The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

what reputation he might seek to maintain even more deeply. He wonders briefly who else knows he is here before he remembers how ridiculous that worry is now.
    Jemelda grimaces. “So. You know where you are, my good Lord, and already you concern yourself with what others might think. And, no, before you object, I can see from your face that it is true. I have no need of any mind-skills, permissible or otherwise, to read a man’s heart. Those gifts lie in our gender, nothing more.”
    Ralph has nothing to say in defence of himself. She is right in her assumptions of his guilt.
    “The mountain dogs are vanished,” she continues. “The women told me so. They have not come back and the circle that took them has gone. You have been unconscious for the length of an autumn story’s beginning. That is all.”
    “But you have come here when I told you to stay,” he interrupt her words, but his voice is weaker than he would wish.
    She puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrows. “I had no choice. The jewel you gave me sparked its own fire and forced me to follow. Perhaps it does not want to be parted from its companions after all.”
    Ralph struggles upwards in the makeshift bed until his eyes are level with hers. She makes no move to help him and he is glad of that.
    “Show me,” he says.
    She digs deep into the pockets of her skirt and brings out the emerald. Even before she hands it to him, Ralph can see it is fizzing with colour and the air echoes with a faint humming.
    “It drew me,” she whispers. “I couldn’t help but follow where it led.”
    He takes the jewel and returns it to his safekeeping, with the others. But, as it lands with a soft chinking sound, something about the way the emeralds lie within the black cotton, or the manner in which the humming turns to a fragile keening, draws Ralph’s gaze again.
    “There are six of them,” he says. “They have found their way back from where I threw them at the dogs. How can that be when…? But no matter. There should be seven. Have you…?”
    Even before he’s framed the question in his own mind, he can see the pointlessness of it. Jemelda purses her lips and Ralph bites back his foolishness.
    “No, obviously not. Forgive me. I must have dropped it by the well,” he says before another thought occurs. “Unless…”
    But once more, the cook is there before him. “ No . The body-women would not take your goods, my fine lord. Not even to free themselves from their imprisonment. They are not as foolish as you men assume, although I am sure their kindness to you deserves more than emeralds.”
    Ralph feels his face redden and knows, as surely as if they had been standing in the room with them, that the two women are listening from behind the curtain. “I know. And I thank them for it. But I have to find the missing emerald. I need to return to the well.”
    For a moment, it looks as if Jemelda will argue, but then she shakes her head, despairing of him, no doubt. The dark green colour of her thoughts floats through his mind. Unexpectedly, he thinks again of Simon.
    “Come then,” the cook says. “If you wish to look for the emerald, then I suppose you must do it. You will, of course, trust no one else to search for it on your behalf.”
    Yes, I might have trusted one other person. Once. But I broke that trust and besides he is not here now.
    To dislodge the thought, Ralph shakes his head. “No, you’re right. I must see for myself. I need to find the seventh jewel. There is so little time. ”
    The last phrase leaps from his mouth as if its truths were daggers that could tear his flesh again. Something is about to happen. He knows it. His mind flares up with colours it is not accustomed to—orange, silver, black—not the colours of the winter storm he carries within him always.
    Without another word, he swings his legs sideway, lets his feet take his weight, but almost falls. Jemelda steps towards him, but he waves her away. He will do this alone. His thoughts tell him he must.
    In the four paces it takes Ralph to reach the outside door, he wonders if he will be able to get to the well at all. He is swaying and his heart is beating so fast he can no longer tell its rhythm.
    “Lord Tregannon, shall I…?” Jemelda says from behind, using his title of honour for the first time, Ralph thinks.
    “No,” is all he replies and takes the initial step outside.
    The chill in the air wraps round him and he sees it is snowing, only lightly,