The Swordswoman Collection

Chapter 10

The world was spinning around her, trees and bushes and sea merging into a constant whirl that she could neither control nor comprehend. She blinked, closed her eyes and opened them again. A man"s face appeared amidst the confusion; a stranger she did not know.

"Who are you?"

"I am Bradan the Wanderer." The man"s voice was clear and slow.

"I am Melcorka nic Bearnas."

"Well met, Melcorka nic Bearnas, child of the ocean." Bradan was crouching at her side, his long face serene. "You did not eat last night so you must be hungry. Do you remember where you are?" He indicated the still smouldering remains of his fire, with the soft surge of the breaking sea a few yards away and the coracle upside down beside a tangled bramble bush.

She took his arm and pulled herself upright from a bed of freshly-cut ferns. "You cared for me," she said.

"You needed caring for," Bradan told her.

"Don"t you want to know where I came from?" Melcorka asked. She noticed that he was a head taller than her, and slimly built, with a long face framed by shaggy brown hair.

"You will tell me if you wish to," Bradan said.

"Are you not curious? A woman floats in from the sea, and you don"t ask?"

"You will tell me if you wish to," he repeated. His smile was slow but worth the wait.

"We were crossing the Forth," Melcorka felt obliged to tell him. "And a Norse dragon ship caught us." She waited for him to ask more. He stood opposite her, eye to eye as the sea breeze ruffled their hair and flapped her linen leine around her body.

"Defender!" she gasped, amazed that she could have forgotten. "Where is my sword?"

"Here it is." Bradan pointed under the bush. "It"s right beside your chain mail and the dirk."

Melcorka lifted Defender and held it close to her, then frowned. "I was wearing that chain mail!"

"I know," Bradan said. "Next time you row a coracle, you might find it easier without the mail. It must have been tiring."

"Thank you for the advice," Melcorka said. "You took the mail off me?"

"It was unnecessary and you were more comfortable without it."

"You had no right to take off my clothes!" Melcorka felt anger surge over her.

"Absolutely none," Bradan agreed, "except the right to help you." He held her gaze calmly.

It was instinct that made Melcorka cross her arms to protect her linen-covered breasts. She stepped back as embarrassment battled her anger.

"Now," Bradan said, "while you put on the chain mail you do not need, I will get some porridge for you." Ignoring her glare, he bent to a pot that was suspended over the embers of the fire. "Whatever you plan to do today, you will need food." He stirred the embers until they glowed brightly and a little flame spurted.

"I am heading for Castle Gloom," Melcorka said.

Bradan transferred porridge from the pot into a wooden platter and added milk from a small gourd. "That"s a bit of a walk," he said. "Best eat first."

With the chain mail covering her, Melcorka found it easier to control her emotions. "Who are you?"

"I told you. I am Bradan." He lifted a long staff from the ground and stirred the fire until more flames appeared.

Melcorka looked around. "Do you live here?" She tested the porridge, found it edible and spooned it into her mouth.

Bradan winked at her, lifted a second small gourd from near to the fire, twisted off the lid and poured the contents onto the porridge. "Honey," he said. "It adds flavour."

Melcorka tasted it cautiously, discovered that she liked the sweetness and smiled. "I"ve never had that before," she said.

"Never had honey?"

She shook her head. "Never in porridge."

"Well, you have now," his smile was broad.

"Where is it from?" Melcorka tried some more of the honey-sweet porridge.

"Bees make it," Bradan told her solemnly.

"I know that!" Melcorka said. "I can"t see you keeping bees, somehow."

"There are wild bees as well as tamed ones," Bradan said.

She looked at him. "What do you do, apart from making honey and taking the clothes off women you meet on the beach? Where do you live?" She looked around. "Is this your home?"

He shrugged. "I live wherever my feet touch the ground, and I walk wherever the road takes me."

"You have no home? No family? No kin?" Melcorka could not conceive of such a thing. All her life she had been surrounded by people, ready to help her or give advice whenever it was wanted. She had only been alone for one night and one day and had not enjoyed the experience. The thought of living alone all the time was inconceivable. Melcorka shook her head. "How do you survive?"

"I am a wanderer," Bradan said.

"Alone?" Melcorka stared at him. "Are you not afraid? Wait …" She lifted his staff. "Is this your weapon? Is it a magic staff? Does it have special powers?"

"It is a wooden stick," Bradan said, "made of blackthorn."

"How do you defend yourself?" Melcorka asked.

