all the qualities of nightmare about it. The unannounced and seemingly demented envoy, Grygyr Ast-Darvad; the explosive deterioration of government at Whendrak; the news of the Bethlarii's massive mobilization, and his own response to it. The killing of heralds.
He shook his head. So many things, large and small.
And not least among these was the presence of Antyr with his strange, burgeoning powers and his fears and doubts. And too, the mysterious shadow from the past that so unsettled the Mantynnai.
Each day, he and his advisers efficiently and skilfully dealt with the many and complex problems that arose in the moving of a great army and the simultaneous ruling of a land. To his relief, much of the internecine squabbling between his dominion cities had indeed faded in the face of this common threat. Yet for all the reassurance he found in this, he had the feeling, as he had remarked to Arwain at the arrival of Grygyr Ast-Darvad, that he was actually riding an avalanche, and that he was doing no more than keep an unsteady balance. One slip and …?
Somehow, from somewhere, he-and the Bethlarii-were being manipulated. And all of them were trapped.
He called Antyr to him.
Antyr was pale when he entered the command tent. And Tarrian and Grayle remained watchfully beside him where previously they would fawn mockingly about the Duke. Estaan stood a discreet distance away. Despite his Mantynnai control, he looked tense and uncertain.
Ibris's broader concerns slipped from him. ‘What's the matter?’ he asked immediately.
Antyr shook his head. ‘I don't know,’ he replied. ‘All through the day I've felt … a tension … an unease, growing.’ There was fear in his voice, and his hand was opening and closing nervously about the pommel of his sword which was now always about his waist.
Ibris stood up and moved towards him, but there was a hint of a curl in Tarrian's lip, and Antyr raised a hand to keep him away.
'I feel I'm being … drawn away,’ he said. ‘Nyriall said something like that happened to him…’ He grimaced. ‘I don't know what it is. But … whatever happens … just put some men around me … under Estaan … he understands as well as anyone. If I fall, no matter where, just guard me. That's all. Don't touch me. The wolves can do no other than protect me, though they die for it, and if they die, then wherever I am, I too am lost.'
Concern filled Ibris's face. His mind swam with questions, but he knew that Antyr had told all he could.
'I'll do as you say,’ he said as reassuringly as he could. ‘You'll be ringed with spears and shields at all times. As safe as I can make you. I…'
Ryllans entered the tent, cutting Ibris short. Uncharacteristically, his face was flushed. He hesitated as he caught sight of Antyr and his face became anxious as he noted his demeanour. The momentum of his news however, drew him back to the Duke.
'They're barely half a day away,’ he said without preliminary. ‘Shuffling around, picking their battle order. Waiting.'
The Duke closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. Avalanche or no, he knew beyond doubt what had to be done now.
'Antyr, go to your quarters and wait … for whatever it is.’ He glanced at Ryllans. ‘His own battle is starting. He's to be as closely protected as if he were me, and he's to be given whatever he asks for. Estaan will be in absolute charge of the guard.’ Ryllans nodded in acknowledgement and Antyr and Estaan left.
Ibris looked at him. ‘Senior officers’ meeting, now,’ he said. ‘We'll have to go through the different responses to…'
He was interrupted again. This time it was a guard who entered. Ibris nodded to him impatiently.
'Two strangers, foreigners, have approached the west perimeter of the camp, sire,’ the man said. ‘They're asking to see you, sire, and they've a letter bearing your insignia and what seems to be Commander Feranc's signature, but I thought I'd better check before I brought them to you.'
'You did right, guard,’ Ibris said. ‘Tell me what they're like before you bring them here.'
The guard pursed his lips. ‘Hard to say, sire,’ he replied. ‘They've been riding like the devil. But under the grime, there's fine clothes and fine horses … very fine horses.’ He hesitated. ‘They seem polite enough, but they've got … a way about them … a fighting man's way … a little like Commander Feranc. And, with respect,’ he nodded to Ryllans. ‘They sound like Mantynnai. But with very strong accents.'
Back in his quarters, Antyr dropped wearily on to his bed.
'Do you want anything?’ Estaan asked.
Antyr shook his head as he closed his eyes. ‘No,’ he said, absently checking his sword. Then, opening his eyes, now black as night, he said, ‘Thank you, Estaan. For our instruction and your patience.'
Estaan smiled a disclaimer. ‘You were easier to teach than many I've had to deal with,’ he said.
But Antyr did not hear the reply. A great wind had drawn him into another place.
Chapter 38
Amid the ghastly flickering and screaming chaos of the blind man's Dream Nexus, Ivaroth waited. Hitherto he had had to pause there for only the merest instant, scarcely a heartbeat, before the way would become apparent and his spirit, now bearing the blind man's Dreamself, would leap towards it. He had never questioned the nature of this strange conjoining. It was just one more strange quality among the many that this profoundly strange old man possessed. And, in any event, he had found that little about the blind man responded to thoughtful analysis. It was sufficient for Ivaroth that it happened the way it did and that he was the blind man's only vehicle into the dreams of others, or the worlds beyond.
The only vehicle, that is, except for the man, if man it was, they had encountered on their last long rampage there.
Ivaroth had seen him advancing relentlessly and had quailed before the murderous savagery that had suddenly exploded from him as he had come within sword range. But the old man had seen something else. The way to the other place that he so lusted for.
It was a death sentence for someone.
Ivaroth would not be taken unawares again. Should he again carry the old man into the worlds beyond as widely as he had been wont to do, and should they again happen upon this stranger, then Ivaroth would strike him down on the instant. And the old man too, if necessary. Better dead than someone else's.
But these were thoughts now far from him as he waited at the Nexus. It was frantic and crazed beyond any he had ever found before; streaked through with countless alien images and desires, and awash with terrors. Terrors that flooded out of the long past dreams with the fearful uncontrollability of vomit.
And beneath all, relentless and ever-present, like the funereal bass note to some terrible dirge, was a dark and evil memory? … presence? … will? … that made even Ivaroth blench.
The blind man's Dream Nexus was no place for a sane man. Yet he must remain there. Remain until a way became apparent. Or until …
Scarcely had the conjecture begun to form than he felt the old man's Dreamself with him, silent, watchful, expectant. Suspiciously, no sense of injury or illness lingered around it.
Then the way appeared and, motionless, he followed it. Followed it into the shimmering clouds of dream thoughts that pervaded the camp, and the land, and … everywhere.
All around him, amid the myriad tumbling thoughts of men and women and children, Ivaroth saw, felt, the
