The Swordswoman - Books 1-3

Chapter 5-2

Melcorka crouched, feinted left and winced at the power of Baetan"s parry. She tensed her muscles and thrust forward, only for Baetan to step aside. As she overbalanced, Baetan swung the flat of his sword against her shoulders, knocking her on her face.

The audience groaned, both Cenel Bearnas and Gregorach.

"Come on, Melcorka," Granny Rowan urged. "You can do better than that."

"Yes, come on, Melcorka," Baetan encouraged. "If I were a Northman, you would be dead."

Melcorka tried again, feinting to the right and left before trying a s***h at Baetan"s legs. He leapt over the sword, delivered a stinging whack with the flat of his blade to Melcorka"s backside and laughed when she yelped.

"Dead again, Melcorka! You"ll never defeat me."

Melcorka rubbed at herself, glowering at Baetan. "That was uncalled for," she said.

"All"s fair in love and war," Bearnas shouted out. "Keep going, you two! Don"t be too kind on her, Baetan. The quicker she learns, the better her chance of survival."

Melcorka sighed and crouched down again, with Baetan grinning at her. It was going to be a long session.

After a few moments, the Gregorach drifted away from what was a very one-sided contest.

"Keep on," Bearnas ordered, as Melcorka gasped at yet another swipe of Baetan"s blade.

Every night, when the Cenel Bearnas caught up with their sleep and the MacGregors vanished into the dark, Melcorka practised her fighting techniques, with the men and women taking it in turns to teach her their particular skills. She felt herself growing faster, more lithe, more daring with each lesson, although she never once got the better of Baetan. Every night, when the last muscle-tearing session ended, she slept the sleep of the exhausted.

"Melcorka." Bearnas pushed her with an unsympathetic foot an hour before dawn on the fifth day. "Time we were moving."

That day brought more finger-wide tracks where they could gaze down on spiralling eagles. There were more knife-edge ridges with granite made slippery by horizontal rain and where the wind threatened to pluck them upwards and toss them down and down and down forever. There were more sliding scree slopes with stones slithering underfoot and the MacGregors dancing ahead, more sure-footed than any mountain goat.

"What sort of men are they?" Melcorka asked.

"MacGregors," Bearnas answered. "They are what they are."

There were more spectacular views of peaks and ridges and the ice-scoured hollows of corries, where the water of mysterious lochans glittered cold and still beneath leaden skies. There were more halts at tall waterfalls that descended the side of green-mossed cliffs or roared through narrow defiles, where rowan trees overhung tempting pools, trout waited for subtle hands, and the water was as cold and clear as Arctic ice.

"How far is it, Mother?"

"It is as far as the road takes us, Melcorka."

They halted on the northern slope of a hill with grass that dun-coloured sheep had cropped so close that it was slippery as glass, and Melcorka pointed to the east, where a conical hill thrust pyramidal sides to a bright star in the sky. That hill seemed to draw her, as if by some magnetic power.

"What hill is that?"

Baetan put a finger over her lips. "Hush now, and don"t point with your finger. Use your chin if you must."

"Why?"

"That is Schiehallion, the shee hill, the sacred hill of the Caledonians. It is not a place to point at, or to treat with anything but fear."

sheeMelcorka studied the hill. Although it was amidst a welter of other hills, it seemed to stand alone, a unique shape among peaks jagged or ice-smoothed.

"Why is it sacred?" Melcorka asked.

Baetan lowered his voice further. "It is the home of the Daoine Sidhe, the People of Peace."

Daoine Sidhe"The fairy folk?"

Baetan stepped back, his face suddenly pale. "Don"t use their real name," he said, "they might hear you." He looked around as if expecting to see one of the People of Peace emerging from the shadows.

"Are they so dangerous?" Melcorka asked.

"It is best to avoid them," Baetan said.

"But who or what are they?"

"Nobody knows," Baetan said seriously. "Some say they are fallen angels come to earth, some say they are from the spiritual realm, while others think they were of the old folk, the people who were here before us and who we replaced. We know they milk the deer and steal our children, we know they live underground or within mountains, and we know they have enchanting music." He shrugged. "If we avoid them and christen our babies in case the People of Peace steal them, then we are safe. If we annoy them by using their real name, we are courting danger from which steel cannot protect us."

Melcorka listed intently, as she did to all new knowledge. "Thank you, Baetan." She motioned toward the hilt of Defender but did not touch it. If Baetan had said that steel would not protect against the People of Peace, then she would not try her sword.

The slopes of Schiehallion faded slowly into the distance as the Cenel Bearnas plodded on over mountain passes and through thick forests. In a day of drizzling rain, they came to a loch too long to bypass. Melcorka looked left and right and saw no end to the water; it was a miniature sea, with waves that curled and broke on the shore, and islets half hidden in the distance,

"There is a small ferry here that will take us two by two," MacGregor said, "or we can travel in style."

"Travel in style." Melcorka spoke without thought.

