Chapter ElevenThey stood on the slope of the triple hills of Eildon with Bradan's staff upright in the ground while three deer were watching them curiously. Whisking across the summits, a stiff wind blew ragged clouds eastward, toward the sea.
“How are the legs?” Bradan asked.
Melcorka tested them, thumping down first the left and then the right. “Strong enough,” she looked at the broad white scar that disfigured the outside of each thigh. “I do not wish to fight Erik again.”
“The fighting can wait,” Bradan said. “I am glad your legs are well. I suspect we have a lot of walking before us.”
“Have you had any ideas about the riddle?” Melcorka asked. “One within three beside the mirror of the moon, with the wisdom of the old drawing from sacred blood.” She shook her head, flicking her lon
