Morningstar

CHAPTER EIGHT

It was High Summer when we finally reached the town of Pasel, a river settlement in the high country some three days north of Rualis. The economy of the town was based on timber. The loggers would cut the tall pines and strip them of branches, then haul them to the river, where they would be floated down to Rualis on the wide Deeway. Pasel was a rough town, not as violent as Rualis, but there were many fights and much blood shed during the summer when itinerant workers would journey north seeking employment and the town swelled with whores and merchants, tinkers and thieves. The mountains here were rich with game and hunters would gather to trap the beaver and bear, lions and wolves. And when hungry for pleasure the hunters and trappers would converge on Pasel to rut and fight and gamble away their hard-won coins.

Beyond the town, upon a gentle sloping hill, there was a round keep manned by twenty militia soldiers. These men, led by a taciturn captain named Brackban, maintained what order they could in such a rough place.

Mace knew the town well and led us to an ill-smelling tavern on the east of the settlement. It was some two hours after dusk and the huge ale-room was crammed with customers — loggers in their sleeveless leather jerkins, trappers in furs, whores with earrings of brass and necklets of copper, and lips stained with berry juice. There were no tables spare and I saw Mace’s mood begin to darken. He moved to the rear of the room, where three men were sprawled across a bench, drunk and insensible. Mace seized the shoulder of the first, dragging him clear of the seat and dumping him upon the floor. The man stirred but did not wake. When the second man was hauled from his place, he awoke and tried to rise, but slumped back grumbling incoherently. The third came to with a start and tried to strike Mace — it was a mistake. Mace leaned back and the blow missed wildly; his fist cannoned into the man’s jaw, snapping back his head which cracked against the wooden wall behind. He sagged sideways; Mace hit him twice more, then threw him to the floor.

Sliding into the now vacant seat, Mace leaned upon his forearms and bellowed for a serving-girl. As we seated ourselves a plump woman wearing a dress of homespun wool and a leather apron pushed her way through to us. She was tired, her eyes dull, but she forced a smile, took our order and vanished back into the throng.

Ilka was nervous and sat close to Piercollo, her eyes glancing from left to right at the milling men. His huge arm moved around her shoulder and he patted her, as one would a frightened child. She smiled up him. I almost hated him then and wished that I too could be seen as a guardian of the frightened, a warrior of note.

It was impossible to hold a conversation in such a place and when the ale and food were carried to us we ate and drank in silence, each with our own thoughts.

A young man, slim, his face scarred, put his hand on Ilka’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper in her ear. She shook her head, but his hand slid down over her breast. Piercollo moved swiftly, pulling the man clear. The Tuscanian said nothing, but his arm tensed and jerked and the unfortunate suitor flew back into the throng as if launched from a catapult. Mace chuckled and shook his head.

The noise behind us faded away and I turned to see the scarred young man moving forward again, but alongside him was a huge trapper dressed in a wolfskin coat. The man was bald and beardless, but he sported a long red-gold moustache, braided at the ends.

He reached Piercollo and tapped the giant’s shoulder. ‘You have insulted my brother,’ he said.

Piercollo sighed and stood. ‘Your brother has the manners of a donkey,’ he told him.

The newcomer smiled. ‘True, but he is still my brother. And while Karak is here no one lays a hand on him.’ Even as he spoke the man launched a punch. Piercollo swayed back, his own hand sweeping up, the fingers closing around Karak’s fist and catching it easily. I saw the Tuscanian’s knuckles whiten as he squeezed the captured hand.

‘Piercollo does not like to fight,’ he said softly. ‘Piercollo likes to sit and drink in peace.’ The man’s face twisted in pain, his right hand reaching for the dagger at his belt, but Piercollo squeezed harder and I heard a knuckle crack. Karak winced and groaned, and his hand fell away from the dagger. ‘It would be good for us to be friends,’ said Piercollo, ‘and perhaps drink together. Yes?’

‘Yes,’ agreed the man, the word almost exploding from between clenched teeth.

‘Good,’ said Piercollo, with a wide smile. Releasing Karak, he patted his shoulder almost affectionately and turned back to hisseat. In that moment the man drew his dagger. Piercollo, his back turned, rammed his elbow into Karak’s face, catching him on the bridge of the nose. Everyone in the room heard the bone break. Karak staggered back with blood pouring from his nostrils. Then with a wild cry he leapt at Piercollo. The Tuscanian stepped in to meet him, his fist thundering against the man’s chin. There was a sickening crack and the attacker fell, his knife clattering across the floorboards.

‘You’ve killed him!’ shouted the scarred young man, dropping to his knees beside the body. For a moment we all thought this might be true, but the injured Karak groaned and tried to move; his jaw was shattered, his nose broken. Several men moved forward to aid him, turning him to his back, where he lay gasping for some time before his friends gathered around him, carrying him from the room.

‘If you could have made that fight last a little longer, I might have won a few bets,’ said Jarek Mace.

‘I do not like to fight,’ repeated Piercollo, downing the last of his ale.

‘For someone who doesn’t like it, you are rather good at it.’

Piercollo shrugged, and it seemed to me that a great sadness had fallen upon him.

‘You had no choice,’ I told him. ‘He intended to kill you.’

‘I know, Owen, but it gives me no pleasure to cause pain. You understand? I like to hear laughter and song. He was so foolish; we could have sat together and had a drink, told stories and become friends. But no. Now he will spend months with broken bones. And for why? Because he has a brother with bad manners. It makes no sense.’

‘You are a good man,’ I said. ‘You were not to blame.’

‘I am not good man. Good men do not break the bones of others. I am weak, friend Owen.’

The doors opened and a group of men entered. I tensed, for one of them was the scarred young man and he was carrying a sword. ‘Oh, no!’ I whispered. Mace saw them and turned his attention to his ale; in that moment I knew he would leave the Tuscanian to his fate. I tapped Piercollo on the shoulder and pointed to the new arrivals. There were five men, all armed with swords or daggers. Piercollo pushed himself to his feet and I rose with him, my hand upon my dagger. Ilka also stood but Mace and Wulf remained where they were, studiously ignoring the proceedings.

Piercollo said nothing as the men advanced, but I pushed my way to the front. ‘He is unarmed,’ I said, keeping my voice even.

‘He is going to die,’ said the scarred youngster.

‘You think so? Let us see,’ I said, raising my hand palm upwards. First I created a flash of white light, spearing up from the palm to the ceiling — I always find this focuses the attention of the audience. The five men jumped back in shock. ‘And now the future!’ I said this in a loud voice, keeping their gazes locked to me. Instantly the image of Horga formed upon my palm, the enchantress standing just over two feet tall, a white dress billowing in an unseen breeze. ‘I call upon you, Horga,’ I said, ‘to tell us the future, if you will. Are there any here who will die tonight?’ She floated from my hand, circling the room, pausing now and again above grim-faced men who looked away, licking their lips, trying to still the terror in their hearts. Finally she returned to my hand and shook her head.

