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 Rom
met Yldich on a trip to the North when he was almost twenty years old.
He was a slender young man, with hair the colour of crow feathers, and
eyes that were almost as dark. He had a temper on him that was like an
underground forest fire. It could smoulder undetected for a long time,
and consume him from the inside, but a well-aimed spark and sufficient
fuel could ignite it and make it blaze like a bonfire.
(...)
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“Our
safest course is north-west, I think,” Yldich said a while later. They
were preparing to move on. “I sensed the riders on the other side of
the river to the east.” He helped Rom mount the horse again. “We may
be able to find Eald’s village that way as well.” Rom looked down at
him, frowning.
 “How
do you know?”
“Well,
right before I was...trapped in the darkness, I surveyed the area around
us. By ayúrdimae, dream-walking. But apparently it has become
hazardous to do so,” he added. His face was grim. “It appears
whatever is down there in the earth can entrap anyone who’s
dream-walking.” Eald gasped and looked at him with wide eyes.
“It can grab me while I’m asleep?”
“Well, I would advise you to be careful where you go while dreaming,
lad,” Yldich said. He didn’t want to scare the boy too much. “Just
as long as you don’t stray too far, you should be fine.” Rom shook
his head in bafflement.
“You talk about this--this dream-walking as if you’re talking about
cleaning the dishes.”
Yldich chuckled. “With the Einache,”
he said, “we teach our children from a young age how to dream well.
But they’re not all as talented as Eald. Or you. These days, most of
them don’t pass to the stage where they have true-dreams at all.”
Eald smiled up at Yldich. He seemed to grow a little with pride. Rom
fidgeted uneasily with the reigns.
(...)
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Before
Rom could move, the man grabbed his tunic and held him up against the wall.
Rom gasped and stared into his eyes. They were dark amber with gold flecks.
A pretty color.  The
rider set the knife at his throat. He was about to slash it with a strong,
efficient movement when he froze.
The knife dropped away. Rom blinked. There was an arrow, sticking through
the rider’s throat.
He stared at it in
vague amazement as the rider sagged at his feet. He wanted to move. Instead,
he sank down against the wall. He lay and stared at the stars in the dark
night sky, and heard the swish of arrows in the air above him and the cries
of the other riders as they fell. He wondered why he didn’t move and get
up. His eyelids felt heavy. His mouth was dry as dust.
A dark shadow passed before him. He blinked and looked into the face of the
dark-haired woman. She stood over him and gazed into his face. Her dark eyes
were unreadable, her fair, pale face still as a moonlit lake. Then she was
gone.
(...)
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