Falcon Warrior (The Swordswoman Book 3)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'I wonder which will happen first,' Melcorka said. 'Will the ice mountain melt or will they reach us.' She nodded toward the flotilla of sails that thrust from the southern horizon.

  'Ships.' Bradan had not noticed them.

  'I wonder who they could be, so far away from the world.' Melcorka said.

  'Or so far away from our world,' Bradan said. 'They might be close to their own. Like the woman we buried at sea.'

  'They are Norsemen.' Melcorka said flatly. 'They have the striped sails and the bearing of those savages. Five ships full of Norsemen.' She glanced toward Defender. 'What are they doing out here? There are no priests for them to plunder; no women to rape, no farmers to murder and nobody to take for slaves.'

  'We'll soon find out why they're here,' Bradan said; 'they're altering course toward us.'

  The square striped sails became more distinct and then the ships' hulls gradually rose over the horizon. Melcorka watched as they came closer, watched the familiar dragon figureheads grow more distinct with their staring eyes and gaping jaws.

  'The first time I saw a dragon-ship close up,' she said quietly, 'I was in the Firth of Forth. We were crossing in a fleet of small fishing boats and coracles. I was separated from the rest and Egil was the master.' She closed her fist around the hilt of Defender. 'He slaughtered all my family that day.'

  'Egil is dead now,' Bradan reminded gently. 'These ships are not his. You cannot hate all Norsemen because of the actions of one man.'

  'I do not hate all Norsemen,' Melcorka's knuckles whitened on the hilt of Defender. 'I am just telling you what happened.'

  The leading dragon-ship was much closer now, so Melcorka could see the sun glinting on the iron bosses of the round shields that were ranked along the gunwales, and the serried spears waiting around the single pine mast. She saw the steersman in the stern with his long blonde hair waving gently, and the crew crowding to stare at this unexpected mountain of ice carrying a strange vessel in the middle of the ocean. There were pointing fingers and men buckling on swords, a brace of archers fitting arrows to their bows and a handsome stern-faced woman standing on a raised platform in the stern with a tall and younger man at her side.

  'This is no raiding fleet,' Bradan said. 'Look at the second ship.'

  'Horses,' Melcorka said. 'They give the Norsemen greater mobility.'

  'Not only horses; there are also cattle; listen.'

  A slant of wind brought the sound to Melcorka; the lowing of cattle, neighing of horses and, high above, the high calling of a cockerel.

  'Perhaps these Norse are returning from a raid.' Melcorka defended her corner.

  'Have you ever known a Norse war party to bring home cattle and poultry?' Bradan shook his head. 'I have not: these are settlers, not warriors. They are heading somewhere to make a new life.'

  'We'll soon find out,' Melcorka said, 'but I won't trust them until I have more proof and even then I won't trust them.' She adjusted her sword belt so that Defender was within easy reach.

  'Take it calmly, Mel, take it calmly. They might be peaceful.'

  Melcorka grunted. 'They are Norsemen. They don't know the meaning of the word peace.' She glared across the water as if the intensity of her gaze could sink the entire Norse fleet.

  The ships came closer, with the sails furling and the oarsmen lifting the oars as they glided alongside.

  'Who are you?' The tall young gallant in the first ship called out cheerfully. 'I see you have found a nice iceberg to take along with you.'

  'We are Melcorka of Alba and Bradan the Wanderer,' Bradan shouted across the gap between the ships. 'The ice mountain – berg as you call it – found us rather than us finding it. Who are you?'

  'I am Erik Farseeker and this is my mother, the lady Frakkok,' he indicated the handsome woman. 'And these are our followers.'

  'Well met, Erik Farseeker, and the lady Frakkok.' Bradan shouted. 'You are far from home, Norseman. Your mother, I believe, has a name from the Picts?'

  'I am of the province of Cet, once Pictish and now part of the Norse Jarldom of Orkney.' Frakkok's voice was strong and as clear as the eyes that surveyed Catriona and all on board her. 'Do you know my people?'

  'We know Prince Aharn of the Picts of Fidach well,' Bradan said.

  'He is my nephew, as was his brother Loarn.' Frakkok confirmed, unsmiling. 'Where are you bound?'

