‘You see me as a king, perhaps? King Jarek?’It hardly matters how I see you. It is how they see you.’The smile faded. ‘I am a man, Owen. You heard what the sorcerer said, and I would admit to being a murderer. As to rape . . . that was untrue. I have never needed to force myself on a woman. But I have stolen, and I have deceived, and I have lied and I have cheated. I say this without shame. This land of ours is
made for strong men, and strong men will always take what they want from the weaker. I know what I am – and I am not your Morningstar.’The sky lightened, pink and gold seeping above the eastern mountains. I rose to my feet and stretched. The sun slowly filled the sky with light, and the dawn was majestic. I leaned over the parapet and gazed down at the ramparts.
The host of the dead were gone. All that remained were a few rusted helms, broken swords, scraps of leather and white shards of bone.
The sun was bright upon my face, its warmth pure, its light healing to the soul.
The rays fell upon the skeleton by the door, and I saw again the gold ring upon a finger of bone. No longer glowing, it was of thick, red gold set with a white stone. Reaching down I drew the ring clear, lifting it close to my eyes. On the inner rim the goldsmith had engraved a line of verse in the ancient tongue of the Belgae. The rhyme is lost in translation, but it read:Guard am I, sword pure, heart strong.
The circle of the ring was tiny, but when I touched it to the tip of my signet finger it slid into place, fitting snugly. I gazed down at the skeleton. ‘I think you stood at your post when all others would have fled. I think you were a brave man, and true. May you know ,>rest!’Ilka was awake and I felt her eyes upon me. I smiled at her, embarrassed now for speaking to the dead who had no ears to hear. For the first time she returned my smile, and I found her to be beautiful.
The shock was both exquisite and curiously debilitating. My mouth was suddenly dry and I found myself staring at her, wondering how I had never before noticed her loveliness. The smile faded as I stared and she turned away and walked to the battlements, looking out over the wooded valley and the shining lake.
‘Let’s be moving,’ said Mace. ‘I don’t want to be here when real warriors arrive.’Piercollo shouldered his pack and we returned to the hall of the keep. Mace jumped down into the cellar and rummaged among
the weapons, gathering two more quivers of black arrows and a second dagger.
I looked around, aware that something was missing.
Then I remembered.
It was the skull.
And it had gone . . .
Chapter Eight
It was High Summer when we finally reached the town of Pasel, a river settlement in the high country some three days north of Rualis. The economy of the town was based on timber. The loggers would cut the tall pines and strip them of branches, then haul them to the river, where they would be floated down to Rualis on the wide Deeway. Pasel was a rough town, not as violent as Rualis, but there were many fights and much blood shed during the summer when itinerant workers would journey north seeking employment and the town swelled with whores and merchants, tinkers and thieves. The mountains here were rich with game and hunters would gather to trap the beaver and bear, lions and wolves. And when hungry for pleasure the hunters and trappers would converge on Pasel to rut and fight and gamble away their hard-won coins.
Beyond the town, upon a gentle sloping hill, there was a round keep manned by twenty militia soldiers. These men, led by a taciturn captain named Brackban, maintained what order they could in such a rough place.
Mace knew the town well and led us to an ill-smelling tavern on the east of the settlement. It was some two hours after dusk and the huge ale-room was crammed with customers – loggers in their sleeveless leather jerkins, trappers in furs, whores with earrings of brass and necklets of copper, and lips stained with berry juice. -There were no tables spare and I saw Mace’s mood begin to darken. He moved to the rear of the room, where three men were sprawled across a bench, drunk and insensible. Mace seized the shoulder of the first, dragging him clear of the seat and dumping him upon the floor. The man stirred but did not wake. When the second man was hauled from his place, he awoke and tried to rise, but slumped back grumbling incoherently. The third came to with a start and tried to strike Mace – it was a mistake. Mace leaned back and the blow missed wildly; his fist cannoned into the man’s jaw, snapping back his head which cracked against the wooden