'It was a sword well made,' Ceridwen had said, 'in Derwen's forge. It was made with rich red ore with Derwen tramping on bellows of ox-hide to blow the charcoal hot as hell ever is. The ore sank down, down through the charcoal to the lowest depth of the furnace, to form a shapeless mass the weight of a well- grown child.'
'Derwen carried the metal to the anvil and chose the best of the best to reheat and form into a bar. He had the bar blessed by the druids of his time, and by the holy man who came from the East, a young fugitive from Judea who fled the wrath of the Romans.'
'Derwen cut his choice of steel into short lengths, laid them end on end in water blessed by the holy one and the chief druid of Caractacus, and drew them long and long before welding them together with the skill that only Derwen had. These operations working together equalised the temper of the steel, making it hard throughout, and sufficiently pliable to bend in half and spring together. Derwen tested the blade, and retested the blade, then hardened and sharpened it with his own touch and his own magic. At the end, in the final forging, Derwen sprinkled his own white powder of the dust of diamonds and rubies into the red- hot steel, to keep it free of rust and protect the edge.'
'May I see it?' Erik repeated. He was still smiling, his eyes wide and blue and far too friendly for a Norseman. 'Look…' unfastening his own sword belt, he handed it to her openly. 'You see? Now I am defenceless before you. You have your own sword and mine.'
Melcorka took his sword. She could not help her smile; nor could she help liking this man, despite his nationality. Could she trust him? There was undoubtedly something about him that appealed to her.
Unfastening her sword belt, Melcorka handed over Defender. She doubted that Erik had the skill to use it anyway.
'Shall we go inside out of the cold and mist?' Erik indicated a house nearby. 'It's not a day to linger outside.'
Melcorka smiled; she had never met a Norseman, or any warrior, who admitted feeling cold. 'If you wish.' She felt exposed without Defender, even if Erik seemed innocent as a baby.
The house was empty and not much warmer than the outside, with very little light penetrating the small windows and the wind rustling the rough thatch above. Erik slid Defender from her scabbard. 'That is a beautiful sword,' he ran his fingers over the hilt. 'The craftsmanship is superb. Who was the swordsmith?'
'A man named Derwen,' Melcorka said, 'a very long time ago.'
'The balance is excellent,' Erik took a practise swing. 'Even I could be a warrior with a blade such as this.'
'Are you not a warrior now?' Melcorka asked.
'Not a proper one,' Erik was surprisingly honest. 'I have little skill and no experience.' His smile wrapped around her. 'I hope for the opportunity soon, but there is nobody to fight here except the Skraelings and they are not formidable.'
'You can't forge a reputation unless you face known warriors,' Melcorka agreed. 'Were you not involved in the late war in Alba?'
'I was not,' Erik said.
For some reason, Melcorka was glad of that answer. She did not want to think that she had opposed this man. 'It was a bloody campaign,' she said.
'So I heard,' Erik ran his hand up the length of the blade. 'I have never seen craftsmanship like this before.' He smiled at her. 'You will have to send this Derwen to me. I could use such a man.'
'He is long dead,' Melcorka unsheathed Erik's blade. About half the weight of Defender, it was decorated with spiral patterns and had a runic script running above the guard. 'What do these letters mean?' She smiled. 'I never learned to read.'
'Thor and Odin own you,' Erik said. 'May I try your belt on?' Before Melcorka could reply, Erik shrugged off his ornate light blue cloak and fastened Melcorka's sword belt around him, so the hilt of Defender protruded above his left shoulder. 'It's very heavy,' he said.
'You get used to it. The balance makes up for the weight.' Melcorka watched as Erik stalked the length of the house, shouted 'Thor' and drew Defender as if to strike.
'Would you part with your sword?'
'I would not,' Melcorka said. She tightened her grip on Erik's sword, wondering if he was going to attack her.
'Nor would I if it was mine.' Erik stepped toward the door, still holding Defender.
Melcorka followed. 'She had served me well in the past, and will do in the future.'
Erik stepped outside and shivered. 'Thank you,' he handed Defender back.
It was the first time Melcorka had ever been thanked by a Norseman.
'We've left something in the house. I'll get them.' Diving back inside, Erik returned with both cloaks and a grin on his face.
'Thank you, Erik,' Melcorka touched his arm, just as Bradan came out of the great hall. He looked from one to the other and then downward. 'Bradan!' Melcorka shouted. Without a word, Bradan walked away, tapping his staff on the hard ground.
'He did not hear you,' Erik said. 'The air here does that sometimes. It takes sounds and twists them.'
'That must be it,' Melcorka said. She did not like to see Bradan walk away from her.
