David Gemmell - Morningstar

‘And then?’ prompted Megan.

‘It is not Azrek. The man is tall, his eyes jet-black, his hair white and long. He gazes at me. ‘You desire knowledge,’ he says, his voice deep and melodious. ‘And you shall have it. The wisdom of the universe will be yours. Now fetch me two men, strong men, for my brothers ache to live again.’ I did as he bade me, and in the days that passed I watched more soldiers becoming Vampyres; I saw them move among the people of the city, I heard the screams, the begging, the cries of the damned. On the eighth… no, the ninth day I tried to flee. Early in the morning, with the sun bright and the city apparently deserted. But as I reached the shadows of the postern gate he was there. Golgolgeth. I used all my power against him, but it was as nothing and he reached out and gripped my face, his long nails piercing the skin. ‘Foolish little man,’ he said, and I felt the enchantment being drawn out of me. ‘Go from here,’ he told me. ‘Go into the forest. There you will wander, lost and alone, tired and hungry. And I will find you. Just as your love of life reaches its highest point I will find you — and take your soul.’ The gate opened, though no hand touched it, and he flung me out into the sunlight. I ran then… and ran… and ran. And now he is coming for me.’ He began to weep, but Megan whispered words of power and his head sagged forward.

The men in the room were silent for a few moments, then Mace cleared his throat. ‘It can’t be true, Megan! His mind has gone, for God’s sake.’

‘It is true, Morningstar. The Vampyre Kings have returned.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Brackban, breaking the stunned silence. ‘It is lunacy. His mind has obviously gone.’

‘Believe it!’ said Megan. ‘It is true. It was always the fear, from the first moments of Rabain’s victory. That is why the skulls were hidden far from each other — why three families took a blood oath to protect them for all time. The Vampyre Kings have returned and Ziraccu is a city in torment. But that is only the beginning. Soon there will be a Vampyre army swarming into the forest. And the defeated will not be allowed to die… with every victory Golgoleth’s army will swell. And then it will be as it was in this land two thousand years ago, a time of darkness and despair.’

‘How can we stand against Vampyres?’ asked Corlan. The man was visibly shaken, his eyes wide with fear.

‘Only as they did then,’ said Megan softly. ‘As Rabain did.’

‘But he was an enchanted warrior,’ put in Astiana, ‘or a demon summoned from Hell. He fought them with their own powers.’

‘He was no demon,’ said Megan. ‘He was a man — as were his companions. They did what true men always do: they stood against the dark and defied the might of Golgoleth.’

She fell silent then and her eyes sought out Jarek Mace. She was not alone in this. Everyone in the room turned to look at the outlaw warrior.

‘I am not Rabain,’ he said, his jaw set, his expression grim.

‘You are the Morningstar,’ said Megan.

Mace did not reply. Pushing himself to his feet he left the cabin. I hurried after him, finding him at the lakeside leaning against the jetty rail. The sun was behind the mountains, the sky ablaze, great shafts of light piercing the clouds. The lake was the colour of blood.

‘What is happening to me?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I answered truthfully.

‘I am going to leave. I’ll go south — right down to the coast. And I’ll take a ship across the sea, all the way to Ventria, where the palaces are roofed with gold and the mountains sparkle with precious gems. That’s what I’ll do.’

‘And what will happen to the people here?’

He spun on me. ‘I am not responsible for them! I am not a king — nor would I want to be. For God’s sake, Owen! It was all a jest! They took my money. I went after them. I couldn’t go alone, so I talked the men of the village into fighting alongside me. And the name was yours, from that stupid conversation about heroes! And that is all it is — a name. I was prepared to lead a force against Azrek — you know that. But a city of Vampyres. Hell’s teeth, Owen!’

‘A rather apt description, I would have said.’

But he did not smile. He shook his head. ‘Last night I actually prayed. I felt such a fool sending my words up into the night sky. But there was no answer.’

‘What did you ask?’

‘I asked for a way out — and a castle by the sea. What do you think I asked for? I needed guidance. And what do I get? A city full of the Undead.’

‘Corlan came to me earlier,’ I told him. ‘He asked to be released from the Soul Oath.’

‘You see, he’s no fool! He knows when the game is over.’

‘He told me he did not want any part in trickery or robbery or gain. He and his men have decided not to play the game, but to live it. He is fighting now for the people, for the land. For justice, if you will.’

‘Then I take it back. He is a fool. God’s blood!’ Suddenly he smashed his fist down on the jetty rail, which shivered under the blow, the wood cracking. Then he sighed and glanced up at the sky. ‘He must be laughing now,’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘God, the Devil, whoever was listening when Jarek Mace resorted to prayer. I feel like a pawn in someone else’s game. Whatever I do enhances the legend. If I was to piss in public, someone would swear a golden tree had grown from the spot.’

‘And yet you survive, Jarek. Have you considered this? Gareth and the Ringwearers are dead. Demons have been sent against you, sorcerous beasts have hunted you, a host of the Dead have come for you. Yet you live! Have you thought of that? I am not a religious man, Jarek. I don’t know if there is a God, or many gods. But I have seen the Halls of Hell, and I know there is a power granted to those who wish to do evil. Yet here in this land, because of you, a man like Corlan will forsake his outlaw ways and be prepared to die for the cause. All over the forest men have been lifted by your deeds.’

‘My deeds?’ he stormed. ‘What have I done, save try to stay alive? You know I was merely trying to recover my money in that first attack. And you know also that I had no part in trying to save Megan. And as for Piercollo… I wanted the tax money. You think they would sing about me if they knew?’

‘You still don’t see it, do you?’ I told him. ‘There is a power granted to the evil. But in balance there must also be powers given to the good. My father used to study history. He sat us down one evening and told us many stories. But each had a common theme. In the darkest hour of any nation there will always come a man to fit the moment. Here and now, you are that man.’

‘I don’t want to be. Have I no say in it?’

‘I do not believe that you have.’

‘I am heading south in the morning. You can believe that!’

We stood then in the gathering darkness, but there was no comfort in the silence. I could feel the tension radiating from him, the bitterness and the frustration. But I knew that he would not leave. He was chained to a destiny he did not desire, and though he would rail against it he was powerless to change it. On my travels I have met many actors and performers. There was a man once called Habkins, who played out the great dramas — the Fall of the King, Caracaun, the Dream of Lances. One evening before a performance I saw him, sitting ashen-faced in the wings. We spoke at some length and he explained that he hated performing, that it always made him nauseous.

‘Why then do you do it?’ I asked him. He looked at me as if I had asked the most ludicrous question.

‘The applause,’ he answered.