The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

this customary activity, however, came a sense that other workings, other plans were also taking place. He could see a greater number of soldiers within the outer walls than he expected, and not all of them off duty or resting with their families. Five or six of them sat on the bench opposite and, stripping off to the waist, began to rub oil across each other’s shoulders. Preparation for battle training, and as the dark scent of rosemary filled the air, the mix of it told the scribe that their morning would be an intense one. This was no lip service to the cult of the military; this was the strategy of someone who expected trouble.
    That someone would be Lord Ralph Tregannon, but what kind of attack did he expect? In Simon’s recent travels, nothing untoward had reached him. He’d heard no rumour of war or revolt, and his mind had picked up no rushes of violence apart from the usual murmurings of the northern rebels. There would always be discontent, but rarely, in the last year-cycles, any open attack. Rebellion in these lands was almost nothing more than a legend. For the most part, people lived in peace. Even those with the gifting; as long as they remained undiscovered.
    A sudden shake of his elbow brought Simon’s attention back to the activities in the bailey. A tall man with grey hair and sharp green eyes stooped over him. He wore on his shoulder Lord Tregannon’s symbol of the gold star crossed by a black sword, but he was no part of any army.
    “Simon Hartstongue?” he asked and Simon nodded.
    “Good,” he said. “Lord Tregannon will see you now. Come.”
    Without checking what Simon would do, the tall man, whom he assumed to be a high-ranking servant to his lord, turned and began to make his way, limping a little, towards the actual castle. Knowing that the man he’d met last night must have spies reporting to him everywhere, Simon followed the retainer.
    The two of them walked through the dwellings and the open space where the soldiers practised, then over a small wooden bridge across the inner moat. Above, the tree crows circled the castle, their wild song echoing the cries of children. At the point where the hill began to rise, the steps leading upward from the bridge became more ornate. The customary wood changed to a pale stone and each step boasted a different carving: animals, birds, trees and other plants, swords, shields, and lances. Simon stopped to admire them and, within a few moments, his companion had turned back.
    “Hurry,” he said. “We have no time to dawdle.”
    “I’m sorry,” the scribe said, “but these are beautiful. I’ve never seen such a display.”
    The servant frowned, as if the words had been critical but, in truth, Simon had meant them only in admiration.
    “Lord Tregannon is a powerful and respected land-owner,” he said. “The riches you will see are nothing but what is due to him. You will do well not to forget that.”
    Nodding once, Simon said no more, but simply followed his guide. At the top of the steps, he saw a stone-patterned wall, and a door, the outside of which was carved in gilt, the carvings similar to those on the steps. Before they could make their presence known, the door was opened and his companion limped through.
    Once again, he followed and found himself in a great hallway hung with tapestries. Whoever had opened the door must have slipped away somewhere as he could tell at once there was no other mind in the room. The smell of preserved wool filled the air. In the middle of the hall stood a vast table draped with cloth and on it lay a row of swords and knives, gleaming in the light from the wall-sconces. But it was the tapestries which drew his attention most. The thread was of crimson and gold, the weave-work delicate, and each of the four of them showed a scene fitted to the seasons.
    First of all, and naturally the first to be seen on entering, came spring. A young girl, with blonde hair and light blue eyes, had gathered a bunch of sundrops, their yellow petals soothing her face, and was in the act of reaching upwards to the lowest branch of an acorn tree. In the background, other people were caught leaping, playing with garlands, the grass beneath their feet lush and deep green. The sky was filled with birds.
    To the right, the height of summer was depicted. This time, the young girl had been woven taller, more mature, her figure filled out and her waist shapely, and at her side, a dark-haired young soldier danced attendance.