The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane

loved it when he did that, knowing he only allowed himself such teasing when he felt secure. The anger had left him.
    Tomorrow, we will contact the Lost One, she said. The emeralds Lord Tregannon gave me will help us now we no longer have the mind-circle, and our own skills will do the rest.
    You do not wish to begin the process now? I know you are a woman who likes to act swiftly. You have the hair colour for it after all.
    She flashed him a wry smile, knowing he’d caught her mood and sensing his own response to it. All of us need to build up our mind-strength again, and we need sleep. Jemelda can do nothing until the morning. The Lammas people will be safe enough until then. It is dark for everyone now.
    Are you tired, Annyeke?
    In answer, she shook her head and reached for his hand once more. Then, getting to her feet, she moved round the table until she stood next to him. He rose to meet her and took her into his arms. His lips on hers felt like the best thing that had happened this day-cycle, both a promise and a homecoming. It was she who led him into their private bed-area, although it was he who undressed her and laid her down on the soft blankets. The sensation of skin on skin made brighter by their mind-colours, the spark and the melding of them, the scent of sweat on Johan’s body combined with his own unique smell, these things swept her away and carried him with her deep into her own mind, on their own special journey.
    For this night-cycle, it was enough. The troubles of the next day could wait a little longer, by the stars and gods.

Chapter Thirteen: A Voice from the Past

    Simon

    At the castle kitchen, Frankel took Simon’s load of earth and seeds. His face was shadowed, and the Lost One could see, even without any mind-skills, how many questions the old man had. While outside Ralph gave orders to the villagers and set up a safe place for the storage of the damaged seeds, Simon leaned forward towards Frankel.
    “Jemelda is at least safe,” he whispered, “I know she intends to kill for fear of what I might do now I have returned. But I only wish to help the Lammassers, believe me, and believe me also when I say this: I will do my utmost to convince her of my intentions, if she will allow me close enough to her to say the words. The conversation is not over yet, my friend.”
    Frankel nodded, but Simon could not tell how much of his words he might have understood. The old man’s mind was full of worries for his wife, and the Lost One wished he could comfort him but these people had experienced more than enough of his mind-treachery and he feared to offer what skills he could.
    Before he could say anything else, Frankel crept away into the shadows, and Simon walked outside only to see Ralph approaching him. Behind him lurked his father. It was time, he could see it, and sooner than he would have liked.
    He gazed at Ralph, saw his intent and overleapt it.
    “You are right, Lord Tregannon,” he said. “I need to speak to my father, but I need a private place to do it. Which of your rooms is most suited?”
    Ralph blinked, and the Lost One almost smiled to see the adjustment going on in the other man’s thoughts. It was rare Simon had commanded him in such a fashion. Well, the time-cycles had changed and they would need to change with them.
    “Of course,” Ralph replied, making as if to signal for a servant. Simon could see the moment when he abandoned the gesture, knowing there were none. “Follow me, both of you.”
    Ralph led the way. Simon swallowed and reached out to take his father’s arm. It was the first time he had touched the man for more years than he could remember, and he could not contain the swift river of thought which plunged through his head at the contact. The old man gasped and Simon frowned, attempting to bring his mind under greater control, using the cane in his other hand to do so. Odd how his father did not seem as afraid of it as other people were. Perhaps he had simply not learnt to fear it as much, although Simon would have expected any mind-artefact would cause him grief. It was a mind-executioner, although not Gelahn, who had killed his mother. He shook his head, not wishing to pull that particular memory to the forefront of his thought, not when so many other problems crowded at his side like a swarm of summer-flies. Meanwhile, Ralph continued to lead them round to the front of the castle. Simon and his father followed without speaking, although the Lost One