The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

Gelahn’s power, gained so quickly, made him shiver.
    “You are Gelahn,” Simon said, the voice his own but the sentiments still only the mind-executioner’s. “You are Gelahn, Lord of those who obey in peace and destroyer of all who are evil.”
    Ralph cursed, using his mother’s language, and then said, “Best to leave him, Gelahn. It is not the time for this.”
    Without waiting to see if the mind-executioner consented to obey, Ralph gestured at the nearest guard, who ran to clear the mess left on the table and set the goblet upright again. As Ralph poured more wine, Simon could feel the hooks grounded into his thoughts slip their moorings and drift away. From the small corner in which it had been attempting, vainly, to hide, his mind crawled out and stretched itself to feel its home again.
    Gelahn laughed; another sound which made Simon shiver but at least this time it was in the room and not inside him.
    “Indeed, Tregannon, you are right,” he said, his hand caressing his cane as if it was alive. “It is not the time for game playing. Not yet, in any case. After the trial for this man’s life; there will be time enough then.”
    Ralph didn’t reply. He strode to the door, flinging it open as if it were made of silk rather than rough wood, and yelled out into the corridor.
    “Bring me more wine. Now! ”
    Another flurry of movement outside, the sound of running and, moments later, a servant entered, dressed in yellow and black, with a small towel looped around her waist and a flagon of wine under her arm. She was trembling and her face was red. With a quick glance at her master and then at the scribe, she placed the flagon on the table, bowed and fled from the room.
    Ralph’s servants were not usually so terrified by him, but he made no comment at this behaviour. Instead he poured another goblet and drank it down.
    “All right,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and reaching for his cloak. “We should get this over with. I want it finished before the midday meal. I have visitors then.”
    “Indeed,” the man calling himself Gelahn replied.
    Ralph gestured at his personal guards, who grabbed hold of Simon’s arms and levered him to the corner where the mind-executioner had first appeared. Behind the tapestry was a smaller anteroom where Ralph conducted trials and, sometimes, prepared papers. Today, as they entered, the room was bare save for a small wooden table with two elegantly carved chairs behind it. Simon could see a silver circle at the top, along with other carvings he couldn’t recognise. A new addition then. And not the only one. On the table lay two stones, one white and one red.
    As the guards continued to imprison Simon in their grip, Ralph and Gelahn swept through the opening behind him, their cloaks brushing softly over the reed covering on the floor. Into the enclosed space they brought with them the faint smell of oil and mintgrass, and Simon realised the mind-executioner must have taken time to cleanse his mind for battle earlier. Something to prepare him for the day. How he wished he’d had the same opportunity.
    They took their seats behind the table and Ralph waved the guards away.
    “Stay outside,” he ordered. “Let no one through until I call for you again.”
    The tapestry fell back and the three of them were alone.
    Easing his shoulders in order to loosen muscles, Simon rubbed his arms where the soldiers had gripped them and waited.
    The accusation didn’t take long to arrive. What surprised him was that the first man to speak was not Ralph, as would have been fitting, but Gelahn. The intruder.
    “Simon Hartstongue,” he began, “you are accused of meddling in the black arts of mind manipulation for illicit and criminal gain. You have been suspected before of having such skills, and of using them for your own benefit. But, for at least the last year-cycle you have manipulated the mind of Lord Tregannon in order to force him to hunt down innocent men and women and wrongfully accuse them. This resulted in the death of many who should have been allowed to live, as their crimes were mere wind and water.”
    With these words, Gelahn made a dismissive gesture with his hand and continued to speak.
    “Mere wind and water,” he repeated. “Whereas your crimes, my friend, are genuinely serious. Mind-dwelling is an offence itself punishable by death, as our laws for many years have stated and as you yourself must be aware. And the despicable