Bradan smiled. "There is no profit in thieves robbing a man with nothing to steal, and no honour in a warrior defeating a man with a stick."

Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender. Although it was only a few weeks since she had carried it, she could not imagine life without its comforting presence. "You are a brave man," she said.

"I am just a man," Bradan said.

Melcorka finished her breakfast. "Thank you for your help," she said. "I will be off to Castle Gloom now."

Bradan stirred the pot. "Go there, if that is your wish." He watched as Melcorka hitched Defender across her back and set off along the beach. After a few moments, he called out, "Castle Gloom is to the west. You are heading north."

Melcorka stopped. "I was not sure. Do you know the road?"

"I know the road," he confirmed.

"Could you point it out to me?" Melcorka did not want to admit she had no idea where Castle Gloom was, except somewhere north of the Forth.

"I could take you," Bradan said, "if you do not object to my company."

Melcorka tried not to appear too enthusiastic. "I do not object, as long as it does not put you out of your way."

"I am a wandering man. One road is much like another to me." Bradan lifted a small length of tweed and bundled in his pot, cup and spoon before rolling it up and suspending it across his back. "Ready?"

"Ready," Melcorka said.

"It is a three-day walk," Bradan told her, "perhaps four, and there are Norse on the prowl, so we may have a diversion." He nodded to Defender. "I see you are a warrior. Can you use that thing?"

"I can use this thing," Melcorka confirmed.

Bradan grunted. "Well, let"s hope that you don"t have to."

He led them west, following the line of the beach for the first few hours and then loping inland with a long, slow stride that ate up the distance without seeming to weary him. Melcorka kept pace as best she could, watched the bunch and slide of his buttocks and thighs through the corner of her eyes and said nothing, although the thoughts and images that came to her mind were unsought, unfamiliar and disturbingly pleasant.

As they walked, Bradan gathered food and either ate it or stored it in his bundle. He lifted handfuls of berries from bushes and passed half to her; he plucked plants or slivers of bark from trees to chew, sometimes stopping at a farmer"s field to glean what he could from what remained of the long-gathered crops.

"Out there." Melcorka looked out to the Forth, pleasantly blue under the morning sun. "The Norsemen are out there."

"The Norsemen are everywhere," Bradan said. "Can"t you smell the smoke? They are here as well as in Lodainn."

"They are also in the north-west." Melcorka said.

Bradan put his head down and lengthened his stride even further. "You should be safe in Castle Gloom."

They found the first burned farmstead early the next morning, with the bodies of the farmer and his wife spread-eagled amidst the charred remnants.

"Dead." Melcorka was growing used to seeing bloodied corpses.

"There were children here." Bradan indicated small items of clothing. "They must have been taken as slaves."

They moved on, keeping to the fringes of the fields and the edges of woodland. On one occasion, they heard the raucous sound of singing and lay prone behind the raised ridges of an open field as sixty Northmen swaggered past.

"They are not scared at all," Bradan said.

"They have nothing to be scared of," Melcorka reminded him. "The king is dead or captured, the Alban army slaughtered, and nobody is left to resist. The Raven has ripped the heart from the Blue Boar."

Bradan shook his head as Melcorka made to rise. "There are two more Norsemen to come."

The Norse stragglers laughed as they strolled in the wake of their fellows. One stopped a few steps from where Melcorka and Bradan lay. He fiddled with his clothing and began to urinate.

When one splash landed on Melcorka"s face, she exclaimed in disgust and leapt to her feet. "You dirty Norseman!"

As she yelled, Melcorka slid Defender from its scabbard. The Norseman was young, with a neat brown beard. He opened his mouth in astonishment at this raging female who rose from the earth, lifted his hands from his person and grabbed at the axe that hung from his belt.

Melcorka welcomed the exhilarating surge of power as she swung toward the Norseman. She saw the man lift the axe, saw the expression on his face alter from astonishment to anger and then fear, and then Defender sliced through his neck, and his head rose in the air, propelled by spurting blood, and descended to the ground. Before it landed, Melcorka recovered her stroke and faced the second Norseman, who was tugging at the sword at his belt.

Without hesitation, Melcorka thrust at his belly, decided to turn her feint into reality and followed through. Her blade entered cleanly, and she sliced sideways and upward, gutting him. The Norseman collapsed, spilling intestines and blood.

"You are a warrior, then." Bradan had been watching. "He won"t piss on you again."

"You don"t seem surprised." Melcorka cleaned her blade on the clothes of her first victim.

