Morningstar (35 page)

“
Why do you love me?
” asked Ilka suddenly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s worry about that when we’ve killed the kings,” I suggested.

He chuckled. “You have great faith in our abilities, bard.”

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

“True.” He glanced back toward the campsite. “Why did they come?”

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

“Me? Why?”

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

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

“It will still be a song, Jarek. A great song.”

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

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

“Well,” said Wulf as we approached, “what is the plan?”

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

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

“Then keep your hand upon your blade,” answered Mace.

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

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

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

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

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

“We have no time for this,” said Mace.

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

“I know you all, your strengths and weaknesses. But know this: The fires in your souls will draw them to you. They will sense your presence, they will feel you close. Whatever you do must be done swiftly. You will have no time to hide and wait—once inside the city, you must strike fast and hard. And if a Vampyre is close, kill it. Remember what I told you: The enchanted blades will cut them down, or fire will consume them. Not so the kings; they must be beheaded.

“I will be with you. But as I said, I have few powers left. Once inside the walls, you will rely only on each other.”

“God will be with us,” said Raul. “I’m sure of that.”

Megan said nothing.

We crouched down in the undergrowth at the edge of the tree line, watching the sentries prowling the battlements.

“Why wait for the dawn?” whispered Wulf. “Surely it would be better to creep down under cover of darkness.”

“Look at them,” answered Mace, pointing at the sentries. “Hooded and cowled against the coming light. They are Vampyres, and they can see in the dark better than you in bright sunlight. No, we wait. They will leave before the dawn, and then men will replace them. Still sleepy-eyed and half dreaming of warm beds. That’s when we move.”

“It is a great risk,” muttered Corlan.

Mace chuckled. “Seven swords against a Vampyre city, and you talk of risks?”

Corlan grinned. “I think we are all insane.”

The sun slowly crept above the eastern mountains, and the sentries disappeared from sight. “Now!” ordered Mace and we left the shelter of the trees and ran down the slope toward the walls. I kept my eyes fixed to the battlements, expecting at any moment to see a line of archers appear with bows bent, arrows aimed at our hearts.

But there was nothing, and we arrived at the cold stone wall apparently undetected. Slowly we traversed the city until we
reached the floodgates set below the southern wall. The portcullis was old and rusted, debris clinging to the iron spikes.

“What now?” asked Raul Raubert. “It must be years since this gate was raised. It is rusted solid.”

Mace splashed into the murky water and moved closer, examining the latticed iron. Piercollo joined him. The giant reached out and took hold of a vertical bar, his huge hands closing around the rotted iron. The muscles of his arms swelled out and his face reddened with the effort, but slowly the iron twisted in his grip. Flakes of rust fell to the water, then two rivets snapped clear. Transferring his grip, Piercollo began to work on a second vertical bar, then a horizontal. Within minutes he had opened a gap wide enough to allow entry.

Handing his longbow and sword to me, Mace clambered through. I passed his weapons to him and followed. One by one the others joined us until only Piercollo was left on the outside. “I cannot make it larger,” he said, and only then did we realize that he could not join us. His massive bulk would never squeeze through so small a gap.

“Wait here for us,” said Mace, and without a backward glance headed off into the dark depths of the city sewers.

The stench was nauseatingly strong, and I did not look down at the water swirling around my boots. We heard the skittering of rats, the scratch of tiny talons upon stone, but we waded on into the darkness. When Mace drew his sword, it blazed bright, casting huge shadows on the gleaming walls.

None of us spoke as we moved on. Such was my fear that I do not believe I could have forced words from my mouth.

The tunnel branched to the left, and we followed its winding course. A swimming rat brushed against my shin … then another. I drew my dagger and in the ghostly light saw hundreds of the black shapes swimming around me.

I almost panicked then and began to thrash about, kicking out at the rats. Mace waded back to me, grabbing my arms. “Keep calm!” he hissed.

“I can’t stand them!”

“They are not harming you, but you are making too much noise!”

I took a deep, shuddering breath, fighting for control. Ilka’s voice whispered into my mind: “
I am with you, Owen
.” I nodded and swallowed hard, tasting the bile in my mouth.

“I am fine. Lead on, Jarek.”

