The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

life in those around her. As she swayed before recovering her balance again, she felt the brush of great wings against her face and had to stop herself falling. The snow-raven paid her no heed. Instead the bird hopped through the devastation towards Simon’s head and spread its wings so that they formed a covering over him. Trying to regulate her breathing and unclench her hand, Annyeke acknowledged the bird’s action would at least keep him warm as he slept although its presence unsettled her.
    So she nodded once and could have sworn the raven did likewise to her. But she had no wish to prolong the moment, especially when those around her needed what skills she could offer.
    By the time she finished her search for the living, Annyeke could barely stand. At each man or woman who still breathed, she crouched down and touched their foreheads gently, giving something of her own mind-strength to each. She trusted it would be enough to keep them alive until someone else should wake and help her carry them to shelter. Should there be any such left in the village.
    The first of them to do so was the Lammas Lord.

    Ralph

    He coughs himself into consciousness, the ache in his leg rising like fire through the rest of his body. He is lying on his side, pressed up against flesh which smells of blood and sweat and iron. It is the blacksmith and Ralph pushes him away, the aroma of death making his gorge rise. He staggers to his knees and spits out bile as he surveys the scene.
    The treacherous mist has gone and he can feel his memories come drifting back. That, as Simon would say with the half-ironic tone he has learnt to love, is something to be grateful for in the midst of this destruction. Every sense alert to any other threat and danger which might arise, he looks for Simon but sees at once the great raven is there before him, vast wings spread. For a moment, and with a beat of his heart he has no time to dwell over, he is ready to protect the scribe once more but the bird is not the enemy and indeed has been more of a friend to Simon than he has been. He will not disturb whatever magic it might be performing. He only hopes its work will be successful.
    He glances round again and sees the First Elder. She is crouching beside someone on the opposite side of the path. He sees a flash of orange leap from her hand and disappear into the body next to her, and at once he is up on his feet again.
    “What are you doing?” he shouts at her, though it is more of a harsh whisper than a shout as he almost falls again.
    She hears him somehow and, may the stars bless her, hurries to his side to offer support. He is pleased to find he is not too proud to accept it though he does not lean on her for long. What kind of soldier and lord would he be if he does?
    Annyeke smiles. “I forget how traditional you Lammassers are. I think there are many other things you could rebuke yourself for apart from that, Lord Tregannon.”
    That makes him blink and he removes his hand from her arm. He cannot gainsay the truth of her words, but she has not yet answered his question. “What were you doing? I saw colour go from you.”
    “I am doing enough to give your people, who have somehow survived this battle, strength as they come to themselves again,” she answers with a slight twist to her mouth. “I don’t believe you can charge me with the crime of murder.”
    No, he cannot. It is simply a soldier’s instinct for treachery and the almost overpowering urge to protect his people has for a moment or two obliterated his better judgement.
    “I know it,” he says quietly, glancing again at the snow-raven but its position is unaltered. “Forgive me.”
    She nods and then, after a short pause, smiles. “Accepted, my lord. And now, if you are able to bear it, we have work to perform.”
    Indeed they do. Until the sun begins to sink in the sky, he and Annyeke carry those few who live but are not yet awake to the old well where they make them as comfortable as possible and find bracken and light branches to cover them for warmth. For a while Ralph wonders if the power of the emeralds has protected him from the worst of the mist’s attack, but in truth it does not matter. He is glad to help those under his rule as best he can. They leave the dead for now. They are beyond helping.
    Finally, the meagre few left to them are gathered by the well. Ralph sits down abruptly and wipes his hand over his face. Despite the chill, he is sweating, and Annyeke