Read Online The Executioner's Cane by Anne Brooke - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anne Brooke
Ads: Link
like a young fox sensing the pursuit of
the hounds. Even the bag they are held in dances with them and
glows a faint green.
Something of their energy fills his blood
then and for the first time, at least in daylight, he opens the
door of the private rooms and steps out into darkness.
He walks through scenes of near-destruction
and the grief of a dying building. All he remembers is the need to
follow where the strange jewels are leading and the need to turn
his eyes away from the ruin of what once was home. Still, he can’t
help but see and acknowledge the scars disfiguring the stonework,
the smashed tables, the torn tapestries. And the scattering of
decorative weaponry on the floor. Most of these are lying at the
edges of the corridors. Someone must have tried to bring a kind of
order out of the chaos filling the air. Tried and given up such a
hopeless task. Once Ralph almost stumbles over a set of plain
daggers, but his feet know their way. They turn neither to right
nor to left, but follow the path the emeralds call them to.
It is only when he approaches the hallway
that he senses Simon’s presence. Closer than he has anticipated,
but still so far distant.
Ralph’s blood leaps upwards but he does not
hesitate. His hand clutches the shining emeralds and he keeps on
walking.
At the next heartbeat he stands in the once
proud hallway and faces two men. One he usually never sees and the
other is more deeply known to Ralph than his own thoughts. More
frightening than any of those also.
He can think of nothing to say.
Frankel, the cook’s quiet husband, bows his
head and takes a step backwards. He mutters something Ralph cannot
hear. It may have been a greeting, or it may have been a curse. No
matter. Because it is the other man – Simon of the White Lands –
whom Ralph can see most clearly.
Of course it is not long since he has seen
Simon, but this is the first time for what seems a life-season
beyond the telling he has seen him without the fierce hand of the
mind-executioner scaffolding all thoughts. Turning them deeper and
with more bitterness into themselves. Twisting Ralph into the kind
of man he thought he did not want to be. No matter. It is too late
for regrets, although they almost drown him. Simon looks older,
more wearied. Then again, don’t they all. The scribe seems barely
able to support himself. Part of Ralph wants to step forward, offer
help, but part of him knows there is no place for this here. Simon
and he are now neither friends nor enemies. But something other,
something he does not yet know.
Nor is it Ralph’s place to know.
For Simon has the mind-cane with him. The
executioner’s cane. Which means one of only two things: Simon has
come either to save them, or destroy them. Or perhaps both. Perhaps
his reasoning is too narrow. Nothing about their whole sorry
history has fallen the way Ralph would have wished it.
It strikes him for the first time that, with
the cane, Simon can take what revenge he wishes upon him. He has
the power to drive Ralph to the floor, prostrate him until he is
begging to be released from the agony the mind-cane can bring
about. For the pains he has inflicted on Simon alone – let alone on
his country – he has every right to do so. Ralph will not run. He
will accept whatever the gods and stars have in store.
Simon does nothing. He simply stares at
Ralph. Like a man drinking down a flagon of water when he has been
thirsty for many days, but who does not know what poisons may lurk
within.
The mind-cane in his grasp leaps in his
fingers but Simon holds onto it. Frankel steps away further.
Something draws Ralph’s eye and he glances down. The emeralds are
the brightest green he has ever seen them, but their warmth is
missing. They are as cold as a tree in winter.
“Ralph,” Simon whispers at last. His voice is
hoarse. He sounds as if he has much to say but the words are
trapped in his mouth.
It is then Ralph understands that, whatever
happens, he can do no good.
the hounds. Even the bag they are held in dances with them and
glows a faint green.
Something of their energy fills his blood
then and for the first time, at least in daylight, he opens the
door of the private rooms and steps out into darkness.
He walks through scenes of near-destruction
and the grief of a dying building. All he remembers is the need to
follow where the strange jewels are leading and the need to turn
his eyes away from the ruin of what once was home. Still, he can’t
help but see and acknowledge the scars disfiguring the stonework,
the smashed tables, the torn tapestries. And the scattering of
decorative weaponry on the floor. Most of these are lying at the
edges of the corridors. Someone must have tried to bring a kind of
order out of the chaos filling the air. Tried and given up such a
hopeless task. Once Ralph almost stumbles over a set of plain
daggers, but his feet know their way. They turn neither to right
nor to left, but follow the path the emeralds call them to.
It is only when he approaches the hallway
that he senses Simon’s presence. Closer than he has anticipated,
but still so far distant.
Ralph’s blood leaps upwards but he does not
hesitate. His hand clutches the shining emeralds and he keeps on
walking.
At the next heartbeat he stands in the once
proud hallway and faces two men. One he usually never sees and the
other is more deeply known to Ralph than his own thoughts. More
frightening than any of those also.
He can think of nothing to say.
Frankel, the cook’s quiet husband, bows his
head and takes a step backwards. He mutters something Ralph cannot
hear. It may have been a greeting, or it may have been a curse. No
matter. Because it is the other man – Simon of the White Lands –
whom Ralph can see most clearly.
Of course it is not long since he has seen
Simon, but this is the first time for what seems a life-season
beyond the telling he has seen him without the fierce hand of the
mind-executioner scaffolding all thoughts. Turning them deeper and
with more bitterness into themselves. Twisting Ralph into the kind
of man he thought he did not want to be. No matter. It is too late
for regrets, although they almost drown him. Simon looks older,
more wearied. Then again, don’t they all. The scribe seems barely
able to support himself. Part of Ralph wants to step forward, offer
help, but part of him knows there is no place for this here. Simon
and he are now neither friends nor enemies. But something other,
something he does not yet know.
Nor is it Ralph’s place to know.
For Simon has the mind-cane with him. The
executioner’s cane. Which means one of only two things: Simon has
come either to save them, or destroy them. Or perhaps both. Perhaps
his reasoning is too narrow. Nothing about their whole sorry
history has fallen the way Ralph would have wished it.
It strikes him for the first time that, with
the cane, Simon can take what revenge he wishes upon him. He has
the power to drive Ralph to the floor, prostrate him until he is
begging to be released from the agony the mind-cane can bring
about. For the pains he has inflicted on Simon alone – let alone on
his country – he has every right to do so. Ralph will not run. He
will accept whatever the gods and stars have in store.
Simon does nothing. He simply stares at
Ralph. Like a man drinking down a flagon of water when he has been
thirsty for many days, but who does not know what poisons may lurk
within.
The mind-cane in his grasp leaps in his
fingers but Simon holds onto it. Frankel steps away further.
Something draws Ralph’s eye and he glances down. The emeralds are
the brightest green he has ever seen them, but their warmth is
missing. They are as cold as a tree in winter.
“Ralph,” Simon whispers at last. His voice is
hoarse. He sounds as if he has much to say but the words are
trapped in his mouth.
It is then Ralph understands that, whatever
happens, he can do no good.
Similar Books
