The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

you had been in these lands more than a matter of day-cycles, you would have seen other signs also—weapons given to village elders and stored secretly in case of need, the early bringing in of crops, the salting of meat. You would have seen we are preparing for war.”
    “But why, my lord? Who has threatened you? The northern rebels?”
    Even as he spoke, Simon realised that assumption could not be true. The rebels had been beaten and beaten well. They would never be able to regroup; at least not enough to cause a serious problem and not for many years. All the people heard now of them was the occasional rumour, although it was true that those rumours had been recent. In his lifetime, not the lifetime of his parents.
    Lord Tregannon laughed.
    “No,” he said, “but there are other enemies a man has to face. Particularly if you possess the power and riches that I do.”
    Simon nodded, saying nothing. He thought it the wisest course of action. Although, to his way of thinking, a poor man would have enemies who were more dangerous, lacking as he did the means to overcome them. In the meantime, he thought, his companion would tell his mind when he was ready. Not before.
    Sure enough, after a few moments, his host rose from the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Simon watched as Lord Tregannon strode over to the window, leaning out as if to take in the morning air. When he turned around, he was frowning.
    “Can I trust you, Simon Hartstongue?” he said.
    “Yes.” Simon gave his answer without thinking. Gazing then at the Lammas Master’s aristocratic features and those so beautiful dark grey eyes, it struck him that there was in fact nothing this man could ask him to do which he would not do. At once, and without question. The knowledge of how far Simon had already cleaved to Lord Tregannon made him blink.
    “How much?”
    “Absolutely.”
    He smiled. “Then I will tell you.”
    He paused for a moment, and Simon felt a tingle in his skin and the slight clench of his muscles as he waited. Love had not come to him so suddenly before. He had no idea how to deal with it. When Lord Tregannon spoke, his words were not what Simon had expected.
    “There is rebellion all around me,” he whispered, almost as if he was speaking to himself, and Simon had to lean forward to hear him. “Not of the body perhaps, not yet, but of the mind. I catch the scent of it as I hunt, as I eat, in the way my people move about their daily business, and even in my dreams. Do not ask how I know this; you have touched my mind, and you know the small powers I have, although yours of course are greater.”
    Simon must have made some small movement, perhaps to deny the claim, as Lord Tregannon raised one hand briefly as if to silence him.
    “No, let me finish. It has been happening for a while now. Look, I will show you.”
    Without any more words, he took two strides away from the window, reached out, grasped Simon’s hand and rested it on his skin, at the point where the skull met the neck. The seat of the memory, and the store of all things that were seen and were true.
    Simon shut his eyes, but this time there was no sense of falling, no storm and no sudden landing in a strange place. When he opened his eyes again, all he could see were white walls and the flicker of one small candle. His companion did not have power enough to furnish the room he’d chosen to reveal. As Simon moved towards the candle, the only object in the room of interest, he could see that the flicker wasn’t just any flame, but images of people and places. He continued to watch, waiting for Lord Tregannon to show him whatever was on his mind, and the images grew larger and more vibrant, eventually taking over one of the walls. He could hear no sound with his external senses, but his head was filled with noise. Not of words, but of thoughts and emotions.
    Fear. Anger. Mistrust. They coloured Simon’s mind in jagged spills of black and orange, russet and green. He knew without having to search for it that these feelings were inextricably linked with the people walking across his vision. The truth of Lord Tregannon’s memory, what he had seen and stored. The men and women Simon could see were dressed in the dark clothing and simple fabric of the Lammas people. Some he even thought he recognised from his brief stay here, though it was hard to tell as the flickering grew worse. Certainly the scenes around them, through which they walked, were