They gathered at the Thing-mound, the small hillock where every adult male of Frakkoksfjord met to discuss events. Melcorka counted them: One hundred and fifteen men armed for war. Being Norsemen they were mainly tall, muscular and confident in their ability to confront and defeat any enemy, despite the fact that many had only wispy beards or none at all while others had beards of iron-grey of silver. It was a mixture of youth and creaking experience. Yet all carried some sort of weapon, from short spears to the full set of sword, shield, and axe, although the latter was in the minority.
'They look an unusual collection of old men and children.' Bradan leaned on his staff. 'They are more farmers than warriors, yet they think they know what they are doing.'
Melcorka nodded. 'They are Norsemen; part farmer, part seaman and always ready to fight.'
'Well, if this Ice king has pushed the Skraelings southward, he must be quite a warrior himself. These Norsemen will get their chance to fight. Even those fresh from their mother's arms.'
'You don't have to come with us.' Melcorka said.
'Yes I do,' Bradan said quietly, glancing at Erik.
Intercepting his glance, Melcorka shook her head. She did not know if she was pleased with his jealousy or annoyed. Either way, it was a new side to her Bradan.
'Men!' Erik stood on top of the Thing mound and raised his arms high. 'We are heading north into the unknown.'
They gathered around, nodding and murmuring agreement. One youth raised his spear and shook it in agreement.
'We have travelled further than any other Norseman. We have braved the western ocean and found this new land. We have broken it in and settled farms here. We have faced and overcome the Skraelings. Now we are going into even more new lands. We will find this Ice king, whoever he is, and we will kill him.'
The men cheered this time, with most of them waving swords or spears in the air. They began to chant. 'Odin! Odin!' or 'Thor! Thor!'
'Last time we heard that slogan we were opposing their armies on the banks of the Tummel.' Melcorka said. 'I never thought to be fighting alongside the Norse rather than on the other side.'
'Nor did I,' Bradan tapped his staff on the ground and eyed the Norsemen. 'They don't look terribly different from the Scots when they marched to war. Maybe people are much the same the world over.'
'Maybe they are,' Melcorka said. 'Yet I can't remember the Scots or Picts sending fleets over to conquer the Norse, or to conquer anybody else for that matter.'
The women waved them goodbye and immediately returned to their work. Only a few turned to watch their men advance to battle. Melcorka caught Bradan's eye, shrugged, hitched Defender higher up her back and walked on. Although she was a guest she moved to the front of the small army; she refused to follow in the wake of a bunch of Norsemen, allies or not.
They marched northward, one hundred and fifteen armed Norsemen, one female warrior woman and one wandering man with a staff and a laconic, musing face.
'This is very familiar,' Bradan tapped his staff on the near-frozen ground. 'You and I marching with a band of warriors, not sure what is ahead of us.'
'I remember,' Melcorka said. 'Last time we were on the island of Lewis searching for Abaris and the Shining One.'
'I remember. And this time we are in Greenland, hunting for the Ice king.' Bradan looked around at the unfamiliar landscape. It was not dissimilar to western Scotland, except that here great jagged icy-white mountains replaced the great jagged grey-blue mountains of Scotland.
'He's not much of a war captain,' Melcorka nodded to Erik. 'His men are in no formation at all.'
The Norse moved in a straggling mob, with every man choosing his own path. They talked in loud voices, wandered where they liked and appeared more casual than Melcorka would have ordered.
'He is very young,' Bradan said. 'And I think the old men have spent their lives farming, not raiding. They do not have the appearance of Vikings. There are no scars and their muscles are bunched, not smooth.'
'I'll talk to him.' Melcorka stepped to Erik's side. 'Erik, have you thought about sending out scouts, so you know what is ahead?'
The smile was expected. The answer was not. 'We don't need scouts for the Skraelings. They are only savages with no knowledge of war.'
'What if they attack us just now? You are not in any formation; they could pick off the stragglers without any difficulty.'
'We are Vikings!' Eric said. 'We have conquered half Europe, travelled to Miklagard and to the lands of the Caliphs. We rule most of the English kingdoms …'
'But were defeated in Scotland,' Melcorka could not resist saying.
'We haven't given up there,' Eric showed some spirit for the first time. 'We'll be back.'
'Were you involved in that campaign?' Bradan asked.
'No,' Eric shook his head. He looked a young boy, guilty when caught skipping his lessons or some chore.
'Have you ever been in battle?' Melcorka watched as a dozen Norsemen wandered off to the left, singing some song she did not know.
'You know I have!' Drawing his sword, Eric took a practice swing to prove his ferocity as a warrior. 'You saw me fight the Skraelings.'