‘But there is to be a fight,’ I said. ‘Surely if such a battle takes place, someone will die?’

She nodded and spun on my hand, her finger pointing to the scarred youngster. Golden light blazed from her finger to engulf the young man and above his head appeared a skull, the universal sign of impending doom.

‘Thank you, Horga,’ I said, bowing to the image. She lifted her arms and disappeared. I turned my attention to the warriors. There has already been a fight,’ I told them, smiling. ‘An even contest that ended with broken bones. There is no need now for further violence. But if you wish it, we will oblige you.’

‘I am not afraid to die,’ said the youngster, but his eyes betrayed the lie.

‘Of course you are not,’ I assured him. ‘You are a brave man. You are all brave men. But death is eternal, and I like to think that when my time comes and the maggots feast upon my eyes, I will have died for something worthwhile. And I want my sons, tall sons, to stand beside my bed and bid me farewell with love in their hearts.’

‘He should apologize to me!’ said the young man, pointing to Piercollo.

The giant spread his arms. ‘If that is what you wish, then I do so gladly,’ he said. ‘I am sorry that you were offended, and doubly sorry that your brother is hurt. And I am deeply glad that I do not have to kill you. Will you drink with us? Piercollo will pay.’

The man nodded and sheathed his sword, the others following his example. They did not stay long, but they drank with us and the enmity ended there.

Just before midnight a young nun entered the tavern and moved between the tables, collecting coin. Stopping before us, she held out a leather pouch. ‘To feed the poor and the sick,’ she said.

Each of us gave a silver penny and she smiled her thanks and moved away.

Mace’s eyes never left her. ‘What order was she?’ he asked me.

‘I think she is a Gastoigne. They have braided belts with three tassels.’

‘Celibates?’ he asked. I nodded.

‘What a waste,’ he said. ‘I wonder if she lives nearby.’

I know what you would be thinking, my dear ghost, were you capable of thought: Where is the princess? Where is the great love of the Morningstar for whom he risked his life on a score of occasions, climbing tall towers under silver moonlight, journeying into deep, spirit-haunted caverns, fighting men and beasts conjured by sorcerers?

I could tell you-with a degree of truth — that she didn’t exist. Or at least, not as the myths would have you believe. I will say no more now. For Mace’s great love is both a part of my tale, and yet not. But I will leave that riddle to be explained in its proper place.

The woman who gave life to the stories was quite different. To begin with, her hair was not spun gold, nor was her skin alabaster white. She was not tall, standing at just over five and a half feet, and her beauty did not make men gasp. She was what some men call a handsome woman, her features regular, her mouth full and sensual. As to her eyes they were hazel, the brows heavy — indicators, in my experience, of a passionate nature.

Her name was Astiana and she was the Gastoigne sister seeking alms in the tavern. And while it is true that Mace noticed her, it was only in the way he noticed most women. He gave no other thought to her that night, and indeed spent it in the company of a buxom serving-girl with a gap-toothed smile and welcoming eyes.

There were no rooms in the tavern and Wulf, Piercollo, Ilka and I left the place just after midnight and slept in a field close by.

Mace found us just after dawn and we sat and talked for a while. Piercollo wanted to buy supplies and, since it was Market Day, we decided to stay in Pasel. By mid-morning we were bored and anxious to be on our way. The town offered little in the way of entertainment and the market was dull. Piercollo obtained two sides of ham, a sack of oats, some sugar and salt, and various dried herbs and seasonings. He was content, and we were all ready to move on when Astiana came to the Market Place.

She climbed the wooden steps to the auctioneer’s platform and began to preach to the crowd, who gathered round to listen. She spoke of love and caring, of the need to help those less fortunate. Her speaking voice was good, though not powerful, and her delivery was less than perfect. But she made up for this with passion and belief, her every word hammering home into the hearts of the listeners.

Even so I was surprised that the crowd remained for she began to criticize Angostin rule — the unfair taxes and the criminal behaviour of the conquerors. Then she spoke of the hope of the people and cried out the name of the Morningstar. A great cheer went up.

This was dangerous talk and I looked around, seeking out the militia.

They were there, lounging against the walls of nearby buildings, but they made no attempt to stop her. At last a tall officer, with braided blond hair beneath a helm of iron, stepped forward. ‘That is enough, sister!’ he called.

Astiana turned to him. ‘You should be ashamed, Brackban,’ she chided. ‘You serve the cause of the evil upon this land.’

‘You have had your quarter-hour, Astiana, and now the auctioneer is waiting and there are cattle to sell. Step down, if you please.’

The slender nun raised her hand and blessed the crowd, then walked swiftly from the platform, and I saw Brackban wander away into the nearest tavern.

The cattle auction had no interest for me and I returned to my companions, who were sitting at a bench table near the town centre enjoying a late breakfast of bread and cheese. ‘She spoke well of me,’ said Mace. ‘Fine sentiments.’

‘She was not speaking of you, Jarek,’ I told him coldly.

‘You are in a foul temper this morning.’

‘Not at all. It is just that I see things more clearly now.’

‘Have I done something to offend you, Owen?’

Piercollo had wandered to the edge of the crowd, watching the auction. Ilka was beside him; both were out of earshot. ‘Offend me? Last night our friend could have been slain, and you did nothing. You left him to his fate. I find that despicable.’

‘You did well enough without me,’ he pointed out, ‘and why should I risk my life for the man? I did not ask him to break the fellow’s jaw; it was nothing to do with me.’

‘Had it been you under attack, would you have expected us to stand with you?’

‘No,’ he answered simply. ‘Nor would I have asked you.’

‘We were ready to leave when a troop of soldiers rode in, scattering the crowd at the auction. Hauling on their reins, the fifty men sat their mounts while their officer dismounted and climbed to the platform, pushing aside the auctioneer.

‘By the order of Azrek, Lord of the North,’ he shouted, ‘the town of Pasel is now under direct military rule. The militia is hereby disbanded. My name is Lykos, and town leaders will assemble this evening one hour after dusk at the keep, where I shall inform them of the new laws and taxes decreed by the Lord Azrek. There will be a curfew at dusk and anyone found abroad after this will be arrested. There will be no public meetings, and no gatherings until further notice.’

I saw Brackban walk from the tavern and stand with arms folded before the newcomer. ‘Pasel is not in your lord’s domain,’ he said. ‘You have no authority here.’

