Mist it! Merrin cursed within and turned to the shapeless form. "What I propose is a construct: a thing created with exact specifications on usage. A thing that cannot be worn or misused by the whims of ego or desire. One function. One task. That and that alone."
And this brought the quietude. Unnerving. This was a vernal plan. Favnir had broken the flare, the required pattern to guide them.
Merrin had hoped to lead them to the answer, not forcing it. The Highlord had made that decision for him. A horrible but manageable outcome. He must have grasped my intentions.
Este giggled suddenly. "Is this it?" She asked, "Is this why you played this game? To take my work?"
"No—"
One interrupted from the group. "Have you learned little?" A cold voice, regarding him. "The Old failures had taught us something."
Merrin snapped. "It's only a matter of free will!"
Favnir edged closer. "You plan on creating mindless things. A creature with no aspirations, but a specific set of predetermined rules."
Lords! The intellect!
Merrin heaved.
It's amazing how the caster's mind works, he thought, and said, "Exactly!"
Favnir seemed to ponder; it was unclear whether that was true or not, given the rather mysterious nature of the Highlord. But Merrin did suffer to imagine. Este, on the other hand, fumed with utter defiance. He felt it—like a thread within his awareness—a link that threatened to snap.
If it did...So did the dream.
Fear, rage, and defiance had a way of jolting the mind from the Plague. Of course, an exceptional amount of force was also required...A thing he suspected existed amply within Orvane.
It was dangerous to allow such emotions!
Favnir said, "And you plan on building this?"
The thread strained further!
"NO!" Merrin echoed, turned, and regarded the silent Este, white hair draping down in radiant strands. "Let her do it!"
"You refuse?"
Merrin smiled...They must think I am a fool... Illogical that a man would refuse such a thing, but that doesn't matter. It never did. None of this was real to begin with.
He nodded, said, "Give it to Este...She is the progenitor of this idea..."
Would they accept?
The two behind Favnir exchanged looks. Less powerful than the Highlord, the observations revealed. But the hint of ocular division did exist in those two. His eyes often would drift from their view, peering at another, as though they avoided it.
That admitted specific information.
Favnir said, voice laced with that command present in such people. "This has been declared by the Council, and Este will be given a Castle where she will carry out her work!"
"What happens to the spear of heaven?" Oh, how angry she was. "Are you taking it away from me?"
"No." Favnir said, "You will have access to it; however, the Council had previously decided to grant you access to the castle to congratulate you on whatever project you were to present today! A Nariel will be provided for travel."
So it remained Inevitable.
"Be glad." Favnir said, "The Castle was built on the land where the Elmiran of the Shaedoran, Auwale, had disappeared. Consider it holy!"
Merrin was struck by that wave of data...He expected such words, but to know it. For sure. Without a doubt, such events had occurred. Auwale, or specifically, the Great Rider, had vanished at some point, and this was undeniable.
Unimaginable.
He chuckled within...Ah, how deep the secrets live in Eastos!
Merrin wandered the lanes of the Spear of Heaven. More time—days—had passed since the ball, an event that ended with bottled rage and betrayal. Este had tasted the latter. She would be thinking: Why did he do that? Was he an agent of the Council? Why does he want to build a race?
More and more, he suffered the necessities of sustaining the dream. It required more force expenditure. Normally, the Dream Castle restored itself using the force 'deprived' from the dreamers—an intriguing trait, no doubt. However, that posed risks to the El'shadie.
There was always the possibility of a link being established through one's force. Merrin had achieved the same before battling the Fallen: he had sought the origin of his force expenditure, an act that inevitably granted him access to the Dream Castle. That must never happen. Therefore, the expended force was his alone.
He staggered, tripping and banging head-first into the glossy walls. The pain warmed the skull. Pain inputs, but he accepted the realism—such things increased the acquired data, a necessary component for the moment.
Slanted against the wall, his legs skimmed ahead, his bottom slapping onto the cold earth. Less painful, but cold. He chuckled to himself—very little force remained within. Perhaps if he rested within the Greyness, replenishment would come…
The problem was that the dream would end in that account. No, not the end, but the lack of total awareness could allow Est—Orvane access to awaken.
