Gemmell, David – Morningstar

Jarek Mace said little as we walked on that first day. His wounds

were troubling him, but there was more on his mind than merely pain.

We built a fire in a shallow cave and boiled some oats in a makeshift bowl of bark. I sat and watched the flames licking at the wood, yet unable to burn through because the water within the bowl was absorbing the heat. We shared the porridge and then placed the empty bowl back upon the fire. It was consumed almost instantly, as if the blaze was exacting its revenge for being thwarted.

‘He died well then, Corlan?’ asked Mace, breaking the long silence.

‘Yes. He charged them all, fearlessly.’He shook his head. ‘Who would have thought it? Is he in Heaven, do you think?’I shrugged. ‘I have never believed in Paradise. But we have seen Hell, Jarek. So who knows?’I like to think he might be. But then how would they weigh the balances? He was a robber and a killer. Did this one act of courage eclipse the rest of his deeds?’ He sighed and forced a smile. ‘Listen to me! Jarek Mace talking of Paradise.’I think you are talking of redemption – and, yes, I believe no man is so evil that he cannot redeem himself. He saved my life. No question of that. He acted with great heroism – as did you.’Nonsense! I went there because the bastard was hunting me. I was looking out for myself.’There is no one else here, Jarek,’ I said wearily. ‘Just you and I. So let us drop the pretence. You are the Morningstar. It is your destiny. You know it, and I know it. And you journeyed to the heart of the evil because you had to, because that is what being the Morningstar is all about. You are no longer Jarek Mace the outlaw, the man of bitterness. You are the Lord of the Forest and the people worship you. In a thousand years they will speak of you. You have changed, my friend. Why not admit it?’Still the romantic, Owen? I have not changed.’You are wrong. You once told me that friendship was merely a word used to describe one man needing some service from another. You said it did not exist in the form bards use. But Corlan died for you – and the people of this land. You know that is true. And when you were ready to tackle Golgoleth alone you did not

expect anyone to accompany you. But we did. And something else . . . though you will not admit it. . . if I, or Wulf, had been in your place, and set off alone to the Vampyre city, you would have accompanied us – even if Golgoleth had never heard your name.’Pah! Dream on, bard! You do not know me at all, and I will not have you force your heroic images on to me. I like you, Owen. I like Wulf. And, yes, I would risk much for you both. That much I have learned. But I will always look after my own interest first. Always! And I will give my life for no man.’His face was flushed and angry, his eyes bright with a kind of fear. I was about to speak, but I saw in him then a secret terror and I knew, with great certainty, that he understood the inevitability of his destiny. I felt cold suddenly, and into my mind came the image of the garlanded bull being led through the streets, with the people cheering and throwing flowers beneath its feet. But at the top of the hill, in the bright sunshine, waited the priest with the curved knife, and the altar upon which the blood would run.

Our eyes held, and I knew that similar thoughts were filling the mind of Jarek Mace. He licked his lips and tried to smile, and I knew what he would say – what, indeed, he had to say, the words like a charm to ward off the evil of that final day in the sun.

‘I am not the Morningstar, Owen. I am not.’But we both knew. He was watching my face intently. ‘Well, say something, Owen, even if it is to disagree.’I looked away. ‘I don’t know what the future holds,’ I said, ‘but we are friends, and I will stand beside you.’That may not be a safe place to be,’ he whispered.

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