‘Azrek is the Lord of the North, a post given him by Edmund the High King. Do you dispute the King’s right by conquest?’

‘Pasel is a free town — also by decree of the King,’ argued Brackban. ‘Our taxes are paid in full, and held for you at the keep. But we report to the Lord of Rualis. I repeat, Azrek has no authority here.’

‘Who are you, soldier?’ asked Lykos.

‘I am Brackban, captain of militia.’

‘The same Brackban who allows sedition to be preached in the town centre by outlawed sects?’ Lykos sneered.

‘Since when have the Gastoigne nuns been outlawed?’ answered Brackban.

‘Since their Abbess was nailed to the gates of the Abbey,’ shouted Lykos. ‘Arrest him!’ Several soldiers leapt from their mounts and ran at the captain.

Brackban jumped back, his sword hissing from its scabbard. The first man to rush in died instantly, his neck half-severed, but before the sword could rise again Brackban was overcome and borne to the ground.

The crowd stood by, silent and uncertain. ‘There is a reward of twenty silver pieces to the man, or woman, who identifies or captures the traitress known as Astiana. She will be brought to the keep this evening, or this entire settlement will be judged as traitors, their property forfeit.’

‘I am Astiana,’ came a high clear voice, and I saw the young nun step forward from the back of the crowd. Two soldiers moved alongside her, pinning her arms.

The crowd surged forward and the soldiers swung their mounts, many of which were frightened by the sudden movement. One horse went down. I don’t believe the crowd intended violence at that moment, but in the confusion the soldiers drew their swords and lashed out at the town-dwellers nearest to them. What followed was panic, rearing horses and people running in every direction trying to escape the swords of the soldiers.

It was a miracle that no one was killed, though many were later treated for wounds, deep cuts caused by the slashing sabres.

I saw Piercollo shepherding Ilka from the scene. Then a horseman moved in, his blade slicing down. Piercollo swayed back from the cut, then grabbed the man by his cloak and hauled him from the saddle. Instantly soldiers bore down on him. Ilka tried to draw her sword but Piercollo pushed her from him, sending her sprawling to the ground.

I made to rise and run to his assistance, but Jarek Mace grabbed my shoulder. ‘Wait!’ he ordered.

‘Take him alive!’ yelled Lykos, and more soldiers leapt from their mounts, to rush in towards the Tuscanian. Two he felled with sweeping punches, but he was tripped from behind and fell heavily, striking his head upon a wooden post. Then he was still.

Rolling him to his belly, they bound his hands.

Mace pulled me back from the table where we sat into the shadows of the eating-house. Wulf was nowhere in sight.

Lykos strolled down to the now near-deserted square and stood before the bound giant. Piercollo was conscious now and three soldiers hauled him to his feet. ‘I saw you in Rualis,’ he said. ‘You were with the man known as the Morningstar. Where is he?’

Piercollo said nothing and Lykos struck him savagely across the face.

‘You will tell me all you know,’ he said. ‘Take him away.’

Mace dragged me back inside the deserted eating-house as the soldiers prepared to depart. Wulf emerged from a shadowed alcove.

‘What now, Mace?’ he asked.

The warrior released his hold on me and rubbed his chin, his eyes thoughtful. ‘No matter what that officer said, the town leaders will have a meeting. Find out where it is to be held and when — and try to gauge the feeling of the militia. Is this Brackban popular? And the nun, how do the townspeople feel about her?’

‘What are you planning?’ I enquired.

He smiled at me. ‘Why, I shall attempt to rescue our friend, of course. Is that not what you would expect from the Morningstar?’

‘Yes, it is — but not what I would expect from you.’

‘Life is full of surprises, Owen.’

Ilka came in, her eyes wide and fearful but her expression determined. She stood before Mace and he glanced down at her. ‘We will do what we can to free him,’ he told her. She nodded and tapped the hilt of her sabre.

‘Even to fighting for him,’ agreed Mace. She smiled then and took hold of his hand, kissing his fingers.

The owner of the eating-house came in from the street. He was a tall, fat man with small feet, who walked with the grace of a dancer. A curious sight. ‘A bad business,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Very bad.’

‘What did Brackban mean about Pasel being a free town?’ I asked him.

‘When the war began we refused to send men to serve against Edmund. As a reward, he declared Pasel a free borough. No man resident here with land pays tax. But trappers, hunters and loggers all pay a portion of their profits to the King.’

‘The gratitude of kings is short-lived,’ observed Mace.

‘It would appear so. Can I fetch you more food, sirs?’

Mace asked for some toasted bread and cheese, while Ilka.and I ordered hot oats and honey. We sat in silence while the owner prepared our second breakfast. When he returned Mace bade him join us, and he poured himself a flagon of ale and sat with us.

‘Brackban spoke well,’ said Mace.

‘A good man,’ replied the owner. ‘He led a company of soldiers in the Oversea War — received a golden medal after the siege of Ancour. Little good it will do him now. We told him to order the nun from Pasel, but he refused. God’s curse upon women with sharp tongues!’

‘A pretty young piece,’ put in Mace.

‘Pretty? I suppose so. But trouble! Spends her days begging for coin and then feeding the crippled and the useless. I ask you, what is the point of such actions? A man is useful only as long as he can contribute to the general good. To feed him thereafter is to waste good food and prolong his agony. Better that he die quietly with dignity.’

‘Perhaps she believes all life is sacred,’ I said softly.

‘Pah!’ was his first response. Then: ‘Last autumn a tree fell upon the legs of a young logger, crushing the bones beyond repair. The man was finished and ready to die. But no! She takes him in, feeding him, reading to him. The pour soul lived another six months before gangrene finally took him. You think he thanked her for making him suffer?’

‘Perhaps he did,’ I offered. Below the table Mace’s boot cracked into my shin.

‘Women,’ he said. They all make us suffer one way or another. But tell me why Brackban refused to send her away. After all, he was the captain of militia.’

‘Besotted with her, I suppose’, said the owner. ‘That’s all I can think. Now he’ll hang for it — or worse.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Mace. ‘Perhaps he’ll be rescued. Who knows? The Morningstar may come to his aid.’

‘Morningstar! Why would he care what happens in Pasel? This is a working town, full of working men. They say he is a rebel lord — another cursed Angostin. He’ll end up as a duke or something, pardoned by the King. They look after their own. Bastards!’

‘I’ve heard,’ whispered Mace, leaning in close, ‘that the Morningstar is of the line of Rabain.’

