David Gemmell: Morningstar

Ziraccu, the merchant city. Everything had a price in Ziraccu. Especially in the years of the Angostin War, when the disruption to trade brought economic ruin to many.

I was young then, and I could weave my stories well. It was a good living, traveling from city to city, entertaining at taverns — and occasionally palaces — singing and magicking. The Dragon’s Egg was always a favorite, and I am sorry it has fallen into disregard in these latter days.

It was an evening in autumn in Ziraccu, and I was hired to play the hand-harp at a wedding celebration in the south quarter. The daughter of a silk merchant was marrying the son of a spice trader. It was more an alliance than a marriage and the bride was far from attractive. I will not dwell on her shortcomings for I was, and am, a gentleman. Suffice to say that her ugliness was not so great as to be memorable. On the other hand I felt great pity for the groom, a fine, upstanding youngster with clear blue eyes and a good chin. I could not help but notice that he rarely looked at his bride, his eyes lingering on a young maiden seated at the foot of the table.

It was not the look of a lascivious man, and I knew instantly that these two were lovers. I felt for them, but said nothing. I was being paid six silver pennies for my performance and this, at the time, was more important than true love thwarted.

The evening was dull and the guests, filled with good wine, became maudlin. I collected my fee, which I hid carefully in a special pocket in my right boot before setting off for my lodgings in the northern quarter.

Not a native of Ziraccu, I soon became lost, for there were no signs to be seen, no aid to the wanderer. I entered an ill-smelling maze of alleys, my heart pounding. My harp was slung over my right shoulder, and any who saw me would recognize the clothes of a bard — bright yellow shirt and red leggings. It would be most unusual to be accosted, for bards were rarely rich and were the only gatherers of news and gossip. We were welcome everywhere — especially those of us who knew a little magick. But — and this is the thought that occupied me — there were always those who knew nothing of tradition. Some mindless robber who would plunge his knife into my belly before he realized his mistake.

Therefore I walked with care through the dark alleyways, drawing myself up to my full height, pulling back my shoulders so as to appear tough, strong and confident. I was not armed — not even with a short knife. Who would need a knife at a wedding?

Several rats scurried across my path and I saw a corpse lying by the entrance to a short tunnel. In the bright moonlight it was easy to see that the corpse had been there for some days. His boots were gone, as was his belt.

I turned away my gaze and strode on. I never did like to look upon corpses. No man needs such a violent, visual reminder of his mortality. And there is no dignity in death. The bladder loosens, the bowels empty and the corpse always assumes an expression of profound idiocy.

I walked on, listening for anything that might indicate a stealthy assassin creeping towards me. A foolish thing to do, for immediately the thought comes to you the ear translates every sound into a footfall, or the whisper of cloth against a wall.

I was breathing heavily when at last I came out on to a main thoroughfare I recognized.

Then the scream sounded.

I am not by nature heroic, but upbringing counts for much in a man’s life and my parents had always made it clear that a strong man must defend the weak. The cry came from a woman. It was not born of pain, but of fear, and that is a terrible sound. I swung round and ran in the direction of the cry; it was a move of stunning stupidity.

Turning a sharp corner into a narrow alley, I saw four men surrounding a young woman. They had already ripped her dress from her, and one of the attackers had loosened his leggings, exposing his fish-white legs and buttocks.

‘Stop that!’ I shouted. Not the most powerful opening line, I’ll admit, especially when delivered in a high-pitched shriek. But my arrival stunned them momentarily and the naked man struggled to pull up his leggings, while the other three swung to face me. They were a grotesque bunch, ugly and filthy, dressed in greasy rags. Fight them? I would have given all I had not to touch them.

One of them drew a dagger and advanced towards me, grunting out some kind of enquiry. The language he used was as foul as his look. The strangest thoughts come to a man in danger, or so I have found. Here was a man with no regard for his appearance. His face and clothes were filthy, his teeth blackened and rotting, yet his dagger was sharp and bright and clean. What is it that makes a man take more care of a piece of iron than his own body?

‘I am a bard,’ I said.

He nodded sagely and then bade me go away, using language I would not dream of repeating.

‘Step away from the lady, if you please,’ I told them. ‘Otherwise I shall call the Watch.’ There was some laughter at this and two of the other three advanced upon me. One sported a hook such as is used to hang meat, while the second held two lengths of wood with a wire stretched between them. The last of them remained with the girl, holding her by throat and hair.

I had no choice but to run — and I would have done so. But fear had frozen my limbs, and I stood like a sacrificial goat waiting for the knife and the hook and the wicked throat wire.

Suddenly a man leapt from the balcony above to land in their midst, sending two of them sprawling. The one on his feet, he of the meat-hook, swung his weapon at the newcomer, who swayed aside and lashed out with a sword-belt he was holding in his left hand. The buckle caught the man high on the left cheek, spinning him from his feet. It was then that I saw that the newcomer was wearing only one boot and was carrying his sword-belt in his hand. Hurling aside his scabbard he drew his blade, lancing it through the neck of his nearest foe. But the first of the villains I had seen rose up behind the newcomer.

‘Look out!’ I cried. Our unknown helper spun on his heel, his sword plunging into the chest of his opponent. I was behind the man, and I saw the blade emerge from his back; he gave a strangled scream and his knees buckled. The warrior desperately tried to tear his sword loose from the man’s chest, but it was stuck fast. The rogue with the throat-wire leapt upon the newcomer’s back, but before he could twist the wire round his intended victim’s throat he ducked and twisted, hurling his attacker into a wall. As the villain rose groggily the newcomer took two running steps, then launched himself through the air feet first, his one boot cracking against the base of the man’s neck and propelling his face into the wall. There was a sickening thud, followed instantly by the crunching of bones. The sound was nauseating, and my stomach turned.

The last of the villains loosed his hold on the girl, throwing her to the ground and sprinting away into the shadows. As the girl fell she struck her head on the cobbles. I ran to her, lifting her gently, She moaned.

‘You bastard! I’ll see you dead! You’ll not escape me!’ shouted a voice from an upper window. I glanced up to see a bearded man upon the balcony. He was hurling abuse at the newcomer. It did not seem to perturb the fellow. Swiftly he wrested his sword clear of the corpse, then gathered his second boot which was lying some distance away against a wall.

‘Help me with her,’ I ordered him.

‘Why?’ he asked, pulling on his boot.

‘We must get her to safety.’

‘There he is! Take him!’ screamed the man on the balcony. The sound of running footsteps came from the alley.

‘Time to go,’ said the newcomer with a bright smile. At once he was on his feet and running.