The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

she was glad of it. She had sent the rest of her small band back to the cave where they might find safety but she could not leave. She had to see the results of her mission and, most of all, she needed to see the reactions of the murderer.
    Still, she almost cried out and began to run to try to help when she saw the villager, one of the field-workers who had been with them for more year-cycles than she could remember, fleeing from the wolf threatening the men at the other side of the fire. It was certain death to run wherever fire-oil had been sprinkled and she would have done anything to save him, but she could not. If her aim to kill the scribe was to be fulfilled, she needed to remain alive. Her heart pounded when she saw the Lammas Lord himself make as if to rescue the man, and she did not know if she felt relief or disappointment when his young steward tumbled him to safety.
    She knew for certain what she felt when she saw the great white bird in the sky and the burden he carried, however. She wondered, with a strange leap of the heart, if the scribe might die again when he seemed to release his grip on the bird’s talons and plunge to the earth. But he had judged well and the distance was not so far, all the more so as Lord Tregannon caught him as he landed, softening the fall. Under her breath she cursed, and felt that strange leap of the heart once more.
    She was not as she used to be, and things inside her were altering into a fashion she could not guess at, but the bleak and all-consuming force she carried now was glad of it. How she was learning to use her power.
    Not wishing to see what the murderous scribe would do, but knowing the fire would be doused, she slipped away between the trees. The wolf at the other side of the field had vanished but he would not harm her. Fire was a strong deterrent to every creature in the land. It would have destroyed some of the seed the Lammassers needed to live and she would have to be glad of this one small step towards success. How she wished it had not come with an unnecessary death however. She had not planned for that.
    It didn’t take her long to return to the cave. Thomas was on the look-out for her and nodded when he picked her out in the gloom, itself a shade lighter with the beginnings of the distant sunrise.
    “Is it done?” he asked her.
    “Yes. It is a beginning,” she said. “But we must do more.”
    He nodded again and stood to let her pass. The cave felt colder and Jemelda wrapped her thin cloak round her more tightly to keep in what little warmth there was. Once inside, she gazed round the group. The women were huddled together, the boy amongst them, and she smiled at him. Tonight he had performed well for one so young. The menfolk formed a barrier of protection around the women. She had much to tell them.
    “Come,” she said as Thomas sat down with the group. “This is what we have achieved tonight, both for good and for bad.”
    As she told them how the seed had burned and would produce a poor crop for the spring, they reacted with calmness. This after all was what they had anticipated. But as she came to the section of her story where one of their own had perished, and the manner of it, the men began to grumble and the women to shake. They had not bargained for another loss, although it would be inevitable along the way. And in truth at the start of this night, Jemelda had not bargained for it either, but she must needs do so during their next attack. This much was clear.
    She waited until they were quieter and then she stared around at each one of them, catching their gaze for a moment or two before moving on to the next and the next. Finally, she looked at Thomas. He had not spoken although his posture in the shadows seemed folded in on itself. She could only see his eyes.
    “There must be blood shed,” he whispered but loud enough for all to hear, “before we can be free again.”
    She thought he would say more but he did not. She cleared her throat. “It is a terrible thing one of our villagers had to die, but the wolf startled him and he ran. I could not stop it. But I know if the murderer stays amongst us to do his will, more of us will die as we did before and then no-one will be able to stop him. Our own Lord cannot stand against his wiles, so how should we think we can do it? Remember the wars and steel yourselves for battle. For this is only the beginning. We will harry our neighbours and our friends too so they have no choice