Hallsfoot's Battle Read Online Free PDF Page B

the wolf on the hunt, “this is what will happen to you all
if Simon the Scribe is allowed to take on his power.”
    As he speaks, he gestures at the fallen
stone-man, and even the mountain-dogs cease their frenzied pacing.
“For do you truly believe that you will be safe from a man who
cannot control the strength the mind-cane gives him? If he becomes
master of one-tenth of the power he dreams of, then you, the
mountain of the world, will no longer survive. He will blast you
out of existence and all your people and legends will be lost. The
death I have been forced to show you today will be multiplied
beyond all your imaginings and there will be nothing left for you.
Is that how you wish your future to be. Is it?”
    He stares round at the solidity of them,
challenging them to act. But they will not fight him—how can they
when his strength is greater? They are not so foolish. Still, even
as he thinks that, at the edge of his vision Duncan catches a hint
of movement from the creature who had been closest to the leader.
He turns and stares in its direction and the whisper of rebellion
is quelled. Good. No, better—he can use such a fighting spirit in
the battles to come. It will be distilled into the heart of the
dogs.
    When all continues quiet and no remaining
entity of the mountain attempts to move towards him, Duncan speaks
again and this time his voice is lower, more persuasive.
    “I am sorry for what I had to do,” he
whispers. This is naturally a lie, but no matter. “But the time for
old leadership is over for you. Now you and your dogs will answer
to me and together we will win. The training we must go through
will be hard, but not fatal, I promise you. When we are ready, the
mountain people and I, the mind-enabler, will take up our places of
honour in the world once more. Then all will be as it should.”
     
    Annyeke
     
    As Johan stepped through her doorway, the
chill winter air swept in with him, scattering the dry remains of
Annyeke’s flour over the work surface. At the same time, Simon
rose, stepped to one side and gestured at the stool he’d vacated.
Annyeke simply stared at Johan. He looked as if he’d been awake for
many day-cycles, his blue eyes were dark with exhaustion and his
clothes were not the freshest; a faint smell of stale herbs and
sweat drifted around her and she stepped back, wrinkling her
nose.
    “I’m sorry, I …” Johan began but Simon shook
his head, strode over to him and led him to the nearest seat while
Annyeke fetched bread. Even with her back turned she could sense
Johan’s colours, the very fact of him, easing through her
skin—sea-blue, aquamarine, sapphire.
    “Don’t worry,” the scribe said when Johan
tried another feeble protest. “And don’t try to talk. You must
eat.”
    Annyeke dropped two hunks of bread on a
platter and set it before Johan. He grimaced and she understood he
hadn’t actually eaten since his return to the great city. When she
gestured at him, brooking no refusal, he took a hesitant first bite
but then moaned and began to eat with gusto. Typical man, she
thought, they forgot to eat while their minds were elsewhere and
then valuable time was lost whilst they regained their strength.
When would they ever learn?
    Still, while he finished the best of her
bread, she was impressed that he only glanced twice at the
mind-cane that hovered in the corner of the room. She and Simon had
their backs to it and she couldn’t find it within herself to blame
them. When Johan finished his first platter, Annyeke refilled it
and he ate that, too. He refused a third plate, instead downing a
beaker of springwater. Just as well, as there was no more bread to
hand.
    “Thank you,” he said at last, his voice
steadier than she’d anticipated. From his proximity, she knew his
mind was less so, but she could not hope for miracles. Not yet,
anyway.
    She nodded. There were so many things she
wanted to say to this man but none of them could find their way
into her