Read Online The Executioner's Cane by Anne Brooke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Brooke
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Neither to Simon nor to any of the
people in his care. All the power has gone to the scribe, the very
man he once lorded it over, and Ralph has no place here. The
castle, the villages, all the lands are Simon’s. The only thing he
himself can do is to step aside.
As the last of the Tregannons, this is
something he should do with dignity, holding on in some measure to
the gifts his father gave him. But, after what has happened,
Ralph’s mind is nothing more than a tattered wisp of what it once
was. He has been fooling only himself with the hope anything can be
different.
He curses in his mother’s language. Not with
the words of the Tregannons, but with the words of those they
claimed to despise.
Frankel cries out something and Simon steps
forward. He seems stronger now but Ralph does not allow him to
speak. He flings down the remaining emeralds at the scribe’s feet.
Ralph is worthy of none of them. The jewels scatter like
river-stones across the stone slabs of the hall. He does not wait
to see where they will come to rest or what Simon will do.
Instead, he swings round and strides back the
way he has come in unthinking hope. Back to the private rooms. Back
to the dark.
Simon
The moment Ralph disappeared, the scribe
dropped the cane and collapsed down onto the floor, running his
hands through his hair. Frankel hovered around him, putting his
weight first on one foot then another. If Simon hadn’t had the
mind-energy knocked from him, he might even have thought this was
amusing. Instead he could feel the rapid thud of his heart and the
dryness in his throat. He should have been prepared for this,
shouldn’t he? He’d come here to help Ralph, to help the Lammas
Lands. He’d wanted to see Ralph, by the gods and stars, and he’d
got his desire.
But he hadn’t expected to see the Lammas
Master in such depths of surely insurmountable pain. The moment the
man had walked in upon them, the sharp crimson jaggedness of his
broken mind had swept over Simon like a winter storm. He’d hardly
been able to breathe. He’d known Ralph would be damaged from the
wars and from his encounters with the mind-executioner. Hadn’t he
himself received thought-wounds he refused to remember fully from
the cursed Gelahn? So, he’d expected this: pain, grief, regret and
deep confusion. But the Lammas Overlord’s mind was barely there.
Simply a series of impressions with no linking structure. This was
not something Simon knew how to solve. Not at once, anyway. Even
though the mere sight of Ralph had satisfied a need in Simon he
knew could not be spirited away by any cane or emeralds, that
didn’t matter. They had to find a quick solution to the troubles
facing this land, before the winter depths were fully upon them.
Otherwise the people would starve and Ralph would not be able to
help them. They needed another way. But what? He groaned aloud and
Frankel bent over him.
“Are you all right?” The old man’s eyes
darted from where the scribe sat hunched on the floor to where the
Overlord had vanished through the darkened doorway. Simon didn’t
need to fathom his companion’s mind to know the appearance of the
castle’s owner had sent the old servant into spasms of confusion
and discomfort. That much was obvious. He had not considered it
before, but it must be difficult for Ralph’s servants to see him
brought so low, no matter what the justification for it.
“Yes,” he said. “Forgive me. I hadn’t
expected to see Ralph like that.”
The old man blinked and took a step backwards
and Simon sensed at once he’d crossed some kind of line without
knowing it. Then it came to him. Of course. He was riding poorshod
over their traditions as well as forcing himself upon their
consciences.
“I mean the Lammas Lord,” he said quickly. “I
didn’t mean to insult your ways by using your Master’s chosen name.
I simply wasn’t thinking.”
To his surprise, Frankel smiled. The
expression softened his whole face.
“We
people in his care. All the power has gone to the scribe, the very
man he once lorded it over, and Ralph has no place here. The
castle, the villages, all the lands are Simon’s. The only thing he
himself can do is to step aside.
As the last of the Tregannons, this is
something he should do with dignity, holding on in some measure to
the gifts his father gave him. But, after what has happened,
Ralph’s mind is nothing more than a tattered wisp of what it once
was. He has been fooling only himself with the hope anything can be
different.
He curses in his mother’s language. Not with
the words of the Tregannons, but with the words of those they
claimed to despise.
Frankel cries out something and Simon steps
forward. He seems stronger now but Ralph does not allow him to
speak. He flings down the remaining emeralds at the scribe’s feet.
Ralph is worthy of none of them. The jewels scatter like
river-stones across the stone slabs of the hall. He does not wait
to see where they will come to rest or what Simon will do.
Instead, he swings round and strides back the
way he has come in unthinking hope. Back to the private rooms. Back
to the dark.
Simon
The moment Ralph disappeared, the scribe
dropped the cane and collapsed down onto the floor, running his
hands through his hair. Frankel hovered around him, putting his
weight first on one foot then another. If Simon hadn’t had the
mind-energy knocked from him, he might even have thought this was
amusing. Instead he could feel the rapid thud of his heart and the
dryness in his throat. He should have been prepared for this,
shouldn’t he? He’d come here to help Ralph, to help the Lammas
Lands. He’d wanted to see Ralph, by the gods and stars, and he’d
got his desire.
But he hadn’t expected to see the Lammas
Master in such depths of surely insurmountable pain. The moment the
man had walked in upon them, the sharp crimson jaggedness of his
broken mind had swept over Simon like a winter storm. He’d hardly
been able to breathe. He’d known Ralph would be damaged from the
wars and from his encounters with the mind-executioner. Hadn’t he
himself received thought-wounds he refused to remember fully from
the cursed Gelahn? So, he’d expected this: pain, grief, regret and
deep confusion. But the Lammas Overlord’s mind was barely there.
Simply a series of impressions with no linking structure. This was
not something Simon knew how to solve. Not at once, anyway. Even
though the mere sight of Ralph had satisfied a need in Simon he
knew could not be spirited away by any cane or emeralds, that
didn’t matter. They had to find a quick solution to the troubles
facing this land, before the winter depths were fully upon them.
Otherwise the people would starve and Ralph would not be able to
help them. They needed another way. But what? He groaned aloud and
Frankel bent over him.
“Are you all right?” The old man’s eyes
darted from where the scribe sat hunched on the floor to where the
Overlord had vanished through the darkened doorway. Simon didn’t
need to fathom his companion’s mind to know the appearance of the
castle’s owner had sent the old servant into spasms of confusion
and discomfort. That much was obvious. He had not considered it
before, but it must be difficult for Ralph’s servants to see him
brought so low, no matter what the justification for it.
“Yes,” he said. “Forgive me. I hadn’t
expected to see Ralph like that.”
The old man blinked and took a step backwards
and Simon sensed at once he’d crossed some kind of line without
knowing it. Then it came to him. Of course. He was riding poorshod
over their traditions as well as forcing himself upon their
consciences.
“I mean the Lammas Lord,” he said quickly. “I
didn’t mean to insult your ways by using your Master’s chosen name.
I simply wasn’t thinking.”
To his surprise, Frankel smiled. The
expression softened his whole face.
“We
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