The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

silence.
    It is only as they cross the sodden bridge into the courtyard again that Ralph realises he does not know where to take him. By the gods and stars, he has come this far in his casual flinging-off of Lammas convention, and he cannot bring himself to ask his servant such a question. It would be too great an intimacy and his feet slow, almost stumbling once more.
    But Apolyon has already anticipated the need.
    “M-my lord, the cooking area is the driest place in the castle,” he whispers, his face turned away from Ralph’s as if this terrible, unthinkable journey is not happening at all, or at least that he is far from its repercussions. “Do you not think so?”
    Ralph quells the bubble of laughter that rises to his throat and lies with the aplomb of a true Tregannon and Overlord. “Indeed. My thoughts precisely.”
    Turning left and following the thick outer wall of his home, it takes a few moments only to reach the simple entrance to the cooking area. When Ralph enters, pushing aside the torn curtain that hangs down in what he imagines is a vain attempt to keep out the wind, he expects the room to be empty. It is some hours before supper will be required, but the air is thick with the aroma of bread and spices. At once, he senses the presence of two minds other than the boy’s and his own, although, of course, he cannot read them.
    As he blinks to adjust to the darkness, the boy squirms slightly in his arms and Ralph sets him down. The sensation of repressed pain slides away. Apolyon limps two steps from him, but continues to stand a little on the alert as if awaiting orders. Ralph has none to give.
    One of the two unknown people in the darkness steps forward and bows. The man before him is as old and gnarled as the oak tree in the farthest reaches of the courtyard. Greying hair hangs down to thin, stooping shoulders. It might be of necessity as his head brushes the ceiling which is lower where he is standing, even then. Ralph has never seen him before.
    “M-my lord,” he stammers, his voice high-pitched like a whistle. “My-my lord.”
    It is evident that the man has no idea what to do with Ralph in his domain or what to think. The Overlord smiles at him as if his presence here is natural.
    “My steward was slightly injured in the fields and I have returned him to the castle,” he says. “I understand his dwelling place is here.”
    The old man opens his mouth to answer but, before he can, the words are spoken by someone else, someone female, angry and despairing, someone, also, who is not afraid to state her case in front of her master.
    “What have you done with him?” she demands. “Why send him out in such weather when the lad can barely walk from here to the stables? Don’t you think you have done enough to your people? ”
    By the time the woman comes to the end of her accusations, she is standing right in front of Ralph, glaring into his face. She barely reaches his chest, her single-minded fury all but defeating him. She is as short and round as the unknown man is tall and thin. Ralph takes a step back.
    The boy darts towards her, burrowing between the two of them. “Please, the Overlord did nothing wrong, Jemelda. It’s not his fault.”
    “You accuse me for no purpose and, more than that, you forget your place,” Ralph replies, stung into words by Apolyon’s vain attempt to play reconciler. “Any more from you and I’ll have you whipped in the public yard.”
    The woman called Jemelda tilts her head up at him and her eyes are fierce. “And who will do that for you now, my lord? There is hardly a serving man left with strength in his arm after you have brought the mind-executioner’s wrath down upon us, and certainly none minded to do so.”
    “ Jemelda. ” The old man speaks, voice shaking, but whether with anger or fear Ralph cannot tell. “Please, that is enough. Forgive my wife’s outburst, please, my lord. I swear she means no harm.”
    Neither Jemelda nor Ralph pay any heed to the old man’s words. Instead they glare at each other until Apolyon finally grabs her arm and pulls her away. She allows him to do so but her anger remains sharp in the air between them.
    With as much dignity as he can muster and with all his blood stirring to be gone from this place of servants, Ralph gestures at the boy.
    “Your charge has done good work today,” he says. “You have the right to be proud of him. Because of his courage and swift obedience to me, and because of that