The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

executioner’s fire tracked round them both and the sudden increase in heat made Simon cry out again. Flame filled his mouth and throat and he could not spit it out.
    He was still alive though. Only the gods and stars knew how.
    Come.
    That word again. It might have been the only one left in the Library’s obliteration. Even though the voice he heard was Gelahn’s, he clung to it, a word crisp with silver and something like hope offered where he had thought to find only death.
    A sensation of being lifted and then the heat lessened but only by a fraction. Not enough to dream by. He was aware, from a distance, that Gelahn’s mind-fire must be protecting them from the greater danger. And he was also aware that something in his own mind was responding to it, helping that strange salvation, perhaps allowing him to live.
    Then blackness rushed in and he could think no more.
    When he woke, he could not recognise where he might be, neither by feel, smell nor thought. He should be used to that by now, however. It was, no doubt, a measure of his incompetence that he was not. Still, at least he was alive.
    The scribe opened his eyes. He saw straw and mud above him, constrained into a tight pattern of circles forming a roof. Shadows flickered over bare stone walls, and a flicker of flame at the corner of his vision drew his gaze.
    No danger, though. No curse of fire branding his mind. This was simply a candle. Slowly his heart took up a steadier rhythm. Already he knew Gelahn was here, too—his dark presence filled the air.
    “Where is this?” he asked.
    The mind-executioner stepped in front of him, looked down and smiled.
    “This was my home,” he said.
    They must still be in Gathandria, then. Simon knew Gelahn was from the city.
    The executioner laughed and paced away. “Where else would we be? The city is what I want and you are the key to it, Hartstongue. Now you have drawn me here, why should I wish to be anywhere else?”
    Scrambling to his feet and brushing dust and straw from his clothes, Simon stared at his abductor. “I’ve not drawn you here, and I’m no use to you. Neither of us has the mind-cane now and, even if it were with us, I would not know how to use it.”
    Gelahn made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “All of that is a lie. Your own weakness and fear drew me. The mind-cane needed you and you failed it, so it called to me and I came. Besides, you have already used its strength against me when you stole it.”
    “I didn’t steal the cane,” Simon replied. “It came to me. Only the gods and stars know why. Though I am sorry it has also brought you back. The Gathandrians believe me to be the Lost One they speak of, but what good is that to me when I can do nothing about it?”
    “There is much you do not know and I am grateful for that.” The executioner took three paces across the small room to stand in front of Simon. The scribe flinched but did not back away. “What puzzles me are the parts of your mind you do not know how to access, a result, I imagine, of the lack of mind-training in your childhood. If you wished, I could help you be more truly yourself.”
    “What do you mean?”
    In answer, Gelahn raised his hand and placed his fingers on Simon’s forehead once more. The scribe braced himself for pain, but none transpired. Instead, a flood of pleasure took him, a sparkling river of green and blue and gold with, every now and again, a burst of soft flame within its silky depths.
    What…?
    Hush. If you let yourself be, then the river you carry with you will flow to the ocean you long for.
    Simon gasped. They were communicating purely by thought once again. He couldn’t reason why but somehow this time it seemed more dangerous than before. Neither could he reject the happiness pulsating through his flesh. A picture of Ralph flashed up in his mind and was as quickly gone.
    Ah, Gelahn said. The Lammas Lord. You still hold to him, then, in spite of all he has done?
    Knowing he should deny it, the scribe discovered that lies were impossible. Yes.
    Then you are more of a fool than even I took you for.
    Better a fool than a murderer of minds.
    The shaft of pain that cut through him vanquished any thoughts of rebellion. He sank to his knees, Gelahn following him so the two men were still face-to-face.
    Yes, I can bring you pain such as you have not known before but, see, I can bring you delight, also.
    In a moment, the pain disappeared as if it had never been and the river of joy flowed