The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

it.”
    The mind-executioner nods. He sees there are many questions flowing through his companion’s thoughts, but this is the issue most engraved on his mind.
    “Yes,” he replies. “As I read and brought to life the sparkle of light that Sloth saw at the death of his sister, that same light appeared to me under the cypress-tree that had become my refuge. It entered my mind, filled every part of my body and thoughts, and consumed me. A part of that same Spirit has dwelt with me ever since, no matter what has happened, no matter what I have done, or what has been done to me.”
    Saying such things here surprises Duncan, he has not intended to speak so openly. But the words he is saying are true, and he is as unguarded as he has ever been. The scribe must see this as at the next heartbeat the man lays his hand for a moment on the mind-executioner’s arm. Warmth floods through Duncan’s skin, and something more, too—a hint of a strength as yet untested, even, perhaps, unknown.
    He breaks the contact and stands up. He reminds himself to be careful.
    “It is no matter,” he continues. “The Spirit does what it desires, and I am merely its vessel. You see, Scribe, the Spirit is more important than all our dreams and wishes, across all the year-cycles that have ever been or will be. Its purpose is the salvation of Gathandria and that alone. And that purpose is, therefore, mine as well.”
    In the half light, Simon’s eyes are as dark as the mountain. “With all the death that clings to you, how can that be true? What if the Spirit you thought you saw was, in fact, the wolf? Perhaps Sloth’s mistake is yours.”
    Duncan laughs. “You think the wolf and the Spirit are not one? My friend, the wolf, for all his faults, is part of the Spirit’s purposes, however mysterious they might be. The Spirit gives and the Spirit takes away. It is more powerful than any of the gods or stars that guide you. It is greater even than good or evil.”
    “I don’t believe you.” Simon springs to his feet and the mind-executioner wonders if he will attack, but he is not so foolish to try. “There is a difference between good and evil. I have lived on both sides of that divide, so I know it.”
    The scribe makes as if to go on, but Duncan does not let him. The advantage is his, and he will not waste it.
    “Of course, there is a difference,” he interrupts. “You mistake me. But what I say to you is this—the Spirit is greater than either of them, and greater than our very hearts. All will be as the Spirit wishes, when the time is right. And, Simon of the White Lands, the time is very close to us. Almost at our shoulders, if you will. It no longer matters whether what we do is right or wrong, only that we do it and the Spirit uses it for its own glory. That is the way of Gathandria.”
    He pauses, knowing he holds the full attention of the scribe. He is so close, so close. Then he completes his thought.
    “Which leaves me with two questions.”
    Even though Hartstongue would deny the very existence of them, the links the two Gathandrians share are the strongest they have ever been. The mind-executioner can feel the colours of them on his skin—blue, green, gold, echoing the shades of the room they are both sitting in. Now is the time to show his true meaning.
    He leans forward, grasps Simon’s hand and feels the shock of the deliberate gesture explode into the other man’s mind.
    “And those questions are…?” asks the scribe.
    “We are so alike and only together can we do what the Spirit desires,” Duncan whispers, edging his words with the same blue river which always rolls through the scribe’s thoughts. “So then, will you join your destiny to mine? Will you help me save Gathandria?”

Fifth Lammas Lands Chronicle
    TEMPERANCE AND GREED

    Ralph
    When morning comes, he has lain all night in the secret room, the pouch containing the seven emeralds clutched in his hand. The mountain dogs are still in the bed-area, but they have not tried to reach him. Eventually, the howling eased and his heart began to beat with an easier rhythm.
    The mind-executioner is still missing. Ralph cannot sense him. It is impossible to know when he will return and astonishing to realise Gelahn has not done so yet. Ralph must make the most use of the time, he knows it. Already, he has squandered the remainder of the night and he cannot afford to lose more of this strange and fragile advantage.
    Even if Gelahn sends him to the death