"Only a warrior would carry a sword like that," Bradan said quietly. "And only an inexperienced warrior would kill two Norsemen with such a noise when there are three score more within hearing."

Melcorka opened her mouth to protest, realised that Bradan was correct and slid her sword back into its scabbard.

"Time to go." Although Bradan did not seem to hurry, his long strides covered the distance at such speed that Melcorka found it difficult to keep up. She heard the Norse behind her and glanced at Bradan, who continued to look ahead with no expression on his face.

"They are coming after us," she said.

"Indeed they are," Bradan agreed.

They continued to move as the roars from the Norse grew louder than before.

"They are getting closer," Melcorka said.

"So I hear," Bradan agreed.

"Shall I kill them?" Melcorka asked.

"Not yet," Bradan said. "Only the fastest will keep up with us. The further we travel, the more they will straggle, with the slowest left behind. When there are only a few with us, then you can kill them."

"What if they kill me?"

"Then you will be dead and unable to ask me any more foolish questions."

There was so much logic in that statement that Melcorka did not reply. They walked on, with Bradan"s long stride setting the pace, passing over open fields with no attempt at concealment, ploughing through patches of woodland and fording meandering rivers without hesitation.

"They are close now," Bradan warned. He did not turn his head. "There are three warriors in front, with five more four hundred paces behind."

"And the others?"

"They are too far behind to matter," Bradan said casually.

"How do you know that?" Melcorka did not doubt his words.

Bradan shrugged. "I can hear a bit, I can feel the vibrations of their feet on the ground, and when the wind blows from them, I can smell them." He glanced at her, with the first small smile she had seen on his face. "Everybody has their own distinctive scent."

Melcorka had to ask. "What do I smell of?"

"Sea salt," Bradan answered immediately, "and smoke from our fire, and just a hint of blood." He stopped for a second. "And woman."

"Woman?"

"Woman," Bradan repeated. "You had better get ready to start killing now, if that is what you wish." He turned to face the way they had come, sat on the stump of a felled tree and held his staff in front of him.

The first three warriors ran with the blundering steps of men in the final throes of exhaustion. They were young men, dressed in thick furs above chain mail, with pot-iron helmets on their heads and long swords in their hands. They stopped in disbelief when they saw Melcorka standing so casually before them.

"Odin owns you," they gasped.

"He does not," Melcorka said and killed the first without a word.

She had sliced the right arm off the second before the third slashed wildly at her head with his sword. Melcorka blocked the blow with ease, disarmed the warrior with a flick of her wrist and thrust the point of Defender through his chest. The one-armed man was slumped on the ground, watching the blood pumping from his stump.

"Well, you killed them quickly enough," Bradan said. "The next five are better prepared."

"In what way?"

"They are spread out and less tired," Bradan said. "They have a stronger footfall on the ground than the ones you already killed. The middle two carry heavy weapons, the outside three are lightly armed."

Melcorka nodded. "I will kill the most dangerous first, and the others after."

Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. "You are a skilled warrior but are you good enough to defeat five Norse at the same time?"

"Ask me in five minutes," Melcorka advised, "if I am still alive."

Bradan nodded. "In five minutes I will already know the answer," he said, "or I will also be dead."

"You do not seem perturbed at the prospect of dying."

He shrugged. "If my time has come, then my time has come." He tapped his staff on the ground again and gave a crooked smile. "Or perhaps I have faith in you."

"You do not know me."

"Here they are now." Bradan sounded casual. He leaned back. "Don"t be all day about your killing. We"ve got a long way to go yet."

As Bradan had said, the middle two were heavier armed, carrying double-bladed axes and wearing chain shirts that extended to their knees. The three on the outside were in linen leines and baggy trousers, armed with long knives, held point-upward.

Melcorka felt the now-familiar surge of power as she unsheathed Defender. The two axe men halted at sight of her, glanced at each other and laughed.

"It"s only a woman," one said, "and a man with a stick."

"You take her," his companion said. "I"ll watch." He stopped, grounded his axe and leaned against the bole of a tree.

The leading axe man held his weapon in a two-handed grip as he walked around Melcorka. She waited, watching his eyes, aware that the three knifemen were wide on the flanks. The axe man was about thirty, she judged, and a veteran by the scars on his face. She waited until he was nearly within range of a swing of his axe, then jumped in the air, yelling. As he withdrew a step in surprise, Melcorka did not come toward him but attacked the closest of the knife men, cutting off one of his legs at the knee before facing the axe man again.

