The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

if it is threatening Simon he will fight it. That much is his truth and how he understands it.
    Without warning, something knocks Ralph off balance and he spins round, falling with a thump to the earth. It is Jemelda. Next to her is the blacksmith. He is on top of the man who only a moment ago was supporting Ralph. There is a silver flash in the blacksmith’s hand, and the man on the ground underneath him screams. Then a gurgling cry and silence. When Ralph next sees the knife again, it is heavy with blood.
    Ignoring the pain in his leg and bottling his swift anger into swifter action, Ralph shoves Jemelda to one side and lunges for the blacksmith’s knife. It narrowly misses his arm and the two men roll over and over closer to the night-woman’s dwelling. Jemelda curses and leaps after them. This is not the encounter Ralph had been hoping to have with the rebels. He must stop this madness, and soon.
    He grabs the blacksmith’s wrist as the knife plunges down at him again and wrenches it backwards. His attacker yelps and drops the weapon, just as Ralph manages to free his good leg and kick him away. He senses rather than sees Jemelda leap for him but he dodges her too and the next heartbeat Ralph is up on his feet and stumbling through the mist towards the night-woman’s door. The one imperative in his mind is this: he must reach Simon , and he cannot gainsay it.
    As he enters the whiteness, he gains the impression for a moment that the strange mist is penetrating his mind and wiping out the past which makes up who he is today. No time to react however as another shove from behind brings him scrabbling to the door which gives way and lands him, the mist and his two attackers onto the dusty stone floor of the dwelling where Simon is hiding.
    Ralph gains an impression of flurry and panic amidst the cries and shouts accompanying their unplanned entrance. In it are the echo and shape of words, but they too make no sense. With his next breath, the scribe himself appears before him, the mind-cane hovering at his hand.
    “Ralph,” he whispers. “I thought you’d never arrive.”

    Simon

    The Lost One couldn’t understand why he hadn’t sensed Ralph’s presence before he’d fallen, panting hard and under attack, into their small refuge. The circle of people broke, crying out as they flung themselves out of the way although, in all honesty, there was no place to run. The emptiness had entered with Ralph and was blocking the door.
    No time to waste. Simon grabbed Annyeke’s hand, although she was already reaching for him, took her mind-strength together with the strength from the cane and sent what was surely the last of the energy he had into the mind-net as it fought against the whiteness. With it went some of the colour of the words the people had gifted him with, but he couldn’t help that. He would have to make do with what he had left, somehow.
    A heart’s breath and then the white mist shrunk away from Ralph and the other two, whom he could see were Jemelda and Thomas, and disappeared beyond the door. They were safe, for the moment. He hunkered down in front of Ralph, didn’t know what to say though so many speeches were crowding his blood and his tongue he could have written many scrolls with them. In the end what he said made no sense but it was the first thought to escape him, and it made him focus.
    “Ralph. I thought you’d never arrive.”
    It was then he realised the presence of the Lammas Lord might be the best thing of all. Before Simon could speak his hope, Thomas had stumbled to his feet and taken a step or two in his direction. He jumped out of the way, unconsciously bringing his hand to his cheek where the blacksmith had once scarred him. No wound there now, because of the raven, because of his luck. He raised the mind-cane in front of him and the blacksmith stopped, cursing. Jemelda joined him, her eyes darting from him to Ralph and back again. This close, Simon could see the murderous intent in her heart towards them both, so thick and dark he would never be able to find a way through to both her and the woman she carried within, and bit down his grief. Neither Jemelda nor Frankel deserved to bear such burdens.
    “Coward,” Thomas said, his tone heavy with scorn.
    “Yes, always,” Simon replied. “But I will do what I must to ensure we may live.”
    “You use the cane to save yourself,” Jemelda spat her words at him so he blinked. “But you will never face me