The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

mixing too much with his onward purpose.
    He needed something else, if he was to be in time for his people. He needed the snow-raven once more.
    Even before he reached out, the bird was there, swooping across him at chest level and sparking again that strange silver fire which linked them. As the great feathers passed over, Simon could sense open skies and the smell of the trees, the rush of air beneath his feet and the golden song in his body. Before he knew it, the mind-cane leapt up, pulling him with it, and even though it was impossible because of the speed of the raven, Simon and the cane were on the bird’s back, flying as one through the silent whiteness.
    Like this, they might yet outrun the terror, he might reach the village in time. By the gods and stars, he prayed so. And, still, underneath it all, the fierce knowledge of Ralph lay deep within him.

    Ralph

    The Lammas Lord keeps up a fast pace, the few men with him sometimes stumbling as he makes his way through the outer shades of the wood, but he cannot afford to wait for them too long. His pace is sure; he has known these woods so well all his life that his feet seem to find their own way. Perhaps he should have ridden his horse, for speed, but Nightcloud’s hooves are not made for snow and ice, and the winter clings to the land. But something is about to happen, he sees it as clearly as if Simon had linked their minds together in the way they had used to do. And damn him for a fool for thinking such things now. He must be a warrior, not a lover, although in truth he isn’t sure how far he has ever been able to take that title when it concerns the scribe. Had he ever been more than master to him? He cannot tell. And it is not important. What matters is to find Jemelda and to bring her threat to a stop, before the land itself rises up in anger against them all.
    It must be peace, or death. There are no other options.
    He wonders if he should have first searched the old caves, but that would be the most obvious hiding place for the rebels, and if he has learned one thing, it is that his cook is both brave and cunning in her revolt. If she has been there, then she will, since the destruction of the crops, have moved on by now. By the gods and stars, she thinks like a soldier and he cannot help but admire it. If only she can accept Simon and what his return will mean, then all will be well.
    How he understands it will not be that simple. Nothing ever is. Which is why he is making his way, with his small band of troops, to beyond the woods. If it had been him instead of Jemelda in the position of would-be freedom fighter, this is where he would go. It is true what the old men used to whisper at the ends of stories, only half-joking: women are more dangerous than men.
    Nevertheless he will find her and he will win. That is his role as the Lord of these people, it is at his deepest core. The realisation that something about himself he has thought lost has only been lying dormant, waiting to reawaken when the time-cycle is right, makes him set his feet even more firmly and fast in the direction he is going.
    The resultant crunch of ice and the panting breath of the men who follow him all but drown out the sudden slither of shadow and snarl in the edge of the field beyond the wood.
    They are being tracked and how long it will be before the wolf decides to attack he does not know. Ralph draws his hunting knife from his belt and urges his men onward. He doesn’t have to be a mind-sensitive to see the fear in their eyes, and know they must reach their destination soon or it will be the worse for them. If Jemelda and her group are there, all the better. When it comes to fighting wolves, even one wolf, there is safety in the greater number.
    He grabs the nearest man, who has an air of gravitas about him, a faint echo of earthy brown in his mind which Ralph hopes he can trust.
    “Lead the men to the place beyond the woods,” he says. “I will cover you.”
    The man nods, a mere shadow of the kind of respect he is used to. Then the men are quickening their pace towards where the trees thin out and the wild regions begin. Ralph pushes through the layer of trees to his right, nearer to where he can see the wolf’s outline, and continues to match the speed of his men. He curses the fact none of the villagers carry knives, but it can’t be helped. He’s not sure but he thinks there’s only one wolf. Unusual in itself but he will not mock any advantage the gods