The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

snow-raven flew slowly overhead, so he must have some purpose here. The villagers also needed Ralph and even now lurked around them, awaiting his command.
    The Lammas Lord was not slow in giving it either.
    “I am winded,” he said to the crowd. “You must continue the battle and I will do what I can. When you work, do not run, whatever dangers you see, as the wolves will not venture onto a field for the fire-oil, but walk slowly and beat the flames down.”
    For a heartbeat, the Lost One thought the people would baulk at this necessary command, partly because of the terrible death of one of their own, but also because of their uncertainty about their own Lord. It struck him for the first time how much Ralph’s authority had weakened due to recent events, and he felt a thud of compassion in his stomach.
    Ralph swung round and fixed him with a fierce gaze. He laid his fingers on Simon’s shoulders. Do not pity me, scribe. I stand by my own decisions and they are not for your judgement.
    The fact Lord Tregannon had himself instigated this link knocked Simon off balance and he stepped back, breaking the contact between them. It was, as he had anticipated, too much, given their history and given the men they were or had become. However, as he stepped away, Simon caught the look of surprise on the Lammas Lord’s face, and then dislike and sorrow, something which for a heartbeat or two he could not fathom.
    Then it came to him: Ralph had seen, even in this brief link, what had transpired between himself and the mind-executioner when Gelahn had stolen him away, and Simon felt the heat rise to his skin. He had kept the unsettling encounter hidden where none could discover it, or he thought he had, but all it had taken for the Lammas Lord to know his secret was one touch, may the gods and stars be cursed. He turned away, still shaken by Ralph’s expression. He had no time for regrets. What was done was done, and his own unwillingness and strange pleasure in Gelahn’s ravishment could not be altered, for all the wishing of it.
    Unable to help himself, he glanced again at Ralph, but the man had already noted Simon’s unspoken truths and turned again to the immediate crisis.
    “Quickly,” he urged his people, “we must do what we can. But leave the place where death occurred to me; I will salvage what I can there.”
    This time, the villagers obeyed, spreading out slowly across the field wherever flames appeared and beating them down until they were nothing. The Lost One noticed the first glimmer of dawn was lightening the far horizon to soft yellows and pinks. He shivered, realising once more how cold he felt.
    “Come then,” he whispered to the mind-cane as the Lammas Lord limped away. “You have helped me here so let’s see what you can do.”
    The Lost One stood for a moment and ran his fingers over the cane’s silver carvings as he scanned the burning field. When his gaze fell on the western side, nearest the woods, the cane began to hum and he felt the warmth of its vibration through his hand. He smiled.
    “You are a strange artefact and I will never fully understand you,” he said, “but I will follow where you lead and work with you where I can.”
    Using the mind-cane as support, Simon began to make his way in the direction it had promised him. Halfway across, the Lammas Lord interrupted his journey.
    “There is little use in going there, scribe,” he shouted, the words rising in mist from his tongue in the chill air. “If you wish to help and are able to, then come and join us where we are.”
    The Lost One shook his head. He trusted the warmth in his fingers and the cane’s song, and had no time for distractions. He waited until Ralph shrugged and turned back to his own task before continuing.
    When Simon reached the furthest end of the field, the mind-cane ceased its humming. This is the place, he thought, and crouched down, resting his free hand on the earth. It was almost hot enough to burn him and he gasped. It should not be like that, as the fire had gone out here, unless the essence of it had had time to sink into the soil, but he could hardly credit this as being possible. If it was so, then there must be a greater mind-magic at work here than he had imagined. Was it something to do with the dark power he had already sensed in Jemelda?
    No time for battling with what he could not yet comprehend. He stood up, took the cane and plunged it as hard as he could into the dry ground. The effort