MacGregor lifted one finger of his left hand and began to whistle, long and low. His people joined in, one after the other, until Melcorka saw the birlinn appear from behind one of the wooded islets.

birlinnIt was a long, low craft similar in design to Wave Skimmer except for small wooden structures in the bow and stern. Melcorka watched as it approached, with the water breaking under its sharp prow and a dozen oars turning the loch to a white froth. A single mast rose from amidships, with a spar running at right angles near the top, fastened to the gunwales by stout lines.

Wave Skimmer"She"s fast," Melcorka said.

"She is the fastest ship in Alba," MacGregor did not hide his pride, "and the best adapted for fighting." He stepped onto a square rock that thrust two yards into the loch and placed his feet in a perfectly shaped hollow.

"My ancestors have stood on this spot for centuries," MacGregor said, "since long before there were kings of Alba."

As the birlinn came closer to him, MacGregor raised his hand. The birlinn"s oars lifted from the water, and she slid to a halt exactly where MacGregor stood. He stepped over the low freeboard without getting his feet wet.

birlinnBearnas followed, and her people filed on board. The oarsmen, men and women in grey-blue linen shirts, were as quiet as all the Gregorach.

"Take us south and east," MacGregor ordered, and the steersman in the stern sounded the time on a large drum. Only then did Melcorka see the woman who sat in the stern, plucking the strings of a harp as the birlinn slid through the waves. There was one man in each of the wooden structures fore and aft, constantly looking around them.

birlinn"My floating castles," MacGregor said. "In battle, my Gregorach fire arrows and spears down on any enemy."

"It is a good idea," Melcorka said. At a nod from Bearnas, she mounted the wooden steps to the forecastle and looked around. The view was immense, and the wooden deck provided a sound platform for fighting. That was another small lesson in the art of warfare.

"Sail!" MacGregor shouted.

There was a rustle of linen, and the sail descended from the spar. Melcorka smiled as she saw the insignia of an oak tree and a sword lifting up a crown: Macgregor may be a child of the mist, but he was certainly not afraid to announce his presence on this loch, she thought.

With the sail augmenting the power of the oars, the birlinn sped south, surging through the loch with no significant effort by the oarsmen. Melcorka saw the mountains slide past, and then they were threading through the scattered islands, each one dense with foliage and one holding a religious settlement from where friendly monks stood beneath a rough cross and waved as they passed.

birlinn"Larboard sides; lift oars; wave back. Starboard side, lift oars: hold."

Melcorka could only smile at the ludicrous view of the ship waving to the monks on the island.

"Row on," MacGregor ordered, and the oars dipped back into the water. They surged on, past the verdant green of the islands to the southern shore of the loch.

MacGregor pointed east and south. "Down there is the Flanders Moss. Only the Gregorach know the secret paths and tracks through the Moss. Once you are through, you will be on your own."

Bearnas nodded. "Your help will be appreciated, MacGregor."

"You will have it," MacGregor said.

Melcorka had never seen anything like the Flanders Moss. It was mist-sodden bogland that stretched for endless miles, with the River Forth running through the centre in a series of erratic loops and curves that would baffle any intruder save for an expert, and only the MacGregors were experts.

Once again there was mist, rising from the stagnant pools and drifting along the coils of the river, hovering over the fords and hazing every view, so Melcorka was unsure in which direction she faced. She could only follow MacGregor in blind trust.

"Are there monsters in the mist, too?" Melcorka asked Granny Rowan, who smiled.

"Not that I know of, Melcorka. Only MacGregors."

"And here I leave you." MacGregor picked out a rare patch of dry land as he pointed east. "This is the plain of Lodainn, with the Scotsea, the Firth of Forth, to the north of it, where the River Forth opens. Travel east and you will find Dun Edin, where the king resides."

Bearnas held out her hand. "You are a good man, MacGregor. If ever you need a favour, send word, and the Cenel Bearnas will come."

MacGregor took her hand. "If you are anywhere north of the River Forth, Bearnas, look to the mist, and there you will find MacGregor." He dipped into a small pouch at the side of his belt and produced two small whistles of deer-horn. "This will fetch one of my children, Bearnas. Keep a whistle for yourself and…" he tossed one over to Melcorka, "here is one for you, Melcorka, daughter of Bearnas."

"Thank you." Melcorka slipped the small sliver of horn into the pouch at her belt although she doubted she would ever use it.

Bearnas fingered the broken cross around her neck as the MacGregors melted into the wastes of the Flanders Moss. She watched until they were only a memory, sighed and led the way eastward, through a land of broad fields divided into agricultural strips and with broad-chested farmers watching this group of warriors with wary suspicion.

"How far to Dun Edin?" Bearnas asked at every settlement and village they came to, and every time the answer was slightly less than the time before.

Then one night, they camped at the northern flanks of the gentle Pentland Hills, with the wind sweet over the heather and the land to the east and west prosperous with fertile farms.

"Only two sentries tonight," Bearnas decided, "and I want us all up before dawn. Tomorrow at this time, we will be in the royal castle on its rock, feasting on royal pork and drinking royal mead. There will be royal harpers playing beautiful music and a royal sennachie to regale us with lies about the past."

"No more camp fires in the rain, cold, windy hills and sodden wet nights," Baetan promised. "We will inform the king about the Norsemen, and he will call up the army." He smiled. "And then we will see how brave they are!"