The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

wonder at how natural the cane felt to him now, and in spite of the pain that still dogged him.
    He took a breath and began to walk, or rather hobble, towards the window. No doubt by the time he arrived there whatever it was which had awoken him would have vanished, but he felt no sense of urgency. In fact he felt he had all the time in the lands to do whatever he wished. Would that were true, even for a heartbeat. At the window, the cold night air stirred his borrowed undershirt and he shivered. He had not thought to reach for a cloak, even if one were to hand.
    He steadied himself on the broken frame, managing to avoid the worst of the jagged stonework, and gazed outside. Clouds covered most of their stars but the moon was full and cast an eerie and shadowy light over the courtyard. He could see nothing so perhaps he had been wrong and he should have hurried to look outwards. No matter, what was done was done and he was nothing but a fool. He sighed and was about to make the journey back to the bed when the mind-cane twitched and a flare of heat flashed upwards through his arm.
    He turned back and gazed outside, blinking. For another moment or two, he saw nothing. Then a shadowy figure came round the castle corner and began to hurry across the courtyard in front of him, every now and then looking back as if in fear of pursuit. He debated whether to call out, bring their presence here out into the open as surely whoever it was could not be here for any legitimate reason. The Lammassers rarely travelled at night as it was too dangerous, or had been before and during the wars.
    However, he himself had been an interloper once, so what right did he have to call attention to another? But he needed to know who it was, come what may. He leant further out of the window but still could not see enough, only that it was a woman and she was carrying something in her arms. By now she was nearly at the stream and then his chance would have gone, and something in his mind and the way the cane was flooding its warmth through him told him more than anything how important this might be.
    At the last moment, before she disappeared from view, white feathers swept across the moon and dazzled the water where the unknown woman was poised to cross. The snow-raven flew onwards but as the woman glanced up, Simon could clearly see it was Jemelda, and then a few heartbeats later she was gone.
    The only reason she could be here was to work against them, that much he was sure of and that much he had already understood from his brief brush with Ralph’s mind. It had been easy, being as it was at the forefront of the Lammas Lord’s thoughts. The cook must have taken something from the castle back to wherever she and her people were hiding. Unless she’d come to try to persuade Frankel to join her, a mission which had proved unsuccessful, bearing in mind she’d left alone. But no, it was more: she had been carrying something with her and, in any case, the colours flowing round his thought were red and the deepest brown, the shades of purpose and determination, not the shades of plea and defeat.
    She was planning something. He wondered briefly whether to rouse his host to let him know what he had seen but it was the middle of the night and they would be better able to face whatever mission Jemelda was involved with in the morning. He grasped the cane more firmly to make the journey back to the makeshift bed but a further movement at the edge of his eye caught his attention. Someone else was walking slowly across the courtyard. By the time Simon caught sight of him, the figure was already in the middle of the stone flags, and he could see grey beard and a stooped physique. The Lost One swallowed hard and let go of the cane which would have fallen if it had been in any way ordinary but, as it was, the artefact danced across the room sparking a darker fire against the gloom. He let it dance, his mind and eye gripped by the old man still walking across his vision below. His father. He’d known it even before he’d fully understood the old man was there. Odd how their colours of blue and silver were similar, although his were pale and his father’s were dark, and wilder.
    He saw the figure stop, straighten and gaze upwards at his window. It was impossible for anyone to see where he stood trembling so far up, but Simon had the sense his father saw him, nonetheless. His throat constricted and his skin felt cold, colder even than this winter night