Hallsfoot's Battle (2 page)

At this, Talus grimaced. She knew he wasn’t a
great friend of the river-wolves, though they were unlikely to
cause anyone harm. She decided to aim for the more positive side of
honesty. Was sensible lying what parenthood was about? “Really, it
could be any one of these things, or perhaps all of them. It’s hard
to say. But he’ll get up soon. And then we can plan properly how
we’ll win this war so the mind-executioner won’t ever hurt any one
again.”

There followed a pause and she cursed herself
for saying too much. Talus had lost his own family in the
mind-wars. That was why he was here. Still, she could sense,
without making much of an effort, the workings of his mind under
his pain as he took in this information.

Then the atmosphere of his thoughts lightened
and he smiled, his eyes dancing at her. “You could ask Johan
Montfort for help. He’ll know what to do.”

Annyeke only wished this was true, and that
she had the same confidence in the ability of the Gathandrian
menfolk to help that Talus still held to. She knew in her mind that
Johan, like the scribe, was exhausted. His long journey with Simon
from the Lammas Lands had been fraught with difficulty, dogged as
they’d been by the tricks and attacks of the mind-executioner. She
suspected he hadn’t had much time for meditation on the way and he
was paying for that neglect now. And on his return, he’d had to
face the reality about the Elders’ treachery. How had they betrayed
so many Gathandrians to their deaths simply in order to bring Simon
back to them? The very fact that they had imprisoned the
mind-executioner for so long and then let him go in order to bring
destruction was beyond anyone’s grasp, though she still had to
explain the full story to Johan. Gods and stars above, there was
another task she was not looking forward to.

And of course, Isabella, Johan’s beloved
sister, was dead—a mystery to them all that she had betrayed them
so. Annyeke blinked away tears and pretended to smile at Talus,
though she did not think he was fooled.

Perhaps it was best if she concentrated for a
while on Simon. Though the situation did not look good in this
particular hour-cycle, he might well turn out to be the easiest of
her problems to deal with.

Simon

The scribe knew he was in Annyeke Hallsfoot’s
one public room in the small house she owned near the Gathandrian
parklands. She had curtained it off to provide a makeshift bedroom
and to afford him a sense of privacy. The thick velvet of the pale
green curtain certainly cut down on the noise of his landlady and
her young charge going about their everyday business, but it did
little to soften the sense of mind-activity, not only indoors, but
outside in the city itself. It felt as if people were waiting. For
him, Simon knew it but had no wish to enquire further into that
thought.

Annyeke had provided him with a bed made from
blankets piled together, a set of manuscripts she thought he might
like to read, a basin of water that she refreshed on a half-daily
basis, and a change of clothes. The latter two items he assumed
were to encourage him to get up and face what he had to. So far,
they’d proved unsuccessful. Right now the scribe refused even to
open his eyes. If he did so, he knew what he would see. Already he
could hear its background hum, demanding attention, attention he
didn’t want to give. For the last two night-cycles, he’d tried to
hide the mind-cane where he wouldn’t see it, or be forced to deal
with the thing. Each morning, when he’d opened his eyes to the sun,
it had found him again.

He didn’t want to touch it, even though it
had saved them all in the battles with the mind-executioner, and it
had been his hand that had wielded it, his eyes that had witnessed
its gold and silver strength. He couldn’t comprehend its power and,
if he faced the truth, he was afraid.

Beyond all this, the fact he was in the
mysterious city of Gathandria wasn’t giving him the comfort he’d
anticipated. For so long, on the wild, dangerous and wonderful
journey he’d taken with Johan from the Lammas Lands, it had been
like a mirage, something to aspire to, where all would be well and
everything bad about himself, of which there was much, would be
healed.

But now, he was here and, as far as he could
tell, any healing had failed to happen. Odd how he’d felt so brave
at the height of the battle, or as brave as a coward could feel,
but now he felt nothing. No, this wasn’t true either. He felt
tired, hungry and 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
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 already been eaten. He noticed the colours Annyeke had
chosen for her surroundings—green and yellow—the same as he’d lived
with in his sleeping area for the past two nights.

It was then that he became aware of the
atmosphere of calm around him, in spite of the mind-cane quivering
at the edge of his vision. This feeling seemed to emanate instead
from the stone walls around him. It gave him a sense of hope. When
he glanced up, he saw she was smiling.

“Thank you,” she said. “Gathandrian houses
take on the mind-sets of those who live in them. I only wish I were
that calm now. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry into your thoughts,
but they were so clear.”