David Gemmell - Morningstar

Leaning forward, she touched my chest just above the heart, then gestured towards the trees and the mountains and the sky.

‘You would like to hear the music of the land?’

She nodded and smiled.

I tuned my harp and, closing my eyes, let my mind flow free, my fingers dancing upon the strings.

But it was not the music of the land, nor of the trees or mountains. It was the music of the birth of love as I felt it then on that summer’s day on a stone wall, beneath a cloudless sky. After a while I opened my eyes, watching her as she listened, and I saw that her eyes were moist with tears, her cheeks flushed.

I know now that she understood my feelings, reading the message in my music from the first halting notes.

But I was younger then and not so wise.

The assembled men discussed plans for attacking the castle for almost an hour before Wulf, his face flushed and angry, heaved himself to his feet and stalked across to where we sat.

‘How goes it?’ I asked him.

He hawked and spat. ‘What if? That’s all I’m hearing. Let’s storm the walls! What if they’ve hot oil? Let’s burn the gates! What if they charge out at us? I shall go insane if it carries on much longer. Already some of them are losing the will to fight. They ask: ‘What if we win? What then? More troops will be sent, the town will be put to the torch.’

‘Surely the taking of such a small keep should pose little difficulty?’ I said.

‘Really? Well, why don’t you go and tell them, general? Mace is just about ready to crack skulls.’

‘Very well.’ Replacing my harp in its shoulder-bag, I strolled back to where the group sat. Wulf followed me — his anger replaced, I think, by amusement. When I saw that expression my doubts flared. Who was I to plan an attack? What experience could I offer? Mace glanced up as I approached. He too was looking angry, his face flushed. In that moment I realized it would be wrong to offer yet another opinion to the argument. It was time — as my father would have said — for decisive action. Yet even were my plan to be a good one — which I was beginning to doubt — then it would still take away from Mace the authority of the Morningstar, for it should have been he who thought of it. ‘Could I speak with you for a moment?’ I asked him. He nodded, stood and we walked away from the still debating townsmen.

‘A gutless bunch of whoresons,’ he said, as we moved out of earshot.

‘They need leading,’ I told him.

‘I am trying, damn you! I have never been an officer. And, to be truthful, I don’t know how to attack a castle, save to storm it!’

‘There are fifty men at the keep,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘But they will need to sleep — no more than four or five will be on watch in the darkest hours of the night. But we do not have to storm them; we have already been invited in. Lykos has ordered the town leaders to attend him at dusk. We will just walk in.’

‘And then what?’ he snapped.

‘Once we are inside, we will take Lykos as a hostage. Then I will send a signal to Wulf and the others, and they can disable the sentries and take the keep.’

As I outlined my plan I became more nervous, expecting its flaws to be brutally pointed out. Instead Mace slapped me on the shoulder. ‘By God, it is worth a try!’ he said. ‘I’ll put it to them!’

‘No!’

‘Well, we cannot do it alone!’

‘I know. That’s what I meant by leadership. You have been a soldier. At what point in a battle did your officer say to you, “Well, men, I’m thinking about signalling the charge, what do you think?” Now is the time to establish your authority. Think like a king, Jarek. Praise them for their courage and tell them what they are about to do.’

His eyes narrowed and he nodded solemnly, standing silently for a moment. ‘What if they laugh in my face? Or simply refuse?’

‘Then you tell them they are not worthy of the Morningstar and we leave.’

He swore then and rubbed at his chin. ‘By God,’ he hissed, ‘I’ll not be thwarted by this miserable bunch! If it is a performance that’s needed, then that’s what they’ll get!’

He grinned at me, then returned to the waiting group. But this time he did not sit among them; he stood with hands on hips, waiting. The conversations died down. ‘I have listened to all that has been said,’ he told them, speaking slowly and with great authority. ‘You are all Highlanders. You have courage. I am proud that you have chosen to stand beside me. Very proud. But the time for talking is done. Lykos has called for the town leaders to attend him at the keep. Ten of us will go. Wulf, you and the others will remain outside, hidden. Now I have already commended your courage, but the eight men who walk into that keep beside Owen and me must be warriors, swordsmen, daggermen, men who know how to fight. I cannot judge which of you are the best; you must decide that. Do it now, while I explain to Wulf what needs to be done.’

Signalling the hunchback to him, he turned his back on them and strolled away once more.

I watched the men, saw the change in them as fresh confidence filled them. For a moment only they were silent, then they began to talk of skills with the blade. Who should go, who should stay? From fear-born indecision they were now vying for the right to accompany the Morningstar.

I held the smile from my face and approached Mace and Wulf. ‘You have them,’ I told him. ‘That was well done.’

‘So easily swayed,’ he said, contempt in his voice.

‘It is a valuable lesson to learn. Men will always follow confident leaders — even if the way is fraught with peril.’

‘Well, it is that,’ said Wulf. ‘Ten men walking into the enemy’s fortress. I think you are insane.’

In that moment I felt the terrible weight of responsibility upon me. It was my plan, and on it rested Piercollo’s chance of life. I cared little for Brackban or the woman, since I did not know them then, but the giant Tuscanian was my friend and my fears for him were great.

All my nervousness returned, with doubled force. I have said that I had little interest in matters of strategy, but that was because my father and brothers were masters of the art. Young Owen, on the other hand, was a simpleton in such matters. I thought of the plan again, imagining my father examining it. Its one strength was in its simplicity, but the weaknesses were many. I tried not to think of all that could go wrong.

But if I was worried at that moment, it was as nothing compared with the nervousness I felt as we approached the keep. The sun had vanished behind the great peaks to the west, and the sky was the colour of blood as we walked slowly up the hill. The round tower with its gates of oak was a simple structure, no more than sixty feet high and perhaps one hundred and fifty feet in circumference. I had seen many such. On the ground floor would be the dining-hall, on the first the sleeping area, with its double-tiered rows of pallet beds. On the third was situated the home hearth of the captain and his lady, usually two rooms — a small bedroom and a dining area. Above that was the roof, from which archers could send down arrows, spears or hot pitch on any invading force. The small dungeons, perhaps two cells, would usually be dug into the hillside below the keep.

I guessed that Lykos would see us in his rooms on the third floor.

We could see a single sentry up on the roof, leaning over the battlements looking down as we approached. He shouted an instruction to the gatekeeper; we heard the bar lift and the gates opened.

Two armed men stood beyond them. ‘All weapons to be left here,’ said the first. We had expected this and Mace unbuckled his sword-belt, followed by Jairn and the other men, most of whom were Brackban’s militia soldiers — none wearing armour now but loose-fitting tunics and leggings of wool. The swords and knives were left on a bench inside the doorway. One of the sentries moved forward to search Mace; as he did so I sent a tiny Sound-spell into the man’s right ear, a buzzing like an insect. He jumped and twisted, then the sound moved behind him and he turned swiftly. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ the second sentry asked.