Tyler's Dream (18 page)

“So
now
you are interested?” Tyler spat angry. “None of you could imagine what we have endured to be here.” He caught Irrian’s eye, and the young man nodded in support. “Our homes have been burnt to the ground, and our families and loved ones have been murdered. We have risked our lives and sailed across the whole Carstinal Ocean, only to be treated in
this
way.” Tyler gestured to the guards that still stood not far behind, ready to restrain him. “I have no idea of your customs, your laws. The news I bring, which has cost us so dearly, I ask nothing for in return. I bring it freely, to your advantage … But you would churlishly toss me out of your court?” Tyler paused for a furious second. “Now, I will give
you
one last chance to hear us out, or I swear we will leave now, and you will never know the importance of what we have to say.”

There was a silence after this heated speech, in which the Protector of Ithrim’s face shifted from a pale white to a furious red. “I should imprison you for your insolence,” he said, shaking with rage. “But instead I will be lenient and hear you out. I’m warning you, if you are wasting my time, I will have you flogged.”

Tyler glanced over at the sea of watching faces. Now that the rage was seeping out of him and the moment of explanation was at hand, he felt a little nervous. “Thank you for listening,” he began. He told the gathering of how his village had been sacked by the Dhimori, how he had been given Avalon’s Blessing, and the promise he had made to Hargill. There had been a heavy murmur and general shuffling at this, so he showed his tattoos and Avalon’s Heart itself, which still hung warmly around his neck. He explained how he had met Varkon and Haranio, and how they had become his companions. When Tyler mentioned Haranio Winhund’s name, there had been another surprised outburst of chatter. Tyler remembered that Haranio had used to reside at court. He described his encounter with the imps, as well as his journey through the mountains and over the sea. Finally, as he felt his voice began to husk, he told of Haranio’s treachery.

When he finished, the whole court exploded into excited conversation. Tyler licked his dry lips. The Protector of Ithrim rose to his feet, tight-lipped and furious. “You dare …” He held up his hands for silence. None came. He gestured impatiently to Thronton, who bashed his spear repeatedly against the ground to regain order. “You
dare
to spew your
lies
and
slander
to this company! Your tale has so many faults to it that it is a miracle you had the audacity to utter it at all.”

“What, pray, did you find not to your liking?” asked Irrian quietly from the side, and he stepped forward to help Tyler, perhaps realising that he had more breath in him to answer the Protector’s questions.

“The Dhimori is indestructible. It cannot be killed.”

“It was,” interrupted Irrian, “and the eighty men aboard my ship will bear witness to the fact.”

“Of course they will lie for you,” said the Protector in exasperation. “They’re
your
men. Anyway, the tale of a ghatu helping a human is ridiculous! They are idiotic savages, and to even
think
one can speak in the common tongue is an abomination. No ghatu is clever enough, even with the help of magical artefacts.”

“Varkon is aboard my ship this very moment. We did not bring him for fear of his life. But I assure you he is loyal and can speak in the common tongue better than many men that I know!” Irrian received a light round laughter. “We can bring him to you as proof, if you want?”

“But I already have all the proof I need to show this tale is an outright fabrication.”

“And what proof is that?”

The Protector of Ithrim smiled. “Haranio couldn’t have been with you on your so-called journey.”

“I spoke to the man dozens of times,” mocked Irrian. “He existed, I assure you.”

“That is impossible. You are mistaken.”

Irrian raised a curious eyebrow. “Are you going to tell us why?”

The Protector’s smile widened even further. “Because …”

“Because,” came a deep voice from the crowd. Tyler looked to the familiar sound with surprise. “I have been right here, at court, for the entire length of your journey.”

A familiar old man stepped out from the crowd and regarded Tyler whimsically. Tyler gasped. it was Haranio.

The shamif carried a knotted staff, wore a faded blue cape, and had a neatly combed beard, but it was Haranio nevertheless. Tyler stared. The man said, “I can tell, from your expression that the Haranio Winhund you knew looked much the same as me?” Tyler nodded, lost for words. The new Haranio furrowed his familiar, messy brows. “Strange, and yet I believe your tale. We should talk further, but I would prefer to do so in private.”

The Protector of Ithrim’s smirk dropped away. “You cannot whisk them away to yourself, Haranio! Old man, you are forgetting yourself.”

Haranio spun aggressively to face the Protector. “No, Tritus,
you
are forgetting yourself. So heavily have you abused the power of the Council that you have begun to think of yourself as the ruler of Ithrim! There is no power you can call on to prevent me from exercising my right as a free citizen. How would the Council react if they heard you had done so?”

“Haranio,” Tritus snarled, “you are treading dangerously.”

