Morningstar by David Gemmell Page A

vile-smelling, lawless and fraught with the risk of sudden death.
    Jarek Mace loved it... We arrived on the first day of the Spring Fair, when the city was swollen with revellers. Three ships were moored at the wharves as our small party trooped in from the forest. The women and children bade their farewells to us and made their way to the more sedate northern quarter, where some had relatives. Mace, Wulf, Piercollo and I strolled to the nearest tavern, where we found a table near an open window and ordered meat broth, fresh bread and a huge jug of ale.
    All around us people were talking about the Fair, the contests to come, the prize money to be won. I saw Piercollo’s dark eyes brighten with interest at the mention of a wrestling tourney and the ten gold pieces waiting for the winner. He ate with us, then said his goodbyes and wandered out of the tavern in search of his fortune. Mace watched him go, then ordered more ale.
    ‘What will we do here?’ I asked him.
    ‘There is always an archery contest,’ he said. ‘Wulf and I will win some money. Then we’ll rent a couple of women and relax for a few days.’ He smiled. ‘We’ll get one for you too, Owen.’
    ‘I do not need such a companion,’ I told him, rather too primly.
    ‘As you wish,’ he answered.
    I was ill at ease in the tavern, surrounded by men with loud voices, and I left them to their drinking and strolled through the city streets to the meadow where the Fair was under way. There was a dance pole set at the centre, hung with ribbons, and a dancing bear was performing for a small crowd at the western end of the fairground. Tiny ponies were tethered nearby, awaiting their child riders, and there were stalls of sweetmeats, sugar-apples, lard-cakes, honey loaves and the like. The day was bright, the sky cloudless. People were enjoying themselves.
    Several magickers were exhibiting their skills, but the crowds were thin as yet, and the performers either lacked any genuine skill or were saving their efforts for later in the day.
    Carpenters were busy building a long, raised platform where the knights and their ladies would sit once the entertainments commenced. A canvas canopy, painted red and hung with white streamers, was being raised above the platform. No sudden shower would be allowed to dampen the enthusiasm of Angostin nobles.
    There were soldiers everywhere, strolling through the meadow, moving in groups of three or four. I counted at least fifty on the fairground alone, and I had seen more in the city itself. Their presence made me uncomfortable though, in truth, I should have had little to fear.
    Towards dusk I made my way back to the tavern. Mace had booked a room for us on the upper floor and I mounted the stairs, thinking only of sleep. The moonlit room was small, with three pallet beds set against the inner walls. A rough-hewn table and two chairs completed the furniture , and there was a single, tiny window with open shutters. The room smelt musky and damp, but I did not care. The two larger beds had been claimed by Mace and Wulf, their longbows laid upon the single blankets. I moved to the third and stretched out, not even bothering to remove my boots.
    Sleep came swiftly, but I awoke when Mace and the hunchback returned after midnight, drunk and laughing. Mace tripped and fell upon me as he tried to remove his boots. Wulf made a gallant effort to fall upon his own bed, but missed and sank to the floor, where he curled up happily and slept.
    ‘Not ... a ... bad night,’ said Jarek Mace, with a lopsided grin. ‘I like this place.’
    ‘There is blood on your hand,’ I told him, sitting up.
    ‘It’s not mine,’ he answered cheerfully. With great dignity he pushed himself to his feet, swayed, then staggered to his bed.
    ‘Wake me early,’ he called. The first cull of the archers is before noon.’
    ‘You’ll be in no fit state to take part,’ I warned him.
    ‘I could beat most of them in the state I’m in now,’ he replied. For