The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

as quickly vanished. However, she continued to feel the shakiness of the scribe’s mind in hers. Gelahn’s laughter punctuated her defences and she staggered to her feet as the sound of flapping wings, a faint tremor above the continuing noise of war, drifted away. The snow-raven must have brought both men from the heart of the battle to here. She needed to know why but, whatever happened, she was determined to face it standing. A moment later and she felt Johan’s frame slip next to hers. A glimpse sideways showed her the jagged gash on his face, the blood already congealing. He was breathing hard and holding his side. She couldn’t see where the Lost One or the Lammas Lord were, and didn’t dare look. She wanted to keep her eyes on Gelahn who watched them, head slightly cocked towards the battlefield as if listening to a sound or a voice only he could hear. Her heart skipped a beat. He gripped the mind-cane, twisting it in his hands and then he stretched his arms wide and laughed. It was then that her body, her mind, all that she was tumbled headlong into the dark.

    Duncan Gelahn
    He stretches his arms out wide as the mind-cane bucks and begins to sing. In his gaze and in the net of his thoughts, he can see the four companions the great bird has brought to him. First, the Lammas Lord. He is no threat to him. Indeed, the Lammasser’s mind is barely discernible. The only power he has is his ancient connection to the emeralds, but Gelahn possesses them and knows their strength. Secondly, Johan Montfort, his face scarred from the fighting, his body and will on the brink of collapse. The mind-executioner senses his anger and also his weakness. He sees how these two men are here, part of the final victory he will win only because of the people who love them most. Simon the Scribe, the Lost One. The bringer of power. He will use that power well and then the scribe’s meaning will be lost. The Lost One and the Lammas Lord can die together. And Annyeke Hallsfoot with her courage and her foolishness. She is the one about whom Gelahn knows least. Her mind is shadowy to him, something he cannot quite grasp. A gift she has that he cannot overpower? No, the Spirit has told him failure is impossible, so the red-haired woman is no threat to him.
    These promises and this knowledge flood through his head as his arms stretch wide. He opens the palm of his hand where the emeralds sit and allow them to form the circle of green. For he knows it will take them to the place where all things will be decided, to where, indeed, all things and all stories that cling to them began. The heart of the great Library of Gathandria, the place where the Spirit dwells most in the land.

    Annyeke
    At the very last moment before the circle of green enfolded them into its sparkling light, Annyeke heard a sharp cry and felt the curve of small fingers in her palm. Talus. She had no idea how he’d managed to get through the sweat and press of battle to reach them, but she knew whatever danger he might have faced there could not be one iota as terrible as what the mind-executioner had in mind.
    She tried to fling him away from her, outside the spinning green, but he clung on, and in any case it was already too late. The six of them—Gelahn, the Lost One, Ralph, Johan, Talus and herself—were flung upwards into the air as the circle began to spark and roar, and the sound of a mighty wind filled Annyeke’s ears.
    Then she was spun round until she no longer knew the direction of the sky or earth, and the greenness flooded through her mind and skin. All she could do was clutch at Talus and hope this wild journey was soon over.
    Annyeke landed with a thud on something hard and cold. As she opened her eyes, she saw the green circle had vanished and the snow which had been falling for hour-cycles had now turned to sleet. Somehow, on this day when everything was changing so fast, and only for the worst, that fact did not surprise her.
    Neither did it surprise her that they had landed in the centre of the ruined Library. She saw the broken shelves, the shattered stories half obliterated in the snow, felt the emptiness where the spirit of the books should be. Struggling to her feet, she brushed back her hair with one hand and shoved Talus behind her with the other. Her heart raced. The mind-executioner was already standing. His face was as calm as if he’d gone through nothing more strenuous than a summer stroll in the park land. The cane was quivering,