The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

anything at all, physical or mental, to stay alive. You have led me here across mountains, sky, desert and sea, which surely shows you have physical courage. If anyone of us must take the role of soldier, then it’s you. Yes, if you feel it necessary, I can help a little with the skills I saw in Ralph’s military, but you’re the best leader, I think.”
    Faced with the combined forces of his friends, Johan couldn’t help but smile, albeit briefly.
    “I see I’m outnumbered,” he said, “so yes, I will do it.”
    Talus gave a sudden yelp and grabbed Annyeke. She could feel the fizz and sparkle of the boy’s mind dancing, and the sheer energy of it made her blink.
    “Can I help Johan?” he said. “Please, Annyeke, can I?”
    She laughed. “Yes, I suppose so, if Johan agrees. You’ve proved how brave you are already, Talus, when you followed me to the elders’ Library. But, if I’m to allow it, you must promise me one thing.”
    “What is it?”
    “This is no game, Talus. This is real. So whatever Johan or Simon or I tell you to do, you must do it, at once and without question. Will you?”
    The boy nodded, his eyes still eager, then glanced up at Johan. For a reason she couldn’t quite grasp, her colleague looked distinctly uncomfortable and she saw him swallow. Talus tugged at his tunic sleeve, the question still in his eyes.
    Johan coughed and shuffled his feet.
    “All right,” he said. “I’m happy to accept all the help I can get, from any source, no matter how…how…”
    Annyeke drew in her breath and her heart beat fast. She’d never suspected before that her overseer had no idea at all how to talk to children, but right now he looked as if he’d rather be fighting the mind-executioner single handedly than being in front of a young boy asking to help. She was about to step forward, but Simon got there first. The scribe hunkered down next to Talus instead of towering over him, as Johan was.
    “… How unexpected and also welcome is what my good friend means,” Simon said, touching the boy’s head with his fingers so thought could more easily be shared. This gesture was not Gathandrian etiquette, but Talus didn’t object. Neither did Annyeke. “I think that in the days ahead all of us will need some unexpected, welcome events, won’t we?”
    The boy smiled and nodded, confidence restored.
    “Good,” Annyeke said, bending down to pick up slivers of pottery from the floor next to him, mainly in order to hide her smile. “In that case, what we should do first is tidy up, and then we’ll begin our tasks.”

    Duncan Gelahn
    There is much that is pleasing to the mind-executioner about Tregannon’s private bedroom, much that he has not experienced in his battle to take back what is his. The curtains are made of the richest green velvet, decorated with the Tregannon insignia, a gold star split by a black sword. And, between the sconces, the wall hangings show scenes from the land beyond the castle, from a time before the war destroyed much of what Lammas possessed—the woods in summer, a riot of dark green against a rich blue sky, a view across corn pastures to the distant mountains and a harvesting party.
    Ralph’s bed is the centrepiece of the room. The linen is embroidered in gold, the pattern an interpretation of all the stars to be found in the Lammas skies. It is the intricate carving of the headboard that draws Gelahn’s eye most. A long fox is caught by the sculptor padding across the grained oak. The executioner can see each strand of fur and every rippling muscle, and the rays of sunlight streaming through the window make the creature’s eyes seem alive. Odd how, for a sophisticated man, Tregannon favours nature and the star legends. The fox is the Overlord’s sign, cunning and swiftness of thought.
    The Lammas Overlord now possesses neither of these attributes. Instead, he looks beaten by what has happened and his mind is jagged with despair. The mind-executioner cannot help but smile at this as he runs his finger along the body of the fox; it is always best for one’s companions to be weaker than oneself. Without hope or purpose, Ralph Tregannon will be easy to manipulate. And if he is not…well, because of the Scribe’s words at the end of the recent battle, Tregannon cannot be harmed, but he can be made to suffer. That should be enough. All he wants from the Lord Tregannon are his military skills, the minds and bodies of his soldiers and the weapons at their