Morningstar (33 page)

“Can you still hear me, Cataplas?” she whispered.

“I can, my lady.” His voice was stronger now, though slow and halting.

“You are carrying the skull of Golgoleth, and you are back in Ziraccu. How do you feel?”

“Very fine. I have them all now. The secrets of the past will be mine. My quest for knowledge and wisdom is almost at an end.”

“What do you do?”

“I run through the streets, my heart beating rapidly, and I mount the stairs to my rooms. But Azrek is waiting there. ‘You have it?’ he demands, stretching out his hand. ‘Yes,’ I tell him. He is pleased, but he does not smile. ‘Show it to me.’ The other two skulls are on my desk, and I hesitate. ‘Surely we must take care,’ I warn him. ‘We do not yet understand the power that may be unleashed.’

“He waves his hand angrily, strides forward, and takes the velvet pouch from my hands, pulling it open. So hasty is he that one of the sharp canines pricks his finger, and blood flows from the wound. I feel a surge of force, dark and cold, and I try to raise a spell to protect myself. But it is too late. Azrek staggers back, the skull glowing like a lantern. He tries to drop it, but it holds to his hands. The hands … they are glowing, too, every vein shining. I watch as the force flows up his arms. ‘Oh, God!’ he shouts. ‘Help me!’ I should have run, but I could not. The
light reaches his face—so bright. Then the skull fades and falls to ash. Azrek’s head is down, and I cannot see him clearly. But now he looks up. Oh, dear God, he looks up!” Cataplas said nothing for a moment, his mouth hanging open, a thin stream of spittle running to his chin.

“And then?” prompted Megan.

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

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

“It is true, Morningstar. The Vampyre kings have returned.”

11

“I
DON’T BELIEVE
it,” said Brackban, breaking the stunned silence. “It is lunacy. His mind has obviously gone.”

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

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

“Only as they did then,” said Megan softly. “As Rabain did.”

“But he was an enchanted warrior,” put in Astiana, “or a demon summoned from hell. He fought them with their own powers.”

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

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

“I am not Rabain,” he said, his jaw set, his expression grim.

“You are the Morningstar,” said Megan.

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

“What is happening to me?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully.

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

“And what will happen to the people here?”

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

“A rather apt description, I would have said.”

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

“What did you ask?”

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

“Corlan came to me earlier,” I told him. “He asked to be released from the soul oath.”

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

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

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

“Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I do not believe that you have.”

“I am heading south in the morning. You can believe that!”

We stood then in the gathering darkness, but there was no comfort in the silence. I could feel the tension radiating from him, the bitterness and the frustration. But I knew that he would not leave. He was chained to a destiny he did not desire, and though he would rail against it, he was powerless to change it. On my travels I have met many actors and performers. There was a man once called Habkins, who played out the great dramas—the fall of the king, Caracaun, the dream of lances. One evening before a performance I saw him sitting ashen-faced in the wings. We spoke at some length, and he explained that he hated performing: It always made him nauseous. “Why, then, do you do it?” I asked him. He looked at me as if I had asked the most ludicrous question. “The applause,” he answered.

I think that was how it was for Jarek Mace. He was a hero in
the eyes of the people. They cheered when he approached; they gazed at him with awe and adoration. Were he to turn his back on them, that love would become hate and they would despise him.

We stood for a while, then I returned to the cabin. Cataplas remained in his enchanted sleep, but Megan was sitting beside the fire, idly tossing twigs to the coals and watching them flare into dancing life. Ilka and Astiana were asleep, Wulf and Piercollo sitting at the table quietly throwing dice.

I moved alongside Megan. “You lied to me, lady,” I said, keeping my voice barely above a whisper.

“I lie to a lot of people,” she answered.

“You told me Cataplas was your teacher when he was your pupil.”

She nodded. “I had my reasons. Owen. And they were not evil.”

“Who are you?”

She laughed then. “Are you still seeking a princess for your song? I am what you see, an old woman who has lived too long and seen too much. Will Mace stay?”

“I think so. But can we defeat Golgoleth?”

“Rabain did.”

“You said that before, but it is no answer.”

She sighed. “What answer would you have me give you, Owen?”

I thought about it for a moment, then smiled ruefully. “You have a point.”

Suddenly her back stiffened, and she cried out. “What is wrong?” I asked her.

“We must get Cataplas out of here,” she shouted, pushing herself to her feet and stumbling to where the sorcerer lay. Shaking his shoulder, she woke him.

“I am tired,” he complained. Megan dragged on his arm.

“Golgoleth is coming for you!” she said. His eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet.

“No!” screamed Megan. “Don’t run! I can help you!”

But Cataplas darted through the doorway and into the night. Faster than Megan, I sprinted after him. The moon was shining now, and there was a sound in the air, a beating of invisible wings, a hissing of breath.

The trees to the south began to sway as if a great wind were
rushing through them. I saw Mace, still by the rail. He drew his sword, and it shone with a blinding light.

Cataplas stopped, turned, and looked to the south. He did not scream or cry out. Instead he fell to his knees, hands clasped as if in prayer.

The beating of wings grew louder, but there was nothing to be seen. An empty barrel rolled to its side; a shutter snapped away from a window. Thatch from rooftops was torn loose and swirled like snowflakes over the clearing. Men and women ran from their homes, twisting and turning, straining to see the monster that was almost upon them.

Then Cataplas screamed and rose into the air, great wounds appearing on his chest and back. Slowly and with infinite cruelty the invisible demon tore the wizard apart.

Megan ran to the spot below where the dismembered corpse hung in the night sky, some thirty feet in the air. Blood was splashing to the ground around her. Raising her hands, she pointed at the demon, and I saw her lips move, though no sound could be heard above the slow beating of the wings.

A shaft of light flashed from Megan’s hand, and for a single terrible moment we saw the demon. It was a creature of bone, no skin, no vital organs, no feathers or fur. Merely white, bleached bones and eyes that burned with dark fire. Its neck was curved, the head round like that of a giant eagle, and its beak was long and hooked. The light blazed around it as it hovered there, and the dark, smoky eyes gazed down at the old woman below. The talons that held the ghastly corpse opened, and the bloody remains fell to the ground. Then the demon swooped.