David Gemmell - Morningstar

‘Do you even understand the concept of honour?’ I asked him.

‘Obviously not,’ he replied. He gaze flickered past me and I turned to watch Astiana approach. ‘Ah,’ whispered Mace, ‘the grateful thanks of the rescued maiden!’

‘Why don’t you clothe yourself?’ she demanded. ‘Such displays of nakedness are obscene.’

Mace climbed to his feet and stood before her with hands on hips. ‘There are women who have paid to see me thus,’ he said softly. ‘But I wouldn’t expect a dried-up, passionless piece of baggage to understand that. And so, sister — and I say this with all the respect you deserve — kiss my buttocks!’

I tensed myself for the exchange I felt was sure to follow, but Astiana laughed — a rich, merry sound that made us all smile. All, that is, save Mace. ‘I would sooner kiss your buttocks than your face,’ she told him. Then she glanced down, studying his lower body. ‘And as for paying to see it, I wonder how many asked for their money back when they saw how little they were getting.’

Wulf guffawed and Ilka smiled. Mace reddened, then he too grinned. ‘What does one expect after a cold bath?’ he asked me.

Gathering his green woollen leggings, I tossed them to him. ‘Sharper than a serpent’s bite is the tongue of a righteous woman,’ I quoted.

‘Amen to that!’ he agreed, dressing swiftly.

Piercollo walked into the clearing, gazed at the bodies and then approached us.

‘They found their man,’ he said, his voice low. ‘They nail him to a tree. It is not pretty sight.’

‘We’ll find him,’ said Mace. ‘Stay here with the women.’ Calling Wulf to him, they backtracked the giant. I followed them, but I wished I hadn’t.

Gareth had been tortured in ways I will not describe. Let it be sufficient to say that there was no way to recognize the man I had seen in my dream save by the blood-drenched white hair. He had been blinded and cut, burned and gouged.

Wulf knelt by the man, then looked up at Mace. ‘They continued long after he told them everything,’ he said. ‘By God, I’m glad we killed them!’

I felt a whisper of wind against my face and stood frozen in shock, for within that gentle breeze I heard words, soft, sibilant, like distant echoes. ‘Gareth?’ I said, amazed. Wulf and Mace both turned to me, but I ignored them. ‘Speak slowly,’ I whispered. ‘I cannot… yes, yes, that’s better. Yes, I can see it. Wait!’ I walked to the edge of some bushes to the east and knelt, pushing apart the thick branches. There, nestling on the dark loam, was a moonstone set in a ring of gold. I lifted it and returned to the body, no longer averting my eyes from the wounds.

‘I have found it, Gareth,’ I said. ‘And your killers are on the road to whatever Hell they have earned.’

The voice in the wind whispered again. I turned to Wulf. His dark eyes were staring at me, his ugly mouth open. Lifting the ring, I offered it to the hunchback. ‘For a thousand years,’ I told him, ‘the Ringwearers have pledged to protect the skulls. Will you take on this task now and allow our friend, Gareth, to find his rest?’

Wulf backed away. ‘I want nothing to do with it,’ he said. ‘You hear me?’

‘Oh, the devil with it,’ said Mace. ‘I’ll take it!’ Scooping the ring from my hand, he tried to place it on his signet finger. But the ring was far too small. ‘It’s made for a child,’ he complained.

‘No,’ I said gently, not taking my gaze from Wulf. ‘It was made for a man. Take it, Wulf.’

‘Why me?’

‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, ‘but the spirit of this man is here with us. He chose you.’

‘My hands are bigger than Mace’s. No way it will fit.’

‘Try!’

‘I can’t!’ he screamed, backing away. ‘It’ll be the death of me. I know that! I can feel it in my bones. And I hate sorcery!’ For a moment only he was silent. ‘Why did he choose me? Ask him that? Why not Mace?’

‘I don’t need to. He told me. Because you have the heart, and when you give your word it is like iron.’

He swallowed hard. ‘He said that? Truly?’

‘Truly.’

Wulf stumbled forward and took the ring from Mace. It slid easily over his middle finger, sitting snug and tight. ‘Do I have to make an oath?’ he asked.

‘You already did,’ I told him, and the whisper in the wind became a fading sigh. ‘And he is at peace.’

We prised loose the poniards with which Gareth’s arms were nailed to the tree and buried his body in the shade of a spreading oak. We were silent as we returned to the ruined cabin, but as we came in sight of the building Mace pulled me aside, leaving Wulf to walk on to where Piercollo and the women sat in the sunlight.

‘What else did he say?’ asked Mace.

‘What makes you think there was anything else?’

‘Ah, Owen! Some men are born to be liars. Others are like you. Now tell me.’

‘He said there were forces of evil gathering. Very powerful.’ I turned away but Mace caught me by the shoulder, spinning me.

‘And?’

‘He said we couldn’t stand against them. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied now?’

He smiled grimly. ‘He said we were going to die, did he not?’

I looked away and nodded. ‘What now?’ I asked him.

He hawked and spat. ‘We fight,’ he said. ‘Where can we run?’

‘You will fight on, even though you cannot win?’

‘Of course I can win, Owen. Azrek is only a man, but I am the Morningstar!’ He chuckled, then slapped me on the shoulder.

‘You are mocking me,’ I said, sternly.

‘Just a little, Owen. Just a little.’

The skull of Golgoleth was in the canvas sack where Kaygan had left it, his spear buried in the earth beside it. Wulf swung the sack over his shoulder and sat down away from the others, his face set, his eyes distant.

Mace wandered into the shelter, idly stirring the fire to life, adding wood though the day was warm. Piercollo approached me. ‘What happened, Owen?’ I told him of the spirit conversation, and of Wulf s decision. He nodded glumly. ‘I think the good God is having big joke on us.’

‘If he is I fail to see the humour.’ I took out my harp and tuned the strings. I did not feel like playing, but I idly ran my fingers through the melody of Marchan, a light stream of high notes like the bird-song of morning. Piercollo walked away towards Wulf and Ilka came to sit upon my left, Astiana beside her.

‘Ilka has a question for you,’ said the sister. I stopped playing and forced a smile. ‘She wishes to know why you kissed her hand.’

It was the wrong time for such a conversation, for my heart was heavy and my mind filled with the death of Gareth. I looked into Ilka’s sweet, blue eyes and I sighed. What could I say? To talk of love at such a time was, I felt, beyond me. The silence grew and I saw Ilka’s eyes cloud with doubt, uncertainty, perhaps dismay. I tried to smile, then I reached out and took her hand once more, raising it to my lips, and wishing that I could talk with her as Astiana did. But I could not.

I walked away from them to be by myself in the sunlit forest.

A few months before I had been but a bard, earning a poor living in the taverns and halls of Ziraccu. Now I was an outlaw, a wolfshead, a hunted man. And I walked in the company of a legend. Sitting down on a fallen log I glanced around me and saw a leg close by, the body hidden by bushes. Rising, I walked towards the corpse; it was Kaygan, his dead eyes staring up at me, his men lying close by heaped one upon another. Piercollo must have thrown them here while Mace, Wulf and I were burying Gareth.

Tonight the foxes and carrion would feed; the crows would follow in the next few days, once the stench of decay carried to them.