dreams and tell them the truth about how they've been misled.'
Pandra shook his head anxiously. ‘We're not Mynedarion, Antyr,’ he said. ‘We can't change what they're dreaming. We…'
'We can enter their dreams, and speak to them,’ Antyr interrupted. ‘Nothing more.'
'Speaking to a dreamer to reassure him when he's asked you to be there is one thing. Blazing in like some sweating messenger is another,’ Pandra rejoined. ‘Anyway, they'll probably just wake up.'
'Maybe,’ Antyr agreed. ‘But we must do it nonetheless. I promised Ibris I'd do something before I went hunting for the cause of all this … horror.'
'Before
Antyr repeated his intention awkwardly.
'High time too!’ The voice was Kany's.
'Shut up,’ Pandra said sharply, slapping his pocket.
'And how do you propose to hunt this … creature?’ he went on, returning to Antyr.
Antyr reached out and placed a hand on Pandra's arm. ‘I don't know,’ he answered. ‘But somewhere there's a way to him other than being drawn in by him. And I must find it. My every nerve feels alive and raw with expectation. It's as if the whole dreamscape around us is crying out under some assault. Since I saw that abomination so close, so clear, I've felt a terrible presentiment. I feel powers gathering like those that must have shaped the world itself.'
Pandra's face creased into unhappiness. ‘You're imagining things,’ he said, without conviction. ‘You're just tired and frightened. After all…'
Antyr shook his head. ‘No,’ he said simply. ‘I'm frightened, certainly. But I'm imagining nothing. My mind's clear and sharp. Bars are being forged that will cage us all, or beat us into nothingness, and only I can do anything about it.'
Pandra fell silent.
'What can I say?’ he asked after a moment.
Antyr shrugged. ‘I don't think there's anything,’ he replied. ‘Just help me tonight, and then keep watch as you've done every other night.'
Pandra allowed himself a small sigh of resignation. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But I'm not even sure I can reach the Bethlarii from so far away.'
'You will.’ It was Tarrian who answered his doubts. ‘Your skill has grown from its closeness to Antyr. As has Kany's, and ours. His very presence clears the ways, strips away our blindness and confusion, opens up vistas…'
An impatient snarl interrupted his eulogy. ‘Never mind the poetry, dog. Let's get on with it. Let's get our teeth into those Bethlarii behinds and give them a good shaking.'
'Ah. Ever the sensitive observer of our condition, Kany,’ Pandra said as Tarrian's ears went back before this onslaught.
Quite suddenly, his eyes filled with night and he looked at Antyr. ‘At your pleasure,’ he said.
Estaan watched the two men, Pandra lying motionless on a rough camp-bed, Antyr seated on a chair beside him. Pandra, eyes closed, was apparently asleep, but Antyr's eyes were wide open, as if he were both present in the tent and flitting through the night ways at the same time. Even for the Mantynnai who knew and liked him, he was a fearful sight.
Worse, however, were Tarrian and Grayle. Their eyes too were wide and watching, their bright sun-blazing glare seeming to penetrate into his very soul. Wherever else they might be, they were unequivocally here as well and profoundly dangerous. After a while, he turned away.
The dreamscape around and through the Bethlarii camp was like a great shimmering mirage: a glittering, iridescent cloud of shifting colours and images that were there and not there; silent sounds that rang and clamoured, incoherent yet full of meaning; time that was and that will be, and that never could have been …
Pandra breathed a long, low sigh of wonder at this vision.
'Now.’ Antyr's will formed silently within him.
Throughout the night, sleeping Bethlarii snapped sharply into wakefulness, their dreams untypically fresh and vivid in their minds, and words, sacrilegious words, ringing in their ears.
'You have been deceived by false prophets. The horsemen from the north ravage your land while you dally here, facing an enemy here only at your provocation. Abandon this field, tend to your true needs.'
Endryn waited outside Ivaroth's tent. In front of him the vast camp was almost invisible in the darkness. A few fires burned here and there and an occasional torch flickered as someone moved about between the rough lines of tents, but there was nothing that indicated the true size of the force waiting there.
Endryn, however, had little thought for such images. Fiercely he seized one hand with the other in an attempt to stop them both from trembling. He was glad of the enveloping darkness; he had little doubt that fear was written all over him.
There was silence in the tent at his back now, but nothing could have persuaded him to look into it to see the outcome of the turmoil that had erupted so terrifyingly.
In a time less than the blinking of an eye, a great blast of bitterly cold air had filled the tent, and two motionless figures had sprung screaming to life: Ivaroth's black eyes like pits of doom in his vengeful face, and the old man's sightless orbs ablaze with hatred and anger.
The old man's hands were reaching claw-like towards Ivaroth, while the Mareth Hai was drawing a knife from his belt, as Endryn retreated, full of superstitious terror.
Inside the tent, however, the pandemonium had fallen to the merest whisper, and Ivaroth was resealing his bargain with his erstwhile wilderness companion.
His murderous reflexes had brought his knife blade to the old man's throat at almost the instant of return.
'Your need for me is greater than mine for you, old man,’ he hissed. ‘If need arises my army can conquer this land without you now, while you will never find your special world without me.'
The blind man had not replied. It was not necessary. Regardless of the truth of Ivaroth's words, both knew also that, act of folly or no, Ivaroth would kill now, on the least whim, regardless of regrets later. The blind man became very still.
'Seek to deceive me like that again, and you'll die before your next heartbeat, old man,’ Ivaroth said. ‘Seek to disobey me, and you'll die no less quickly. Obey me, and, despite your treachery, I'll still take you to look for this place you cherish so.'
'But the true power lies there, Ivaroth Ungwyl. With it, we can conquer worlds beyond your…'
Ivaroth bared his teeth. ‘The true power lies here, old man,’ he said softly, pressing the point of his knife into the blind man's throat. ‘Tomorrow, we'll hold a brief ceremony, to celebrate your recovery,’ he went on. ‘Then we march to Viernce. I'll look to take it by stealth at night if possible, but if not, your power will be used to destroy its walls. If it takes a toll of you, I'll see you're properly tended, have no fear.'
Slowly, he removed the knife from the old man's throat. Then, casually, he tossed it into the air. Flickering in the lamplight, it reached its zenith and began twisting downwards. Abruptly, Ivaroth seized it and brought it plunging down towards the old man. It tore through the soiled blankets and embedded itself in the planks below, its edge just touching the old man's throat.
It was a brief but terrifying display of his natural prowess and speed with such weapons.
Without speaking, he yanked the knife free, and walked out of the tent.
Endryn started at the sound behind him.
'He's quite recovered,’ Ivaroth said, almost affably. ‘All is well. Tomorrow we begin preparations for the taking of Viernce. The men have rested enough.'
Again, Endryn was glad of the darkness to hide the riot of conflicting emotions on his face. Contradictory though it was, not least among the prayers he had uttered into the night was that Ivaroth would have slain this … demon … that had battened on to him.
'As you command, Mareth Hai,’ he replied briskly.
Ivaroth turned to return to the tent, then paused.
'There are people in this land who ply a trade known as Dream Finding, Endryn,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Send to
