fate which you have justly brought on yourself by your endless meddling in their affairs, seeking to interpret this omen and that portent in your arrogance.'
Amhir opened his mouth to speak but Ivaroth raised his hand. ‘They've doubtless sent you such dreams knowing that your folly would lead you inexorably to death at my hand just to show that any future you had seen yourself in could only be a delusion. However, when you are yourself, you're too fine a warrior to lose, and I'll be no party to their antics. If they wish an end to you, then they must attend to it. Leave us now. Come to me in the morning and tell me what other visions you've had.'
Amhir's mouth worked agitatedly.
'Go, before I recant,’ Ivaroth said menacingly. ‘I'll do their work if I have to.'
As if being pulled by unseen hands, Amhir stood up unsteadily and, without any leave-taking, staggered from the tent. In the ensuing silence, only a low, ecstatic breathing from the figure behind Ivaroth could be heard. Endryn looked alarmed. ‘Mareth Hai, fine warrior or no, he must be silenced,’ he said urgently. ‘If he goes wandering the camp talking like that he could cause havoc.'
Ivaroth shook his head. ‘Let him speak to whomever he wishes. The more who hear him, the more will know of his folly,’ he said. Then, with almost fatherly regret, ‘He meddled where he shouldn't have, my friends, and now there's a price to be paid. We must keep away from him if we don't want to share it. Frankly, I doubt he'll see the night through.'
Then, addressing the unspoken conclusion which came immediately to the minds of his listeners, he said, ‘Arrange an honour guard about him tonight. He's to be protected. I want no assassin's blade entering this affair.'
Later, Ivaroth sat alone in the tent. He had dismissed the assembly shortly after the departure of Amhir, telling the chieftains to meet with him again the following day. ‘When we'll discuss the detailed plans for our passage through the mountains and our assault on the southlands.'
They were both confused and subdued as they left, not least as Ivaroth's final words had been to confirm his earlier order. ‘See that Amhir is well guarded this night. Put your finest men around him.'
Now, Ivaroth stared into the flame of a solitary lamp; the whites of his eyes turned as black as the moonless night outside in preparation for his entry into the dream world. The flame flickered occasionally, or bent slightly this way and that, following the promptings of some unseen force.
How different am I from you? Ivaroth thought. Moving here, moving there. Whose plaything am I?
He was not normally given to such introspection. He was a warrior. Destiny was for those who saw it and seized it; by word or by sword, by truth or by treachery, it mattered not. The gods, if gods there be, favoured the bold.
And yet …?
There were things that were hidden from him. Why should he be able to visit the dreams of others, to watch, to listen, to revel and, lately, to learn? Wrenyk had spoken of it, but he had never known of others. He rubbed the cheek that Wrenyk had spat on.
And how could it be that he could move into the strange worlds beyond the dreams? Real worlds, filled with real lands and real people … and real danger! Worlds where he had soon learned to carry a sharp sword and walk softly, and into which he never strayed too far.
And who was the blind man, with his mysterious and terrifying powers who had been drawn to him in the deserted wastes of the north?
More than ever this question taxed him now. Amhir's words returned to him, ‘They have shown me the demon on your back.’ It was a long time since anyone had dared refer even obliquely to the strange hooded figure that had come out of exile with him to become like his shadow, frequently at his side and even present in some eerie way when he was absent.
Only Ivaroth knew of his strange, dangerous powers: that he could sometimes see into minds, and even speak into them without sound; that he could, as he had when Ivaroth had faced the gauntlet, fill others with great power and strength, making them invincible against all opposition; that he could make objects move, conjure fire from the air, and even make the earth shake; a deed which seemed to excite him beyond all reason.
And he was patently insane, muttering and gloating to himself in a soft, repellent whisper. A blind drivelling old man, with eyes as sickly milk-white as Ivaroth's were now black; yet who could see into the spirits of men? A man who never seemed to eat or sleep, but who seemed to be kept alive by some strange power that he drew from who knew where? And a man who seemed to possess no fleshly appetites at all, not even for the occasional woman.
But he could lust, and lust more than any man could for a woman. Indeed, his every action seemed to radiate gross and unholy desire. He lusted to use his power. Though not so much in this world. It was in the worlds beyond that he wanted to use it, for there it was multiplied a hundredfold.
And he had known of these worlds from the first moment he had stared into Ivaroth's eyes!
Mutual need had bound the two men together. ‘Take me through the dreams and into the worlds beyond, Ivaroth,’ he had said, at the same time filling Ivaroth's body with burning fingers of pain. ‘And all you desire here shall be yours.'
At first, Ivaroth had taken him out of mortal fear of his strange powers, regarding the promise as a mere taunt. But his natural opportunism had soon shown him that the blind man's craving to visit the worlds beyond and use his power there was almost uncontrollable, and as such was a weakness that could be used to control and manipulate him.
And as he began to get some measure of the blind man's powers, his own ambitions began to grow with an equal lack of restraint. With such powers at his behest, nothing could stand in his way. This grotesque old man was indeed his destiny.
Thus one day, out in the cold, bleak wastes where they had met and were then subsisting, Ivaroth had refused to take him into the worlds beyond.
For a brief, but seemingly eternal moment, the blind man's fury had been beyond belief and Ivaroth found himself the centre of pain that he could not have thought imaginable. But he was no coward and was truly willing to sacrifice his life for the ambitions he saw opening before him with the blind man's powers at his command.
Whether he spoke the words, or merely formed the thoughts, he never knew, but even as he fell to his knees, he shouted defiantly into the pain. ‘I am Ivaroth Ungwyl, a son of the sons of warriors since time began. Death holds no fear for me, old fool. Slay me and you will lose all, for there are no others like me throughout all the tribes of the plains.'
The pain had stopped almost immediately but, roaring with hatred and fury, Ivaroth had lurched to his feet and struck the blind man a ferocious blow in the face that sent him sprawling on his back in the rough grass. He had scarcely struck the ground when Ivaroth's sword was pressing into his throat.
'Slay
Thus was their bargain struck.
Now, however, like the guttering flame before him, it was faltering again. The blind man had used his power surreptitiously to protect and strengthen Ivaroth in battle, making him the invincible leader of his own tribe, and subsequently of all the tribes as he pursued his relentless ambition to become Mareth Hai and form an army that could carry him through the mountains to seize the southlands. In return Ivaroth had taken the blind man into the worlds beyond to run amok for a while with his greater power.
But Ivaroth had always been deeply suspicious of the blind man. Often, like a cunning child, he would turn to Ivaroth and say, ‘Take me to the other place, the place beyond here, where the true power can be found.’ He used no threats, but he was endlessly persistent, his blind eyes watching Ivaroth carefully each time he spoke thus. Ivaroth, however, did not understand him. He would take him from world to world, but always there was the same peevish shaking of the head, and the plaintive squeezing of his arm. ‘This is not the place. Please look again, search inside yourself, it is there. I feel it.'
The tone sickened Ivaroth, but he learned silence. A little disgust was a small price for the benefits that the blind man's cooperation brought him.
And in more conciliatory moments, he would say, quite sincerely, ‘I would find this place for you if I could.'
'But you must search, you must, you must.'
