The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting

have to try. Come now, you are the courageous ones. Not I. Surely together we can think of something.”
    As he speaks, Hartstongue releases his clasp on Johan’s tunic and moves both hands across to grip his shoulders. A moment or two of stillness, then her brother’s eyes flash open without warning.
    He stares at the scribe. Moves his hands away.
    “Do you know what you’re saying?” Johan says.
    Hartstongue laughs. “No. Not really. Does it matter? I will try my best to be brave. For what that promise is worth. What else can I do?”
    Johan.
    She has to warn him. Gelahn is so nearly here. His presence overpowers her. There are so many things she wants to say, things she should have said before. But for now he must abandon the scribe. Otherwise he will not be safe.
    He lets Hartstongue go at once. Already Isabella sees the scar on the mountain that was not there before, filled with darkness and fire. It is only moments away from their shelter. Now her companions can see it also. In the centre of the coming storm, protected by his own strength of will, stands Gelahn. His eyes gleam yellow, like a wolf’s at night, and the shape of his skull is clear under his pale skin. In his hands, he holds the cane of liberation. And next to him, expression unfathomable, stands the Lammas Master. It is this that makes the scribe cry out.
    “He is upon us,” she says, this time speaking out loud. “Come, Johan, we must go. You have done all you can. You can do no more.”
    Reaching out, Isabella grabs her brother’s arm, but he shakes her off.
    “No. I’m not giving up now.”
    “Don’t be a fool, Johan. What other choice do we have?”
    “There is always a choice. I say we try it. If we’re going to die, then we do it fighting. Simon, are you with me?”
    Hartstongue, his eyes wide, sweat streaking his forehead, nods. He has no idea what he is agreeing to and she doesn’t even think he’s heard. His gaze is fixed on Tregannon.
    “Isabella?”
    She stares at her brother, and sees a shadow she can’t interpret passing over his face. Swiftly, she strengthens her mind-defences. It will destroy him to read her now. Then, tight-lipped, she nods also. His mind is set on this madness; she will go with them, save him and him only when the wrath appears.
    Pulling his cloak from the now quiet fire, Johan turns and runs out of the shelter onto the sheer side of the rock-face. Fluttering like a ghost behind him, Isabella follows.

    Simon
    Heart thudding and throat dry, Simon seized the boy and swung him up onto his back. The child’s weight made him stagger but he didn’t fall. The action gave him purpose and the gods knew how he needed that.
    “Stay there, little one,” he said, with a vain attempt at confidence. “Hold to me tightly, whatever happens.”
    With that, Simon followed the others out into the deep cold of the mountain. The wind tore his breath away and he felt the boy’s fear slipping over his body, into his mind. Undoing him. He shook off the dankness of it. Johan and Isabella were climbing further up the narrowing path, clinging to the impossible rock. What did they think they were doing? The sun against the snow made them appear like black beetles scuttling over ice. One of them—Johan, perhaps—turned halfway around and gestured at something behind Simon.
    He glanced to the left.
    What he saw there made the hairs rise at the back of his neck, and the boy clutched at his throat, causing Simon to struggle again for breath. Instead of the mountain—ice and rock, brightness and solidity—all he could see was a vast cloud of darkness rolling upwards, consuming the mountain path and turning the snow to ashes. And from the cloud came a wild baying. For a moment, he didn’t understand where the noise was coming from, but then a flash of insight from the sun’s rays told him what he didn’t want to know.
    The dark cloud was more than simply air and danger; it was made up of countless wild dogs, the shape and feel of them the same as those who’d already attacked lower on the pathway. Somehow, Ralph and the enemy were moving through a cloud of dogs in order to reach them. This time the Overlord was acting from his own will, not in order to save himself. Simon’s legs trembled and he would have fallen except that the knowledge of the boy kept him upright. If the scribe fell with him now, both of them would be killed.
    Cursing all dogs, and his own weakness too, Simon turned and scrambled upwards.