Count Azrek leaned forward, tapping the fat man’s arm. There followed a brief, whispered conversation. Finally the Lord nodded and sat down, allowing the Count to rise in his place.
‘You have spoken with great calumny against me,’ he said, his voice emotionless, his unblinking eyes staring into mine. ‘I demand the right of Challenge.’
Strangely I felt no fear. ‘As you wish,’ I told him, ‘but even though I die here, nothing will cloak for long the evil that seeps out from you.’
He showed no expression and transferred his gaze to the soldiers holding Megan.
‘Let the sentence be carried out!’ he called. The men took hold of Megan and, unresisting, she was led to the pyre and forced to clamber high upon the piled wood before her hands were unbound and lashed to the stake.
It was then that I saw the floating sphere gliding effortlessly over the heads of the spectators. Many people paused to look up at it, pointing to it as it passed. Several times it hovered over individuals before moving on. Perfectly round and swirling, like smoke encased in glass, I watched it glide to a halt above a tall man in a buckskin shirt. At first I thought it was Jarek Mace, but the man turned towards me as he looked up at the sphere and I saw that he was beardless and wide-jawed. The Search-spell moved on.
Even within my grief and anger I was impressed by the skill of the unknown magicker who had cast the spell. A searching is always difficult, but in a crowd such as this only the very best would dream of sending out a sphere.
A great cry went up from the crowd as the two soldiers pushed burning torches into the dry wood at the base of the bonfire. Flames licked at the sticks and timbers, smoke drifting lazily up to swirl around the white-garbed woman. Her face was serene, showing no fear, and as her eyes met mine she smiled. Then the thick smoke enveloped her.
At that moment the Search-spell found its prey and a shaft of white light flashed into the evening air, hanging for several heartbeats above the head of Jarek Mace. In sudden fear the mob melted away from him and the white light became golden, bathing him. Already handsome, he appeared at once godlike, his fringed buckskin shirt of molten gold, his skin of burnished bronze. And he smiled as he executed an elaborate and perfect bow.
‘It’s the Morningstar!’ bellowed the Lualis Lord. Take him!’
Soldiers ran forward as the light faded. An arrow from Wulf took the first low in the groin and the man pitched to the ground and began to scream. With no time to string his bow Jarek Mace swung the weapon like a staff, knocking a man from his feet. Then his sword flashed into the air, and the clanging of blades rang across the meadow. Another arrow sliced the air, this time from Eye-patch, and a soldier fell, pierced through the temple.
Mace backed away before the attack of five men, and I saw the immense figure of Piercollo lift a barrel of beer above his head and run forward to hurl it at the soldiers. It hammered into the first, catapulting him into his fellows, then shattered, spilling foaming ale upon the fallen soldiers.
A crossbowman in the black livery of Azrek sent a bolt towards Mace. It missed and thudded into the shoulder of a woman in the crowd. Panic followed and the mob ran in all directions, hampering the efforts of the gathering soldiers. Mace ducked his head and disappeared into the throng.
An arrow sailed over my head and I swung to see it miss Azrek by a hand’s breadth, punching through the throat of a man sitting behind him. Now the knights too, and their ladies, scrambled for cover.
‘Don’t stand there gawping, child, untie me!’
The voice appeared inside my head. Swinging to the fire I ran to the rear, where the flames had not yet reached. Scrambling up to the stake, coughing and spluttering, I reached Megan. Around her there was no smoke; it swirled just out of reach, as if she stood inside an invisible globe.
‘Your powers are great,’ I said.
‘What a fine time for compliments!’ she snapped. ‘Perhaps we should sit down here and discuss the finer points of magick.’
I cut through her bonds and took her by the hand. Swiftly she cast a spell. Instantly her white robe changed to the colour of rust and a leather cap appeared, covering her white hair. Smoke billowed around us like a mist as we descended to the meadow, dispersing only when we were some distance from the pyre. People were running and screaming around us, and we were not challenged as we slowly made our way across the meadow, past the outskirts of the river city and on into the sanctuary of the trees.
At last safe, we made camp in a shallow cave, lighting no fire and needing none.
‘It was a foolish act,’ she told me, ‘but I am grateful for it.’
‘I could not stand by and watch you murdered.’
‘I know, Owen. You have a fine soul.’
Always uncomfortable with compliments, I changed the subject. ‘I hope Mace escaped them.’
She chuckled. ‘Yes, he did. Did you like the way I changed the sorcerer’s Search-spell?’
‘The golden light? It was a master’s touch, and I should have known it was you. He looked like a hero from legend.’
‘The people will long remember it.’
‘Perhaps, but the memory will fade once Mace is gone, when they see he is no Morningstar.’
‘If they ever see it. He chose the name, Owen, and now, I think, the name has chosen him.’
‘That is a riddle I cannot fathom.’
‘Give it time, my boy. Tell me, how will the events of today be seen?’
I smiled then. ‘A dramatic rescue by the Lord of the Forest. Not all the Count’s men could prevent it.’
She nodded, her face solemn. ‘Mace was lucky today. They didn’t need a Search-spell. He was in full view all day at the contest.’
‘Why then did they not take him? Were you using your powers?’
‘No. There was no need. Azrek has a serpent’s subtlety and he assumed Mace would be more… circumspect. He believed there would be a rescue attempt, but probably expected Mace to come disguised and only arrive when the crowds were thick. Hence the Search-spell. But Mace, with his casual arrogance, chose the best place to be, hiding in plain sight where no one would look.’
‘As you say, Megan, he is a lucky man.’
‘Luck has to be paid for, Owen,’ she whispered, ‘and sometimes the price is very high.’ Without another word she lay down and closed her eyes.
I shivered, for in that moment, my ghostly friend, I think my soul caught a glimpse of the future.
Then I too slept.
I awoke in the night to find a cool breeze whispering across the mouth of the cave, bringing with it the stealthy sounds of men moving through the undergrowth. Reaching out I touched Megan lightly on the shoulder. Her eyes opened and, in the moonlight, she saw me touch my fingers to my lips, warning her to keep silent.
Dropping to my stomach I wormed my way to the cave-mouth, peering out at the silhouetted trees. At first I saw nothing, but then the dark figure of a soldier, his breastplate gleaming in the eldritch light, edged forward. He was joined by another… and another. The first knelt, his pale hand extending down to the ground, tracing a line. Then he took a shining object from the pouch at his side and laid it on the ground. Immediately a faint blue-white light sprang up from the track. I swallowed hard, realizing that Megan and I had walked from that direction and feeling instinctively that the hunter was examining a footprint, mine or Megan’s, and he was carrying a Search-stone.
The cave itself was partly screened by thick bushes, but in the bright moonlight there was no hope of the entrance escaping the keen eyes of the hunters.
It is a fearful thing to be hunted, but it is doubly unmanning during the hours of night. I don’t know why this should be so, save to note that our most primal fears are of the dark. Moonlight, though beautiful, is cold and unearthly. Nothing grows by moonlight, but all is revealed.