"You"ve lost one of your friends," Melcorka told him.

The axe man said nothing. He came with a rush, swinging in a figure-of-eight that would have proved formidable to counter had Melcorka not moved to his side and thrust Defender two-handed between his ribs. He died without a sound, crumpling onto the ground with his axe falling at his side.

The second axe man ran forward, swinging his axe from side to side as he covered the ground in great bounds. This time, Melcorka balanced the blade of Defender on her shoulder and waited for him. When he had completed his swing from right to left, and the axe was at its furthest point from her, she slashed hard and diagonal, to block any possible attack. The Norseman saw her blade coming and twisted away, only for Melcorka to alter her swing with an explosive burst of strength. Defender sliced through the handle of the axe and the head went spinning to the ground.

"Got you!" One of the knifemen had snaked through the grass and slashed at Melcorka"s hamstring with his blade.

"Not at all." Bradan thrust the end of his staff against the knifeman"s wrist, pinning him down.

Melcorka gave him a single look and swung Defender right and left, taking the knifeman"s head clean off and ripping the axe man"s inner thigh, so the great vein burst open and pumped out bright arterial blood.

The remaining knifeman stood erect, dropped his weapon, turned and ran. Melcorka let him go.

"Thank you," she said to Bradan. "You saved my life."

"They were raiders, not warriors." Bradan shrugged and stood up. "I am curious to see what you want at Castle Gloom," he said. "It is not the most accessible place in Alba."

"My mother said it would be safe at Castle Gloom," Melcorka told him. "She wanted me to go there, so I shall." Curiously, she did not feel grief at her mother"s memory, only a terrible numbness.

"It might be best to do as your mother wished," Bradan agreed. "I don"t think there will be any more Norsemen from that party following us."

"The man I left alive may bring more."

Bradan shook his head. "He will not admit that one woman defeated seven brave warriors. He will report that they were ambushed by many times their number of Albans."

"You are a wise man." Melcorka looked at him with new discernment. "But it was one woman and one man who defeated them."

Bradan gave a long, slow smile. "So it was," he said.

They moved on, with Bradan"s deceptively slow lope setting the pace and Melcorka trotting at his side. As they headed west, the countryside altered from small arable farms to expanses of wild moorland where isolated, stock-rearing settlements sat within defensive stockades. In time, the moor changed to a vast area of tangled forest that fringed a range of rounded hills, deeply scored with river valleys.

"These are the central hills," Bradan said. "They are not the highest in Alba and not the steepest, yet they are the home of Castle Gloom." He paused for a moment. "They say that when the mist comes down, the spirits of the dead walk here, and warlocks and wizards meet in the secluded denes."

"Is that true?" Melcorka hid her fear. "I have never seen a spirit, or a witch, or a warlock."

"Neither have I." Bradan gave a small smile. "It might be an interesting experience."

Melcorka took a deep breath as they entered the forest, where trees closed off the view of the sky and fallen leaves were thick underfoot. Snowdrops peeped white heads above the ground to add some brightness.

"There are wolves here," Bradan warned, "and bears and boars."

Melcorka looked around and found that thick foliage blocked her view in all directions. "I am no lover of close forests."

Bradan touched her arm. "It is only another place to be," he said. "Most animals will avoid us. Only the hungry or the desperate might attack." He paused for a second. "Or the bears."

Melcorka took a deep breath. "I"ve never seen a bear, either."

"You"ll know if one comes." Bradan ducked under a low branch, pushed through a patch of nettles and cleared a path through brambles with his staff.

They saw no bears or wolves in the forest, and the only boar they saw was a male that stumbled across their path in a flash of dark brown, only to disappear even before Melcorka reached for her sword.

"Here we are." Bradan stopped. "The route to Castle Gloom."

The path wound away before them, wide enough for two people walking abreast or for one mounted, while trees not yet in leaf crowded close on either side, stark branches reaching like skeleton fingers to a sky of weeping rain.

"There are no birds," Melcorka said suddenly. "Not a single bird." She listened, hearing only the hiss of wind through the branches and the distant dark gurgle of a burn.

"There are no birds," Bradan confirmed, "and this is the only road to the castle."

They moved on, with the path becoming narrower and darker with every yard until it stopped at a steep ravine whose edges crumbled beneath their feet. A river growled at the bottom, churning brown and white over rounded rocks. Melcorka could see the path continuing on the opposite side, climbing an ever-steepening slope with a rapid burn on either side, both of which thundered into the river in a creamy cascade. A man lounged silently under a tree on the far bank, leaning on a short throwing spear and watching them.