‘Would that were true! But it isn’t, man. These stories are like children’s tales. Men tell them to make us feel there is hope. There isn’t hope for the likes of you and me. We just earn our bread and hope to stave off sickness and death long enough to sire a family. This is the world of the Angostins, and even if the Morningstar was Rabain himself they would snuff him out like a candle.’ Pushing himself to his feet he smiled ruefully. ‘Well, it was nice talking to you, but I’ve work to do.’

Wulf returned after an hour or so and slid on to the bench alongside Mace. ‘Brackban is well-liked, a regular hero.’

‘What about the woman?’

‘Tolerated, but not loved. She’s an outsider and she expects people to live up to the teaching of the church. Not just praying, mind, but actually doing. She’s made a lot of enemies — most especially the local priest. Stood up in his church and pointed to his whore and his children — asked him where in the Book it says a priest can behave like that!’

‘In front of the congregation?’ asked Mace, amazed.

‘In the middle of his sermon. Called him a fornicator.’

‘She said that in church? For a nun she has little shame. Spirited, though. I don’t suppose the priest is campaigning for her release.’

Wulf chuckled. ‘Says she’s demon-possessed and ought to burn.’

‘What about the meeting?’

‘You were right. It is at a barn on the western side of the town. They’ll be heading there now.’

‘Then let’s join them,’said Mace.

I was baffled by Mace’s actions, but I said nothing as we walked through the town. The streets were empty, but there was blood upon the hard-baked clay of the town centre.

The barn was tall, used to house all the winter feed for the local cattle, and it was situated in a wide meadow surrounded by trees. As we approached it, a militia soldier carrying a spear stepped out into our path.

‘What’s your business here?’ he asked.

‘We have come for the meeting,’ said Mace.

The soldier stared at him for a moment. ‘I don’t know you,’ he said.

‘Yes, you do, my friend,’ responded Mace, with a broad smile. ‘For I am the Morningstar. And this is Wulf the Hunchback and Owen Odell the bard.’ He did not introduce Ilka.

The man stepped back, mouth open. ‘If this is some kind of jest

‘You think I would jest while my friend is a prisoner in the keep — while they prepare Brackban for hanging?’

The man was impressed — as well he might be. Mace was an inspiring figure, tall, handsome and rakish, the very fabric of legend. The soldier hesitated. ‘I’ve been told to keep all strangers away. But not you, sir. They’d not want me to stop you, God bless you!’

Mace patted the man’s shoulder and we walked on. He turned to me. ‘Make my entrance dramatic, Owen.’

Two more soldiers stood guard at the double doors of the barn, but they had watched us walk past the first sentry and therefore greeted us more warmly.

‘You are a little late,’ said one. The meeting has already started.’

Mace said nothing but strode inside. Some forty men were present, seated on bales of hay, listening to a grey-headed elder who was talking of making an appeal to Azrek in Ziraccu. Mace walked to the front while Wulf, Ilka and I remained behind the listeners.

‘Who are you, sir?’ demanded the greybeard.

I let fly the spell and golden light flared around Mace’s head, rising to form an arched rainbow beneath the rafters.

‘I am the Morningstar!’ thundered Mace. He let the words hang in the air for several heartbeats. Then: ‘And I am here to see if you will allow the enemy to hang Brackban.’

‘No, we won’t!’ shouted one of the guards, but the assembled townsmen sat silently. These were hard-nosed men of business, traders, merchants, landowners. They might have been unhappy over the fate of Brackban, but they would sacrifice him in an instant to save their livelihoods.

Mace shook his head. ‘All over the north the banner of rebellion is being raised. The Angostins are finding that the Highlanders do not make willing slaves. They pay a toll now to travel our roads. They pay it in blood. They will go on paying it in blood until we are free of them.

‘I know what you are thinking — each and every one of you. You do not want war to visit this town. You do not want to see your buildings burning, your wives raped and your children murdered. You want life the way it was. There is nothing shameful in that, my friends; that is what we all want. But is too late. In the south of the forest the Angostins have burned and pillaged the settlements. They are bringing in Ikenas to settle the land. Look at the events of today! You are a free town, yet foreign soldiers can ride in, arrest your captain of militia and take their swords to innocent citizens. What will come next? Taxes will be doubled, trebled. They will take everything you have.’

‘And what do you suggest?’ asked the elder who had been addressing the men when we arrived. ‘War? We have just lost a war-all our knights and nobles slain.’

‘Angostin knights!’ stormed Mace. ‘Angostin nobles! North against South. Who cares what happens to Angostins? How many Highland knights were there? How many Highland nobles? But this war we will not lose. Even now I have an army building that will sweep the enemy from our lands. A Highland army!’

‘Where is this army?’ asked another man. ‘I see no warriors.’

‘You will see them, my friend. But they are not needed here — not where there are Pasel men of stout heart and great courage. Highlanders! Or has Angostin wealth eaten into your souls, turning your blood to water?’

‘It hasn’t turned mine to water!’ shouted a stocky bearded man, rising to his feet. ‘What would you have us do?’

'Sit down, Jairn,’ ordered Greybeard. ‘No one here has given this man the right to speak for us.’

‘Yes, sit down, Jairn,’ said Jarek Mace. ‘Sit down for the injustice. Sit down while they slay your captain. Sit down while they break their promises and rape your wives. Sit down and listen to spineless old fools like this one.’

‘No!’ roared Jairn. ‘I’ll be damned if I will. When my leg was broke the Fall before last, it was Brackban who came to my farm and brought in my crops. And you, Cerdic, who was it that gathered the men to help you rebuild when the fire gutted your home? It was Brackban! And when raiders took the prize cattle, who was it that hunted them down? Who was it that brought them back to their owners? Is there any man here who would sleep well at night knowing that he did nothing to help Brackban in his hour of peril?’

Several of the men shouted agreement but the majority began to talk among themselves, arguing in loud voices. Mace raised his hands for silence, but he had lost the attention of the crowd.

I sent up a swift spell-sphere, dark and small, that exploded like a thunderclap.

There was silence then all right!

‘Now there is no more time for talk,’ said Jarek Mace. ‘All those who will fight to see Brackban freed, walk to the left. Those with no stomach for justice can remain seated.’

Jairn was the first to stride across the barn. Others followed until only seventeen were still seated. Mace called the sentries to him. ‘Make sure none of these cowards leave this barn until morning,’ he said.

‘You can’t imprison us!’ a balding sandy-haired merchant complained.

Mace dragged the man to his feet. ‘I can do what I like with you, you gutless piece of horse-dung! Be thankful I’m leaving you alive!’ Hurling the man from him, he swung on the remaining sixteen. ‘There comes a time when a man has to choose sides,’ he told them. ‘When the day of freedom comes the Highlanders will know who fought for them — and who left them to rot. Then there will be a reckoning. Prepare yourselves for that day!’

