'Carry my words to Estaan, while we try to reach Nyriall's Companion,’ Antyr said to him, still authoritative. ‘I want no misunderstandings and sudden movements.'
As Tarrian's wolf reactions began to withdraw however, so also did those of the other, although its manner was still fierce and defensive. Then Antyr felt another emotion rising up within Tarrian. And within the other wolf, he realized. It was the pain and distress that had sent Tarrian yelping through the house in a frenzy.
But now it was more coherent. And through its heart rang something else. Recognition!
Antyr's eyes widened as the revelations spread through him also. The wolf opposite was Tarrian's brother.
As the thought formed in Antyr's mind, the other wolf's expression changed suddenly, becoming placid and submissive. It dropped on to its belly and crawled towards Tarrian who bent down and sniffed it intently. Antyr withdrew from the mind of his Companion.
'What's happening?’ Estaan asked softly.
Antyr stood up slowly, raising a hand for silence.
Estaan looked significantly towards the old man. Antyr shook his head. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘His Companion's still dangerous.'
Then the wolf wriggled to its feet, and for a few seconds the two animals romped and wrestled like pups. Images leapt unsought into Antyr's mind from their excitement. Images of laughter and echoing chambers. Of strange haunting song, though not, oddly, human. Images of sunlit mountains and valleys, of people and animals unafraid, of great peace and harmony. Then came sadder images of parting and travelling … endless travelling …
Then the images faded as the two wolves returned to the grim present. Gradually they became still. Tarrian stood for some time with his head held over his brother's bowed neck.
Antyr waited.
Eventually, Tarrian spoke, the resonance in his voice showing that he spoke to Estaan also. He said, ‘This is…’ The word he uttered was rich in subtle meanings. Antyr had never heard the like before. ‘We share dam and sire. Nyriall called him Grayle.'
Estaan looked round uncertainly, lifting his hands to his head.
'Don't be afraid,’ Antyr said. ‘You're being granted a rare privilege. Just listen, this is important.'
He looked at Grayle, but made no attempt to speak to him. Then he turned again to Tarrian. ‘What's happened here?’ he asked.
'I don't know,’ Tarrian replied. ‘Grayle's shocked and barely coherent. He's talking about Nyriall being separated from him. Like we were. And about being attacked somehow. Powers, forces, searching. Nothing clear though.'
Antyr looked at the old man. ‘Ask him if we can attend to Nyriall, would you?’ he said gently.
'You may,’ Tarrian replied immediately.
Antyr nodded to Estaan who, still watching Grayle warily, sheathed his knife and disentangled his cloak from his arm as he walked over to the bed. Sitting on the edge, he lifted Nyriall's dangling arm, felt for a pulse and then laid it across his chest with a shake of his head. Almost tenderly he laid a hand on the dead man's face.
'He's still warm,’ he said. ‘It feels to me as if he's only just died.’ He examined the body. ‘I can't see any signs of violence, and he doesn't look as though he's been poisoned. Perhaps some shock burst his heart.'
Grayle started to whimper uncontrollably.
Antyr looked down at the dead man and his night-black eyes. Why had he and his Companion been prepared for the search when from the state of his clothes he had not been intending to go out?
Shapeless questions flitted darkly about his mind like gibbering bats. This was the man from whom he had hoped to obtain explanations of recent events. It had been a slender hope at best, but now where was he to turn?
He frowned.
And yet, Nyriall's strange death showed that perhaps it had not been such a slender hope after all. A frightening thought began to form.
It grew with appalling rapidity until it filled his mind like a black cloud.
'No!’ Tarrian shouted at him fearfully. ‘No. You can't.'
Antyr felt all his options run out. He had no choice. It seemed that all the wandering of his life had been but to bring him to this, in this tired, simple little room in the Moras.
'Tarrian, remind your brother of his duty. Grief is for later and we've little time left,’ he said, sternly.
He turned to Estaan, who was trying to keep his bewilderment from his face. ‘Estaan, guard the door. Make sure no one disturbs us, and under no circumstances must you touch me. The wolves will kill you, or you them, if you're lucky and fast, and then all could well be lost. If anything untoward happens, Tarrian will speak to you. If he can't, then seal this room as well as you're able and go for the Dream Finder Pandra.'
Estaan's bewilderment had become concern. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked anxiously.
Antyr looked at the dead Nyriall again, then he pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.
'I must learn what killed him,’ he said. ‘I must enter the dead man's dream.'
Chapter 19
Ivaroth Ungwyl came to the crest of the hill and looked down at the blazing encampment. The fire was so hot that the thick black smoke was propelled to a considerable height before the cold plains’ wind could begin to snatch it away and disperse it against the grey backdrop of the wintry sky.
The distant sound of screams and shouts rode on that same wind to greet him, and he smiled at both the sound and the sight. It was a familiar chorus and a familiar scene. And there would be few more such for him to relish in the future, if any-at least on the plains. When they moved south, that would be a different matter, but that was a little way off yet.
Nevertheless, he clenched his teeth in a savage leer in anticipation of the spectacle that the sack of a city must surely make. And sacked they would be until all bowed their necks to his yoke and begged to serve the peoples that their ancestors had dispossessed in the ancient times.
A powerful concussion reached him, making his horse shy a little and rudely dispelling his vision. From the centre of the encampment below, a ball of flame began to rise into the sky supported on a pillar of black smoke.
There was a chuckle beside him. ‘Well, they wouldn't have been wanting lamps this winter anyway,’ said its creator.
'Indeed they wouldn't, Greynyr,’ Ivaroth said. ‘The light of the Ensceini will be gone from the plains forever soon, and with it the last flicker of opposition to my rule.'
His companion nodded appreciatively. ‘All the tribes united,’ he said quietly. ‘I'd never thought to see the like in my lifetime. These are truly times of greatness, Lord. Your shadow will darken the whole world in the years to come.'
Ivaroth smiled and, once again, the burning camp became a burning city, and the great anticipation returned.
Down below he could see figures running to and fro, vainly trying to flee from his horsemen. The sight of their flight released his predatory instinct and he turned to his entourage.
'I'm in the mood for a little sport today, my friends,’ he said. ‘We must make sure that the Ensceini hunters have nothing to return to, and our men down there may be getting weary by now, you know how Endryn's sword arm troubles him after a while.'
Raucous laughter and cheering greeted this sally and, catching it at its peak, Ivaroth raised his spear with a great cry and spurred his horse forward towards the encampment. The wind blew cold and vigorous in his face, and the pounding hooves of the galloping horses behind him filled the air with their own special thunder to accompany the lightning of his army's countless spears and swords. And all were merely extensions of his will; his to command. To launch or to stay. This was the way it was destined to be. It had been written into his soul before he had been born and with each heartbeat he drew ever nearer to its final glorious apotheosis.