"How do we cross?" Melcorka asked.

"By using that." Bradan pointed to a double rope that was suspended from the bough of an oak tree and spanned the river to a similar tree on the opposite side. "I"ll go first."

"What about him?" Melcorka indicated the watchman.

"Either he will allow me to pass, or he will kill me." Bradan gave a lopsided grin. "Let"s hope it is the first."

"I will go before you," Melcorka decided. "He will not kill me as easily as he may think." She scrambled up the tree, balanced on the double ropes and inched her way toward the far bank. With the ropes swinging under her weight, the ravine opened up below her with the sound of the water a constant roar. She saw the watchman regarding her until she was halfway over, when he lifted a ladder from behind the tree and climbed to a platform of rough-hewn planks. From there, he could dominate the rope bridge and everybody who used it.

"Hold there," he spoke casually, "and state your business in Castle Gloom."

"I am Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas." She was very aware of the drop beneath her.

"And your business?" The watchman hefted his spear, ready to throw. There was a rack of spears behind him.

"Refuge," Melcorka said.

"And your companion?"

"He is Bradan the Wanderer," Melcorka said. "He is my guide."

"His name is known." The watchman raised his voice. "Well met, Bradan the Wanderer."

In reply, Bradan lifted his hand. "Well met, watchman."

"Will you vouch for this woman, Bradan?" The man did not lower his spear.

"I will," Bradan said, and the watchman shouldered his spear and returned to his post as if nothing had happened.

Melcorka completed her crossing, returned the watchman"s offhand nod and waited for Bradan to join her. The rain increased, pattering on the trees and strengthening the force of both burns.

"That is the Burn of Sorrow," Bradan pointed to the rushing maelstrom on his right, "and that the Burn of Care," he nodded to his left. "I recommend that you don"t fall into either of them. We go on." He pointed to the path.

Once over the river, the footpath wound between the two burns, slippery under the hammering rain, dangerous, with ankle-wrenching potholes hidden under fallen leaves, winding upward and ever upward through the trees. After a further hour of climbing, they came to a cleared space that extended for five hundred paces. As if on order, the rain and the wind both stopped. The sudden silence seemed sinister.

"The killing zone." Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. "If any enemy reach this far, they have to cross to the outer wall with the defenders firing at them." He grinned. "Let"s hope the Constable doesn"t think we are hostile."

Two spearmen guarded an arched gateway in an eighteen-foot high stone wall, with others on top of the battlements. A portcullis blocked all entrance.

"This is Bradan the Wanderer, and I am Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas," Melcorka announced, and the portcullis drew up sufficiently for both to enter. Within the outer gate, there was a moat with a drawbridge and then the daunting mass of Castle Gloom itself.

Melcorka"s first impression was of stone. The building rose sheer from a stone base, with stone walls and a round stone tower soaring up to a clearing grey sky. The castle looked over the route they had just come, with tree-cover thick for miles but, in the distance, the snaking course of the Forth was visible, and the firth where it opened to greet the sea.

"Here is Campbell, the smiling Constable," Bradan said quietly. "Keep your sword sheathed and your words guarded with this man, for there are six bowmen with their arrows pointed at us even as we speak."

Melcorka resisted the temptation to draw Defender. Instead, she looked at the large man who shambled toward them from the door of the tower. He was as wide as he was tall, with red hair forming a curtain across his face and abnormally long arms hanging loosely at his sides. "He looks like a farmer."

Bradan grunted. "That man has a habit of lifting up prisoners and throwing them over the walls. Once, he bit the throat from a Saxon invader."

"And it was the sweetest bite I ever took," the Constable roared, proving that there was nothing the matter with his hearing, either. "Well met, Bradan the Wanderer." The hilt of the Constable"s sword protruded above his left shoulder as he looked at Melcorka. "You are quiet for a woman."

"You can make enough noise for both of us," Melcorka nearly said. Instead, she gave a little curtsey. "Thank you, Constable," she said.

The Constable"s grin was wide and easy. "I am always kind to my guests," he said. "Unless I take a dislike to them."

"Then let us hope we remain friends," Melcorka said lightly.

"Are there any of my people here?" It was a question that Melcorka had wanted to ask since she had first stepped inside the grounds of Castle Gloom. "Are there any people of the Cenel Bearnas?"

The Constable nodded. "I have one of the Cenel Bearnas here. A warrior named Baetan."

