The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

nothing more substantial than a memory. He knows the emerald in his grasp gives him the power he needs and he must use it quickly. The Lost One is wavering and Duncan cannot afford any turning back from decisions already made. The battle will begin soon and he senses the call of Gathandria in his blood and whatever is destined to take place there.
    First, however, he must return to Lammas and there is the Lammas Lord to consider. Even though allowing Hartstongue and Tregannon to meet is an act fraught with danger, Gelahn understands he has no other choice. For a war, he needs soldiers. He needs Ralph. Now he has ordered the dogs to terrify the Overlord, the man will be more the more willing to obey him.
    With this in mind, and holding the emerald high and feeling its unfathomable power flow through his skin, Duncan swings round to face the mountain dogs that remain alive. At once, they spring to their feet as if he has called them, but he has not done so. At his side, Simon draws in a sharp breath and he sees the emerald is pulsating. Just as the snow-raven beats his great white flight to the earth, a shimmer of green flies out and circles the dogs. They begin to howl. The snow-raven spreads his wings once more and launches towards the circle. Acting on instinct alone, Duncan grasps the Lost One by the arm and begins to run. The circle hisses and flares. Simon cries out, but it’s too late for objections.
    The executioner imprisons his accomplice with a mind-net as dark as winter and springs towards the strange green fire. Simon has no choice but to obey him. Together, the two Gathandrians fall into the sphere, loud now with singing, and blackness swallows them both.
    It is the worst journey Duncan has ever experienced. The roaring in his ears all but deafens him. It is an unstarlike mixture of the dogs’ howling, the emerald sphere’s own unworldly voice, and the red terror coursing through both himself and the Lost One, as if here there can be no deceit and no shadows. Everything is open and everything is known, and all the time, the wild plunging sensation drags them through the tunnel into another realm. As he tumbles from side to side in the circle, the mind-executioner sees first Simon, then the cane, the white wings of the snow-raven, and always the mountain hounds. He is out of breath, bloodied and torn. If this madness does not come to an end soon, he doubts whether they will be in a fit state to command any army from the Lammas Lands at all. They must find a way to control the circle’s path.
    As the deafening noise continues, Duncan enfolds his mind with the best net he can furnish under such circumstances. It’s ragged, barely functioning, but it’s better than nothing. It allows him a small measure of freedom to act. The next time he’s near enough to Simon, he grabs his arm, grits his teeth against the almost unbearable wrenching of his fingers as he tries to maintain hold and against the piercing pain-knife that spins from the Lost One’s thoughts.
    Be still.
    Impossible to do any such thing, of course, but these are the only words Duncan can muster to break through to Simon’s consciousness. He frames them in blue, the scribe’s mind-colour. He hopes it might be enough. It is.
    In the sudden silence that settles throughout the Lost One’s head, the mind-executioner seizes his chance. He pushes his hand onto his companion’s forehead and sparks his thoughts through his fingers and into Simon’s mind. The scribe twists in his grip and struggles to be free. Duncan knows the pain he is causing in the midst of such a terrible journey, but doesn’t let go.
    Work with me.
    The half Gathandrian has no choice, but there is so little time. In the moment before the stillness of the scribe’s mind vanishes, Duncan links their thoughts together and continues to hold on. While the howling and breathlessness of their journey floods back in, he has a heartbeat’s space to store the fact that Simon’s unfathomed mind is beyond the power of anything he has experienced, and then he must complete the task.
    Tumbling from side to side along the tunnel, he reaches out to Simon with the links from his mind-net. Where he expected to encounter confusion and, perhaps, resistance, he finds none. The scribe is ready with the kind of strength he has not encountered in him before, at least not under such circumstances as these. It is a matter of moments only to spin something that could save them and, as soon as