The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

Chapter One: Arrivals
    FAITH

    Simon

    Simon Hartstongue landed with a bump and a muffled gasp on something not as soft as he’d hoped for. It felt as if all the breath he possessed had been expelled from his body and was not anticipating returning soon. It was evident he had not yet perfected the art of travelling by means of the emeralds, whether they were the original ones or the two new ones formed by the war, but at least it was better than travelling by sea. He hadn’t enjoyed that experience at all.
    He staggered to his hands and knees just as something warm brushed over his cheek. He sneezed, and a raucous whistle rewarded his daring. When he blinked, he could see the large outline of the snow-raven hovering only a few fingers’ breadth from his eyes. At once, he backed away. Although the great bird appeared, for the moment, to be on his side, and had been so through all the recent battles, he could never be entirely sure of its intentions. He couldn’t help but notice the raven looked utterly unscathed by the recent travelling ordeal, but then that, he imagined, was the gift of flight. He himself was dusty, shaking and bruised.
    When he tried to kneel upright, jagged stone pierced his skin and he cursed and rolled away. One glance told him he’d landed at the end of the Lammas village, near the old well. By the gods and stars, a few paces to the right would have put him in the centre of the well itself and he shuddered at the thought; swimming was not one of his talents.
    Still shaking his head at his lucky escape, Simon gathered together the emeralds that had enabled him to journey here and placed them in the bag at his belt. This took a while but he quickly found there was nothing he could do about the way his fingers trembled. Then, skin still glowing green along his hands, he crouched in the shadow of the well stonework and gazed at his surroundings. It seemed a long time since he’d been here, at least as a free man. That in itself was a rare experience and he hoped it would continue for a while to come. However, what he saw made his jaw tighten. The Lammas Lands were not as they had been, even from only a little while ago when he had last visited here. The mud around the well was churned up and the stones the people had used as a makeshift path were scattered in all directions. The trees he could see at the edge of the wood were blasted as if a great fire had swept through them. He even thought he could smell a hint of smoke and darkness in the air, but wondered if that was merely his own suggestion. The small houses of the poorer villagers themselves were no better – instead of the partially-destroyed structures of his memory, all he saw were piles of shattered stone and rubble. Had so much further chaos ensued as a result of the Gathandrian mind-battle, even adding to the damage he had seen here before? Simon groaned and brushed a shaking hand through his hair. If so, the task he had set before himself would be so much the worse. Well then, come what may; he had made his decision. He would hold to it.
    A faint humming at his side caught his attention. It was then he remembered the cane.
    The moment he called it to mind, the cane itself leapt towards him and eased itself into his hand. As if it had been waiting purely for his remembrance: a vibrancy of black and silver. Simon realised he didn’t feel scared of it this time. Aware yes, but the fear that had crippled him for so long had gone. As he gazed at it, its intricate carving glowed in the morning sun. He held his breath, sure something was about to happen – perhaps the cane would communicate with him by fire as it had in the past – but it remained almost inert and instead he turned his mind to other matters.
    He was at last in the same country as Ralph Tregannon, without the threat of immediate war to flurry the waters between them. Such waters indeed as they were, may the gods and stars help them both.
    However, he had come here for one main purpose and, no matter what his blood whispered to him, such a purpose did not include the Lammas Overlord. At least not directly. He had come here to help the Lammas land itself to heal, if he could. The stars above knew the debt he needed to pay to the people was a vast one, but he could not rest until he had begun his mission.
    Which, by the looks of it, needed to start soon. The blasted trees, the ruined dwellings around him had not yet given rise to any sense of movement, or people. It was