The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

head to dissipate the wave of sensation the simple touch generated in him.
    “My lord,” he said. “Can you not allow your people to sit? We are all equal in need and purpose this day-cycle.”
    Shock-waves of colour from the Lammas Lord broke into Simon’s head, black and purple and the deepest crimson. It was all he could do not to stumble away from the table at the onslaught, and he gripped the cane tighter so it did not respond. What he had said was right and he would not take it back. It was time for matters to change in the Lammas Lands and it was up to Ralph to change them.

    Ralph

    Today he feels stronger, in spite of yesterday’s fire and battle, and rises early to make some kind of token gesture to his gods. Always he has been vacillating in his commitment to the stars and gods of Lammas, preferring the clarity of war and known plans to the mysteries Simon has clung to. But this morning, he wakes refreshed and with his dreams full of the Tregannon emeralds and unknown trees of such purity and summer scent as he has never seen, at least not in these lands. His prayer is short but intense, and afterwards he dresses quickly, smoothes his hair into place and leaves the castle. There’s no time to wash and, besides, all their water should be set aside for drinking. It is better thus.
    Simon is up before him, with his entourage of the cane, the raven and his father. The sight of him makes Ralph blink but he has no time for anything beyond the purpose he has and indeed they are soon installed in the castle kitchen with Frankel and his steward in their customary places.
    Then Simon surprises him once more. “My lord, can you not allow your people to sit? We are all equal in need and purpose this day-cycle.”
    The brief touch which accompanies these challenging words all but undoes Ralph, but he manages somewhere to keep the mask he needs to wear before his servants. This naturally does not fool Simon who purses his lips and withdraws his hand. Damn the man for knowing his depths when he does not wish to acknowledge them himself.
    Ralph sits back on his stool, gazes at Simon and then at the two servants. The boy is staring only at the ground and the tips of his ears are red, but Frankel is glancing first at his lord and then at Simon, eyes shifting like shadows across water.
    Finally, Ralph speaks. “Perhaps you are right. The day-cycles are different. Please, sit.”
    His final command is addressed to Frankel and the boy, but both take some time to obey and he makes a gesture of impatience before they are at last sitting round the table, conspirators together for the future of their country.
    “Good,” Ralph says, taking them all in, even Simon, even his father, with his gaze. “This is what we will do.”

    Jemelda

    She woke with dreams flooding through her memory and her waking felt like a shock of cold water on a hot day. Something stirred inside her: the same sensation of change she had felt since the war and which had been growing in her blood ever since was this day-cycle more overwhelming, and more welcome. For the first time, she found she did not miss Frankel, and instead she scrambled to her feet and stepped outside the cave to look for Thomas. She could rely on him.
    Outside the morning skies were clear and she could see a flock of tree-thrushes flying north. A sign of the end of winter, but surely it was too soon? Snows still covered the higher ground though none had fallen overnight, and her hands were rubbed raw with the iciness, and the experiences of yesterday also. Fire-oil was dangerous and she herself had used it sparingly in the Tregannon kitchens. Now in the glade between the cave and the trees, she could see Thomas sitting on the largest of the rocks and intent on something in his hands. The men had slept in the smaller of the caves, and the women in the larger. Jemelda had thought it best.
    Thomas looked up as she approached. Nearer, she saw he was sharpening a large knife which glittered in the sunlight. She’d never seen the blacksmith with such an object outside his work before and the strangeness inside her leapt up and rejoiced in the sight before fading away again, for the moment.
    He answered her question before she could think to ask it.
    “I started making this when the murdering bastard took away the woman I loved,” he said. “It wasn’t finished before the war ruined everything and I had to leave it behind when I fled the village. Now I have found it again I