That cannot happen!
Not before he learned the location of the seal, at least. Time was of the essence. He lumbered to his feet, tottering.
He occupied himself with mentation.
A few things had observably changed since the Ball—fewer attendants spoke to him. Never mind; all that created was a bastion against information acquisition. There was always the library, the problem being that most things were written in Old Tongue…a language he still lacked enough knowledge to truly decipher in totality.
He sighed. Of course, there was often the burst of trance-like wording—like the ones spoken to the Sun Witnesses, but that, he suspected, was the same constant insertion of knowledge gained during casting. Mostly useless data, yes, but some…a few held significant value. A need for hard practice, and maybe an instinct to divide unnecessary information from the precious ones, would be gained.
Time was simply the required component…Time and reality. Here, he looked up, the ceiling arched at the edge, curving with faint orbs of light fitted within. None of it was real—all pictorial. True casting could only be done in reality—that, or in the sweet-scented Grayworld.
He missed the Ash.
Here, he could only manage with what was provided: Knowledge, a thing now taken away from here…
I suppose that's the end of the things I can learn in this dream, Merrin thought, passively straining against the discomfort caused by the heavy clothes. But what exactly is she planning? Orvane. She had chosen this dream. I didn't. She did. Somehow. Likely with the use of some symbol. I know this. Regardless, does she now punish me for exploiting it?
Sweat trickled down his brow…
The discomfort was annoyingly real.
He sauntered on, taking in the forever freshened air of the tower…
Was the air also pictorial? He wondered for a moment, then found the chaos in such thoughts. Who was he to know the full mechanisms of a dream or the dreaming?
Ah...
There was a limit to the understandable concept…Simply put, some things within the dream functioned realistically, but all lacked the symbols that embody them.
He shrugged.
If he truly hungered for Casting, all that was needed was the domination of the Grayworld into this world. Skeptical about how that exactly functioned, past experiences had provided similar results. Against the Fallen, he had descended the Grayworld into 'its' space. That, and only that, was the reason true casting was actively possible.
But to do that here…In the mind of another was.
He mouthed the words: Slavery!
Or even death, as he remained unsure of the effects such actions would have on a cognitive mind.
Trudging on, Merrin contemplated the exact nature of the events that had happened. Specifically, the true ones according to history. What had Este done during the Ball? Did she refuse, accept? Did Alurian play a deeper role in the creation of the Aelmiren?
All important questions.
None were solvable. Unless he directly read Es—Orvane's mind.
No, he corrected. Not reading. The Dream Castle itself passively scanned memories to recreate a pacifying effect on the mind of the victim. With a few minor tweaks, that is. Nonetheless, the memories were not allowed to him…Orvane had somehow 'hacked' that action.
There was, of course, always the available means to him. End the Dream and restart it. That way, he would scan it for the desired knowledge. That, or simply dominate her mind with the Grayworld. Likely painful.
And all things that violated some aspect of humanity!
He laughed.
Look at you…Inside a person's dream and worrying about rights!
The chuckling died soon into the vast silence of the hall.
Ah…I should get this done.
Soon Merrin stood inches before the door of a vast domed space. Walls of darkness, some shades lighter as though independent patches of squares made up the chamber. Rather enormous; about 100 meters in width. He was unsure. The roof was more of the same, outside the floating spheres of darkness and squares.
More batteries.
In the center of the room was a door. A black metal thing without an entry panel. Just a portal that rippled with a transient swirl.
Nariel! Or waygate.
Words he had learned from the Attendant. That was before the alienation from them. Supposedly, this was but another method of travel outside the popular black ships. How it functioned…He had no idea, and without the availability of symbols, the caster's ocular prowess would prove futile.
He stepped forward, crossing what he imagined was 50 or so meters. Good. It allowed for the inward ponderings. That and the fear of the consequences of further lingering. Moment after moment, his Witnesses remained in the claws of unknowable peril. Danger unimaginable. They must be saved. At all costs, they must be saved.
His feet stepped into the transient whirl, a brief flash of light passing across his eyes.
Now, he stood before a difference.