"Can I see him?" Although she had expected ill news, Melcorka tried to fight the sick grief that threatened to overcome her.

"Of course," the Constable said, "come this way." He led her to the central tower, where a spiral staircase wound its way upward. "We have quite a number of people here," he said, "refugees from the troubles all across Alba."

Melcorka nodded, unable to say more as the loss of her mother hit her again. That grief had hovered in the back of her mind since she had left the Forth. She looked away, to hide the tears that would shame her as a warrior.

"You knew all the Cenel Bearnas?" The Constable sounded genuinely concerned.

"Bearnas was my mother," Melcorka said.

The Constable nodded. "It is a hard thing to lose a mother, Melcorka. Baetan may be able to tell you more."

Bradan followed as Melcorka stepped into a stone chamber filled with men and women. The first thing that greeted them was the smell of unwashed humanity; the second was the sensation of overwhelming depression. People filled every square inch, standing in small groups, squatting against the walls or lying on the stone floor, some with weapons, most without, some wounded and all looking utterly dejected.

"I am Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas," Melcorka said. "I am looking for information about my people." She looked from person to person until she saw Baetan, lying asleep under the window. Stepping across the apathetic mass, she poked him with her foot. "Baetan. Wake up!"

He woke with a start, rolled onto his back and stared at her. "What…? Melcorka! I thought you were dead!"

"Not yet," she said. "How did my mother die?"

"She fought well," Baetan told her abruptly. "The dragon ship ploughed straight into the middle of us. Bearnas jumped on board to fight, but a Norseman with a tattooed face killed her with his axe."

Melcorka nodded. "I saw him from a distance," she said. "If I meet him again, I will kill him." She searched the room for a familiar face. "Did any of my people survive?"

"No." Baetan shook his head. "They were all killed. The Norse hunted them down like animals, shooting them with arrows in the water. The few who boarded the dragon ship were butchered."

"Yet you survived," Melcorka said, "again."

"I was lucky," Baetan said. "A current took me to safety."

"It was your panic that caused Mother"s death!" Melcorka"s voice rose.

Melcorka felt Bradan"s hand on her shoulder. "Not now, Melcorka." Bradan"s voice was quiet in this place of despair. "Come with me. Come on!" He pulled her away when she wished to remain.

Melcorka stumbled up the stone stairs to the battlements, where all of Scotland seemed to unfold before them. She took a deep draught of fresh air.

"My mother is dead," she said.

"I know," Bradan said. "I heard you tell Baetan that."

"All my people are dead," Melcorka said.

"I heard that, too," Bradan said.

"I have nobody," Melcorka said.

Bradan did not answer as Melcorka stepped to the furthest corner of the tower and looked to the north and west, in the direction of the island where she had spent so much of her life. There was nothing for her there now. The island was empty; it was a place she had once known, with memories of people who were now dead. Whatever secrets her mother had from her previous life had died with her.

She took another deep breath and felt the shuddering grief well up from deep inside her. It was many years since she had cried and she had not thought it would happen again. She shook Bradan"s arm from her shoulder as she gave in to her emotion.

"Cry," Bradan said softly, "cry as though the world will end. I will ensure that nobody sees you."

Melcorka felt the grief erupt from within her, taking control of her body. It consumed her, with great, hot tears pouring from her eyes and rolling down her face to drip from her chin and fall, unheeded, onto her clothes, so that her tunic was as saturated as if she had plunged it into salt water. She felt as if she was tearing herself apart.

Eventually, when the sun had long since dipped and the cool air was playing on her face, Melcorka stopped. She had cried herself dry. Bradan still stood nearby, silent and unmoving, watching over her.

"You must think badly of me," Melcorka said, "crying like a baby."

"I would think more badly of a woman who did not cry at the death of her mother," Bradan said softly. "Wait now, if you wish to hide your grief from others. The rain will be here in ten minutes."

Melcorka did not feel the bite of the rain, or the chill of the wind that accompanied it. She lifted her face to the skies and allowed nature to cleanse her of the marks of her loss. The reality was locked deep inside her. She knew it would be there always, hidden, and she could call on the memory of her mother in any bad times that lay ahead. She also knew that although the grief would never disappear, it would fade in time. The memories hardened within her; the time for crying had ended. Now, it was time to strike back at the men who had killed her kin.

"Come, Bradan," she said at length. "I have much work ahead of me."

"What do you wish to do?"

"Kill Norsemen," Melcorka said, as the vision of that tattooed man in the dragon ship loomed in her mind.