He shivered a little, shook his head and the horror vanished. "So each
of us has a Dreamer of his own who can grant him power to do as he
wills. And after years and years, as the Dreamers grow old, they grow
mortal. They can be killed. And fewer are born, now; fewer to each
generation. As they grow older and weaker, it is safe to let them wake;
but never too strongly, or too long." He laughed, bitterly. A fury
came from nowhere into his face.
"And you loosed a Dreamer!" he cried. "A Dreamer with all his power
hardly come upon him! He is harmless as yet--but he wakes, and he
walks! And one day the power will come upon him--and he will destroy
us all!" Evarin's thin features were drawn with despair; not arrogant,
now, but full of suffering. "A Dreamer--", he sighed. "A Dreamer, and
you had been made one with him already! Can you see now why we do not
trust you--brother?"
Without answering I rose and went to the window. This window did not
look on the neat little park, but on a vast tract of wild country. Far
away, curious trails of smoke spiralled up into the sunlight and a
wispy fog lay in the bottomlands.
"Down there," said Evarin in a low voice, "Down there the Dreamer walks
and waits! Down there--"