ways into the worlds beyond, the gateways to the worlds of the Threshold.
Untutored, untrained, Ivaroth did not even know that in this land he would have been called a Dream Finder. Still less did he know that he was a natural Master of the art. One who could enter dreams, enter the Threshold worlds, without the aid of a Companion.
He knew, however, that the skills he had, had been increased manyfold since his contact, his unholy communion, with the blind man.
'You must tell me what happened if I'm to bring you back,’ he said to the silent spirit beside him.
'Beyond your understanding, Mareth Hai. What you asked was too much for this frame in this world.'
'But you obeyed.'
'I obeyed.'
There was no reproach in the statement, nor rancour.
The old man was beaten!
Ivaroth could scarcely contain himself. But still, it would be a futile victory if the old man was lost to him. He had to be brought back.
'What are your needs?’ he asked.
Silence.
Longing.
Ivaroth felt abruptly generous. Holding the old man's spirit, he moved into the Threshold.
He screwed up his eyes in the dazzling glare, and, his hand on his sword hilt, turned around quickly, taking in the entire scene. He relaxed almost immediately. They stood alone on the slopes of a snow-covered mountain. Above them a brilliant sun shone in a clear blue winter sky.
Behind the two tiny figures, great white mountains disdained their insignificance and peak upon peak reached out to both horizons, while in front of them lay an undulating plain, its whiteness broken only by the scar of an occasional rocky outcrop and scattered clusters of trees. High above them, mountain birds circled leisurely, following their own, unseen pathways.
The old man threw back his hood and raised his sightless eyes wide to the sky. He let out a long, ecstatic sigh, as his arms slowly spread out and his mouth opened into an expression of gaping fulfilment.
The long bony hands uncurled so slowly and painstakingly that it seemed they would go on for ever. To Ivaroth, it was like watching the unfolding of a grotesque plant.
As he watched however, unease began to replace his habitual disgust. The old man's recovery seemed to be both total and very rapid. Instinctively, he glanced around again, warily looking for any other figures in the eye- straining whiteness, but still no one was to be seen.
Neither man moved for some time. Ivaroth, still and watchful, the blind man, arms extended, face stretched up to the sky.
Then he laughed. His sinister, gleeful, and nerve-tearing laugh.
Ivaroth smiled slightly. All was well.
The blind man brought his arms down and then briefly closed his eyes. The snow some way in front of him erupted in a great white cloud. Opening his eyes he stared, unseeing, at his handiwork. The fine snow settled slowly and gracefully, then it erupted again … and again … and again, as if the very presence of such harmony were an offence in itself.
Sustained by the old man's will, the snow rose higher and higher into the bright sky, twisting and turning, whirling and swooping, seemingly obedient to his least whim, though Ivaroth, as ever, could see no outward sign of how this power was manipulated.
Then, as the snow moved faster and faster, there came the sound of a great wind. Though no breeze struck the two watchers, it grew in intensity until, screaming and howling, it was like the worst of winter's bleak excesses marching to and fro along the mountainside at the behest of its creator. The blind man's laughter increased frenziedly to mingle with the din.
Ivaroth's unease returned.
'You're soon recovered,’ he shouted.
The old man did not reply immediately, then, ‘Yes, Ivaroth Ungwyl,’ he said. Ivaroth's eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Mareth Hai,’ the old man added, conciliatory. ‘These worlds are nearer the heart of the power. It has weakened me to be so long from them, but now…'
He turned towards a nearby outcrop. As Ivaroth followed the sightless gaze, the air shimmered as it would over a fire, then there was an ear-splitting crack and a massive slab separated from the rock face. Slowly it tumbled down into the snow, fragmenting as it did so. Ivaroth staggered slightly as the thunderous noise of the collapse reached him, and the impact of the collapsing mass shook the ground.
In these worlds beyond, he had seen the old man create storms, rend trees, make the earth shake and buck like a tormented horse, even create monstrous likenesses of Ar-Hyrdyn to bind the minds of the Bethlarii priests. But he had never seen such a display of elemental power as this. Two things came to his mind simultaneously. The old man must die sooner rather than later. Whether he had always had such power and had only now decided to reveal it, or whether he had suddenly acquired it, did not matter. What mattered was that the possessor of such power in one world would not rest until he had found it in another, and with such power he would be beyond all control. The other thought, he spoke out loud, ‘You could bring down the walls of a city with such power,’ he cried excitedly.
The blind man, however, did not seem to be listening. He was staring into the streams of snow and rock still sliding and clattering down the mountainside.
'I shall be as him,’ he said, though to himself. ‘I shall be the earth shaker.’ Then he paused and a look of realization spread across his face that made Ivaroth lay his hand on the hilt of the knife in his belt.
The old man turned to him, his face alight ecstatically. Ivaroth found himself fixed by the terrible sightless eyes. ‘We must find the other place, now,’ the blind man hissed his demand. ‘If I can be as my mentor here, then in the other place
He began rubbing his hands together and his voice fell to an awestricken whisper. ‘Yes, yes. That is my destiny. It is fitting. My blinding, my wandering, but trials. All is clear. I am to displace him. I need only the key, and…'
Ivaroth quailed inwardly under the dreadful gaze. What did this creature see with those blank white eyes? What shadowy recesses of the soul did he peer into? And what terrible ambitions had now been struck alight in him?
Ivaroth did not dwell on the questions, however. Instead, he drew his knife. It was an unfamiliar weapon taken from the body of the man who had led the soldiers at Rendd, but Ivaroth adapted to weapons quickly and his move was so swift that the point was at the blind man's throat before he could finish his sentence.
'You forget yourself, old man.’ Ivaroth's voice was soft and menacing. ‘The search for that place you seek will be
Then his voice became persuasive though the knife point did not move. ‘The sooner our conquest is finished, the sooner I can bring you here to seek what you want at your leisure. Now you're recovered, and have found even greater power, you can smash the walls of Viernce and any other city that opposes us, and our progress will be all the quicker. None will be able to stand against us.'
The old man's manner changed as Ivaroth spoke. He lifted his hand pleadingly. ‘I do not have this power in the world you call the real one, Ivaroth Ungwyl. It is my birth world.’ He waved towards the scarred rock-face. ‘Such a deed would rend me asunder. Only in the place beyond here will I find the heart of the power. Only there will I be able to reach out across the worlds and protect my body from such harm.'
Ivaroth wavered. The old man was lying, using him, that was obvious. What was not obvious was the extent of the lying. Keep it simple, he concluded, as he glanced at the damaged outcrop.
'One tenth of that will destroy a city wall,’ he said. ‘That you can do. We return, now!'
Antyr screamed.
He was falling.
