David Gemmell - Morningstar

As we rose, Brackban and several of the officers approached us, Astiana with them. She moved alongside Mace. ‘May God be with you,’ she said.

‘There is a first time for everything,’ he replied, forcing a smile.

Brackban reached out and took Mace’s hand. ‘Good luck to you, Morningstar,’ he whispered.

‘Don’t look so solemn,’ Mace told him. ‘We’ll be back.’

Wulf came running across the clearing, longbow in hand.

‘Where do you think you are going, little man?’ Mace asked him.

‘To Ziraccu,’ answered the hunchback, scowling. ‘And don’t ask me why, because I don’t know.’

The possibility of stupidity should not be ruled out,’ quoted Mace.

Wulf grunted an obscenity which made us smile and then Mace led us off towards the south-east.

The day was bright, but the clouds were gathering to the north, dark and gloomy. In the distance we could hear the far-off rumble of thunder. I walked alongside Ilka, holding to her hand. I had tried to dissuade her from accompanying us, but she had been adamant.

‘I would worry about you,’ I told her.

‘And I you,’ came her voice in my mind. ‘But let us face it, Owen, I am a better fighter than you. At least with me there, you’ll have someone to protect you.’

It was a compelling argument, and I felt a little ashamed for accepting it. But, in all honesty, I was pleased she was there and, with the threat of death so close, I did not want to miss a single moment of her company.

We walked through most of the morning, halting for a brief lunch just after noon. Then we were on our way again, coming in sight of Ziraccu at dusk. The city was silent, the gates locked. But we could see sentries upon the walls, and I wondered what manner of men could agree so readily to serve the needs of the Undead. Had they no heart, no conscience? What could they have been offered to make them become servants of evil?

But there was no answer to such a question. There never is. The workings of an evil mind cannot be gauged.

We made camp in a hollow and lit a small fire against a south-facing rock-wall, where the light could not be seen from the city. There was little conversation at first, for we all faced our fears in our own way. Ilka, whose talent was growing, could touch the minds of all the company, feeling their thoughts. Raul was thinking about his family and brighter, happier days in the north country. Corlan’s mind was roaming back over all the dark deeds he had committed, while Wulf was remembering his wife and lost children. Piercollo was recalling days of sunshine and grape harvesting in Tuscania, while Mace was quietly planning his route to the central palace.

‘Why do you love me?’ asked Ilka suddenly.

‘You make my soul complete,’ I whispered, drawing her in close to me, feeling her head resting on my shoulder, her lips against the skin of my neck.

‘You are a romantic, Owen Odell. How will you feel when I am old, wrinkled and white-haired?’

‘To arrive at that point will mean that we have walked life together, and I will be content. I will have watched each white hair arrive. That will be enough for me.’

And we talked long into the night. I told her of my father and brothers, and of our estates by the south coast. She, in turn, spoke of her life. Her mother had died when Ilka was six and she was raised by Wulfs older brother and his wife. He had died in a hunting accident, gored to death by a wild bull. After that Wulf had supplied food for the family. Of her rape and mutilation she said nothing, and I did not press her. Better by far, I thought, for those memories to be buried deep, covered by layer after layer of love and friendship.

At last we slept, all save Mace who sat by the fire deep in thought.

Two hours before dawn he woke me and I rose silently, not disturbing Ilka. Mace walked away from the camp-site, climbing a hill and sitting upon a fallen tree, staring out over the walls of the distant city.

‘It will be simple to get in,’ he said. ‘Getting out is an altogether different question.

’Let’s worry about that when we’ve killed the Kings,’ I suggested.

He chuckled. ‘You have great faith in our abilities, bard.’

‘Well, I don’t think this is the time to concern ourselves with failure.’

‘True.’ He glanced back towards the camp-site. ‘Why did they come?’

‘I can’t answer for them all. Raul is here because he is a knight and is sworn to fight against evil; also he made an oath to you. Corlan is here because he would not allow Raul to appear superior to him. Ilka came because of me. Piercollo owes you his life, and Wulf loves you like a brother. As for me, why, I also came because of you.’

‘Me? Why?’

‘This may sound trite, Jarek, but I believe in the Morningstar. I always did. It doesn’t matter that you do not. What is important is what they believe,’ I said, my arm sweeping out to encompass the forest. ‘All those people in need of a hero. You are that man, they will remember you all their lives. And, in a thousand years, they will speak of you as they speak now of Rabain. Who knows, one day perhaps there will be an outlaw standing in this forest who will wonder if he is like the Morningstar.’

‘This isn’t a song, Owen. In all probability we’ll die today.’

‘It will still be a song, Jarek. A great song.’

‘I hope you are here to sing it,’ he said, the smile returning. ‘But more important than that, I want to be around to hear it too.’

Back at the camp the others were awake, sitting silently waiting for Mace.

‘Well,’ said Wulf, as we approached, ‘what is the plan?’

‘There is a storm outfall by the south wall. It branches off through the city sewers and there are three exits close to the palace. We’ll make our way to the first, find the Kings, kill them, then get out the same way.’

None of us believed it would be that simple, but only Raul Raubert spoke. ‘There are portcullis gates across the outfall,’ he said, ‘and the entrance is sure to be guarded.’

‘Then keep your hand upon your blade,’ answered Mace.

A figure moved from the undergrowth and Mace leapt to his feet with sword in hand — only to relax as he saw that it was Megan. The old woman was wearing a hooded cloak of soft grey wool, and she carried a long staff of knobbled oak.

‘I thought you were remaining in the village?’ said Mace, sheathing his blade and leading her to the fireside.

‘So did I,’ she answered ‘but I need to be closer to the city. My powers are weaker than I realized.’

None of us spoke for a while, and I sat beside Megan and looked into her face. She was tired — bone-weary. I laid my hand upon her arm. ‘I want to thank you,’ I said softly, ‘for all you have done for me.’

She nodded absently, then took a deep breath. ‘Gather round,’ she ordered us. One by one we sat before her, all except Mace who stood back with hand on sword-hilt, ‘When we talk of good or evil in a man,’ she began, ‘we do not think of the flesh or the muscle. We speak of the soul. And every man living is capable of both great evil and great good. The soul is like a fire with two colours of flame, white and red. The holy man will build the white. But the red is always there, waiting.’

‘We have no time for this,’ said Mace.

‘Be patient, Morningstar,’ she chided him. ‘Now the Vampyre is a changed being; he has had the white drawn out of him, and he burns with the red. There is nothing of the white fire within him, nothing that can give birth to kindness, love or caring. He exists only for himself, only to gratify his appetites. You all know that Vampyres feed on blood. That is not quite true. Blood is life. They feed on the white, and the more they feed the stronger they become. It is not that they have no souls, but they burn with a different light; they feed on innocence and purity. That is why there will be evil men within that city untouched by the Vampyres, working alongside them. There is so little of the pure spirit within them that there is nothing for the Vampyres to feed on.