  'Wherever the sea road leads,' Bradan shouted. 'Or wherever this great ice mountain takes us. Where are you going with your cattle?'

  'Greenland,' Erik grinned as he spoke. 'There is land for the taking there; fertile land, sweet water, seas full of fish and no fierce Pictish warriors or Scots spearmen waiting to cut your throat.'

  'Where is Greenland?' Bradan asked. 'I don't know the name.'

  Erik's grin widened even further. 'Come with us and find out, if you can bear to be parted from your icy companion.'

  Bradan glanced at Melcorka, who shrugged and nodded.

  'I have never seen Greenland; it will be a new experience.'

  Bradan nodded to Erik. 'If you don't mind us coming along, we will visit this Greenland of yours.'

  'Come along and welcome,' Erik said. 'The more the better and who knows? You might like it well enough to settle.' Standing at his side, Frakkok nodded once, although her eyes were hard as she scanned Melcorka.

  She will know me next time we meet, Melcorka thought and laughed. 'We are not the settling type but we will come along and bid a happy good day to Greenland.'

  'You will need to come off your iceberg first,' Erik's smile did not waver.

  The words had scarcely been uttered when a crack appeared along the entire side of the berg, accompanied by an ear-battering creaking.

  'We're moving,' Bradan warned as the ledge and the ice on either side began to slide downward toward the sea. 'Hold on!'

  Catriona veered first to larboard then starboard as she slithered down the side of the berg to splash into the sea in the midst of a cascade of ice and chilled water. Melcorka ducked as a chunk of ice crashed past her head, to shatter on the gunwale and then they were merely rocking, with water splashing inboard and surging up to their knees.

  'That was fortunate,' Erik had flinched at the avalanche of ice. 'Welcome to my fleet.'

  Frakkok stood unmoving in the stern of the dragon-ship as if she saw a disintegrating iceberg every day of her life. Her gaze remained on Melcorka for a long minute before it slid away. A gust of wind spread greying once-dark hair across her face so for an instant she appeared to be looking through a curtain, and when it flicked clear, her eyes were once again on Melcorka, thoughtful and brooding.

  'That Pictish woman is still examining me,' Melcorka said.

  'The Picts are like that,' Bradan said. 'They are a thorough, careful people, as you know.'

  Melcorka nodded. 'I remember that,' she said.

  Catriona joined the flotilla, raising her sail and sliding alongside the rearmost two ships so they were observed by a trio of curious cows and half a dozen Saxon slaves as they surged through the grey-green seas.

  'I've never sailed with cattle before,' Melcorka adjusted the tiller slightly as the wind altered. 'It is already a new experience.' She looked forward, where the dragon-ship of Erik and Frakkok ploughed the sea-road. With the sails set she eased through the long swells, a masterpiece of the ship-builders' art as all Norse vessels were.

  'Greenland,' Bradan said. 'I wonder if it is green and if your green people live there.'

  Melcorka altered her grip on the tiller. 'If there are black and yellow people like you say, there may well be green people in Greenland.'

  'I look forward to meeting them,' Bradan said.

  The Norse ships were larger than Catriona, surging through the sea on either side of them with Erik's ship a length in front, the point of the arrow-head formation. In the stern of her ship, Frakkok turned, placed her hands on the rail and stared at them.

  'Frakkok still does not like us,' Melcorka said. 'However friendly Erik appears
to be, that woman is watching us all the time.'

  'I noticed,' Bradan said. 'I did not know that Pictish women willingly married Norsemen. She must have done so to be so readily accepted by these Norsemen.' He looked over the fleet. 'There are about forty Norse women here, and twice that many men, plus slaves. They are undoubtedly settlers rather than raiders.'

  'Brave men and women,' Melcorka gave grudging approval. 'Any brash young fool can carry a sword and kill monks or unsuspecting farmers or villagers. It takes real courage to collect your family and possessions and create a new life in an unknown land.'

  'That was very profound,' Bradan said. 'Is this the same ferocious woman who single- handedly chased the Norse out of Alba?'

  'That never happened,' Melcorka said. 'As you know full well. And Frakkok is still studying us. Don't look.'

