The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

likewise. Her skin is red with exertion but her expression keeps its customary determination.
    “We have them,” she pants. “There are no more to save.”
    “Except Simon,” he whispers, and she nods.
    “Yes, except the Lost One.”
    Ralph stands up, slowly. “I need to see him.”
    When Annyeke places herself in front of him, there is compassion in her eyes as well as strength. “You need also to care for your people, Lammas Lord.”
    “And I will, I swear it,” he leans forward, catching her gaze so she may fully know his purpose, with no secrets hidden from her. At the same time, several realisations meld together in his thoughts and he is more himself than he has ever been. “I will do so. Believe me, First Elder, I have learnt my lesson well. Here there is no mind-executioner to deceive me with his promises and I understand power is nothing at all without mercy, no matter what my father believed. You have promised me an alliance between our peoples and though these things are strange to us all, I will learn from you and do what clear honour, honour without manipulation, requires of me. My people will live and this land will thrive again, no matter what comes against us. I swear it to you and the gods and stars above, may they hear me and believe my words and my heart. Trust me in this at least, if you can trust me in no other fashion. But while the remnants of my people are yet to wake, when it comes to Simon, there I will do what my blood demands, although there is honour too in it.”
    His words are finished and he breaks his gaze from the First Elder’s, waiting, not quite patiently, for her response. She can, he imagines, conquer his purpose with the power of her own mind, with the skills she evidently has, but he trusts her enough to understand she will not do so.
    Finally, she steps back and this time when he looks at her, the smile she carries is broader.
    “You men are a law unto yourselves,” she says though he is not entirely sure what she means by it. “As you wish, Lammas Lord, as you wish.”

    Simon

    The Lost One felt comforted. Yes, that was the word which best described his current state. There had been a battle, he knew. Then someone had died and that he did not wish to remember, though he was unable to strike the image from his thought: the castle cook; the mind-cane; death; then darkness, and now the comfort of feathers.
    He longed to stay in this place, but that was not the way of the earth or indeed the sky. The gods would not permit it. And in truth neither would he. Simon had hidden from the reality around him for too long in the past. So he reached out and touched the feathers around him, drawing in the snow-raven’s strength of purpose but not denying his own.
    I must leave you, but I give you my thanks, he said, not speaking aloud but letting his mind take the words to the raven.
    Is it your flying time?
    How good it felt to hear the great bird speak again, even though his language was couched in the images of his race. In Simon’s physical exhaustion, it took him a moment to interpret.
    Yes, I believe so, he said.
    A pause followed and then the feathers began to withdraw from around him. At the same moment, he heard the sound of hobbling footsteps and Ralph’s voice.
    “Simon.”
    The mind-cane leapt once in his hand as the Lammas Lord came to a halt in front of him and fell to his knees. Behind him, Annyeke hurried up, a frown lining her face, but the Lost One could pay her no heed. His attention was gripped by Ralph’s agonised expression, the way his hands danced patterns in the air around Simon but did not dare to touch. “Simon. Are you well? The raven …”
    “Has not hurt me, Lord Tregannon. I am well enough. Perhaps he has restored me with those magical feathers of his.”
    Simon’s voice was rough and his throat ached, but his limbs were sound and, with the help of Ralph and Annyeke, he managed to stand. The snow-raven kept his distance and the mind-cane was silent, though he felt the bird’s heat soothing his skin. “The battle?”
    “It is over,” Annyeke replied. “You defeated our enemy, Lost One. I thank you for it.”
    “But there is much to do,” Ralph added, his gaze breaking with Simon’s and taking in the village and the people around them. “We must finish what you have started.”
    Before he could reply, Annyeke hugged him, and Simon felt the colours of her thoughts flowing easily alongside his own. Over her shoulder he glanced at