Morningstar (30 page)

“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 armor 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 armor, 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 closely 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.” As he swung 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 Morningstar 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 upward. “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 Delain, the Earl of Postney, and tried him for treason? He was hanged, partly boiled, and dismembered. How can you try a man for treason when you are not his king?”

I shrugged. “The conquerors make the laws, my lord. Should they judge it treason for a Highlander to breathe mountain air, then it
is
treason.”

“How great is the Morningstar’s army?”

“It has not yet lost,” I said carefully, “and therefore is in better order than the one you left.”

“But can it stand against Edmund?”

“Time will answer that, my lord.”

“You are being evasive. How many cavalry do you have? How many knights? Men-at-arms?”

“I am but a humble bard, Raul Raubert. These questions must wait until you meet the Morningstar. You have ridden far. Rest for a while.” I cast a spell of drowsiness; it is not one of my better enchantments, being a variation on the spells of contentment and warmth, but Raul was already weary, and he yawned and stretched out on his side, his head pillowed on a rolled blanket.

“Wake me … when he returns,” he said.

“Of course, my lord,” I told him, my voice low and soothing.

I rose and moved outside where the men-at-arms were sitting together on the grass. One of them stood and approached me. He was a burly fellow with short-cropped, wispy black hair balding at the crown.

“Where is my lord?” he asked.

“Sleeping. Have you come far?”

“Far enough, by God! We’ve had our asses kicked from the northern sea to the edge of the forest.”

“You took part in the battles?”

“Aye, for what it was worth. Is there any food here? We haven’t eaten for three days.”

“Of course. Wait here and I’ll bring you some broth.”

I ate with them, learning their names and their background. The man who had first spoken to me was called Scrymgeour.
He had served the Arkney family for twenty-two of his thirty-seven years, first as a stable boy and then as senior herdsman for their vast herds of cattle. The other two were Cearus and Ciarhan, brothers who had been part of the Arkney contingent. Two hundred men had marched from the north—these three remained.

“How did you escape?” I asked Scrymgeour.

“Blind luck. Lord Raul is not the brightest of men, but he’s a bonny fighter. They hit us from both sides, having knights hidden in a wood on our flank. Lord Raul charged at them as they charged at us. We followed, and somehow we cut through them. Some of them swung their mounts to give chase, but as we entered the woods, a mist came up and they lost us. By the time it had cleared, the battle was over, if battle it could be called. God’s teeth, you should have seen the bodies. As far as the eye could see! So we headed southwest. God knows why! But he has this dream now that the Morningstar will free the land.”

“You don’t think that he will?”

“Ain’t likely. Look at the stories. He robs a tax column, rescues a witch. What else? I don’t doubt he’s a hero, but he’s not an army, is he?”

“Not yet,” I agreed.

He shook his head. “This Edmund is a great warlord, no question. His troops are well disciplined, his captains know their trade, and his tactics are brilliant: hit hard and fast. He’s never lost. I’ve seen three battles now, and believe me, there’s no stopping him.”

“Why, then, do you stay with the earl?”

“His father asked me to look after him. A great man, he was, and good to me and mine. Fair, you know? Two years ago I was gored by our sire bull—laid up three months. My wage was paid, food was brought to my wife, and the old earl’s own surgeon came to tend my wounds. You don’t forget that.”

“No, I imagine you wouldn’t,” I agreed. “He died, I take it?”

“He was hanged by Azrek. They had to carry the old man from his sickbed to do it.” His face darkened, his eyes narrowing. “Doubt he knew what was going on. Paralyzed, he was. Couldn’t speak.”

“Why did they hang him?” I asked softly.

“Said he was supporting rebellion, we were told. The news only reached us a fortnight past. That Azrek is the worst kind of scum. The old earl was his uncle, you know. Many’s the time he came north as a boy to play in the estates at Arkney. He virtually grew up with Raul. Twisted little swine he was then. I caught him once torturing a puppy. Said it bit him, lying little toad!” He cleared his throat and spit. “But he can fight, too. Good swordsman, best I ever saw. Gilbaud Azrek. I hope I live long enough to ram six inches of steel into his guts!”