  'I am not looking,' Bradan continued to stare at the cattle in the nearest dragon-ship. 'These are not the best beasts. The Norse may be great warriors but their livestock skills leave much to be desired. Look at that one,' he pointed to a ragged dun cow. 'She won't last the winter.' He lowered his voice. 'I can feel Frakkok's eyes burning through us. That woman means us no good will, and as she is the matriarch of this fleet, she could turn them all against us.'

  'We'll see what this Greenland place is like first,' Melcorka said. 'I am intrigued by the name!' She looked up, smiling. 'I would love to see your green men in Greenland.'

  'They are your green men, not mine,' Bradan said mildly. 'And are the Norse safe with you? Or will you look for an excuse to kill them all.' Bradan asked mildly.

  Melcorka touched the hilt of her sword. 'Let me deal with the Norse,' she said.

  Bradan glanced at her. There had been something chilling in her words. 'You are a warrior, Mel but you don't kill merely because you don't like somebody. If you're looking for trouble we'd best turn around and steer back into the storm. These are settlers, remember Melcorka, not Vikings.'

  'The Norse murdered my mother; they killed all my friends; they wiped out the entire population of my island and they tried to kill you at Callanish.'

  'I know all that,' Bradan said quietly. 'I also know that you killed Egil, the Norseman who murdered your mother.'

  'There are others,' Melcorka said. 'There are plenty of others.'

  'Forget them,' Bradan said. 'You have killed the murderer. Now you must put all that behind you, Melcorka. Egil was a vicious killer; most Norsemen are no different from the Scots or Picts; some are bad and some are good.'

  'And none are to be trusted,' Melcorka said grimly.

  'Frakkok is not Norse,' Bradan reminded. 'She is a Pict and we have many Pictish friends.'

  Melcorka stroked the scabbard of Defender and said nothing.

  Chapter Two

  They saw the mountains the next day, seemingly floating above the horizon, white with snow, as serrated as a broken saw and taller than any they had seen in Alba.

  'So Greenland has white mountains,' Bradan said.

  'Green and white land, then,' Melcorka watched the Norse flotilla tighten around them as they sailed closer to this new land. Erik waved to them until Frakkok snapped something to him and he turned rapidly away. 'Erik is scared of her.'

  'I've never seen a scared Norseman before,' Bradan said.

  'Nor have I,' Melcorka watched the young Norseman as he made minute adjustments to the sail. 'Nor have I.'

  They pushed on toward Greenland with the sea calm and the wind light. Patches of mist drifted across the sea, dissipating, reforming, altering Melcorka's perception so she was unsure of distances and objects until a faint sun burned the sea clear and Greenland was revealed.

  The mountains were in the background, how far away Melcorka could not tell; white and sharply serrated, they rose as a backdrop to a land that was otherwise drab brown with patches of lovat-green and as many rocks as any island in the Outer Hebrides.

  'I can't see much green here,' Bradan said.

  'There are no green men, then,' Melcorka sat at the tiller, steering to make the best of the fluky wind. 'That is a pity. I was quite looking forward to seeing a green man.'

  They sailed up a short inlet, with tumbled, lichen-stained rocks on both sides and clear water speckled with floating ice beneath their hull until they came to the inlet's head, where the ground levelled out. There was brown moorland scattered with rocks very similar to the landscape of North West Alba, a handful of scrubby trees and a scattered settlement backed by square fields. A score of cattle grazed in the fields, watched by a few young boys, while men in baggy trousers worked at digging out the moorland to create more fields.

  'It is very peaceful, this Greenland,' Bradan looked around. 'These men are not carrying swords, and their spears are all piled at the end of the fields, a three minute run away. It's also a bit far for raiding Vikings to sail, or even Caterans.'

  'It is peaceful,' Melcorka agreed. 'But there is smoke coming over that ridge there.'

  'I can't see it.'

  'Nor can I. Smell the air.' Melcorka said. 'And look at the ridge; everywhere else is clear while it is hazy. There is smoke there.'

  The Norse fleet sailed in as if they knew the place intimately and drew up on a shallow shingle beach a few yards below the settlement. Within a few moments, the men splashed into the water as they began to unload the livestock. There was the sound of lowing cattle and neighing horses, laughing men and the high-pitched screech of excited children. Some women greeted the men with hugs; others were more passionate while a few watched with disappointment or anticipation. Erik stood alone and slightly forlorn as Frakkok snapped rapid orders.