I think he was unfair on them. Several were old and as to the others — well, it is no crime for a man to know fear, or to need time to reach weighty decisions. Some, no doubt, were family men concerned for wives, children or infirm parents. But he left them feeling ashamed.

We walked into the sunlight where Mace sat down with Jairn and the others. For some minutes I sat with them, but battle plans and strategies were of little interest to me then and I wandered away with Ilka to sit on a stone wall and stare out over the mountains. I had no idea as to why Mace should suddenly become the hero, and it unsettled me. I felt I had missed something of import — as indeed I had.

Ilka sat beside me and pointed to the harp-bag slung from my shoulder.

‘I am in no mood for music,’ I told her. She looked crestfallen and I relented. ‘What would you like to hear? A ballad? A dance melody?’ She shook her head. ‘What, then? A marching tune? A battle song? No? Then I am at a loss, lady.’

Leaning forward, she touched my chest just above the heart, then gestured towards the trees and the mountains and the sky.

‘You would like to hear the music of the land?’

She nodded and smiled.

I tuned my harp and, closing my eyes, let my mind flow free, my fingers dancing upon the strings.

But it was not the music of the land, nor of the trees or mountains. It was the music of the birth of love as I felt it then on that summer’s day on a stone wall, beneath a cloudless sky. After a while I opened my eyes, watching her as she listened, and I saw that her eyes were moist with tears, her cheeks flushed.

I know now that she understood my feelings, reading the message in my music from the first halting notes.

But I was younger then and not so wise.

The assembled men discussed plans for attacking the castle for almost an hour before Wulf, his face flushed and angry, heaved himself to his feet and stalked across to where we sat.

‘How goes it?’ I asked him.

He hawked and spat. ‘What if? That’s all I’m hearing. Let’s storm the walls! What if they’ve hot oil? Let’s burn the gates! What if they charge out at us? I shall go insane if it carries on much longer. Already some of them are losing the will to fight. They ask: ‘What if we win? What then? More troops will be sent, the town will be put to the torch.’

‘Surely the taking of such a small keep should pose little difficulty?’ I said.

‘Really? Well, why don’t you go and tell them, general? Mace is just about ready to crack skulls.’

‘Very well.’ Replacing my harp in its shoulder-bag, I strolled back to where the group sat. Wulf followed me — his anger replaced, I think, by amusement. When I saw that expression my doubts flared. Who was I to plan an attack? What experience could I offer? Mace glanced up as I approached. He too was looking angry, his face flushed. In that moment I realized it would be wrong to offer yet another opinion to the argument. It was time — as my father would have said — for decisive action. Yet even were my plan to be a good one — which I was beginning to doubt — then it would still take away from Mace the authority of the Morningstar, for it should have been he who thought of it. ‘Could I speak with you for a moment?’ I asked him. He nodded, stood and we walked away from the still debating townsmen.

‘A gutless bunch of whoresons,’ he said, as we moved out of earshot.

‘They need leading,’ I told him.

‘I am trying, damn you! I have never been an officer. And, to be truthful, I don’t know how to attack a castle, save to storm it!’

‘There are fifty men at the keep,’ I said, keeping my voice low. ‘But they will need to sleep — no more than four or five will be on watch in the darkest hours of the night. But we do not have to storm them; we have already been invited in. Lykos has ordered the town leaders to attend him at dusk. We will just walk in.’

‘And then what?’ he snapped.

‘Once we are inside, we will take Lykos as a hostage. Then I will send a signal to Wulf and the others, and they can disable the sentries and take the keep.’

As I outlined my plan I became more nervous, expecting its flaws to be brutally pointed out. Instead Mace slapped me on the shoulder. ‘By God, it is worth a try!’ he said. ‘I’ll put it to them!’

‘No!’

‘Well, we cannot do it alone!’

‘I know. That’s what I meant by leadership. You have been a soldier. At what point in a battle did your officer say to you, “Well, men, I’m thinking about signalling the charge, what do you think?” Now is the time to establish your authority. Think like a king, Jarek. Praise them for their courage and tell them what they are about to do.’

His eyes narrowed and he nodded solemnly, standing silently for a moment. ‘What if they laugh in my face? Or simply refuse?’

‘Then you tell them they are not worthy of the Morningstar and we leave.’

He swore then and rubbed at his chin. ‘By God,’ he hissed, ‘I’ll not be thwarted by this miserable bunch! If it is a performance that’s needed, then that’s what they’ll get!’

He grinned at me, then returned to the waiting group. But this time he did not sit among them; he stood with hands on hips, waiting. The conversations died down. ‘I have listened to all that has been said,’ he told them, speaking slowly and with great authority. ‘You are all Highlanders. You have courage. I am proud that you have chosen to stand beside me. Very proud. But the time for talking is done. Lykos has called for the town leaders to attend him at the keep. Ten of us will go. Wulf, you and the others will remain outside, hidden. Now I have already commended your courage, but the eight men who walk into that keep beside Owen and me must be warriors, swordsmen, daggermen, men who know how to fight. I cannot judge which of you are the best; you must decide that. Do it now, while I explain to Wulf what needs to be done.’

Signalling the hunchback to him, he turned his back on them and strolled away once more.

I watched the men, saw the change in them as fresh confidence filled them. For a moment only they were silent, then they began to talk of skills with the blade. Who should go, who should stay? From fear-born indecision they were now vying for the right to accompany the Morningstar.

I held the smile from my face and approached Mace and Wulf. ‘You have them,’ I told him. ‘That was well done.’

‘So easily swayed,’ he said, contempt in his voice.

‘It is a valuable lesson to learn. Men will always follow confident leaders — even if the way is fraught with peril.’

‘Well, it is that,’ said Wulf. ‘Ten men walking into the enemy’s fortress. I think you are insane.’

In that moment I felt the terrible weight of responsibility upon me. It was my plan, and on it rested Piercollo’s chance of life. I cared little for Brackban or the woman, since I did not know them then, but the giant Tuscanian was my friend and my fears for him were great.

All my nervousness returned, with doubled force. I have said that I had little interest in matters of strategy, but that was because my father and brothers were masters of the art. Young Owen, on the other hand, was a simpleton in such matters. I thought of the plan again, imagining my father examining it. Its one strength was in its simplicity, but the weaknesses were many. I tried not to think of all that could go wrong.

