Morningstar (22 page)

“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 center 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 sabers.

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 toward 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 nearly 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 inquired.

He smiled at me. “Why, I shall attempt to rescue our friend,
of course. Is that not what you would expect from the Morning-star?”

“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 saber.

“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 were 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 onto 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 fomicator.”

“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 center.

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 gray-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 gray beard.

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 it 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, tripled. 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 Graybeard. “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 broken 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.