The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

had for her enfolding her like a vast cloak, keeping her safe. His mind-words were as clear as sunlight, and she knew Talus also caught their meaning.
    Yes, what is it, my love?
    You need have no reason to fear , he replied. Now you are tired, yes, but soon you will be yourself again. In all the year-cycles and heart-cycles I have known you, you have always been a woman who understands what to do at the right time, whatever it is we must face. Trust yourself, and the spirit of the stars within you, Annyeke; trust yourself as I trust you. All will one day soon be well.
    She had not heard him speak with so much commitment and passion before, at least not about her responsibilities, and she could only hope his confidence would prove to be right. For now, she must regain her strength, and on the morrow she would form a plan to help the Lost One and those that cleaved to him, a plan which would have to bring healing to them. She only hoped she could find the faith to believe in it.

Chapter Nine: Rumours of War

    Jemelda

    It seemed to be many hour-cycles since she and her small band of loyal followers reached the Cave of Hiding. When she first arrived, there was something about the atmosphere which gave her pause but she shrugged her shoulders and brushed aside the undergrowth nonetheless, striding through into its dark safety. Her mind clung to the images of recent events: the scribe’s death; how everything she’d hoped for seemed to be achieved; then the way the magical cane had brought him back from the dead, with the help of his friends. Shocking too he could name any as his friends, remembering as she did so keenly what he had done to them.
    Worst of all was the way the Lammas Lord had cleaved to him and had wanted the murderer to live even though it was best for him to die. The land required it, she knew this in the hidden depths of her blood and in the strange silence she felt growing within her. A silence which reminded her of swirling waters, with their own personality that was both herself and not herself. If she only focused her mind a little, it almost felt as if she might be able to name it but after a few tense moments she gave up the effort. No matter, whatever – or whoever – it was, it gave her a rich power she welcomed. Because of it, she would bring about the murderous scribe’s death for her people and her village, no matter what. These had been the uppermost of her thoughts on arrival, but there were other matters also to consider.
    In the thin sun dappling the cave, she knew it was her husband’s abandonment which pierced her the most. She had expected him to follow her when she left the Tree of Execution at the castle as, by the stars, they had been together for so long and he had always been at her side, and she at his. This time-cycle, she was alone. She swallowed hard and wiped away the wetness from her cheek. This was no place for weeping.
    Besides, she wasn’t quite alone, was she? Around her, huddled like refugees in the cave, sat the small group of Lammassers who had, unlike Frankel, accompanied her in her rebellion.
    Thomas the Blacksmith was at her side, naturally enough as he remained like her so opposed to the scribe that he would kill Simon again if he had the opportunity. Other villagers had followed them also: one of the two night-women left in Lammas, although the second had stayed behind; five of the remaining farmers with two of their wives, the other three women being dead; two weavers, both women; and one boy who had worked briefly as an apprentice to the dye trader. Twelve people, thirteen including herself, so not much of an army, but it would have to be enough. Even though they were facing strange magic and the power of the mind-cane, not to mention the Tregannon emeralds although her understanding of what these could do was more ragged, Jemelda would give her best to stop the plans of the scribe from being fulfilled.
    Once the murderer was truly dead, then his hold on Lord Tregannon would be gone, and the village and its fields and woods would be able to rebuild itself once more. For that to happen, Jemelda and her people would need to stop the cane and the emeralds from providing the scribe and his followers with protection. She needed to drive out the Gathandrians also, if Lammas was to be itself again.
    “Jemelda, what would you have us do?” Thomas’s gruff question made the cook jump and she blinked at him, hoping he did not pick up her uncertainty in the