But if I was worried at that moment, it was as nothing compared with the nervousness I felt as we approached the keep. The sun had vanished behind the great peaks to the west, and the sky was the colour of blood as we walked slowly up the hill. The round tower with its gates of oak was a simple structure, no more than sixty feet high and perhaps one hundred and fifty feet in circumference. I had seen many such. On the ground floor would be the dining-hall, on the first the sleeping area, with its double-tiered rows of pallet beds. On the third was situated the home hearth of the captain and his lady, usually two rooms — a small bedroom and a dining area. Above that was the roof, from which archers could send down arrows, spears or hot pitch on any invading force. The small dungeons, perhaps two cells, would usually be dug into the hillside below the keep.

I guessed that Lykos would see us in his rooms on the third floor.

We could see a single sentry up on the roof, leaning over the battlements looking down as we approached. He shouted an instruction to the gatekeeper; we heard the bar lift and the gates opened.

Two armed men stood beyond them. ‘All weapons to be left here,’ said the first. We had expected this and Mace unbuckled his sword-belt, followed by Jairn and the other men, most of whom were Brackban’s militia soldiers — none wearing armour now but loose-fitting tunics and leggings of wool. The swords and knives were left on a bench inside the doorway. One of the sentries moved forward to search Mace; as he did so I sent a tiny Sound-spell into the man’s right ear, a buzzing like an insect. He jumped and twisted, then the sound moved behind him and he turned swiftly. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ the second sentry asked.

‘Cursed wasps!’ said the first.

‘Are we to stand here all night?’ asked Mace. The man swore, for the buzzing had sounded by his left ear now.

‘Take them up!’ he ordered the second man. Slowly we filed after the sentry, into the dining area where several soldiers were seated at a bench table, eating soup and bread, and on to a winding stone stair that led up through the sleeping quarters where around twenty warriors were lounging on their beds. Something about the scene aroused my fears, but there was nothing overtly threatening and I forced myself to stay calm.

At the next floor, to the right of the stair, was a door upon which the sentry rapped his knuckles.

‘Enter!’ came a muffled voice from within. Just as the soldier laid his hand on the catch, Jairn slid a short iron bar from his sleeve, cracking it down on the man’s neck. The soldier fell back without a sound and Jairn caught him, lowering him to the floor. Mace and the others drew the daggers they had hidden within the folds of their tunics and prepared to enter the room.

‘No!’ I whispered suddenly. Mace froze.

‘What is it?’My mouth was dry, and I knew with sick certainty that we had walked into a trap. But before I could explain I heard the stealthy sounds of footfalls on the stairs both above and below us. Mace heard them too. He cursed softly, then smiled. ‘It is not over yet,’ he said grimly.

And, hiding the dagger in his sleeve, he opened the door.

Slowly we filed inside. There were fifteen soldiers, armed with swords and shields, waiting for us. Lykos was standing at their centre, his arms folded across his chest.

‘Welcome, Morningstar,’ he said. ‘I shall do my best to make your stay as unpleasant as possible.’

‘You are too kind,’ Mace told him. Then, his voice calm, he spoke to me. ‘It is rather dark in here, Owen.’

The room was lit by several lanterns, casting dancing shadows to the walls, but I knew instantly what Mace wanted. Soldiers were crowding behind us on the stairs now, pushing their way into the room. The men with us did not attempt to resist, for they were in a hopeless position. I closed my eyes, let the power swell, then sent a blast of white light up to the ceiling, adding a thunderclap in the process.

In that moment Mace leapt at Lykos, the black dagger sliding into his right hand, his left arm circling the officer’s throat and dragging him back. The dagger-point pricked into the skin of Lykos’ neck.

‘Tell your men to lay down their weapons,’ hissed Mace.

‘No!’

‘Then die,’ Mace did not drive the dagger home, but slowly eased the point through the skin, slicing alongside the jugular. Blood spurted, but the wound was not yet lethal. The blade stopped. ‘Still just time to change your mind,’ said Mace, his voice pleasant, conversational, almost solicitous. It is one thing to face sudden death with courage, quite another to wait while a dagger slowly rips into your throat.

‘Lay down your weapons!’ ordered Lykos and one by one the soldiers obeyed him, their swords clattering to the floor.

‘Would someone be so kind as to free the prisoners from the dungeon?’ asked Mace. A tall warrior with a thin wedge-shaped face moved slowly towards the door. ‘Go with him, Jairn. You too. Owen. I’ll just stay here and become better acquainted with Captain Pig-breath.’

When the dungeon doors were opened we found Piercollo unconscious, his face bloody and bruised, his right eye swollen to the size of a small apple, blood seeping from below the lids.

Beside him the Pasel captain Brackban was chained to the wall. He was unhurt. ‘You are free, captain,’ I told him, ‘but I would appreciate your help in carrying our friend here.’

Brackban asked no questions and, when his chains were loosed, moved to kneel beside Piercollo.

‘They burned out his right eye with a hot poker,’ he said. ‘Lykos did it for pleasure, for he told us the Morningstar was sure to attempt a rescue, and he asked no questions of the big man.’

Gently he turned Piercollo to his back. The giant groaned in pain, then struggled to rise. Jairn and Brackban helped him to his feet.

We found Astiana in the next cell and she followed Brackban and Jairn out of the keep on to the hillside. I ran back up the stairs to where Mace still waited, his knife at Lykos’ throat.

‘They are clear,’ I told him. He nodded and backed towards the door, pulling the bleeding officer with him.

At the gates we gathered our weapons and ordered the soldiers to wait within the keep while we took Lykos out on to the moonlit hillside.

Wulf ran up to us, bow in hand. ‘What went wrong?’ he asked.

‘Everything,’ replied Mace.

We reached the safety of the tree-line where Brackban was sitting with the injured Piercollo. When Mace saw the blinded eye he dragged Lykos to a nearby tree, pushing him against the trunk. ‘Now you will die!’ he snarled.

‘Don’t do it, Jarek! He is a hostage!’ I shouted. ‘The rules of war state…’I do not play by their rules,’ said Mace. But the dagger did not plunge into Lykos’ heart; instead Mace lanced the point into the Angostin’s right eye, the blade twisting. The officer’s scream was awful to hear. Mace dragged the dagger back, then moved in close to the half-blinded man. ‘I’m going to let you live for a little while, you worm. So that you can suffer as he is going to suffer. But when you are healed I’ll come back for you. You hear me? The Morningstar will come back for you!’

Hurling the whimpering man from him, he stalked away into the forest.

I ran after him, grabbing his arm. ‘Why are you so angry?’ I asked him. ‘You won! You rescued Piercollo and the others.’

‘You fool, Owen! You heard Brackban back in the marketplace. They have all the tax money there in that damned keep. I could have been rich — and clear of this cursed forest. Now they’ll be hunting me even harder. A pox on your Morningstar!’

