‘It's standard issue. A captain's knife. It came from nowhere. Just appeared.'
Ibris looked at the Mantynnai and then at the knife. Then he put his hand to his head and sank back into his chair.
'No more!’ Menedrion's powerful voice shattered the dreadful silence. ‘I don't know what all this trickery's about, but we've got a
'With respect, Lord, this is not nonsense, as I suspect you well realize.’ The speaker was Haster. His face showed fatigue and his clothes were stained with the evidence of a frantic journey, but his voice was calm and quiet. Behind him stood Jadric.
Menedrion rounded on him furiously. ‘Speak when you're spoken to, stranger,’ he said savagely. ‘It's bad enough that you sneak into our land, at the behest of some far distant king, to judge our finest warriors for some alleged crime committed years ago. Now you burst in here, ranting about an invasion from the north. By horsemen from over the mountains…'
He stopped abruptly with an angry gesture as he realized he was recounting Antyr's message.
Haster withstood the onslaught without showing any signs of emotion, holding Menedrion's gaze patiently.
'Our monarch is a Queen now, Lord,’ he replied quietly. ‘The King was slain. And we did not come to judge the Mantynnai, as you call them. We came to find them and to tell them that an accounting is required of them.’ He turned to Ibris, still sitting with his head bowed. ‘But now, far more urgent matters are to hand.’ He pointed to Antyr. ‘This man is of your land, I presume, and I've no idea how he's learned what he's learned. None could have travelled here from Viernce as fast as we did. But what he says accords with what the soldier told us. Weigh both of us as you see fit, then decide. But do it quickly.'
Menedrion started forward angrily at Haster's abrupt and authoritative conclusion.
'No, Irfan.’ It was Ibris. Menedrion stopped, reluctantly, but maintained a relentless glare at Haster. The Duke looked up. His face was weary, but the tone of his voice was unequivocal. ‘These men are guests and have ridden hard to bring this news. That, you can see for yourself. Now Antyr comes to tell us the same, unasked, and stricken himself in some way if you care to look at him.'
Menedrion did not reply, but looked suspiciously from Haster to Antyr and back.
'But there's more, isn't there?’ Ibris said, returning to Haster. ‘You can have learned little of us from your short stay here, and an unexpected army at our backs is of no concern to you as foreigners. Something the reservist said told you not only that he was telling the truth, but also that some greater danger threatens us all. Is that not so?'
Haster turned to Ryllans and then to Estaan and the other Mantynnai who were in the tent.
'Your answer is important,’ Ibris said. ‘Weigh it well.'
'Yes, I understand,’ Haster said slowly. ‘You're correct. The danger that threatens you is the power that ravaged our own land and carried us into war many years ago.'
Ibris looked at him narrowly. ‘Is there fear in your voice, Haster?’ he asked.
'There's fear to my very heart, Duke,’ Haster replied. ‘But it doesn't cloud my vision. I am heartsick and weary of fighting and travelling, but what is, is, and must be faced as such, however much I'd rather sit by my hearth and wish everything otherwise.'
Ibris glanced at Ryllans. ‘I've been told a little of this before, but I'd been told too that your army had destroyed the source of this power.'
'Our army destroyed only its army of men,’ Haster replied. ‘The wielder of the power was destroyed by others who came to our aid.'
'How then is he alive again, and come here?’ Ibris asked, his voice hardening.
'He isn't,’ Haster replied unequivocally. ‘But there were not only followers who fled at the end. There were disciples too. Few, but skilled to some degree in the ways of their Master, and doubtless vengeful after his destruction.'
'And we have one such here, now?’ Ibris asked.
'An old man, lean and cadaverous, blind, his eyes white,’ Antyr said before Haster could reply.
Jadric caught Haster's arm and there was a short exchange between the two men.
Haster nodded. ‘That one, I fear, we may have heard of-from others who encountered him,’ he said, a brief flash of pain and distress suffusing his face.
Ibris glanced from Antyr to Haster. ‘Can we face this power?’ he asked.
Haster did not answer immediately. ‘I don't know,’ he said eventually. ‘From the mere hands of this blind man's master, it tore apart one of our greatest cities. Though afterwards, he was strangely bound.'
There was a murmur of disbelief from the listeners at this, but Ibris silenced it with an angry flick of his hand. The memory of this same tale being told to him by Ryllans, high up on one of the palace towers, echoed through him like a waking nightmare. He motioned Haster to continue.
'We found that other forces beyond our understanding had awakened at the same time as the evil. In the end though, we had to face the armed might as best we could while others faced the power. Perhaps it will be so here also.’ Imperceptibly, Haster's tone had lightened a little, as if his own thoughts were just clearing and a faint hope had glimmered briefly. He looked intently at Antyr.
'You may well be right,’ Ibris said. ‘For the first time since Grygyr Ast-Darvad appeared, I feel an order, a pattern, emerging, albeit malign and dangerous.’ He paused for a moment, his face both anxious and resigned. ‘But it's little consolation. With what others have told me and with Antyr's tale, I must accept your story of these invaders from the north, however strange. But that being so, our position is truly grim. We're caught between two armies. One is just ahead, and known to be ferocious, while the other is already ravaging our land and is both days away and completely unknown to us. And above the whole a sinister will hovers, wielding a power we can't begin to understand.’ He looked at Haster and Jadric. ‘Will you help us further?’ he asked simply.
Haster nodded. ‘We have no choice, Lord,’ he replied. ‘But we're only two swords to add to your many. We know little or nothing of your army, its organization, its arms and fighting methods, and still less do we know anything about your land … its roads, passes, terrain…'
Ibris waved the reservations aside. ‘You have knowledge of this power,’ he said.
'Only to recognize it,’ Haster interjected quickly. ‘Not of how to oppose it. That task will lie with your man here.’ He pointed to Antyr, who started violently.
Ibris nodded. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘He's no great warrior by our normal measure, but he's stronger and more gifted than he knows.'
Antyr spluttered. ‘Sire, I can't…'
Ibris cut him short. ‘You've less choice than any of us, Antyr,’ he said. ‘You've been lifted … snatched … from obscurity and decadence, against your will and your inclination, to find yourself among my closest advisers. Your skills have increased beyond your imaginings in a matter of only weeks. Twice now, perhaps three times, you've been drawn into the Threshold to face this … Mynedarion. Whether you like it or not, you'll be drawn to him again to … Get him a chair someone.'
Antyr had turned white, and was swaying uncertainly. The Duke's sudden command seemed to steady him a little. ‘No, no, I'm all right. I can stand,’ he said, suddenly embarrassed by his public display of weakness.
Ibris stared at him earnestly, his look both fatherly and full of the icy calculation of a commanding officer committing his troops. ‘I told you before, Antyr, that whatever happens to you, you'll be protected here completely. And whatever happens to you…’ He raised a finger vaguely, but his voice was steady and powerful. ‘…there, don't forget, you've met him before, and survived. And he's at odds with his guide. You're facing a divided enemy, Dream Finder.
Embarrassment or no, Antyr closed his eyes and began breathing deeply to quieten his quaking insides. He wanted to run away, to be sick, to shout and scream, to be back in his old wasted ways, to be anywhere other than here, to be anything other than what it seemed he was: the sole hope of the Serens against this unseen, insane, and malevolent foe; the single tiny pivot bearing so crucially such a crushing burden.
Into his darkness, however, other thoughts rose to sustain him, albeit faintly.
Don't break. Hold your ground, hold your ground. Or die. He
