The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

man, one of the poorer farmers, as he fought his way past her and gave Thomas up to his care.
    “Look after him,” she ordered. “It is not his time, understand?”
    He nodded but his eyes did not rest on her. As the rest of the group surged past her away from the howling of the wolf, she hoped it would be enough. She would make it be enough, and so she let the man, and Thomas, go. The blacksmith was more alert now, able to stand for himself. One less difficulty to cause her grief and she was glad of it.
    The wolf howled again, its rising song making her heart beat faster and her hands clench. The rustling of grass and bracken told her it was on the move. For a heartbeat only, she turned to run in the direction her people had taken. If she kept close to them as a group then they might be safe. But they might not. The wolf was no doubt desperate for food as they all were. Above all, she must save the people – she would have need of them and soon.
    She swung round and headed off at an angle from where the last of the group, Thomas and the farmer, had disappeared. She could hear the wild crashing noise they made and knew she had to make the wolf follow her , not them. Surely she was now strong enough to defeat it – she and … and … Iffenia . The name came to her in a flood of realisation and acceptance and she almost laughed aloud with the fierce joy it brought. So she opened her mouth and yelled. This time she didn’t care about the words, it was the noise she needed. At the same time, she crashed her way through the brambles and trees in front of her, drawing blood from her arms and face where thorns pierced her skin. The smell of her blood would draw the wolf to herself.
    “Follow me, follow me!” she cried out, and began to run as best as she was able.
    The wolf howled for a third time and she sensed the fierce intent of its pursuit of her, all but feeling the heat of its breath at her back. Better her than the people however, and the madness inside her thrilled at the realisation of the chase. Was this what she had wanted all along? But she couldn’t die. There was too much at stake. She and the power she carried with her would fight until the last drop of blood was gone if she had to.
    A passing branch struck her on the shoulder, the shock of it making her scream. She grasped it and, with a mighty wrench, tugged it free. She hadn’t thought she’d have the strength to do it but it surely must have been loose. Swinging round, she thrust it in the direction of the wolf and had the satisfaction of hearing the animal howl, this time in pain and not in pursuit. By the stars, it was nearer than she had anticipated. Blood from the wolf spattered against her skin, warm and acrid, and she thrust the branch forward again. She was rewarded with another howl, but did not try a third time. Letting the branch go, she plunged her way through towards what she hoped was the edge of the wood. How this journey was proving more than she could bear, she did not even know if she would survive it, her wild anger of before being suddenly and unaccountably gone.
    Then, the welcome glimmer of sunlight. She could scarcely believe it. Somehow she could sense the outer border of the woods. The trees were thinning and her path became easier. But, although the path was more passable for her, it was so too for the wounded wolf.
    Savage teeth grasped her leg and she screamed and fell. When she turned round she could see the wolf’s visage. One of its eyes was torn out, leaving streaks of blood and yellow jelly in its place. It must have been the branch but she knew her attack had not been a lucky one, as it only enraged the beast more. As it tore at her ankle, the pain flooded through her, and with it that anger again. By the stars how she had missed it. With a wild cry, she somehow staggered upwards and launched herself at the wolf. The animal would not expect it and perhaps she might have a chance to survive. She drove her fist into its missing eye, and prayed it might be enough.

    Simon

    Ralph had gone to hunt for Jemelda with a few of his most trusted people, such as they were. Simon had felt Ralph’s impatience with the new vision and meaning Annyeke had brought to them, and all the more so as Lord Tregannon was a soldier not a man for stories. So Simon was left here with Annyeke, his father and Frankel. There was one other though: Ralph’s steward whom he had ordered to stay. The boy’s leg was maimed, it was true but