The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

snow-raven.
    You. Must. Not. Defy. Me. Again.
    Each word is a universe unto itself. Together, they subsume Ralph’s thoughts and memories until he is nothing but a world of unremitting pain. Behind his eyes, wild storms are born, rage and die, winters rise up and are swallowed by more winters, and rivers burst their banks so that seething waters sweep him away.
    He cannot speak and, within his mind, he can do nothing but plead. Gelahn has beaten him, taken him to a place of humiliation far more devastating than anything the Lammas Place of Execution can offer. All Ralph can do is yield. Over and over again, the words that come to him are only these: Please. I will not fight you. Please.
    Finally, after year-cycles of time have elapsed, or so it seems to him, the storms and flood begin to abate. Air fills his lungs once more and he opens his eyes.
    He is lying on the ground. He does not remember how he got there or what he is doing. It takes a while for the few poorly built hovels and a large white bird to meld together within Ralph’s mind so he can recall what has happened. His body feels sore, as if weary with fighting, or being beaten. He is panting and coughing. In his throat, nausea rises and he spews out dust and water.
    “Get up.”
    He blinks. The words of command are spoken in a way that brooks no disagreement and he struggles to obey. It takes a while. When, at last, Ralph is upright, he sees his clothes are in tatters and the skin on his arms is bleeding. A man is standing in front of him and in his demeanour dwell all Ralph’s secret fears. When this man smiles, the expression brings him no comfort. At his left, a pack of dogs lays waiting, crouched in readiness for an order he cannot begin to imagine. They are not as other dogs. They appear hewn from rock, their eyes glint with crimson and blood lines their jaws. Something in them calls to him, from a life he wonders if he once had. When he glances at the slight, almost nondescript man with the haunted eyes who stands in the falling snow, Ralph sees how beautiful he is, and everything he knows about himself returns.
    He is Ralph Tregannon, Overlord of the Lammas Lands and betrayer of his people. The man who has all but murdered him is the mind-executioner, Duncan Gelahn. And the man who stares at Ralph, horror and relief etched into his face, is both nearer to him than the pulse of his blood and further away than the skies.
    Now, he remembers. The only question is whether he wants to. For the moment, Ralph stands swaying in front of Gelahn. He can barely think, let alone talk. His enemy strolls towards him as if he has all the time in the land, that twisted smile still at his mouth. Ralph can’t help himself. He begins to shake.
    “Now you see how important it is to do my bidding, Lammas Lord,” the mind-executioner whispers, and Ralph can hear him as clearly as the morning river bird in full flight. “For we must do what the Gathandrian Spirit requires of us and we must do it quickly. But, see how I have spared your life and know my mercy for what it is. It is good to be here. Come, let us return to your castle and see the numbers of soldiers my powers can call to our great mission, because, believe me, they will come soon, and with more wonder than you can possibly understand. But first, you must give me the emeralds you possess, because they are mine to use now. Then the end of the battle will have begun.”
    There is still something left within Ralph that knows he should not allow this man to take so easily what is his, but he has no choice. Slowly, his fingers reach down to where the emeralds burn against his waist. It is as if Ralph’s hand has its own purpose and he cannot gainsay it. In the snow, falling more heavily now, he notices everything is silent, even the raven, even the dogs.
    He holds out the small velvet bag to the mind-executioner. His enemy shakes his head.
    “No,” he says, almost patient as if talking to a child who cannot hope to understand him. “Take them out. Let me see their number.”
    Ralph’s eyes are hot with tears, but he does not let them fall. Somewhere deep within, words flutter in his blood and he can sense the faint shadow of their meaning: First of all, be angry.
    Somehow, the very fact of this helps him. Gelahn waits as he rolls the shining green jewels out of their pouch, one by one. It takes a while as his fingers are trembling. When all seven of them are exposed, the executioner nods.
    “Thank you.