David Gemmell - Morningstar

I began to tremble and felt the beginnings of panic stirring in my belly. How could we stand against Azrek and Cataplas? And even were we to succeed, we would only bring down upon the Highlands the wrath of Edmund, the Angostin Battle King.

How easy it is to talk about standing against darkness. How bright and brave the words sound. But it is one matter to raise your courage like a banner on a single day of battle, and quite another to endure day after day, week after week, with every moment promising the kind of death that Gareth had suffered.

Birds fluttered from the trees to my left and I heard the sound of walking horses. My throat was suddenly dry, my heart hammering. Spinning, I ran for the cabin. Wulf was still sitting alone, the sack in his lap.

‘Riders!’ I said, as I ran past him and into the ruined building. Mace had heard me and was instantly on his feet, gathering his bow and notching an arrow to the string. Without a word he leapt past me and loped across the clearing. Piercollo threw his vast pack over his shoulder while Astiana and Ilka gathered up their Mankets. Only a few heartbeats had passed, but when we stepped back into the open Wulf and Mace had vanished.

I stepped from the cabin just as a knight rode from the trees.

Behind him were three men-at-arms dressed in tunics of grey wool, with leather helms upon their heads. The knight himself was in full armour of shining plate, his cylindrical helm embossed with gold and sporting an eagle with flared wings. His breastplate was plain, but gold had been worked into his shoulder-guards and gauntlets, and the pommel of the sword at his side was a ruby as large as a baby’s fist. His horse, a grey stallion of at least seventeen hands, was also armoured, its chest and flanks protected by chain-mail. The knight saw me and raised his arm.

‘We seek the Morningstar,’ he said, his voice muffled by the helm.

I said nothing and the knight swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted, his armour creaking. Raising his gauntleted hands, he lifted the helm from his head, laying it over the pommel of his saddle.

‘We have come a long way, fellow, and would appreciate a little hospitality.’

‘Hospitality is in short supply,’ I told him. ‘What business have you with the Morningstar?’

‘That is for he and I to discuss,’ answered the knight. One of the men-at-arms dismounted and moved alongside him, raising his shoulder-guard and unhooking the curved pins that held it in place. This was repeated on the other side and the plates were lifted clear. The knight himself removed his gauntlets and unhooked the forearm and bicep protectors, laying them across his saddle. Slowly, and with care, the man-at-arms unhooked the leg-guards and greaves, lifting the soleless iron boots from around the knight’s legs and feet. At last the nobleman was free of all the armour, and the man-at-arms spread the pieces on a blanket and sat cleaning them with a cloth which he first dipped in a glass jar of grease.

The knight walked across to where we stood. He was a tall handsome man, with dark hair, tightly curled, and fine, delicate features — his eyes deep brown and close-set on either side of a curved Angostin nose. Beardless, he was not much older than Mace or myself, in his early to middle twenties.

‘I am Raul Raubert,’ he said, as if the name had a power. I had not heard it, and said so. He shrugged and smiled. ‘My family has… had… estates in the north. And you must be Owen Odell, the bard.’

‘I am,’ I admitted. ‘How do you know of me?’

He smiled again. ‘Who does not know of you? The sorcerer who aids the Morningstar, who cast his spells to save a witch from burning? The tales of you all are spreading far, my friend. Even to Ebracum, I understand.’ Noticing Astiana and Ilka, he turned away from me and bowed smoothly ‘Forgive my bad manners, ladies, but I have ridden far. Even so, that is no excuse for ignoring you. Raul Raubert, Earl of Arkney.’

I stepped forward. ‘The sister is Astiana, of the Gastoigne Order. And this is Ilka, one of our company.’

‘I am charmed,’ he said. ‘Your presence here gives grace to the setting.’ Swinging back to me, his smile faded. ‘Now to more pressing matters, if you please, master Odell. Where is the Morningstar?’

‘He will make his presence known — when he is ready, my lord,’ I said smoothly. ‘Do you come to fight him or serve him?’

‘Neither,’ snapped the nobleman. ‘I am an Earl of the kingdom. I serve only the King.’

‘The Highland King is dead,’ I pointed out. ‘Slain by Edmund. If you wish to serve kings, I suggest you travel to Ebracum.’

‘By Heavens, you are a provocative fellow! Beware, sir, lest I order my men to give you a thrashing.’

I could not stop myself and my laughter rang out. ‘You think me amusing?’ stormed the young knight, his face reddening.

‘No, I think you are an Angostin, born and bred. You stand in a forest, virtually alone, and you think to threaten me. Does it not occur to you that within the next few minutes you might die? Can such a thought seep through the mass of bone between your ears? The Angostins are hated here, whether they be northerners or invaders. And should the Morngingstar desire it, he will kill you without warning.’

‘You mean he is not Angostin?’ said Raul, astonished.

‘I mean exactly that.’

‘Then how has he raised a rebellion? Why would anyone follow him?’

‘I see you have had a sheltered upbringing, Raul Raubert. And life is about to offer you a number of surprises. But let us begin with the simple observation that there were kings and princes long before the Angostins invaded this land.’

His expression hardened. ‘Do not treat me like a dullard, sir. I am well aware of the kingdom’s history. I had thought, however, that the Morningstar was a brother noble who had hidden in the forest following the defeats on the battlefield. Such is the story that is spreading through the land. And he cannot be just another robber — otherwise the angel would not have led me here.’

Now it was my turn to be surprised. ‘Angel? I don’t understand.

’I came into the forest three days ago. We camped by a small lake to the west. As I sat by the water’s edge a vision came to me of a beautiful angel floating just above the surface of the lake. She asked my name. I told her. She said I should seek the Morningstar and told me to ride east. Last night she appeared again as I lay beneath the stars. Now I am here, and you tell me the Morningstar is no nobleman. I do not believe it!’

I lifted my hand, palm upwards. ‘Would this be the angel?’ I asked him, shaping the sunlight into the image of the young Megan.

‘Yes, by God’s grace! Who is she?’

‘A friend,’ I told him. ‘Come inside, my lord, and we shall wait for the Morningstar together.’

Piercollo had rebuilt the fire and was setting a pot of broth above it. I introduced him to Raul, but the nobleman merely nodded his head in the giant’s direction and then ignored him.

‘How goes it beyond the forest?’ I asked Raul.

‘Badly,’ he answered, settling himself beside the fire. ‘We won one battle in the north, scattering the enemy. We felt the tide was turning and were jubilant. But then Edmund himself took the field and three of our most senior nobles fled during the night with their men. We were crushed then, scattered. Men say that Edmund hanged every man he could catch. They herded the prisoners to a wood near Cousen and there weren’t enough branches for the ropes. So Edmund had gallows built. Six thousand men were slain there.

‘Now the forest is the last refuge for men whom Edmund terms rebels. You know he captured Detain, the Earl of Postney, and tried him for treason? He was hanged, part-boiled and dismembered. How can you try a man for treason when you are not his King?’