The Gathandrian Trilogy 01 - The Gifting by Anne Brooke Read Free Book Online

“He has already told me all. No, I am asking you.”
    Despite everything, Simon’s gaze veered back towards the mind-executioner. He could feel those mind-claws beginning to scratch at the outer layers of his thoughts and tried to block him, though Simon knew the other man was the stronger by far, and anything he could do would be useless. Gelahn smiled briefly, glanced at Ralph, and then Simon felt him withdraw.
    “Talk then,” he commanded.
    After a moment’s pause, he stammered out a poor excuse for the work he’d been doing for Ralph.
    “I-I did only what I thought was right,” Simon said, his voice gaining strength as he spoke. “The skills I have, s-such as they are, I wish to use only for the cause of justice and the land. To ensure our victory in the coming battle. My Lord Tregannon has been gracious in using my gifting to seek out enemies of which we have little understanding, and I have tried to serve him as best I am able.”
    The silence after those words were spoken was heavy with threat. Ralph seemed to withdraw into himself, and Gelahn leaned back on his chair and studied his hands.
    Simon coughed and tried to say more, though he had no clear idea what more he might find, “I…”
    Gelahn was there almost before Simon could think, rising and taking a bare three strides around the table to reach where he stood. Though he didn’t touch him, Simon’s head jerked back as if he’d been hit and he could feel the sudden burning on his cheek and the slow sensation of blood.
    “ Silence ,” Gelahn said, again only in Simon’s head as his mind buckled once more to his power.
    With his iron grip still upon the scribe, Gelahn whispered both out loud and into Simon’s thoughts, “Your words themselves condemn you where you stand, mind-dweller. Battle? There is no battle; you lie. And you admit to the evil you do in men’s hearts and minds. More than that, you revel in it. Such skills as you here freely confess are punishable by torture and death. However, your sin is greater by far, in that you have used it to twist the understanding of good men and murder others. You must die. And soon.”
    As suddenly as he’d sprung to the attack, he released Simon who fell, winded and panting, to his knees.
    “Yes,” he continued, pacing two steps away and two back, “you must die. This trial is over and you are the loser of it. But because of what you have done, first you must suffer. See, I hold the red stone of death out before you.”
    He snatched the death stone from the table and crushed it into Simon’s right hand, holding his fist shut so he couldn’t let go.
    “Tregannon?” Gelahn glanced at Ralph, for the final confirming judgement. But instead of resting his hand over Gelahn’s, Ralph rose to his feet, his face darkening into a scowl. For a beat of Simon’s heart, Ralph’s fingers edged towards the white stone, the stone of life, but then stopped before they could reach it.
    “No,” he said. “That is not what we agreed.”
    Gelahn’s grip on Simon tightened and he could feel the blackness of anger looming over his head. “This deceiver of yours deserves death, not life. He is a murderer. Many times over.”
    “That is true,” said Ralph. “And I have not taken up the white stone. The judgement is right. Yet it is death only, not suffering or torture, that the red stone carries. No more, no less.”
    “What pain has been inflicted, so it must be borne.”
    “The result is the same. Let it happen only as it is commanded in the ancient texts.”
    By now, Ralph was leaning over the table, hands clenched onto wood and beads of sweat glittering on his forehead. The pungent smell of cinnamon pulsed more densely over Simon’s senses. Things were not, he thought, going well.
    “The texts do not cater for the horrors this man has done,” whispered Gelahn.
    “Then let us not bring about what has not yet been shared in our stories,” Ralph replied, his gaze locked onto the