The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

the flesh of his mind and hailstones on the body. The stories swirl and dance around them, all the colours of their mysteries an impossible pattern he can no longer find a way through to victory. The cane tears at his skin and the emeralds burn his eyes.
    He wants to scream out a denial but what comes from his mouth is merely a whisper and the Lost One blinks it away. Duncan has never imagined his enemy, half Gathandrian and half Lammasser, can fight like this. He has never imagined Simon of the White Lands could one day be as adamant as himself, as harsh as stone, as bleak as winter.
    He has never imagined that whatever happens next might not be ultimately in his gifting.

    Annyeke
    In spite of her attempt to stop him, Johan flung himself once more at the green fire shielding them from where Gelahn, Simon and Talus had been standing only a few moments ago. Her heart beat fast and her skin burned. Her words had not been enough for him. Surely, if they survived this day, then they would have much to learn about each other, much to offer in trust as well as love. A moment later, Johan was sprawled on the snow half a room length away from the strange circle.
    Before she could reach him again, Tregannon was there. He laid a trembling hand on Johan’s shoulder. Once at their side, she could see both men’s faces were pale, their eyes haunted. No time for words. Whatever was happening to Talus and Simon, Annyeke had to know about it. Now. Her mind spun outwards, met Johan’s as they both tried to make contact with the scribe and her young charge, but she could sense nothing. The emeralds must stop anything from getting through except the floating stories. They streamed towards the green flames and melted through them as if responding to a hidden call. Johan scrambled to his feet and attempted to breach the barrier a third time where the thickest glut of stories flowed, their greens, reds and browns blending into gold. For a moment or two, it looked as if he might succeed. His fingers and then his whole hand sank through with the darkest of the tales, but then he fell to the ground once more. When she looked down, she saw the flesh of his left hand was on fire.
    The heat behind her eyes pounded an uneasy rhythm into her head as she grabbed his hand, skin blackening with the emeralds’ flame, and covered it with the snow. In her mind, she could feel the hiss and spit of his gasp, but in the body he merely grimaced and bent more closely to the earth.
    She had to save Talus. Simon, too, both for his role and for who he was. But Talus first and foremost. Her duty as Gathandria’s Acting Elder be damned to the stars. Some things were more important than that.
    It was then that it came to her, dancing tales, falling snow, and the memories of the bird. How deeds must be done quickly if they were done at all.
    Before Johan could object, Annyeke reached down and pulled his freshly formed mind-sword, scarred from the recent battle, from his belt. Her thoughts raced to link with it, and him, trying to gain the extra mind-strength she needed, as she darted towards the glowing deadly circle. It was the only act she could think of. She would do it, whether or not it destroyed her.

    Simon
    In the midst of the fire, the Lost One, the scribe, continued to carve his tale into the air’s emptiness, sensing even then the need to fight against the stories gathering to the mind-executioner, and to fight them hard.
    So these two boys grew into men. One took the way of moderation and one took the way of greed. Neither was truly happy. A blue river watered and weakened the mind of the one, and a dark prison strengthened and subsumed the soul of the other. One chose peace and the other chose war. Opposites, so my story tells us, but sometimes opposites can be destined to meet.
    The tales around Gelahn roared a song Simon could barely comprehend. In the executioner’s wild grin, the Lost One could see his enemy still battled against him, but he braced himself and allowed his words to flow. At the same time, something piercing and white captured the corner of his vision. The green fire surrounding them shifted and groaned. In one particular place, a silver flash not from the mind-cane pierced its way through, but he could not tell what it was. And he had no remaining energy to counteract it.
    He opened his mind, channelled his own song.
    And when those opposites do meet, they find another difference between them. The Gathandrian who has,