Read Morningstar for Free Online

foreign wars. The second, Braife, stayed at home to manage the estates, while I was to have entered the church. But I was not ready to wear the monk’s habit, to spend my life on my knees worshipping a God whose existence I doubted. I ran away from the monastery and apprenticed myself to a magicker named Cataplas. He had a twisted back that gave him constant pain, but he performed the Dragon’s Egg like no one before or since.
    That then was me, Owen Odell, an Angostin bard who in that dread winter was unable to make a living and who was sitting against a tree, growing colder by the moment, while his powers were being expended on a heartless killer who slept by his fire.
    I was not a happy man as I sat there, hugging my knees, my thin, stolen blanket wrapped tight around my bony frame.
    An owl hooted in the branches above me and Jarek stirred but did not wake. It was very peaceful there, I recall, beneath the bright stars.
*
    Towards dawn Jarek awoke, yawned and stretched. ‘Best sleep I’ve had in weeks,’ he announced. Rolling to his feet, he gathered his bow and quiver and set off without a word of thanks for my efforts. My power had faded several hours before and I had barely managed to keep Mace warm, while I was almost blue with cold. With shivering hands I threw the last small sticks on the fire and held my numbed fingers above the tiny flames.
    The morning sky was dark with snow-clouds, but the temperature was rising. Standing, I stamped my feet several times, trying to force the blood through to the frontiers of my toes.
    Walking deeper into the forest, I began to gather more fuel. The weight of the recent snow had snapped many branches and the smaller of these I collected in my arms and carried to my campsite, returning for larger sections which I dragged through the snow. The work was arduous and I soon tired. But at least I was warmer now, save for my hands. The tips of my fingers had swelled against my nails and they throbbed painfully.
    But all my discomfort was forgotten when the three men emerged from the forest to approach my fire.
    There are times when the eyes see far more than the mind will acknowledge, when the heart will beat faster and panic begins at the root of the stomach. This was such a time. I looked up and saw the three and my mouth was dry. Yet there was nothing instantly threatening about them. They looked like foresters, dressed in homespun wool, with leather jerkins and boots of soft hide laced at the front with leather thongs. Each of them carried a bow, but they were also armed with daggers and short swords. I pushed myself to my feet, sure in my heart that I faced great peril.
    ‘Welcome to my fire,’ I said, proud that my voice remained steady. No one spoke, but they spread out around me, their eyes cold, faces grim. They seemed to me then like wolves, lean and merciless. The first of them, a tall man, looped his bow over his shoulder and knelt beside the fire, extending his hands to the flames.
    ‘You are a bard?’ he said, not looking at me.
    ‘I am, sir.’
    ‘I don’t like bards. None of us like bards.’
    It is difficult to know how to react to an opening like that. I remained silent.
    ‘We come a long way in search of your fire, bard. We seen it last night, twinkling like a candle, built where no sensible man would. We walked through the night, bard, expecting a little coin for our trouble.’
    ‘I have no coin,’ I told him.
    ‘I can see that. It makes me angry, for you’ve wasted my time.’
    ‘How can you blame me?’ I asked him. ‘I did not invite you.’
    He glanced up at one of the others. ‘Now he insults us,’ he said softly. ‘Now he says we’re not good enough to share his fire.’
    ‘That’s not what I said at all.’
    ‘Now he calls me a liar!’ snapped the man, rising and moving towards me, his hand on his dagger. ‘I think you should apologize, bard.’ It was then that I knew for certain they planned to kill me.
    ‘Well?’ he asked,