The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

a sneer. “That is, if you want to stay alive for the time being . And don’t try to meddle in our heads. Understand?”
    Steadying his breath and clutching at the pain in his side, Simon nodded. He had absolutely no intention of meddling in anyone’s head, but thought it best not to argue the case. Then, half-stumbling, he followed the officer out of the dirt and smell of the prison into the narrow corridor. The younger soldier followed behind, presumably to prevent any attempts to escape.
    Taking great gulps of air, Simon found himself being led through a long dormitory, which smelled of sweat and leather. Small groups of soldiers were throwing dice and laughing, or laying out swords for the blacksmith to sharpen. The thought of Thomas made the twist in his gut tighten. He’d once counted the blacksmith as an ally. He’d been wrong.
    Beyond this, there were more corridors, then an open gravel courtyard with a square fountain in the middle. The flash of sunlight as they walked through made Simon’s eyes water and he slowed enough that the man following behind struck him in the small of his back with the broadside of the shortsword.
    “Hurry up, you bastard,” he muttered. “We don’t have time for dawdling.”
    The sound of his subordinate’s voice must have reached the officer’s ears as the next moment Simon walked into him when the officer stopped and turned. The soldier stepped away at once.
    “Keep away from me,” he hissed. “I warned you, didn’t I? Don’t make trouble.”
    Before Simon could guess what he might be planning, the soldier slapped his face with the back of his hand. The iron insignia on the glove made Simon’s teeth crack, and he tasted blood. But he made no move to retaliate and, after a second, the darkness that crossed the officer’s face eased a little.
    “Don’t make trouble,” he said again, without threat this time. “Keep moving.”
    Simon didn’t think he’d even had the choice. They were the ones with the weapons, weren’t they? Naturally he was going to obey them. They continued their journey. A story’s beginning later—not a long time, but long enough to notice a change—and Simon began to recognise his surroundings, as the edges of Ralph’s fortified home slowly slotted into place. The dining hall, the entertainment rooms with their bright tapestries, the locked library with its chained books; the western part of the castle. When he swallowed, he feared the guards might hear it.
    At last, the three men stood outside the private inner rooms. A place Simon had been many times. He was panting hard, as if he’d been running. His mind felt empty and small.
    Without glancing back, the officer knocked on the door. A muffled voice. Unfamiliar. Then the door swung open and Simon was pushed inside.
    A flash of gold and black. Grey eyes. And, in his imagination, a finger easing down his neck.
    Simon shook his head to try to dislodge the thought, which slithered away into the shadowy recesses of his mind. Blinking, he could see there was now no time for memory. Or desire.
    Ralph Tregannon was seated at his desk. Behind him, the sunlight from the window played on his hair. His face was still, as if he’d been meditating for a while and hadn’t yet brought himself back to the reality around him. Something he’d learned from Simon. He was dressed in the gold robes Simon had seen him in earlier, and he wondered if Ralph had guessed he’d tried to reach him. And in what way he might use that knowledge.
    He was not alone.
    At each side of the desk stood a Lammas Guard in full military clothing, their faces obscured by the requisite black helmets with the gold star. Ralph’s personal protectors. Simon hated the fact he could never see their eyes.
    A shift in the air indicated the officer and his man were bowing.
    Ralph nodded. “You may go.”
    His voice was husky, like a wood-leopard at dusk. Simon heard the sound of the door closing and knew that now he was on his own.
    “Simon.”
    “Yes, sir?” His head jerked up. Ralph’s expression was unreadable.
    “Do you know why you’re here?”
    He gave no answer. Mainly because he didn’t have one. Up until now, Ralph had always treated him with something like respect. He’d had to do terrible things in order to keep Ralph’s good opinion, and to save his own life of course, but the Overlord had never treated him differently because of it.
    “Answer me, Simon.” Rising to his feet in one elegant movement,