The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

another means of hiding or being misunderstood. By yourself, or by other people. And I’m sorry too. For the things I said. They were uncalled for. The task you have set yourself is a difficult one, and I can’t possibly understand the burden it’s put on you. Please, forgive me.”
    Johan smiles, and this seems to encourage Simon to speak further.
    “I’ve been mulling things over,” he says. “About how different people can be. Ralph’s mind was fire and heat; it gripped me, wouldn’t let me go, consumed me perhaps in ways I couldn’t understand. Whereas, your mind—in the little I’ve glimpsed of it—is more like water and refreshment. A different way of living. A different way of thought.”
    Again there is silence between the two men. Then Johan speaks. He hopes his words will be enough.
    “Tell me why you allowed Tregannon to use you to commit murder,” he says.

    Simon
    It took Simon a while to answer and he could find neither wit nor irony to lighten the load.
    “I wanted to please him,” he said at last. “In the end it’s as simple—and as deadly—as that. And I was afraid of what would happen if I refused him. It’s not an excuse, but I couldn’t bear the thought of him deciding he had no further need for me. Being with him made me feel whole again. I couldn’t do without that. I was… I was obsessed, I suppose.”
    As he spoke, his thoughts took him back. To the first time Ralph had used his gifting to the full. The first time he had helped kill a man.
    The soldiers had been restless all that week. Simon had heard rumours of rebellions north and west of the village, as Ralph had tried to tell him, but he had assumed they were nothing more than the usual. It was spring; as the days lengthened, young men murmured, talked more than they should and every now and again riots would need to be quelled. Nothing serious. It was the way of the world. He had carried on, teaching the boy, selling his herbs, tutoring Ralph in the ways of the mind, as far as he could. Simply being with him, too.
    But that night, Simon heard the sound of fighting from the woods. The nearest it had ever been to the village. The wind must have carried the noise as it woke him, no more than an hour after he had sent his apprentice to the poor house and dowsed the fire for sleep. The smell of drying parchment still hung on the air.
    As he lay, staring upwards, blinking and wondering why he was awake at all, he heard it again. A crash, and the sound of distant shouting. He sprang out of bed. At the same time, there came a sharp rapping on his door.
    “Simon Hartstongue! Open up. Lord Tregannon needs you.”
    Gathering his cloak and smoothing down his hair, he made his way towards the door, almost slipping on some stray drops of oil left over from his writing.
    On the threshold stood two of Ralph’s guards. They were dressed in full military costume, helmets resting in their hands. They were sweating.
    “You must come with us,” the taller one said. “Now.”
    “Of course,” Simon said. “Let me dress first and I…”
    “ No . There is no time for that. You must come as you are.”
    He hesitated, but they made no attempt to hurry him.
    “All right,” he said. “But I will need shoes.”
    The two of them waited outside as he ran to get his leather sandals, although he sensed the curiosity of the younger of them as he peered in at the meditation chair, the table and the dried herbs.
    Their journey didn’t take long; Ralph’s castle was easily visible from the village. Once or twice the shouting from the woods carried to them, but the soldiers didn’t stop. Simon was relieved at their caution. At the castle, the torches were lit, giving out an eerie glow into the night. Ralph was already waiting, pacing up and down in the courtyard. The very fact that he had come out to greet Simon made his throat go dry. What had happened that the Overlord needed him now? When he saw the scribe, Ralph stopped and strode over, brushing one hand through his dark hair. The guards fell back.
    “Simon,” he said, reaching for his shoulder in a gesture that drew him in and also kept him away. “I need you to help me. Will you do that?”
    Next to him and the luxury of his clothes, Simon felt underdressed. And also aroused.
    “Yes, of course. I am your loyal servant, Lord Tregannon. You know that.”
    He smiled. “Good. Then come with me.”
    He followed Ralph through dark stone corridors, some passages familiar now, and