As we rounded yet another bend, I saw a corpse floating facedown in the filthy water. It was bloated, and the stink of corruption was lost amid the foulness of the sewer; the clothes had snagged on a jutting stone. Two rats were sitting on the dead man’s back. What a place to die, I thought. What an awful resting place. There were more corpses farther on, some in the water, some on the narrow stone banks. The light of Mace’s sword sent shadows across the dead faces, giving the appearance of life and movement. I could not look and fixed my gaze to Corlan’s back.

Suddenly Mace halted and glanced to his right. There was an alcove there, deep and shadowed. He stepped toward it, and I saw a child huddled against the stone.

“Don’t hurt me!” she pleaded.

“No one will hurt you, little one,” I said, moving toward her, but she shrank away, her eyes wide and terrified. Wulf stepped in quickly, gathering a rag doll that lay beside the child and holding it out to her.

“Is this your friend?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“It’s Mira,” she told him.

“Well, you hold Mira tight because she must be frightened. And I’ll carry you. Come on. Otherwise you’ll get wet and cold.”

“We are cold,” she said. Wulf reached for her, and she moved into his embrace, her head resting on his neck.

Mace’s sword slashed down, cutting through her back. She made no sound but slid from Wulf’s grasp.

“You bastard!” roared Wulf.

“Look at her!” responded Mace. “And feel your neck!”

I came alongside Wulf, saw the tiny puncture wounds in his throat, and glanced down at the child, seeing for the first time the elongated canines and blood upon her lips.

The tiny rag doll floated away.

“Who would make a Vampyre of a child?” asked Raul Raubert.

“How did you know?” I asked Mace.

“Megan told me. She is here with us. Now, let’s move on.”

Wulf remained staring down at the corpse. “I will avenge you,” he promised.

It was difficult to gauge time within the Stygian gloom of the
sewers, but it must have been several hours before we finally reached a set of iron steps set into the wall. Far above we could see daylight spearing through a metal grille. Mace sheathed his sword and began to climb. I followed him, anxious to be out in the open air no matter what perils might await us there.

Mace eased the grille clear and clambered swiftly to the cobbled alleyway beyond. One by one we followed him.

The alley was deserted, and I glanced around, trying to get my bearings. To the right was the spire of the Church of Saint Sophas. To the left I could see the tall crenellated keep that was now a museum.

“We are in the merchants’ quarter,” I said. “The Street of Silk is down there, and that leads to the palace.”

Mace nodded and gazed at the sky. The sun was already past its zenith.

“We don’t have long,” he said grimly.

Sunlight was bright and warm upon their backs as we moved off through the city. Everywhere windows were shuttered, doors bolted. And beyond those whitewashed walls, within the silent buildings, were hundreds of Vampyres awaiting only the night.

“Don’t think of that!”
warned Ilka.

But I could think of nothing else as we headed for the palace.

As far as we could, we kept to the alleyways and narrow streets, moving silently through the city past deserted market stalls and shops. Mace was in the lead, an arrow notched to his bow. Wulf came next, then Raul, Ilka, and myself. Corlan followed behind, his pale eyes watching every building, every shadowed entrance.

But we saw no living creature. Bodies lay everywhere: livestock, horses, dogs. All drained of blood.

At last we came in sight of the palace, and Mace ducked behind a high wall, beckoning us to follow him. There were two sentries, hooded and cowled, standing in the shadows beneath the arched double doors of the governor’s residence. They were some fifty paces distant, and they had not seen us.

“What now?” asked Raul.

Mace leaned in close to Wulf. “Do you think you could hit the man on the left?” he asked.

The hunchback glanced around the wall and sniffed loudly. “As long as he stands still. We need to loose our shafts together.
Either one of them could raise an alarm. You take the one on the right.”

Mace took several deep breaths, then looked at Wulf again. “Ready?”

“Aye.”

The two bowmen stepped out into the street, drawing smoothly back on their bowstrings. “Now!” ordered Mace. The silver shafts flashed through the air, arcing high and then dropping. Mace’s arrow thudded into the chest of the man on the right, who stumbled back. His companion turned, and Wulf’s shaft plunged into his neck. “Let’s go!” snapped Mace, sprinting across the open ground toward the palace.