David Gemmell - Morningstar
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- Название:Morningstar
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- Издательство:Random House
- Жанр:
- Год:1993
- ISBN:9780307797520
- Рейтинг книги:3 / 5. Голосов: 1
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Morningstar: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
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‘Honour is here,’ she whispered, placing her hand over my heart. ‘Or do you believe that good can only exist in pure surroundings, untouched by the world’s darkness? What value would there be in that? Virtue is like a ring of gold. It does not matter where you place, it, in a swamp or a cowpat; it will remain gold, untarnished. Lesser metals are corroded, ruined, corrupted. Not gold. The true heart remains true.’
‘Just words,’ I snapped, more brutally than I intended. ‘The evil triumph always, for they are strong and merciless. Good men are hampered, chained by their honour. They cannot compete, for they play by different rules.’
For a while she was silent and we sat in the new sunshine, each lost within our own thoughts. I think I almost hated myself for voicing such a philosophy of despair, and my heart was heavy. But after some minutes had passed she spoke again.
‘I do not agree with you. A thousand years ago the Vampyre Kings ruled this land. They were brought down and destroyed. Their evil was colossal, yet a good man destroyed them. The battle between good and evil is circular. Good wins, evil wins, good again. The rules are immaterial.’
‘How is your philosophy different from mine, sister?’ I countered. ‘If such a circle exists, then there can never be a true victor.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘But then victory is not the prize; it is the battle itself. You are part of that battle, Owen. You and Wulf, and Piercollo. Yes, even Jarek Mace, though he knows it not.’
‘Oh, he is a warrior, no doubt of that,’ I agreed. ‘But which side does he fight for? I don’t think he cares about good or evil. He cares only for Jarek Mace.’
Piercollo awoke and groaned in pain and Astiana rose and moved to where he lay. I stood and walked out into the sunlight.
The ring, with its pale stone, felt heavy on my hand.
In that moment I felt like pulling it clear and throwing it high over the hillside. I would be free. I could walk from the forest and head south, all the way to the coast and my father’s estates, far from war and brutality. I could sit by a warm-fire in the evenings, my belly full, and I could play my harp and sing my songs without fearing a dagger in my ribs or a demon at my soul. It was tempting.
But at that moment — perhaps because I was thinking of home — I saw again my father sitting in the high-backed chair, his children at his feet, his warhounds close by. And I could hear his voice, deep and slow, as he told us stories of manhood or set us riddles to solve:
'There were once three men, proud and strong, the best mountain climbers in all the land. In every city tavern people would gather and wonder which man was greatest. Finally they agreed to meet to decide the issue once and for all. There was a peak of sheer granite, three thousand feet high, which men called Rasboreth. No one had ever conquered Rasboreth, though many had tried, and many had died or been crippled in the attempt. Just as they were about to begin the climb, an angel appeared and told them all that their deaths were but one day distant. The first man said, ‘I shall go home and fill my belly with wine until the time of my death,’ The second man said, ‘I shall find a woman with a soft body and welcoming eyes, and I shall lie with her until the time of my death.’ Both turned to the third man. ‘And what of you?’ they asked him.
‘Me? Why I shall climb the mountain.’ '
He had laughed at our non-comprehension and we had gone to our beds none the wiser. But now I knew what he meant. A man must finish what he starts, allowing no threat or fear to stand in his way.
I had made a promise to Gareth, and I would keep it. Mace was dismissive of my talents as a warrior, but my skills lay in other directions. I did not see myself as essentially heroic. My fears were very great. But I learned at my father’s knee that a man is judged not by his words or by his principles, or even by his wit. He is judged by his actions.
How could I, Owen Odell the Angostin, speak out against evil if I did not stand against darkness?
A hand touched my shoulder and I turned to see Piercollo beside me. His face was grey, the bandage over his eye bloody.
‘I am sorry,’ I told him. ‘You have suffered terribly.’
‘But I am alive, my friend, thanks to you. I will repay. Piercollo will stand with you, and with the Morningstar. We will make war upon these men of evil.’
I seem to remember a cloud passing across the face of the sun at that moment, but probably it did not. The weight of that memory, even after all these years, is still great. For I knew that something of beauty had been lost to the world and I grieved for it.
From that day to the last battle, I never heard Piercollo sing again.
Mace returned towards dusk with fresh cuts of venison and we spent a second night in the cave. Piercollo’s fever had begun to pass, but he was still too weak to travel far.
We broiled the venison and ate well that night. Mace was in better humour and told us that he had seen hunting-parties of soldiers scouring the woods and forest tracks, but none had chanced upon our trail. ‘There’s not a woodsman among them,’ he said.
Even so we kept watch that night, taking it in turns to sit just inside the cave-mouth watching the moonlit hills.
I took the last watch, relieving Wulf at around midnight, and sat wrapped in a blanket beneath the stars. It was a clear night, soundless, a cool breeze whispering across the cave entrance. The smell of damp grass was in the air and bats flew above me. An old badger with a twisted front paw moved out on to the hillside, his fur like silver thread, his gait clumsy. Yet he had great dignity as he slowly made his way down the slope.
At the bottom he paused, his snout lifting to scent the air. Suddenly his dignity fled and he scurried into the undergrowth. I was immediately tense, narrowing my eyes to scour the tree-line.
But I could see nothing.
Then a huge grey wolf came into sight, padding across the grass. He was followed by six more. Something small caught my eye, and I swung my gaze to see several rabbits near a half-buried boulder. The wolves ignored them.
This struck me as curious, but not threatening. Perhaps they had recently fed. Perhaps they had discovered the carcass of the deer slain by Mace.
On they came, straight towards the cave.
‘Mace!’ I called and he came awake instantly, as did Wulf. Both men gathered their bows and moved alongside me. I pointed to the pack no more than a hundred paces distant.
‘You woke me for wolves?’ snapped Mace.
‘Look at them,’ I said. ‘They are corning straight at us. No turning of heads, no interest in the rabbits.’ Mace muttered some obscenity and moved back to the fire, blowing it to life and adding a thick, dry branch. The dead leaves caught instantly, flaring to life. Mace ran back to the entrance and stepped out on to the hillside. The wolves saw him and increased their speed.
Wulf notched an arrow to his bow. In the pale moonlight it shone like silver.
‘Get back, Mace!’ I yelled. ‘They are possessed!’Mace hurled the burning branch at the first grey beast. The brand hit the wolf in the face, the flames singeing the fur of its back, yet it ignored the fire and ran straight at him, leaping for his throat. An arrow from Wulf lanced into the beast’s chest and it slumped to the earth.
Mace drew his sword, cleaving it through the neck of a second wolf, but the remaining five were all around him now. Wulf killed another, then threw aside his bow and ran at the creatures. Pulling an arrow from the quiver he had left behind, I followed him. A huge wolf hurled itself at Mace, knocking him from his feet. Losing his grip on the sword, he made a grab for his dagger; he would have been too late, but I arrived alongside him and tapped the wolf with the shining arrow. It froze momentarily, then ran away across the hillside with tail between its legs. Two more charged in. Mace rolled to his knees to drive his dagger into the throat of the first, and I threw the arrow at the second. The point barely broke the skin of the beast but still the wolf, freed from the spell, loped away from us. The last of the creatures leapt at Wulf, sinking its fangs into his forearm. His shortsword plunged into the creature’s side, the blade piercing the heart. Its forelegs folded beneath it and it sank to the earth without a sound. Wulf tried to pull the jaws apart, but they were locked to his forearm. Mace and I managed to prise them clear. Wulf pushed back his torn sleeve and blood gushed from the puncture wounds above and below his left wrist.
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