Read Online The Gathandrian Trilogy 03 - The Executioners Cane by Anne Brooke - Free Book Online Page B

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 are not fools, scribe,” he replied. “We understand how things were between you both. And, besides, who knows what our customs should be now-seasons? We neither have a people nor a land to uphold