The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

thirsty. He also felt like a fool.
    The mind-cane’s humming grew louder. He’d left it in the far corner of the bedroom last night, but it was now lying on the floor near his bed. As he continued to glare at the object of his discontent, he became aware of smells and sounds. First, the scent of baking bread. Then the low murmur of Annyeke’s voice, interspersed with Talus’ higher-pitched tones. He swallowed. Not too long ago, the boy in his own care, Carthen, had died in the desert. It wasn’t something he liked to remember. As his mind eased into wakefulness, he didn’t have to strain his hearing to understand what his two house-companions were saying. Talus was confused, but eager and longing for a solution to whatever problem had just been presented to him. Annyeke was more circumspect. She certainly wasn’t happy. The waves from her thoughts hit him like a cold winter wind and he struggled not to gasp out loud. She was close to despair, but keeping that fact hidden with a veneer of wry humour. By the gods, that was something he understood.
    Simon cursed under his breath and glared at the cane. He wouldn’t have been able to fathom any of what he’d just thought without it. Damn the artefact. He didn’t want to share other people’s secrets. Before the mind-cane, he had only been able to know the thoughts of others if he was close enough to the person. And he had enough secrets of his own. Though now, of course, Johan knew most of them, too. Once more he wondered where Johan was. His erstwhile companion had vanished after his sister had been buried, and Simon hadn’t seen him since. Johan’s absence left an empty space in his blood and he didn’t relish the feeling.
    Annyeke hadn’t seen Johan either, he realised. She was worried about that. Angry also, but it wasn’t her main concern. As the truth of the matter melded into the scribe’s consciousness, he found himself sitting up slowly and pulling the thin woollen blanket from his frame. The sunlight made him blink again and he shook his head to try to clear his thoughts. The main concern filling Annyeke’s mind at this moment was Simon himself.
    By staying here, he was letting her down. He was the problem when she’d hoped he would be the one to bring solutions. Well, he’d tried, hadn’t he? He’d used the mind-cane to banish the mind-executioner, and the effort involved had floored him. He wasn’t sure now what further use he could be. Johan had talked of another war to come, the dangers of the mind-executioner lurking like a shadow of a mountain over them all. Simon couldn’t even begin to comprehend what any of those words might mean. The Gathandrians were a curious people, their minds full of signs and symbols that had little to do with the truth as he understood it— had understood it, anyway. He allowed himself a small grin. After all, he was half-Gathandrian, too, which made him the most mysterious of them all.
    The mind-cane’s humming rose in intensity. The sound made him shiver, but this time it clarified something within him. He rolled out of bed and stood up slowly. He still refused to look at the cane. Against his skin, the air was colder than he’d expected. He looked out of the window, and the whiteness of the sky made him shake his head. Of course. It was winter here, as it would be back in the Lammas Lands. Best not to think of Ralph, however.
    He saw Annyeke’s garden was bleak, but there was something lovely about it. The lemon tree didn’t have many leaves, but they were lush and deep green. He imagined fruiting would be some way distant. When did the spring-cycle arrive here? Apart from the tree, he could see a few herb bushes, all of them resting on pale yellow grass. Where he’d come from, the grass was green, so he didn’t know whether this was a sign of the recent battles or not. Had the wars affected the country here so much? Johan had said it had, but hadn’t explained in any detail.
    In fact, Johan hadn’t explained very much at all since Simon had last seen him, two day-cycles ago. Where was he?
    The scribe closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the wood of the window frame. Johan. His cousin, newly discovered, and a man whose friendship he had come to enjoy without the need for anything more demanding. He’d experienced neither kinship nor friendship for a while, if at all, and he didn’t want to lose something before it had barely begun.
    So. He would have to talk to Johan, and the