The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

enemy’s words. “But one thing I know is I have not set out to destroy and rule a whole nation as you have. My crimes are not as great as yours.”
    “No matter. What is your answer? While you insist on considering it, the people of Gathandria put themselves in ever greater danger. There is no need for them to fight. Together, you and I can bring them what they wish, healing and peace.”
    The scribe groaned, leaned his head on his hands and felt the black hollow of his palm against his eyes. How he longed to escape into that deep shelter, to crawl away somewhere and hide from the demands lurking around him like the wolf of Gelahn’s story. He was a scribe, not a saviour of people or a great fighter. If he was the latter, he could tumble the mind-executioner to the floor and overcome him by physical force, as long as he didn’t let the Gathandrian touch his thoughts. An impossible plan, then. If he was a saviour, as Johan and Annyeke seemed to assume, then he could simply access Gelahn’s mind and be the victor there, too. He almost laughed at that concept. Another impossible plan. After all, how could he be stronger than his opponent if he couldn’t even begin to understand the mind-cane’s power for more than a few paltry moments or when he was overcome with anger? Not that the artefact was here, and not that he felt angry. His main thoughts were those of despair and exhaustion.
    He seemed to have been battling that particular sensation ever since he’d come to Gathandria. It was like a disease, something lurking in his blood that he could not shake off, no matter if he slept for a lifetime. He shook his head free of his hands and blinked until Gelahn’s face came into focus. He had to rouse himself, stay alert. Johan and Annyeke were his friends; he didn’t want to let them down more than he had to, even if it meant his death. Though what effect would his death have on them? Their minds were so convinced of his role as the Lost One of their myths that persuading them otherwise would be too hard a task, even if he had the energy for it.
    “I do not know my answer,” he replied at last. “The truth is, though I suppose you already know it, that I am simply too tired to gain any understanding of what it is you ask and why I must refuse it.”
    Gelahn folded his arms, pursed his lips for a heartbeat.
    “But I know all about your exhaustion, Simon,” he said. “I know the cause for it and the cure. I had not seen it before today, but I understand it now.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “As I say, I have not experienced this before,” Gelahn continued as if he were musing to himself. “But then again, I had not encountered you before, either. Not truly. You see, Simon, the mind-cane is both a blessing and a curse. For one who has been trained in its deepest mysteries, such as myself, handling its power is possible, though one must always take care as it is like bridling a wild beast. But for one such as yourself, who has never even thought about the mind-cane except in fear and dread, its power comes with a price. You have used the cane to fight me, Simon, and you have, for a while, proved stronger. But now the price is being exacted and will not let you go unless the last coin is paid.”
    “You’re lying. Again.”
    Gelahn shook his head. “On the contrary, I am not. See for yourself.”
    He grabbed the scribe’s hand and placed it on his forehead. From instinct, Simon flinched away, but the mind-executioner’s grip was too strong. A moment later, he was floating in a sea of thoughts not his own. This time, they were not melded. Instead, the scribe was held distant from the man whose mind he now occupied and allowed to watch the sensations and ideas as they passed him by. He had no idea how Gelahn performed this miracle. When he himself shared another’s mind, it took all his strength not to become immersed in it so he could not later leave and, of course, with Ralph, he had never fully perfected that talent, had he?
    Now, as the dark, swirling colours of Gelahn’s thoughts swooped and danced around him like wild birds on the wind, he paused to draw breath and then tried to concentrate. There was no telling how long the executioner would hold him here, nor what his purposes were. He did not wish to be at any more of a disadvantage than he was already.
    Look at what you see , Simon. Understand the truth it tells you.
    He could see flashes of black, leaping towards him and then vanishing away.