‘Take off your boots and relax,’ said Brackban, moving to a wide table of oak on which were scattered documents, scrolls and letters, wax and a seal bearing the mark of the Morningstar. He looked tired, I thought, and thinner, and his long blond hair had been harshly cut close to his head. Wearing a long robe of dark green, he looked more a cleric than a warrior. There was a jug of wine on the table and Brackban filled two silver goblets, passing one to me. Then he sat opposite and quietly drained his drink.
‘Where is Mace?’ I asked him.
He said nothing for a moment, then sighed. ‘He is gone, Owen. I don’t know where.’Gone?’ I echoed, mystified.
‘Three days ago he was reported to be heading for Ziraccu. He should have been here late yesterday. I can only think that he has been waylaid, or taken by agents of the King. God alone knows where he is now.’
I looked away from him. I knew instinctively that Mace had not been waylaid nor captured; he had done what he always promised — he had cut and run now that the end was in sight. But what could I say to this strong, loyal man who had been left to pick up the pieces?
‘Without him we are finished,’ continued Brackban. ‘We have a fledgling army, maybe three thousand men. They are good men for the most part, and brave. Edmund will have three, four times as many — and they are seasoned warriors. We have archers and foot-soldiers but he has cavalry, heavily-armoured knights who can strike fast and hard.’ He rubbed at his tired eyes. ‘What can we do, Owen? I am at the end of my strength. When word reaches the men that Mace is taken — or lost — then the desertions will begin. The lands will be open to Edmund. Have we done all this for nothing?’
‘I will do my best to find him,’ I promised.
He nodded. ‘You do not think he was captured, then?’
‘I don’t know for certain what happened,’ I hedged, ‘but I will send a Search-spell. In the meantime, don’t say anything about his disappearance. Where was he last seen?’
There was a map on the wall, black ink etched on pale leather. Brackban rose and walked to where it hung, stabbing his finger at an ornate triangle — the Angostin symbol for a city with a university. ‘He went to see the Bishop of Lowis; he is the senior tutor at the school there.’
‘Why should Mace want to see a teacher?’
‘Brackban shrugged. ‘The man sent him a letter. Mace seemed intrigued by it.’
‘Where is this letter?’
‘I have no idea.’Did you see it?’
‘No. Mace merely said it was to do with some legend, some ancient artefact. I took little notice. God knows I have no time to study history, Owen. But I don’t think it was important; it was just a whim.’
What do they study at the university?’Medicine, law and history. But do not concern yourself with that. We have maybe two weeks; then two armies will face one another. If Mace does not arrive before then.. ’He spread his hands.
‘What will you do if he has been taken — or cannot be found?’
‘What can I do? This is my land; they are my people. You think I will run away into the forest and leave them to their fate? I couldn’t do that, Owen. Death would be preferable. No, I shall take my men and confront the Battle King. Who knows, maybe God will favour us.’
He spoke with little confidence for he knew, as did I, that where battles were concerned God tended to favour the army with the most lances. I left the house with a heavy heart and rode back to the village, seeking out Wulf and Piercollo. When I told them of Mace’s disappearance, Wulf was not surprised.
‘I’ve known him longer than any of the others,’ he said. ‘He’s a solitary man, is Mace. And he looks out for himself. He’s got courage right enough, but it’s not the enduring kind. You understand me? It’s like the farmer who strives year in and year out. Come plague, pestilence, drought, famine or locusts, he digs in and weathers the years. That’s real strength. Mace can fight — probably better than any man I ever knew. But he doesn’t have that strength. It was that way with Golgoleth. He went in to the city because he couldn’t have borne the waiting for Golgoleth to come for him.’
There was no anger in the hunchback’s voice, no edge of bitterness.
‘I shall try to find him,’ I said.
‘Won’t do no good, Owen,’ said Wulf. ‘He’s turned his back on us; that’s all there is to it.’
‘Even so, I shall try. Will you come with me?’
‘Of course I will.’As will Piercollo,’ said the giant, smiling. ‘I am tired of all these people around me, the noise and the chatter. It will be good to hear the music of the forest. Where do we begin, Owen?’
‘Tonight I will send out three Search-spells — north, west and east. By dawn I will at least know which direction to travel. As we move I shall send out other spells. Eventually we’ll find him.’
‘How long is eventually?’ Wulf asked.
‘It could take weeks — months,’ I admitted.
‘Well,’ he said grimly, ‘I’ll be with you for six days. After that I’ll make my way back here to join Brackban. I’ll not have it said that Wulf was afraid of the fight.’
We set off to the north-west two hours after dawn. I was tired, for I had been awake all night, holding to the Search-spells and focusing upon the enchantment. The spell to the east showed nothing, but both north and west gave a glimmer of hope. I have already explained the nature of search-globes, but when one casts such magick across large distances there is no immediate, visible sign of success. The magicker must attune himself to the spell and rely on his instincts. When I held to the eastern globe I felt only emptiness; this then was a cold route. At first the northern spell gave me a sense of warmth, but gradually this shifted to the western globe, thus giving me Mace’s direction of travel.
‘Where would he be heading?’ I asked Wulf.
‘There is a port, Barulis, at the Dee way estuary, north-west of here. If Edmund’s fleet hasn’t yet blocked it, maybe he is planning to take a sea voyage. Or he may just lie low in Barulis. But whatever his plan, it will take him some days to reach the city. I think I can cut his trail before then. We’ll find him, Owen.’
As we walked I reached out with my Talent, sending a new search-globe to the north-west. As I concentrated my mind, honing my powers, I became aware, as magickers will, of an enchanter close by. I stopped, closed my eyes and linked my thoughts to the globe. I became one with the spell, and my soul floated high above the forest in a circle of light. I had not the strength, nor the mental strength, to hold myself for long in this spirit form, but it was long enough to see what I had both sensed and feared.
A second Search-spell was floating above the trees.
The enemy were also seeking the Morningstar.
There was much on my mind as we travelled. Ilka’s death was still an open wound, and still I could not bring myself to talk to anyone about her. But I thought of her constantly. And Megan’s dying words continued to haunt me. She had lived for two thousand years, waiting for the answer to a question. What question? And who could have answered it? And what did she mean when she told me she would see me again, but that she would not know me? Was she delirious then? Was it a kind of madness that precedes death?
But more than anything I thought of Jarek Mace, and the confusion he must have felt at being a hero to so many. There is a legend of a giant called Parmeus who stole the book of knowledge from the gods… Every step he took with it saw the weight grow, until he felt he was carrying a mountain. At last he fell, and the weight pushed him far below the earth where he still tries to carry his burden. Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions are attributed to these struggles in certain areas. But I knew that Mace would understand the awesome pressure Parmeus bore, for hero-worship can be no less weighty, no less burdensome.