The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

of his hand. His fingers curled around hers and it was then she spoke at last.
    “How long will it be before we begin to die now that winter is truly here?” she whispered.
    Frankel had no answer for her, not to that question. He only squeezed her fingers and sighed.
    After a while, she extricated herself from his comforting hold and busied herself preparing breakfast for Lord Tregannon. Frankel watched her. She could feel his eyes on her every movement.
    When she could stand it no longer, she dropped the wooden spoon she had only just taken up. It fell with a dull clatter into the washing basin. Then she swung round to face him.
    “All right,” she grumbled. “What is it you want me to do? Make food for the murderer also?”
    He simply smiled. “Jemelda. I know you will do the right thing. I have been married to you for too long not to understand that. But it seems to me if you are to test the man in some way, then he may need strength for what is to come.”
    It was always the same, she thought. Frankel’s pure reasonableness unwomanned her each time. He knew too well the path through her defences. Still, his trust in her made her smile. Though, right now, she knew there were secrets hidden behind it which neither of them could fathom.
    “I will feed him what we have to spare,” she answered, lowering her gaze from her husband’s steady eyes. “For your sake only. Then we will do what we have to.”
    “When will you gather the people, my love?”
    Jemelda lifted her head to the ceiling, as if she hoped she would find inspiration there. She knew she would not.
    “At the midday hour,” she whispered at last. “The old traditions tell us that is best for great matters.”
    “Yes, and for deadly ones too,” her husband replied.

Third Gathandrian Interlude

    Annyeke

    The Square of Meeting was covered with freshly-fallen snow and Annyeke shivered in the familiar warmth of her cloak. She had been waiting here for nearly three hour-cycles now since the sun had been bright enough for walking, although she had occasionally retreated into the nearest remaining safe area of the ruined Council building when the cold became overwhelming. Slowly the people had gathered and, one by one, the elders had joined her, beginning with the Chair Maker, a fact that had for a moment made her smile. In Gathandria, you could always rely on a carpenter to be early. He must have been hard at work even before his arrival as his hair was sprinkled with wood-shavings. Annyeke had to quell the urge to brush it off him. She didn’t like to think anyone brought out the maternal urge in her, foster son or no foster son.
    Still, thinking about family had brought to mind the deep truth she should have remembered yesterday morning when the elders had arrived. The Chair Maker’s wife, Iffenia, was dead. How she had betrayed them at the last, and the terrible reasons for it. What kind of a First Elder was she if she had forgotten it, however temporarily? She must remember to think of other people too, in their individual needs, not just of the land and her immediate family.
    Now she reached for the Chair Maker, put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry about Iffenia. I should have spoken of this yesterday, but your sudden arrival here – the presence of all the elders – surprised me. I have no excuse, but I’m sorry.”
    His eyes clouded and he nodded. She could feel his grief stirring from the depths of his mind – flickering shades of dark green and black – and she withdrew her hand to avoid intruding on what would be private. Sometimes thoughts were shared without the intent to do so. Before she could step back, however, the Chair Maker grasped her fingers and spoke, again aloud, although she could hear his words echoed in her mind.
    “I understand, and I am grateful for your words,” he said, and his voice was low and hoarse, as if the dust from his studio had lined his throat. “But was your forgetfulness due to anger as well, Annyeke? If it was, then it is a dangerous thing. I do not warn you of this. I simply tell you.”
    Biting her lip, Annyeke nodded. The chastisement – for she could well recognise it for what it was, no matter the soothing phrases accompanying the sting – was well deserved.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    For a moment, she thought a sharp surprise glittered from his mind but it was as swiftly packed away. Perhaps he was unused to First Elders accepting any kind of correction from their Council.