The Gathandrian Trilogy 02 - Hallsfoots Battle

people out there, Annyeke and the boy Talus. It was time to face the world.
    As he reached for his tunic and cloak, lying freshly washed and folded where Annyeke had left them, the mind-cane hummed more loudly, spun forward and touched him. Its ebony coolness seared his mind. He recoiled with a gasp, willing it away from him. The cane receded a few paces but remained on the alert, as if waiting for another gap in his defences. He could feel the slow crimson of it oozing away from his thoughts. Odd how he hadn’t been that afraid during the moments when he’d touched it before on the journey here. He hadn’t even thought about it on the occasions when his blood, such as it was, was up. But now, in the spaciousness of relative peace, he had grown more wary than ever.
    Simon didn’t know what the cane might do to him if he allowed it a greater inroad into his soul. He dressed quickly, strengthening the barrier to his thoughts so the cane couldn’t spring through, though, of course, it was a ridiculous act. The mind-cane did whatever it wanted, whenever it wanted. It did not take its orders from the scribe. Simon slipped out of the curtained entrance and into the world beyond.
    The cane followed him but did not approach any nearer. And, thank all the gods and stars, its strange humming stopped. But, for how long?
    At his sudden appearance, Annyeke and Talus turned. Annyeke herself was a short, rounded woman with long red hair that she had tied this morning into a messy plait. Her fingers were white with flour from the bread she had been baking. Her smile, found in the instant she saw him, was wide and welcoming, but he could sense the troubles lying in her heart. The boy simply blinked and pushed his brown hair away from his face.
    For a moment, there was silence and Simon wondered which of the many apologies he owed them he should start with. But it was Talus who spoke first, staring curiously at the cane.
    “Is it going to kill us?”
    The scribe had no real idea. He understood quite well that the cane was capable of killing. What he didn’t know was whether it actually wanted to kill. He didn’t think he could say that to a seven-summers-old boy he’d only just met, when a woman’s voice in his head said: Be honest. We’ve had enough of words that are less than the truth here.
    Annyeke. The green essence of her drifted through his thoughts. Just like Johan (damn the man, but where was he?) she’d read him before he’d realised it. He wished he had that skill with them.
    He hunkered down so his eyes were at the same level as the boy’s. Something in Talus’ expression reminded him of Carthen…
    “I don’t know,” he said, in answer to Talus’ question. “The cane has the power to kill, yes, but so far, while I’ve been…sleeping, it’s left the three of us alone. I hope that blessing will continue. And I think…I think that if it does decide to kill anyone, that person will probably be me. In which case, it will give you and Annyeke time to escape.”
    The boy frowned for a moment or two and then nodded, as if Simon’s explanation made any kind of sense. Or perhaps Talus was simply being polite in the face of evident adult confusion? The scribe didn’t know and he wasn’t about to meddle in the mind of an unknown child to find out.
    Above them both, Annyeke smiled again. “That’s answered, then. So we may have a while to live yet. Talus, why don’t you go and see if there are any bush-herbs in the garden? I’d like to have something to flavour the soup with at midday. And besides the Lost…the scribe and I need to talk.”
    The boy sighed, gave Annyeke an accusing glance and left. The movement of the curtain brought a deeper shaft of sunlight into the eating area.
    Annyeke grimaced. “I’ll pay for that, but I needed to see you alone.”
    “I’m sorry ,” Simon said, “for not communicating for two days. Thank you for your patience, and for letting me stay.”
    His companion nodded, but asked for no further explanations. He was glad of it. She sat down at the table, indicating he should do the same.
    “Can I get you anything?” she asked, but he shook his head and gazed at his surroundings. Here in the eating area, simple glazed bowls scattered across the working surfaces, one of them filled with what looked like flour. A hunk of unbaked bread lay to one side. The fire in the oven warmed the air and another freshly baked loaf had been split up upon platters, some of which had