It was coming on toward dusk when Mace and Wulf reappeared, their bows across their shoulders. The brothers, Cearus and Ciarhan, were asleep. Scrymgeour was sitting with whetstone in hand, his back to a tree, sharpening his sword with long sweeping strokes.

“What took you so long?” I asked Mace.

“Once we saw you were in no danger, we decided to backtrack them to see if they were alone.”

“And they were?”

“Of course. You don’t think we’d have come back if it was a trap.”

“Nice to know,” I told him.

Grinning, he walked past me and approached Scrymgeour. The man-at-arms stood and sheathed his knife.

“You know who I am?” Mace asked him.

“I’d guess you to be the man called Morningstar.”

“And that doesn’t impress you?”

“Should it?”

“No, it shouldn’t, my friend,” said Mace. “I don’t want dreamers around me, men with their heads full of legends and fables. I want men who know how to keep their swords sharp and their wits sharper.”

“Good enough,” said Scrymgeour. “They say Azrek has offered two thousand gold pieces for your head.”

“The price has some way to go, I think,” Mace told him.

“You’re not Angostin. You sound like one, but you’re not, are you?”

“I am the Morningstar,” said Mace. “I am the mountains and the forest. I am the voice and heart of the Highlands. With all of this, do I need to be Angostin?”

“I am not the man you have to convince,” said Scrymgeour
at last. “My lord lies sleeping in the shelter. Convince him and you’ll have me.”

“I like loyalty in a man,” said Mace easily, though I could sense his annoyance. He had turned his full power and charm on Scrymgeour, but to no avail, it seemed. He swung away, and we walked toward the shelter. In the few brief strides before we reached it I told him of Raul and the vision Megan had sent him. He nodded and asked no questions.

Inside the ruined cabin I awoke the nobleman. Seeing Mace, he scrambled to his feet, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Welcome to my camp, Raul Raubert,” said Mace, his voice deepening, the accent sharpening and becoming more Angostin.

“You are …”

“I am the man the vision sent you to find.”

“To which of the noble houses are you connected, sir?”

“All that is past, Raul. Dead. Burned to ashes. Here I make no distinction between Angostin and Highlander. You understand? Here we are all men, and we will be judged by our actions. Once you were the Earl of Arkney. Now you are a young man abroad in the forest with nothing more than your armor and your weapons. It matters nothing that you are Angostin. Out there you are less than nothing, for you cannot catch a rabbit for your supper, and if you could, I doubt you’d know how to prepare it. You would starve in the summer, freeze to death in the winter. How will being Angostin save you? From this moment you are a Highlander, nothing more and nothing less.”

The young man blinked and swung his gaze first to me, then to Wulf and Piercollo, and finally back to Mace.

“I … don’t know what to say. I am Angostin and proud of it. I don’t know if I can put that aside.”

“There is always more than one choice in life, Raul,” said Mace sternly. “You can, if you wish, ride from here and seek a ship to take you across the sea. You can sign on as a mercenary knight in foreign wars. Or you could put aside your armor and seek employment in the south under another name. Perhaps you could be a scribe or join a monastery. But I hope you will stay here and fight for your country and your people.”

“I want to fight,” said Raul. “Gilbaud Azrek murdered my father, and I must avenge him. My soul will not rest until I do.”

“Then what are you, Raul Raubert?”

“I am a warrior. A knight. What would you have me say?”

“What are you?” repeated Mace. I saw that Scrymgeour and the brothers had entered the shelter and were listening intently. Raul swallowed hard.

“I am a Highlander,” he said.

He made as if to kneel, but Mace stepped forward, taking him by the arms and pulling him upright. “I don’t want men on their knees,” he said. “I want men who will bow the knee to no one.”