The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

The trees too were in their fullness, branches loaded with all manner of fruit and flowers—acorns bursting to seed, rowan petals clustered and so creamy-white Simon could almost smell their sweetness, aspen catkins tufted with tiny hairs. Forgetting the mission and his companion, he leaned closer to admire the handiwork. It must have taken many tapestry workers years to produce such beauty and it certainly had not been produced here. Lord Tregannon must have a vast network of trade routes, and influence, in order to obtain such items. He wondered in passing how much the workers had received for their labour, or even if they had been paid at all.
    Autumn found the boy and the girl now full-grown and with a bevy of children playing at their feet. The sky was mottled with soft golden clouds and on the left Simon could see a vineyard, grapes bursting to harvest, the harvest-workers already gathering in the crop. As he turned back to the couple however, and peered more closely, he could see that their maturity was just on the turn towards old age: lines on their faces had been included and dashes and spots of grey in their hair. The grass too seemed thinner, as if it were drawing in its resources against the threat of winter.
    But, of them all, it was the tapestry showing winter which made him gasp and step back. The girl whose imaginary life he had followed was now an old woman, bent almost double by wild winter storms. She had no companions and the hail drew blood from her skeletal face. The trees were bare and no birds flew in the grey and bitter skies.
    He had never seen such a bleak depiction before. The hall, though beautiful, spoke of the passing of time and all destinies to come. Simon did not know what he was doing here, why he had obeyed Lord Tregannon’s command. He should have turned to run.
    A hand on the shoulder brought him back to himself. The servant. Simon thought he would chastise him again, but instead, the man gave half a smile.
    “They’re astonishing, aren’t they?” he said. “My master paid much to obtain them.”
    Without another word, he left the hall and Simon followed him. Their journey took them through another, smaller, greeting room, this one paved with marble slabs and with carvings at each corner— a fox, an owl, a horseman, and a lone man standing. Simon recognised four of the land’s star symbols and wondered why Lord Tregannon had chosen these. It struck him as an unusual combination and they made no sense.
    From there they turned left into a corridor with barred windows on one side, interspersed with swords, and doors to mysterious rooms on the other. Each door was carved with the star and sword insignia he had seen on the soldiers earlier. It was obvious then, from the riches he walked through, that he had been wrong. This was not simply a castle; this was a palace.
    At last, at the far side of Lord Tregannon’s home, the guide stopped. Tossing him a warning glance, the man knocked on the door, waited for a muffled response and then entered, leaving him outside.
    Simon paused for breath and to think. Not that he was tired, but the day had started in an unfamiliar fashion and he could not see how it might end. Now, as the sun rose higher, he should be back at the village well, tidying his belongings, preparing to trade with the first of the women. It came to him that somehow, and before he’d noticed it fully, his old life had finished and he was about to start afresh. Good, he thought, maybe it was what he needed after all.
    The door opened again before Simon could make any mental preparation for it.
    “My master orders you to enter the antechamber,” the servant said. “He will speak with you there.”
    Simon did so, expecting to find it empty. To his surprise, Lord Tregannon was present, not yet fully dressed. He wore only simple brown hose and was in the act of shrugging on a pure white undershirt. Simon caught a glimpse of muscular shoulders and smooth skin before turning away, the heat rising to his face.
    “M-my lord,” he stammered. “I thought…”
    “You are impressively early, Simon,” Lord Tregannon said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “Wait. Soon I will be dressed, and then…then we can talk.”
    While he waited, Simon tried not to look too much at his companion and gazed around the antechamber instead. He had never been in the private rooms of anyone this powerful before. He had expected gilt and crimson, more foreign tapestries and silk. All the