I felt confusion in my soul as we made our way deeper into the forest — in turns both elated and depressed. My elation came from recognizing the trap before it was sprung, the depression from walking into it in the first place. It made my plan seem naive and stupid, for I had been outthought by Lykos, and only Mace’s speed of action had saved us.

How had I known of the trap? I wondered at this for some time, and realized it was the soldiers in the sleeping area who had alerted my subconscious. As we walked into the keep, and up the long winding stair, I had seen soldiers lounging on their pallet beds. But the men had been wearing breastplates and boots. No warrior — save one expecting trouble — rests in this way. I should have seen it more swiftly, I know, but it was pleasing, even so, to realize that the weakest son of the great Aubertain could at times think like a fighter.

And was my plan so naive? No. What I had not considered was how the legend of the Morningstar would be interpreted by Lykos. Had he known the real Mace, Lykos would never have expected a rescue attempt. But he didn’t; he knew only the legend. And such a hero would surely die of shame were he not to attempt to aid his friends.

We made camp in a deep cave high up on the flanks of a tall mountain. From the entrance we could see the land around for miles, and there was no obvious possibility of a surprise attack.

On the walk to the mountain, each of the twenty-strong party — save Piercollo, who was in great pain — collected wood and tinder for the night fire. On Wulf s instruction I lit the fire close to the back wall of the cave. In this way the breeze from the entrance forced the smoke up against the rear wall and out of the cave overhead, leaving the air below pure and clean. The wood was dry for it had been gathered above ground, snapped from dead trees. Branches left on grass or moss or earth tend to soak in water and make poor fuel.

Astiana tended to Piercollo’s ruined eye, making a compress of herbs which she bound over the wound. Brackban, Jairn, Wulf and Mace sat together at the cave-mouth — discussing, no doubt, the events of the evening. The other men, mostly militia soldiers who had served with Brackban, stretched themselves out near the fire and slept.

Ilka approached me, taking my hand and pointing to Piercollo. ‘I am not a healer,’ I said gently. Lifting her right hand she waved it, fingers stretched miming the actions of a magicker. ‘That is not my skill, Ilka,’ I told her, but she continued to tug and I moved alongside the wounded man.

Astiana looked up, but did not smile. ‘It could become infected,’ she said. ‘It was not a clean wound.’

‘No infection,’ mumbled Piercollo. ‘They used hot metal… very hot. Very red. The eye is gone, I think.’

Taking a deep breath, I placed my hand upon the compress. ‘Tell me if this helps or hinders,’ I said, casting a Cooling-spell over the area.

Piercollo lay back, his good eye closing. ‘Better,’ he whispered. ‘Much better.’ I deepened the spell, my hand trembling with the cold. His breathing slowed and he slept.

I left the women tending him and joined Mace and the others. Brackban thrust out a meaty hand and grinned. ‘My thanks to you, sorcerer.’

I shook my head. ‘Sorcery is, thankfully, not my area of expertise, sir. But I was pleased to assist in your rescue.’

‘Talks prettily, doesn’t he?’ put in Wulf.

‘I don’t judge a man by how he talks,’ said Brackban, ‘but by how he acts. I know you did not enter that keep to rescue me; you were looking for your friend. But even so I am now in your debt — and I always repay.’

‘You have nothing to repay,’ Mace said easily.

‘I disagree, Morningstar. Jairn says you have an army in the south of the forest. I would be honoured to join it. I have some experience with soldiering; I have trained men for battle.’

As clearly as the sun shining through a break in a storm-cloud, I saw then what needed to be done. When I sent Corlan and his men south it had been to eliminate a danger to us, to put distance between us. But now Owen Odell, the son of Aubertain, knew without doubt what action was called for. The reign of Azrek in this land was evil — and evil must be countered wherever it is met. Mace had no understanding of this, but then Mace was no longer in control.

Before he could answer, I spoke up. ‘The army is not yet gathered, Brackban. When the Morningstar spoke of it he meant the men of the Highlands, who even now are tending farms or raising cattle.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, tugging at a blond braid of hair that hung from his temple.

I looked into his clear blue eyes. ‘There is no army — not yet. The time is not right. The war between north and south is barely over, the southern Angostins control all the major cities. To begin an uprising now would be futile. But soon the majority of their forces will travel back to the south, leaving garrisons to control the Highlands. Then we will gather the men; then we will cast the Angostins from among us.’

‘What then can I do?’ he asked.

‘You can recruit the iron core. Find men of courage, men with ability. Old soldiers, veterans. Then we can call the men of the Highlands to arms. We can train them, arm them.’

‘What about coin? Arms cost money.’

‘Go south and seek out a man named Corlan. He will supply coin. Tell him you are sent by Jarek Mace. Corlan leads the Men of the Morningstar. You will aid him where you can, but your responsibility will be the gathering of officers. The Heart of the Army.’

‘Is this the same Corlan who has brought murder and savagery to the forest for the last five years?’

‘It is. But he fights now for the Highlands.’

‘And you trust him?’ The question was asked softly, but Brackban’s eyes had hardened and I knew he was sceptical.

Mace leaned forward. ‘He has sworn the Soul Oath,’ he said. ‘As you will — as will every man here. If he betrays us he will die horribly. Is that not so, Owen?’

‘Yes. But it is not necessary for Brackban to swear. I can read his heart and he is a true man.’

‘I will swear it anyway,’ said Brackban.

Once again I conjured the dancing flame and watched as it glided along Brackban’s arm, disappearing into his chest.

‘Do you swear to follow the Morningstar unto the ends of life, and to give your life in order to free the Highlands?’

‘I do.’

‘So be it. The Soul Fire now burns inside you. It will strengthen your resolve and aid your courage. But should you ever betray the cause it will rot your body from within and you will die. You understand?’

‘I understand.’ He reached out his hand to Mace, who took it in the warrior’s grip, wrist to wrist. ‘Until death, Morningstar,’ he said.

‘Until death,’ agreed Jarek Mace.

Banking up the fire I slept, a thin blanket around my shoulders, my head pillowed on my arm. I could feel the warmth of the flames on my back, and my thoughts were mellow. Piercollo, though grievously hurt, was alive and free, due in no small measure to my own talents. I felt relaxed and free from care.

I drifted into sleep — and awoke by another fire, beneath a sky shining with the light of two moons — one a crescent, the other full and huge, its surface scarred and pitted like a silver plate engraved with black ink.

I sat up and stared around me. The landscape was flat, but the small blaze had been set on the brow of the only hill for miles. It was a poor place for a fire, with nothing to reflect the heat. And yet the setting was somehow perfect. I became aware — as dreamers do — that I was not alone; three other men sat close by, hooded and silent. I looked at the first man and his head came up. He was not unhandsome, the face slender, the eyes dark, skin swarthy. He pushed back his hood and I saw that he was wearing a black helm upon his long hair; he was not old, yet his hair was already silver.