“As one must in these times,” quipped Haranio, shrugging off Tritus’s warning. “I suggest you put the powers that you
do
have to good use and call the Council immediately. This qualifies as a ‘significant’ enough matter, does it not?”

“Not if these people are lying.”

“And if they are not, Protector? How angry would the Council become if it were not told news of the arrival of Avalon-Qwa, the receiver of Avalon’s Blessing?”

“Received it from that traitor Hargill,” Tritus spat, now livid with rage. “Who betrayed us all long ago. This boy should be locked in chains as an accomplice of that fiend.”

Haranio shook his head. “It is times like these when I can see why Hargill fled.”

“Careful, Haranio. I could have you locked away for treason.”

“Tritus Uther imprisons the highest magi of Ithrim,” called out Haranio, laughing, “I can see the heralds proclaiming it now. Well, I’d like to see you try, although we both know the Council would execute you for it.” Haranio shook his head. “Don’t waste my time.”

“Perhaps, and yet what makes you so certain the boy wants to speak to you anyway, Haranio? According to his tale, you betrayed him. Why would he trust you, of all those here?” And with that, Tritus turned to Tyler with a forced smile. “Wouldn’t you prefer to stay with me, Tyler, where you know you will be safe?”

“I have
not
tried to kill him, Tritus, and you know it,” rebutted Haranio bluntly. “Not unless I could be in two places at once. But you are right in one matter, at least. Let the boy decide.” He turned to Tyler. “I have no idea who you were travelling with on your journey lad, but know that it wasn’t me. It wasn’t Haranio Winhund.”

Tyler hesitated. This person certainly did not
seem
like the Haranio he knew. But then, with whom had he and Varkon been travelling? He felt a surge of dread at the thought.

“We could ask the guards to watch over us, if you’d like,” added Haranio.

“Old man,” Tritus said with a smirk, sensing victory. “The child trusts you as much as a wolf in the night.”

“I trust him enough,” Tyler heard himself mutter quietly. Every man, women, giant, and dwarf craned forward to hear him speak. “Where do you want to talk?”

“Haranio, you
can’t
!” yelled Tritus.

“I can, and I will. Now if I were you, I would get on with matters that concern you. Call the Council immediately.” Haranio turned to Tyler and his friends. “Come with me, my friends.”

The courtroom erupted into chaos as they left, and Tritus, Protector of Ithrim, could do nothing but stand helplessly beside his grand throne, seething with rage.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE REVEALING

Haranio pursued a different path to the one taken when Tyler and his group had arrived. The old man led them over a lavishly carved, poorly kept bridge. Planks patched a few of its larger holes, and more filth than water flowed beneath its arch.

“This is what comes of corruption,” said Haranio with a sigh as they made their way back to the streets again, back to the curious looks of passing strangers.

Haranio avoided the main ways, leading them though a twist of alleys and broken roads lined with waste and fly-covered muck. Ponds of stagnant liquid had flooded the drains, and rats delighted in scuttling along the clogged sewage pipes. Ashes from old fires were frequently seen, their remains abandoned on the street and mixed with small bird or rat bones. Worst of all, a stench carried on the wind and brought back unpleasant memories of Mount Natsa for Tyler.

People here did not wear the splendid robes that were the fashion in the richer parts of the city; instead, their garments were usually in tatters. Straggling groups of grimy wretches eyed the passing party from beneath their soot-stained brows.

“Welcome to the
real
city of Ithrim,” announced Haranio sadly.
The Haranio that still might not be Haranio,
Tyler thought. Tyler watched this person carefully as he strode ahead, tapping his staff along the cobbles. It was possible that this was the Haranio they had always known, that they had somehow been tricked, and he was now leading them into some dark corner where he could murder them without disturbance.

The old man swung right once more into the grubbiest alley they had ventured into yet. This area could no longer be called a part of the great white city of Ithrim.

“Home sweet home,” said Haranio, and he banged open a door that led into the side of a squat building, crouching low to enter. Tyler made to follow, but Irrian pushed him back and gave him a hurried gesture that made it clear he wanted to enter first.

There were no windows in the entrance hall, so Tyler took a moment to adjust to the dim conditions, and then he travelled up a steep set of stairs after the others. Haranio’s apartment was on the third floor, and without pausing for a key or turn a knob, the old man pushed the door open, stooping to enter. Irrian followed with a short pause, and then Tyler, Singrid, and Ellior advanced warily from behind. Singrid and Ellior had so far done a rather excellent job of not speaking; Tyler supposed Irrian must be quite proud.

