The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

looks as if he will busy himself with the task of persuading the old man, who has begun to shake and mutter once more, to sleep, and Ralph suspects this will not be an easy prospect. He has to speak to the scribe.
    In front of the man’s father, he cannot find the words, so instead he does the only thing he can think of. He takes the couple of strides needed to bring him to Simon’s side, reaches up and places shaking fingers on his former lover’s head.
    Simon flinches, brings his hand up and grasps Ralph’s arm, whether to shake him off or draw him closer the Lammas Lord can’t tell, but in any case it’s already too late. The link between them is forged, the colours of it red and blue and the brightest of silver, and the intensity of it sharp enough to divide them at the heart, or forge them together. The mind-cane in Simon’s care begins to sing a piercing note and Ralph gasps.
    You fool. The mind-voice is Simon’s, which is welcome although the tone of it is distinctly not. You cannot simply meddle with my thoughts without warning.
    It takes a while for Ralph to find his own thought-words for lack of recent usage, but he keeps his hold on the scribe while he battles for the necessary strength, and all the time the cane next to them is humming a rising song.
    Why so? he manages at last. Have you become so important than none may reach you without permission? Do you expect me to beg an audience with my Scribe?
    That is most definitely not what Ralph has meant to say, but Simon’s first mind-words have riled him beyond the reasonable limits of patience. Odd how he has meant to be conciliatory, after his fashion, and already they are arguing. It was never like that in the past.
    Unexpectedly Simon laughs, and Ralph can feel the echo of it within his mind, like a sudden rush of the warmest water. That is because in the past it was I who had to beg an audience, or any acknowledgement, from you, Lammas Lord. But I do not warn you because I am proud, or at least I hope I am not. I do not know how the mind-cane will react to your presence, that is all. I am not as much in control of its power as you may think.
    With that, Simon twists Ralph’s hand away from his head and the link is shattered. Both men are breathing hard. Ralph notices the cane is pulsating and the silver carving is sparking with fire, and he keeps a wary eye for whatever it has decided to do to him for his impulsiveness. The scribe turns his back on him and murmurs something Ralph can’t hear to the artefact. Then he brings it up to his forehead and places it where Ralph has been touching him. Simon shuts his eyes, takes an unsteady breath, and slowly the mind-cane’s wild movement and song begin to vanish.
    Ralph brushes his hand over his face, bringing away sweat which chills on his skin, and waits until both man and cane seem more composed. He sighs. It appears as if he must speak his thought aloud after all, no matter who is present. A quick glance at Simon’s father, however, shows the old man is lying down, eyes staring straight ahead at something Ralph can’t see, and still muttering words impossible to catch. By the gods and stars, the Hartstongues are a strange family, but then so too are the Tregannons. Perhaps there is nothing he can say in judgement at all.
    Simon nods, a quirk still on his lips, and to Ralph’s surprise takes him by the arm and draws them both out into the chill of the corridor.
    “My father will do himself no harm for a little while,” he says. “Speak, my good Lord, and say aloud whatever is on your mind tonight.”
    Ralph blinks. He has never known the scribe so seemingly confident or at ease with himself. He does not know how it has happened, but he envies it. No matter. For now he has something to say and he will say it.
    “We have history, you and I,” he says, speaking quietly at first but his voice gathering a greater strength as he continues. “Everyone knows it, and we know it. I have done things I am not proud of, and so have you, much of it at my bidding, but we cannot think of these now. You have changed, grown stronger, whereas I have the least power I have ever known. Nonetheless, I intend to build peace in my lands if I have to die to get it, and your presence here, with the mind-cane, has the ability to help achieve that. So, no matter what Jemelda believes or what she does, you must survive and rebuild this land again.”
    Simon laughs and steps back. “And if your former servant