  'They've been here before,' Melcorka said. 'This is a return visit.' She steered Catriona toward the beach, close to the Norse vessels but not alongside them. 'I still don't trust these people,' she said as Bradan looked questioningly at her.

  'Aye,' Bradan nodded. 'It's sensible to keep some distance until we're sure.'

  They crunched onto the pebbly beach, where small wavelets softly hushed and the sound of seabirds competed with the soft lowing of cattle. A man lifted a hand in quiet greeting to them before helping unload the larger Norse ships. Melcorka stepped ashore and staggered. After weeks at sea, the land seemed to sway underneath her.

  'Come along, you two.' With nobody apparently willing to greet him, Erik stepped toward them, hand outstretched in welcome and sword at his hip. 'I'll show you around our little settlement of Frakkoksfjord.'

  'That would be kind of you,' Bradan placed a hand on Melcorka's shoulder before she opened her mouth to refuse. 'We'd like to see this place. I thought Tir nan Og was over the sea, not this Greenland place.'

  Erik's laugh sounded genuine. 'Do you like the name? My namesake Erik the Red called it Greenland to encourage settlers here.'

  'I like the name,' Bradan said.

  'Are you burning the heather to make new fields?' Melcorka was more direct.

  Erik frowned. 'Not to my knowledge…' He looked around.

  'There is fire over there.' Melcorka pointed to the ridge on the north. She touched the hilt of Defender and immediately felt the heightening of her senses. 'And somebody is shouting.'

  'I'll have a look.' Erik said. 'If you will excuse me?' He strode toward the ridge.

  Melcorka watched him curiously.

  'He seems friendly enough,' Bradan said. 'He's invited us to his settlement and showed no hostility at all.'

  'Not yet,' Melcorka said. 'He's too polite for a Norseman.'

  Erik was three hundred paces away and moving fast. Melcorka did not see why he hesitated and looked back over his shoulder. 'Skraelings!' His voice was louder than Melcorka had expected. 'The Skraelings are attacking us!'

  'What in the name of God is a Skraeling?' Bradan lifted the rowan-wood staff that was the only weapon he carried.

  'I don't know,' Melcorka said, 'but I think we're about to find out.'

  Erik's words were spread from man to man and woman to woman so that nearly all the adults in the se
ttlement grabbed some sort of weapon and rushed to join him. While warriors carried sword, spear or axe, slaves and women hefted staffs or even brooms of slaves and women.

  'We are guests here,' Bradan reminded. 'We must follow the rules of hospitality.'

  'I know.' Melcorka was already hurrying after Erik. 'Our hosts' fight is our fight; his enemies are our enemies and his friends are our friends. Whoever these Skraelings are, by tradition, they are now our enemies.'

  'I am no fighting man,' Bradan reminded.

  'And I am no lover of the Norse,' Melcorka said. 'Yet I will join them in this fight. Stay behind if you must, Bradan. I will think no worse of you.'

  'I know that,' Bradan matched her step for step as she hurried to the ridge.

  Of the hundred or so people in Frakkoksfjord, nearly all surged forward. Only when she neared the summit of the ridge did Melcorka unsheathe Defender and as always, the surge of power made her tingle and gasp. She savoured that feeling for only a second.

  'Come on Skraelings!' Melcorka shouted, 'come on and die!'

  From the crest of the ridge they viewed an undulating, slowly rising plain of heather and scrub, scattered with rectangular, stone- built houses in the manner of the Norse and with small fields that had obviously been newly hacked from the surrounding ground.

  Three of the houses were on fire, with smoke belching from the rough thatch and orange flames flickering from the small square windows. Three people lay on the ground, with others running toward them, screaming in fear. Melcorka remembered the villages in Scotland that had been attacked by the Norse and she wondered how these people liked being on the opposite side. Only then did she look at the attackers. They were unlike anything that she had seen before.

  Dressed in a mixture of furs, they were smallish in stature, with bulky bodies and tanned faces with slitted eyes. They moved fast and fired arrows from small bows or carried long spears with barbed points.