‘You wear the ring,’ he said. The other two men had not moved and I switched my gaze to them. They shimmered and faded in the moonlight, and their heads remained shadowed within the hoods. ‘I am Gareth,’ said the first man, lifting his hand. I saw his ring then — the twin of the one I now wore, the white stone shining like a tiny moon.

‘I found it,’ I told him.

‘I know. It was at the Grey Keep.’

‘My ring,’ came a hoarse whisper from my left. The shimmering figure raised its head and the moonlight fell upon a translucent face, the image drifting between flesh and bone. One moment his features were clear and human, the next, as he moved, the skull shone through. ‘My ring,’ he repeated.

‘It was not my intention to steal it,’ I said.

‘Yet you have it,’ said Gareth.

‘It was upon the hand of a dead man. Is that theft?’

‘You took what was not yours.’

I could not argue against such logic and I shrugged. ‘I will return it if you wish.’

‘You read the inscription?’

‘Yes. Guard am I, sword pure, heart strong.’

‘Did you understand it?’

‘No.’

Gareth nodded. ‘I thought not. The sorcerer who attacked you — he would have understood. Not enough to be fearful, but enough to wreak chaos. What do we guard, Owen?’

‘I don’t know. Some hidden treasure? A holy relic?’

‘We guarded the Three, lest the evil should come again. Now two have been found, and the third is sought. Where do you stand in this?’

‘How can I answer? I do not know of what you speak.’

‘The skulls, Owen.’

Once when I was a small child I was playing on a frozen lake when the ice gave way beneath me. The shock of the icy water to my system was terrifying. Such was the feeling of dread that touched me now when Gareth spoke.

The skull at the keep. One of the Three. One of the Vampyre Kings.

‘Why do you guard them?’ I asked at last.

‘On the orders of Rabain and Horga,’ he answered. ‘When the Kings were slain, it was found that the skulls could not be destroyed. Horga took them and kept them apart. She tried to burn them in fierce furnaces. They were struck repeatedly by iron mallets. They were dropped from high cliff-tops, but they did not shatter on the rocks below, nor were they even marked. At last, defeated by them, Horga and Rabain ordered them to be taken to three secret locations, there to be guarded for eternity by the Ringwearers.’

‘You are a thousand years old?’ I asked him.

He smiled then and shook his head. ‘No. Three families were chosen from among Rabain’s knights. From father to son they passed the rings and the secret. It was never to be spoken of, but the head of the family was pledged to guard the resting-place of the skulls, so that they would never again be brought together.’

‘Why? What peril can come from old bones?’

He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘I cannot say. I do not know. But Horga claimed that if ever they were to be gathered to one place then a great evil would live again. The families were true to the promise of their ancestors. We lived our lives chained to the past, the Ringwearers… until ten years ago.’ He pointed to the furthest figure, who still had not moved. ‘Lorin spoke of the skull, and the word reached Azrek. You know of him, I believe?’

‘Yes.’

‘He sent men to the forest, hunters, killers. Lorin fought them off, slaying four of them, but they returned with Cataplas and Lorin died. But first they tortured him until finally he broke and talked of the Grey Keep.

‘Cataplas journeyed there with his killers. Kircaldy was there. He fought also, then barricaded himself upon the tower. Cataplas sent a spell of fire that burned the flesh from his bones, but Cataplas did not find the skull — not until you came and unwittingly made him a gift of it.

‘Now there is only one: the skull of Golgoleth, the greatest of the Vampyre Kings. Cataplas seeks it. Azrek desires it. It must be denied to them.’

‘Do they know where to find it?’

‘I think that they do.’

‘How?’

‘The Kings were joined by sorcery, and there are lines of power between the skulls. One was not enough to locate the others, but with two a skilled sorcerer will be drawn to the third.’

‘What would you have me do?’

‘Kircaldy and Lorin both died before they sired sons. Lorin’s ring was taken by Cataplas, but you have the ring of Kircaldy. Will you take on the responsibility of the promise? Will you become a Ringwearer?’

There was no need for me to consider my words. ‘I will,’ I said.

‘You may die for that promise, Owen Odell.’

‘All men die, Gareth.’

‘Then journey to the Troll Reaches. Come as quickly as you can. I will find you — if I still live.’I noticed then that the spirit of Kircaldy was no longer present. ‘Where has he gone?’ I asked.

‘To a place of rest.’

‘And what of Lorin? He remains.’

‘Cataplas has his ring. Until another guardian is found, Lorin will know no peace.’

When I awoke the cave was dark, the fire merely embers casting soft shadows on the far wall. I rose silently and walked to the entrance. A cold wind was blowing across the mountainside, but I found Mace sitting with his back to a boulder, a cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

‘You look lost in thought,’ I said, seating myself beside him.

‘There is much to think about. Do you think Rabain was like me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘An outlaw, a mercenary. Was he trapped into becoming the hero, or was he truly your Morningstar?’

‘I don’t know, Jarek. Once I would have said he was everything the stories claim. But now I have seen the birth of a legend.’

‘And you are disappointed.’

‘Not exactly,’ I told him. ‘You did stand upon the road alone and defy the Angostins, and you did fight your way clear on the day of the Burning. Because of that Megan was freed. You faced the Shadows of Satan and you rescued Piercollo. You have courage. No man can take that from you.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, staring away over the mountains.

‘What is troubling you?’

‘Brackban swearing to follow me unto death. I don’t want that sort of devotion; it makes me uneasy.’

‘I now understand the mystery of Cataplas and the Three,’ I said, seeking to change the subject. He was at once interested and I told him of the dream meeting with Gareth and the ghosts.

‘You believe it was a true vision?’

‘I do.’

And you intend to find this Gareth in the Troll Reaches?’

‘I must. I am now a Ringwearer.’.

He chuckled and shook his head.’

‘Oh, Owen, what a wondrous fool you are. What help will you give Gareth? How will you stop Cataplas and his killers? Sing them to death, perhaps?’ He laughed, and I felt foolish.

‘You could come with me,’ I pointed out.

‘Why would I wish to?’

‘You are a hunted man, Jarek Mace. Cataplas will find you one day — and with the third skull perhaps his powers would double. Then where would you be, Lord of the Forest? How will you battle the demons who will stalk you in these dark woods?’

Still good-humoured, he thumped my shoulder. ‘Good, Owen! You do not appeal to my fine nature, nor mention friendship and loyalty. You send your shaft straight to the gold. I like that!’

‘Then you will come with me? Gareth is in peril. He urged me to travel with all speed.’

‘I’ll think on it.’