And it had called to him and Vredech at a depth beyond their hearing. Whatever else might be happening, there was a need here.
Yet what was it?
Antyr felt his thoughts mingling with the sighing song. Bewilderment, anger, cries for vengeance, many things were there, but somewhere, tantalizingly, a truer meaning lured him on.
Then there was stillness, and the meaning was there.
Darker than the black sky that over-arched this moving throng of unmoving people.
This was not just the dream of the long dead, it was the deep dream of those now alive. A living remnant of the ancient times that had spawned the horror that had become the Great Searing – a sink of ignorance and fear that bound all of them to that terrible past…
And that might draw it back.
The sound was all about him, passing over and through him. There was no mistaking its truth.
But now it held him.
And fear began to pervade him.
The ancient song was engulfing him.
Breathing heavily and still holding his stomach from the impact of catching Andawyr, Isloman clambered to his feet and moved to place himself between the approaching rider and the fallen Cadwanwr. He had taken barely two steps, however, when he was pushed violently against the walls of the passage. Though not capable of using the Power himself he recognized it immediately and knew that nothing was to be gained by trying to oppose it. He relaxed and the force holding him left him instantly.
Andawyr was opening his eyes when the rider stopped in front of him. He stiffened as he saw the angular head of the horse-creature swaying above him, malevolent eyes and twitching nostrils searching him. For an instant there was stark fear in his face. He had seen its like before, ridden by Oklar.
Like his mount, the rider too was leaning forward and staring at him.
Another champion gave Andawyr a little more time to recover.
‘Who are you?’ Usche demanded angrily of the rider.
Oslang reached out to stop her but it was too late. The same force that had knocked Isloman down struck her also, though being much lighter than the big carver it almost lifted her off her feet. Isloman managed to catch her and prevent what would probably have been serious injury had she struck the wall. He thrust her behind him before she had time to protest. Ar-Billan’s jaw jutted and he made to move forward but Atelon jerked him back forcefully.
The rider spoke. His voice was cold and inhuman, but its inflection was all too human, laden as it was with viciousness and malice.
‘You have defiled the most holy of His places. The place where the Great Way will open, to bring us to Him. Punishment for this will need great and special reflection. Who are you and how did you come here?’
Andawyr tried to push himself backwards with the intention of standing but the creature brought its head closer and uttered a low growl. Andawyr wrinkled his nose in disgust as its breath wafted over him. Then, after a thoughtful pause, he punched it squarely on the muzzle.
Everyone started, not least the animal, which jerked its head back and reared slightly. The rider had obvious difficulty in preventing it from lunging at the now standing Cadwanwr.
‘You’ll punish no one, you obscenity.’ Andawyr’s voice burst through the clatter of skittering hooves. ‘You’ll go the way all His servants go – to some dismal doom – lost and howling.’
A hissing came from the dark figure as he finally gained control over his mount but Andawyr did not allow him to speak.
‘That we’re here – in His most holy of places…’ He spat contemptuously. ‘Is a measure of how flawed His plans are – how inadequate His will.’
Oslang and Atelon, badly shaken by this raucous and uncharacteristic challenge, exchanged glances both bewildered and desperate.
The hissing faded into an insect whine and the rider inclined his head slightly. Slowly, he removed his helm to reveal the thin, haggard face of an old man. It was framed with lank, lifeless hair and, though the pervasive blue light could not disguise its unhealthy pallor, it was lit with an unnatural energy. The eyes Andawyr found himself looking into were white and cloudy as though vision had fled from them at the sight of some terrible truth.
The rider, like his mount, was moving his head from side to side inquiringly. The movement, both birdlike and serpentine, was repellent.
Then Andawyr let out a sigh of recognition and understanding.
‘I had wondered,’ he said, more quietly. ‘When I heard Antyr’s tale, blind man. And itis you. The one who tried to blind Hawklan at the Gretmearc so long ago. Oklar’s sorry vassal – his miserable apprentice.’ He became dismissive. ‘I’d thought you dead at his hand long ago – he’d little tolerance for failure.’
The rider’s hands tightened about the reins, pulling the head of his mount down until it let out a screeching whimper. Usche moved out from behind Isloman, but his arm came out to stop her going any further.
‘Better he had killed you,’ Andawyr pressed. ‘Than that you should’ve fallen to this depravity. It seems you learned nothing from what I showed you.’
The blind man bent low towards him, his head thrust forward by his mount’s neck, his teeth bared in a fearful rictus and his blind eyes wide and staring. ‘How did you come here?’ he said again with a frightening softness, his bony hand reaching towards Andawyr, claw-like.
‘Ask Him,’ Andawyr replied scornfully, meeting the dead gaze unflinchingly. ‘Are not all things here arranged by His will?’
‘With each of your blasphemies, you draw out your future torments by aeons. You have no measure either of your insignificance or of what you bring upon yourself.’
‘You’re premature in imagining you have power over us, apprentice,’ Andawyr said, still scornful. An airy gesture indicated Oslang and Atelon, both of whom were struggling to maintain outward equanimity and to grasp their leader’s seemingly reckless intention in provoking this fearful creature. ‘They bound your erstwhile master’s companions to await their deaths. And I was there when he himself was killed. Taken down effortlessly by an inconsequential enemy more ancient than any of us. I see a similar fate awaiting you and, for all your seeming power, you are not the least shadow of him.’ He opened his arms as though to embrace the great building towering above them into the blue haze. ‘As for all this.’ He became scornful. ‘It may be that in His failing days He has cursed you with a knowledge of the Power far beyond anything your predecessors possessed but, corrupt though they were, they were shrewd and learned in the ways of men – subtle and cunning – keen judges of their enemy. You and your fellows are less than children beside them.’ He sneered.
‘What we have done to this world is scarcely the work of children, old man,’ the blind man snarled, very human now. ‘Such a garnering of the Power has never been known.’
‘It is precisely the work of children – unguided, uncontrolled children,’ Andawyr replied in like vein. ‘Vicious, crude, and futile – truly the work of lesser apprentices. And it is a measure of your insignificance and your folly that you hurried here so quickly at our call to face your own doom. Did you think we did not know your true worth?’
Andawyr looked up at the hovering star, sneered again, then swung his hands over his head in a wide arc and brought them together in front of him. As they met there was no sound, but a blinding white light flared between them. The Cadwanwr and Isloman instinctively turned away as it spread out in an expanding sphere, cutting through the blue air and dancing black shadows about the arching confines of the wide doorway and the passage beyond. As it struck the mirrored walls so a myriad other lights sprang into life, illuminating the infinite plain and recreating themselves endlessly into distances beyond knowing. A tumbling mass of rearing steeds unseated their riders and crashed over on top of them. A host of young women dodged the arms of their protectors and surged forward, knives in hands, to dispatch the animals as only those who loved them truly could.