Haranio lit a dingy lamp, which besides a single window was the only source of light in the tiny room. Its contents were sparse and could have been the subject of a children’s counting game: one narrow bed, one table, three stools, one blackened stove, something that resembled a toilet, and a three fifths of a sink. No wonder Haranio’s door hadn’t been locked; his most valuable possession wasn’t worth anything at all.

“Come in, come in!” hummed Haranio. “Have a seat. It’s been a while since I’ve had guests. Who wants tea?”

Tyler raised his hand hesitantly for a brief moment. None of his companions followed his example and politely shook their heads.

“Fine, tea for two, then!”

Haranio busied himself with the arrangements while Tyler cursed under his breath. He felt rather stupid for accepting food and drink from someone he did not yet trust. He resolved to leave whatever was given to him untouched. He was more at ease after the thought, and he sat on one of the stools. Irrian eased himself onto one of the others, and Singrid and Ellior contented themselves by flopping onto the floor and leaning their backs up against the wall.

Haranio fussed about his stove for a while longer with all the energy of a good host. Finally he brought a jug of liquid to boil on a metal contraption that whistled and gushed great plumes of steam. He sprinkled some leaves into the water, gave it a stir, and brought two cups to the table. “That should do it. Give it a moment to settle, and I’ll pour you a drop, Tyler.”

“Do you usually leave your door unlocked, Haranio?” asked Irrian conversationally as he crouched over uncomfortably on his stool.

“Oh, I have nothing to fear, Irrian Ravenfeeder. It is well-known in these parts that Haranio Winhund keeps no lock on his door. I could have all the gold in Ithrim in this room, and I doubt any attempt would be made to steal it. My reputation precedes me, you see.”

“What reputation is that?” prompted Tyler.

“Clearly it does not precede as far as I would like,” chuckled Haranio. “Or I wouldn’t have to answer such a question in the first place! My trade, Tyler, is that of a jinxer, a namer, a conjuror of light and dark, a sinking-hole of energy, a summoner, and in some ways a poet – at least I like to think so. Can you guess what I am from that?” All four listeners remained silent. Haranio eyed them cheekily. “I’ll give you another hint: some might accuse me of ‘magical’ qualities.” The way he said “magical” implied he thought these people who called him that had no idea what they were talking about.

“You’re a wizard?” ventured Irrian.

“A magi! I’m a magi. My goodness, a wizard? No such thing exists. The word hurts my ears; people accuse me of it so often. It implies that I personally make the magic; when in fact all I do is channel it from somewhere else! Anyway, you could say that I am famous around these parts for doing just that.”

Tyler felt himself smiling slightly at the old man’s quirkiness.

“Thieves stay away because they fear I have put an enchantment on my belongings. To be honest, I couldn’t be bothered! Casting a spell of any sort is such tiring work,” Haranio leaned forward and lowered his voice. “No, it’s not a spell or curse that does the job. It’s something
far
more powerful. Can any of you guess what that might be?”

The gathered company all shook their heads.

Haranio nodded his wisely. “The secret is
belief
. Belief that, as a magi, I would have cursed my home with all kinds of spells. If only they knew they could come in here at any time and help themselves to whatever they liked! Although because I’m a man of modest means, they would be wasting their time, anyway.”

Tyler looked around as though to reaffirm Haranio’s words: it was such a
tiny
room. He would have thought someone who attended the lavish court during the day dressed in such rich blue robes could have done better than this for a home.

“You say you’re a wiz – magi,” said Irrian, catching himself. “But the Haranio we knew was a shape-shifter, a shamif. Do you possess this skill also?”

“No. I am aware of very few people in this world who understand even the basic ways of a magi, and I know of no one who is a shamif,” said Haranio. “The ability is extraordinarily rare. You can learn to be a magi by hard study. It’s a matter of finding the essence of words and knowing their movement. One must be born a shamif, and even then the effort that must be put into creating each shape is
enor
mous
.”

Tyler frowned. “The ‘Haranio’ we were travelling with seemed to know several.”

“Yes, so I gathered from your tale,” mused Haranio. “Whoever it was, he must have been talented indeed. Tea, Tyler?” The old man lifted up the dented kettle and poured the tea with an accompanying hiss of steam.

“Thank you,” said Tyler doubtfully. He left it untouched upon the table. Hopefully he would not be forced to drink it.

“Too hot? Well, all right, let it cool for a bit.” Haranio poured himself a cup, took a satisfied sip, and then clasped his hands over his mug and rested his elbows against the table.

“There are many questions that we would like to ask you, Haranio,” said Irrian. “Can you explain the motive of this other Haranio that we have been travelling with? How much do you know of Avalon’s Blessing? Is it—”

Quickly Haranio put down his mug and pressed a finger to his lips. He slowly pointed to the door, the walls, and then to his ear.

