The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

side to side, looking for danger and trying to see where it had come from.
    The next moment she knew, the knowledge drawing a long gasp from the depths of her mind.
    The Library. It’s the Library.
    Unable to move or even respond, Annyeke stared in the direction of the great Gathandrian Library, t he place where Simon had gone, the place where she had allowed him to go. The partially destroyed building, already shattered in the Wars, was swallowed up by fire. Not simply one section of it, but a great wall of flame covered every stone and window. Surely nothing, and nobody, could survive in that. Simon, the snow-raven, even the mind-cane must be trapped there, if that was where they had gone. And, if so, perhaps the scribe was already dead?
    Around them in the street, people were running, hiding, screaming out if the deadly fire touched them. A man she didn’t know grabbed her arm and she saw that flames were licking at his hair. Before she could do anything, fire engulfed him and he fell writhing to the ground. With a scream, she reached out to try to help in some way, but Johan dragged her backwards, saying words she struggled to accept but already knew were true.
    “It’s too late. You can’t help him.”
    In her arms, Talus was sobbing. She should never have agreed to Johan’s request. Again too late; behind them flame caught at her door, blocking their escape.
    If they couldn’t go back, they would have to go forward. Her people needed her to do something.
    Come on.
    She picked Talus up and began to run, towards the library, not needing to look back to know that Johan would be following her. With each step, she sent out one word and one word only from her mind: Fight.
    She hoped the people would take courage from that. She hoped they would pay her some heed. They mustn’t let the mind-fire overcome them, nor the terrible fact of where it came from. If they did, all would be lost. Still imprisoned in her grip, Talus squirmed but she refused to let him go. She had sworn to herself to protect him; she would keep that promise until no breath remained in her.
    The streets were full of cries and heat. Twice, an arrow of flame came close enough to singe her hair and blister her arm, but she caught at the pain and swallowed it down before it could destroy her. Fight. Fight. Fight.
    At the corner of the street where the great Library stood, the heat drove her back. She could go no further. With a cry of despair, Annyeke crushed Talus into Johan’s arms and turned to continue her onward path, but the boy snatched at her hair and screamed.
    “No, Annyeke, please.”
    It ’s too dangerous; you can’t go, Johan’s voice broke into her thoughts as if they’d been waiting for a chance to be heard. A pause, then: we need you, Annyeke. We—I need you here.
    When she looked at him, his face was as open and vulnerable as she’d ever seen it. All the sense of pride, of his own separate identity and the need to hold to it, even his innate jaggedness was gone. He simply held the boy as if she’d offered him a precious gift he had no right to accept and shouted so he could be heard above the roar of the flames, “Don’t go any nearer, Annyeke! You’ll die.”

    Duncan Gelahn
    In the Great Library of Gathandria, the snow-raven lets forth a cry the mind-executioner has never heard any snow-raven give before. The notes have no harmony and, when they take physical form in front of him, they are not perfect orbs, but have sharp edges, frayed in all the shades of blood, winter earth and night.
    Duncan laughs. His hand grasps the book of the story that must have brought him here. Who knows how? He is a wolf amongst mere birds who, like Simon, are feather-torn, unable to fly. He will ravage them and make the lands his own.
    The mind-cane lies between himself and the scribe. Duncan moves first. He is, as ever, more prepared for the hunt. He lunges towards the cane. A heartbeat later, the Lost One leaps forward and reaches for it, also.
    At the same time the notes from the raven ’s discordant song turn in the dusty air and become claws and deadly beaks to wound and to kill. One of them dances across Duncan’s face and gashes blood from his flesh. He screams. The Lost One cries out also and twists sideways in mid-air, landing sprawled across the ground. The second note narrowly misses the scribe’s arm.
    Just as suddenly, the bird is in flight. The mind-executioner ’s fingers touch the ebony cane. So near to having it.