The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

building a make-shift wall in his mind as Simon taught him. His skills are lesser than the scribe’s so it will not last long against such an attack, but it will have to suffice. Thick cloth deadens the fiery soil and swallows up the flame. Smoke flares from where Ralph has begun but it will not reignite without more fire-oil to enrage it.
    He takes another step and repeats the action, just as the sparse number of people, only a handful of men and women, join him and begin to do the same. Together they form a thin line of slow-marching defence against the fire’s harsh teeth and together they advance. The flames bite and snatch at their skin and always the Lammas Lord can hear their song and the strange cry of the fire’s dying but it seems to disturb no-one else amongst them that he can tell, and so he makes no question of it. Enough for the soil to cease its burning so some of their seed and grain may be saved.
    A few moments later and he gestures for one or two of the men to tackle the fire on the far side of the field where it threatens the grasses. There is less grain there as it’s closer to the woods and the foxes, but fire-oil and grasses do not mix happily, and they must prevent their conjoining. The earth has been their friend up until now and Ralph does not want it to turn enemy. Not if he can help it. He has heard the legends of fire and earth in these lands, lived them in some fashion also, and he does not want to see their like again. Overhead the night-owls screech a warning and at the edge of his vision something lopes in from the direction of the woods, towards the furthest of the men doing his bidding.
    “Wolf!” he yells and he is already running, brandishing his cloak and making as much noise as he can in order to disorientate the animal. The two men swing round and one of them cries out when he sees the wolf. Ralph can hear the noise of it even above the song of the flame. The man who has cried out starts to run back across the field towards the main group of Lammassers, and Ralph shouts again.
    “No.”
    The conflagration of noise and fire spooks the wolf, and the beast swings towards the wood, his tail sparking flame where the fire-oil has brushed against it. The animal’s howling pierces Ralph’s mind-wall but he pays it no heed. Because the man has not stopped running, and Ralph doesn’t need to be a mind-sensitive to know the fear of the wolf’s teeth and jaws drives him. The Lammasser is still running across the middle of the field when he should have taken the outer path for safety’s sake, and Ralph can tell he doesn’t know the animal which terrifies him has already been frightened away and is a danger no more.
    Heart beating faster than he’s known for a while, the Lammas Lord takes two or three paces towards the man. He does not know what he intends to do for sure when he reaches him but he knows he must try, by the gods and stars. The next moment, something twists his legs from under him and he lands with a thump on the smouldering ground. Without thought, he heaves himself back onto his feet and sees the white sheen of the drum-stick broken at his feet and Apolyon’s frightened eyes staring up at him.
    He curses, just as the man running towards them and nearer now than Ralph believes he would come loses the luck which has blessed him. With the pressure of his feet on boiling earth, the fire-oil ignites and a great sheet of flame lifts the unfortunate man into the singing air where his limbs and skin and hair explode into the all-consuming fire. His dying scream echoes Apolyon’s shout, and Ralph grabs the boy and clutches his small frame to him, covering his servant’s head so he cannot witness how cruel death can be. By the gods he is too young, and Jemelda has unleashed a terror all of them will be hard-pressed to capture again.
    Behind him, Ralph sees the villagers are running for safety, but they are in no danger, though only the stars know how they have survived it. The fire-oil has claimed its victim and the flame will feast on the unfortunate man for a while. He stands up, still clutching the boy to him, and shouts at their fleeing backs. He doesn’t expect to be heard, but he knows he has to try. This is battle in truth and he is their commanding officer, he demands their allegiance, and their strength, no matter what has passed before between them.
    His voice is as clear as a hawk flying over summer trees, finding that break in the roar of the flame he has