Tyler frowned. Had they had been followed? He had not noticed, but the location of Haranio’s house was probably public knowledge.

“Let me tell you a little of the history of this place,” said Haranio, effectively changing the topic of conversation, “for it’s important that you understand. Do you know of the Last Battle? Where the nÿmph, Lamathil of the Sunbirch, shot an arrow over an entire league into the centre of Her heart?”

Tyler nodded. “Varkon’s told me about that, but he knew only of the ghatuan history after the battle, and he understood little of what happened to the Alliance.”

Haranio took another sip of his steaming tea. So much steam gushed around his head whenever he brought the cup close that small beads of perspiration gathered across his moustache. “I’ll fill you in more of it, then. But please, drink up, or you tea will turn cold!”

Tyler decided the odd liquid couldn’t possibly be poisoned because Haranio had poured his tea from the same jug. He put the piping hot cup to his lips and took a sip. It was surprisingly good.

“Ha! You like it?” Haranio laughed. “First time you’ve ever had tea that tasted as good as that, I’ll bet.” Tyler gave a nod. “And it won’t be the last, I promise you that! I do love a good cup of tea.” Haranio took another sip. “Now where was I? Oh yes, after the Last Battle, Rokinn, high dwarf of the Council, burnt Her body in a great public celebration.” Haranio sighed so deeply that even his soul must have felt a chill of despair. “But dreams of better times remained dreams, because corruption rotted at the good intentions of the Council. Many people – Lamathil of the Sunbirch included – became consumed with greed and sought to the plunder and ruin of the Alliance. And so it was that over the decades, the Alliance began to rot at its heart.” Haranio slurped once more at his tea before adding as a side,. “I always found it strange Lamathil became so infected by corruption. Nÿmph’s are usually beyond such greed.”

“Excuse me, Haranio,” interrupted Tyler modestly. “But could you tell us a little about these different races? I admit I am ignorant of them.”

Haranio smiled. “Indeed, Tyler. Hargill neglected to teach you anything of the outside world, didn’t he? Well, he had his reasons, which I will explain later. Now, I’m sure you noticed the dwarves in the Council hall? Short people with the oversized beards? Arrogant little weasels always after a better price, the dwarves. Can’t fault their trustworthiness, though – the whole ‘word is my bond’ show. And you will find that their impenetrable optimism, especially when it comes to wealthy artefacts, is often infectious. As for the gronts, you could hardly have missed noticing!”

“The giants?” guessed Tyler.

“I suppose you could call them that, but they might take offence. Better to get used to calling them gronts – it is what they are. Big and clumsy creatures, their race is almost extinct. As for the nÿmphs, they are spirits of trees that have grown powerful enough to take a physical shape. There is only one representative that now remains with us at the Council hall, to keep an eye on proceedings. Although they arguably have contributed most to the construction of Ithrim, these days they play but a small part in its politics. They are disillusioned with the Council’s inefficiency. Only one other race makes up the Alliance.”

“The huun,” blurted Ellior from the floor, unable to help himself.

Irrian eyed him coldly; the man had been under strict orders not to interrupt.

“Yes, the huun,” said Haranio, apparently not noticing any of the drama. “Creatures as noble as the nÿmphs, and less common than even the gronts. I would venture that the huun are perhaps wiser than any of the rest.”

“I didn’t see them in the Council hall,” said Tyler.

“Only a handful of huun remain in Ithrim at any one time. They have almost the same shape as us humans, but they are taller, and some would say more beautiful. Their skin is a rich black, and it has a golden feel to it, as if lit from within by a soft glow. They are particularly interested in the power from the Other – or magic, as you say – and indeed I learnt much from them when I visited their home in the Hinilu Isles all those years ago. At any rate, I hope my ramblings served to enlighten you. There are other races in the world, but they are either deemed not sufficiently intelligent, or they refused to join the Alliance when the others combined their efforts to build Ithrim. That is why there are six chairs clothed in purple in the Council hall: five to seat the leaders of the humans, dwarves, gronts, nÿmphs, and huun, and one left empty in remembrance of other races, that their rights must also be tolerated although they are not represented. The high seat of red is a recent addition. It is now the seat of the Protector of Ithrim, whom you had the misfortune of meeting today, and it was built because the rulers of the Alliance do not continuously reside here as they used to in days of old. In their stead, a representative is elected as Protector to look after the city. Unfortunately as the races lose ever more interest in Ithrim, this ‘Protector’ is becoming ever more like a king. I fear that it may have been a mistake to infuriate Tritus so greatly today …” Haranio stared listlessly down into his now-empty cup. “No matter. What is done cannot be undone.”