‘I didn’t mean to cause offence,’ Antyr said almost plaintively.
Andawyr’s smile became a laugh and he slapped Antyr’s arm. ‘You caused no offence, Antyr,’ he said. He pushed his chair back alarmingly and swung his feet up on to the sill. ‘You spoke honestly and it pleases me more than I can say that you felt you could. We thrive on debate. Nothing is immune from question.’ Then he became unexpectedly earnest. ‘One thing we do know. Whatever they might be, wherever they might come from, the forces of destruction pervade everything and they fester unseen in the darkness of the unspoken thought like a house-rotting fungus.’ He opened his arms wide as if to embrace the entire view before him. ‘Light, Antyr. Light. Shine it into everything. Bring clarity and reason to everything. You mightn’t always like what you find but it’s infinitely safer than any other way. And you may even gain some understanding.’
‘One of the things you’ll soon understand is to be careful what you say to Andawyr, if you don’t want a protracted philosophical harangue or an interrogation.’ It was Jaldaric who spoke and the remark provoked some general amusement.
‘Have you finished that letter to your father yet, young Jaldaric?’ Andawyr retorted tartly.
Antyr, however, was intrigued by what Andawyr was saying. ‘But don’t you ever wish that all these precautions weren’t necessary? That this place didn’t have to be the… fortress… it appears to be? That you were free of these endless concerns?’
‘Have you ever been?’
The question made Antyr start. He stammered out, ‘Well…’ a couple of times and made a few vague gestures before ending with, ‘Yes… No… but…’
‘But nothing,’ Andawyr went on. ‘From what little you’ve already told us you’ve had many bad things happen to you. Some of them self-inflicted, seemingly, but all of them things against which you had to defend yourself eventually.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But nothing,’ Andawyr repeated. ‘Would you say you’re a man bowed down by burdens?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘No. You’re a man doing something about what he perceives to be his burdens. Searching. Far from your home. Looking for a light you can shine into their hearts.’ He pushed his chair back precariously near to its point of balance and putting his hands behind his head, cocked it on one side to look at Antyr.
‘Why did you choose to fight the blind man?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t choose,’ Antyr replied indignantly after a startled pause. ‘I was there through no fault of my own. And it was a matter of opposing him or being bound to his will for ever. And who could say what hurt would have come of that? Not least to me.’
Still balancing his chair dangerously, Andawyr turned his attention back to the view. The sky was darkening and the mountains were beginning to throw long shadows across the valley. A skein of birds fluttered urgently over the scene.
‘Aha,’ he said, with an air of someone reaching a conclusion. ‘There you are. You did what you did because you’re who you are and because you were where you were. That’s something that three of us here understand all too well. And even Usche understands it with her head if not yet with her stomach.’
Another skein of birds flew down into the valley.
Andawyr’s voice fell. ‘I don’t belittle your pain or your needs, Antyr. As I’ve said, what we can do to help you, we will. But mainly you’ll help yourself. And ponder this, for I’m sure you already know it. And I’m certain your two Companions know it. There’s only here, now. If we’re sensible we learn from what has been, and it’s in our nature to plan what is to be, even though we know that almost certainly reality will be different.’ He laughed softly. ‘What calculation could’ve told me this morning that you’d be here today, opening up so many fascinating avenues of search for us? What calculation before I met you could’ve told me I’d decide to go to Anderras Darion and that that would be what you’d need as well? But still there’s only here, now, and it’s only a failure to appreciate that that can truly burden us. If we cloud our minds, our hearts, with the shades of an immutable past and the looming clouds of unknowable futures then we miss the scents, the sounds, the colours of the valley and the flight of the birds heading home. And, too, because we’re elsewhere all the time, our enemies catch us unawares and unready. We bring on ourselves the very doom we most fear.’
No one spoke.
He turned back to Antyr. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid Jaldaric’s right. I can be a little… lengthy… at times. It’s very remiss of me, especially to a welcome guest.’
Jaldaric was about to say something but thought better of it.
‘No apology’s necessary,’ Antyr said. ‘You’ve taken my breath away, that’s all. What you’ve described, I suspect, is what I aspire to, though I’d never thought of it quite like that. It’s just difficult at times. The past is so intense it’s not easily let go, nor is it always easy to know what you’ve learned. And the future’s so uncertain.’
Andawyr swung his feet down from the sill and spun his chair around in a manoeuvre that made Usche draw in a sharp breath and the three men start forward in anticipation of a catastrophic fall.
‘Well, it’s not so uncertain for the next few days,’ he said heartily before Usche could utter the rebuke forming in her expression. ‘You can sleep, eat, wander about, ask questions, read, do nothing, whatever you wish. Then we’ll set off for Anderras Darion.’ He held up a reassuring hand. ‘Don’t worry. Incidentally, the journey’s nothing like the one you’ve just made. And the company will be better. Which reminds me, I’d like you to come as well, Usche. You’ve been before, haven’t you?’
Usche’s eyes widened. ‘Only once, quite a long time ago, when I was a novice,’ she said. ‘But I’d love to go again. It’s a marvellous place.’
Antyr, however, had some reservations. ‘I appreciate your kindness and your hospitality, Andawyr. You’ve made me so welcome that I’m forgetting my manners and I’m beginning to feel rather awkward about just arriving here uninvited and accepting everything you’ve offered. I’d feel much easier if there was something I could do to repay you – anything. I doubt there’s any need for my Dream Finding skill around here, but I’ll sweep, chop wood, whatever you want.’
Andawyr puffed out his cheeks. ‘We have guests coming and going constantly,’ he said. ‘And we stay with others in the same way. It’s nothing unusual. The Riddinvolk in particular do it all the time. They’re…’ He floundered for a moment. ‘You’ll be repaying us just by telling us about your profession. It sounds extremely interesting. I told you, we thrive on learning.’ He clapped his hands. ‘In fact, perhaps I could impose on you this very night. Do you think it would be possible for you to… enter… into one of my dreams?’
‘Yes, yes!’ Tarrian’s and Grayle’s voices burst into Antyr’s mind simultaneously, making him wince.
‘I’d be more than happy to,’ he said, shaking them away. ‘Though I doubt you need any help I could offer.’ He nudged the two now wide awake wolves with his foot. ‘And I have to warn you that these two seem unusually enthusiastic about the prospect.’