The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

he’d gone most wrong and try, however foolishly, to right it would not leave his mind. It nibbled away at his thoughts like a wood beetle nibbles bark and, whenever he tried to direct his concentration elsewhere, it would not let him go.
    He would have to make a choice and soon but, as before, he could see no certain right or wrong way. Whatever he decided would bring pain to one or the other country, and perhaps even both. How he longed for a wisdom that those around him already thought he had. It could not come to him too soon.

    Annyeke
    The red-haired woman watched the Lost One for a few moments where he stood leaning against the doorway of what had so recently been Iffenia’s sculpting room. Odd how being dedicated to one man hadn’t changed her view of men in general. Johan was different, of course. He was…she smiled. She couldn’t find the words to describe how her beloved was. All she knew was since he had kissed her, her skin had felt as if she were always caught by the sun and she seemed to be floating a few precious hand-breadths above the Gathandrian earth. That, of course, was no bad thing; she’d always thought she could do with being taller.
    No matter. She was here, and there was work to be done. She hadn’t intended to be here at all, but something had driven her out of the house, away from her beloved’s embrace and into the chill of the day. She hadn’t been able to stop herself. Not that she’d wished to. A Gathandrian woman’s instinct, in her opinion, was always to be trusted.
    Now, looking at Simon, she thought she might be needed. Even from this distance, coloured clouds drifted over his head—red, green, the deepest blue. None of them stayed over him for long and together they formed a shifting pattern which was, it had to be said, pleasing to the eye, but not so beneficial for his mind.
    She stepped forward and, when she was near enough for him to hear her, spoke as softly as possible. It wasn’t very soft, but it was the best she, Annyeke Hallsfoot, Elder of the great city, could produce under such short notice.
    “Lost One? Is there something troubling you?”
    He blinked and stepped back, his eyes widening briefly. His troubles had to be deep indeed, she thought, for him not to have known she was there. For a long moment, she watched him struggle against the instinct to conceal the truth before he gave her one of his sudden, rare smiles and gestured her inside. In spite of the lancing of her fear, she was glad to note the snow-raven hopped to the far corner of the room, where it gazed at her, but not, she hoped, with anything but kindness.
    “Many things trouble me, Annyeke,” he said, “but, please, let me offer you refreshment. Though perhaps you wish to return to Johan if he is not with you?”
    She shook her head as she installed herself on the nearest stool and stretched her back free. “No, something told me to come alone today.”
    “All is well with you both…?” he began to ask but did not utter aloud more than the first two or three words. He must have seen her answer in her face as he smiled again before turning to place the water pot above the fire to warm it.
    “Yes, all is well. More than well,” she reassured him. “But the land seemed to wish me to visit you and so I am here. Tell me then what it is that troubles you.”
    As was so often the way with men, even with Johan, he did not answer her at once. Instead, his thoughts withdrew into his skin and he took two beakers and scattered herbs inside them to sweeten the water, thyme, river lavender, red beech. A soothing combination. She waited until she had taken her first sip and felt its heat and solidity create a link of hospitality between them before she spoke once more, aloud rather than simply in the mind.
    “You know you can trust me,” she said, surprised to find words she hadn’t thought to speak flowing from her tongue. “Even though I have taken the role of First Elder in this city, for the time-cycle being, it doesn’t mean I’m still not Annyeke. That doesn’t change. I may be the voice of Gathandria for the moment, but I’m still your friend—because of Johan and always because of you. Tell me your thoughts.”
    He put down his beaker, though she did not think he had tasted it yet, and then looked her straight in the eyes. Not something he did often, she thought for the first time. His face was full of shadows.
    “It may be better if I speak to your thoughts only,” he