Morningstar Read Online Free

awake?”
    “No. I am always the first to rise. I milk the cows. I just wanted to … thank the bard.”
    “Of course you did,” he said smoothly. “And your father awakes at … ?”
    “It will be several hours yet. But sit down with your friend and I shall bring you an early breakfast. Cold meat and cheese with some fruit? And of course a jug of the best ale.”
    “Very kind,” he told her, bowing once more. She curtseyed and backed out of the room.
    “My silver and gold, if you please.”
    “What?”
    “There are six silver pieces,” I explained, “and two gold coins. If you wish to keep them, you can. But I shall tell the girl’s father of the attempted robbery and of the fact that your rescue was merely an accident as you tried to escape the watch. On the other hand, return to me my coins and you will be the richer by a breakfast and five gold pieces.”
    He chuckled then and tossed my money on the bed. “I like you,” he said. “I may kill you one day, but I like you.”
    I have known many men of violence in my long life—cruel men, brave men, evil men, noble men. Never have I met any who matched the complex amorality of the Morningstar. That first meeting remains etched in my mind. I can still see the dawn light seeping into the night sky and my guest kneeling before the embers of the fire, expertly blowing the dying coals to life and adding fuel. I can taste the dark bread that Petra brought, fresh and warm from the tavern bakery.
    Why that meeting should remain so clear while other, greater events are lost in the misty recesses of memory is a mystery to me. We sat and talked like old friends, discussing the weather and the state of the war. He had been a soldier in the army of the king but had despaired of the generals and their stupidity. After one defeat too many he had deserted. I am not now—nor ever was—a lover of wars. I see no need for them. And this one was more foolish than most.
    These northern lands had been conquered by the Angostins more than two hundred years before, and all the nobility were now of their race. It was a complicated issue, but let me explain swiftly. This large island of ours had once been split in two, the lush south ruled by the Ikenas, and the barren, mountainous north by Highland tribes, mostly of Pictish and Belgaic origin. Then the Angostins crossed the narrow sea and conquered theIkenas. This third force was led by Villem, the battle king, an Angostin prince of great strategic skill. He crushed his enemies without pity and crowned himself king of Ikena. His descendants attacked the north and conquered this also. But as the years passed, the Highland nobles—all now Angostins and thus lovers of battle—decided to set their own king upon a throne in the north. This led to civil war.
    Why was it more foolish than most? Well, think of it: an army of conquered Ikenas led by Angostins from the south against a force of conquered Highlanders led by Angostins from the north. The slaughter was great among Ikenas and Highlanders, while the Angostins in their mighty armor were rarely slain. When captured, they were held for ransom and later released after enjoying banquets in their honor served by their captors, many of whom were distant cousins of their prisoners. Nonsense …
    And grisly nonsense at that.
    Jarek Mace, at first a foot soldier in the army of the south, had deserted to join the army of the north as a cavalryman. The pay was better, he said, but the generals worse. It was while talking about the war that I began to notice changes in his speech patterns. When he was angry, his voice would lose its cultured tone and he would fall into the slang I had heard south of the border. It was thus when he spoke of the generals and the butchery that was the Angostin War. But at other times he would sound like a minor Angostin noble. He was a great mimic.
    “Why is the watch seeking you?” I asked him.
    He chuckled. “You remember the bearded fellow at the