Melcorka nodded. 'I saw you fight the Skraelings,' she said.
'I am a Viking warrior,' Erik was obviously boasting for the benefit of his men, or to boost his own courage. 'My men will sweep the Skraelings aside and deal with this Ice king. He will be another Skraeling, a fur-clad savage.' Still smiling, he ran to the front of his men.
'Erik has no experience in war,' Melcorka said. 'If he had fought in a real war he would have bragged about it. He has only been in that one tiny skirmish with the Skraelings. I think Frakkok is trying to blood him by ordering him against this Ice king.'
'Not the best man to lead this mob toward an unknown enemy,' Bradan tapped his staff on the ground again. 'Maybe you'd be best take charge.'
'I am a guest of Erik. I have no right to control his army.' Melcorka glanced around the Norsemen. 'If you can call this an army.'
'It is a group of armed farmers,' Bradan looked around. 'Compared to them, Hector's Hebrideans were as disciplined as the Romans.'
'You keep close to me,' Melcorka said. 'This may not end well for Erik's men.'
The further they walked inland, the rougher the terrain became. Within a few miles, there were patches of snow on the ground, which increased in size as they headed north.
'Look,' Bradan nodded to the west.
At first, Melcorka thought it was a collection of sticks and rags but as she looked she realised that it was a collection of huts. Made of driftwood covered in sealskin, they would have merged with the landscape save for the group of children that played around the doorways and the old woman who sat with them, chewing on something that looked like seal fat.
'Erik!' Melcorka drew his attention to the village. 'Down there.'
'Skraelings!' Erik's roar sounded like a rutting stag. 'Come to me, men, and we'll slaughter them!'
'Oh, dear God.' Melcorka shook her head. 'Is that what the Norse are reduced to?'
At the warning, the Norse drew their weapons and clustered around their leader, shouting to Odin and Thor.
'I can't let them massacre these people,' Melcorka said to Bradan. She stepped forward. 'Erik,' she said. 'Do you know anything about this Ice king?'
Erik frowned. 'No,' he said. 'I did not know he existed until that Skraeling told us.'
'It might be better to get some information about your enemy before you fight him,' Melcorka said.
'How?' Erik hefted his sword, eager to prove himself.
'Ask the Skraelings.' Melcorka allowed him a few moments for the idea to sink in before she continued. 'They have more reason to dislike the Ice king than you have, so far, and they know more about him.'
'We will capture another one,' Erik said.
'Why?' Melcorka asked bluntly. 'You have a mutual enemy. Why not combine against him?'
Erik frowned. 'We could slaughter them,' he said.
'Or they could slaughter you,' Melcorka said. 'Look around.' She had been watching the surroundings, seeing movement among the ragged rocks and drifts of deep snow. 'I suspect that they are watching us right now. It would be best if we appeared friendly.'
'What?' Erik turned around, waving his sword. Bradan put a hand on his arm.
'If Melcorka warns you about an enemy,' Bradan said softly, 'it's best to listen.'
'She is only a woman!' A tall, bearded Norseman shouted. 'What does she know about war?'
'The lady Frakkok is only a woman too,' Bradan reminded.
'Attack the Skraelings!' the bearded man shouted. 'Kill them all!'
'Look around you,' Melcorka said.
The Skraelings seemed to rise from the ground, bows strung and spears ready. They surrounded the band of Norsemen without a word said.
'We come in peace!' Melcorka took the initiative. 'We seek an alliance.' Hoping that no hot-head among the Norse launched an abortive attack, she stepped toward the centre of the Skraeling ranks. She guessed there were more than two hundred of them, stocky men, wary of eye and with a score of arrows following her. 'Where is your leader?'
'I am.' The man was no different in appearance from his colleagues. Short in stature, with slightly slanted eyes and a tawny complexion, he held a small but powerful bow with the arrow pointed directly at Melcorka's throat.
'I am Melcorka of Alba. I am staying with the Norse of Frakkoksfjord.'
'I am Almick.' The man said no more. His beard was small and neatly trimmed, his eyes unwavering.
'Are you the leader, the headman here?' Melcorka asked.
'I am.'
'We are going to attack the Ice king,' Melcorka said bluntly. 'We have no quarrel with you or your people.'
'You killed some of my people,' Almick said. 'And you are carrying weapons.'
'Your people attacked the Norse settlers,' Melcorka was very aware of the Norse behind her. With their reputation for extreme violence, she was not sure if they would suddenly charge at the Skraelings. If that happened, whoever won the battle, there would be casualties on both sides and their position would be weaker.
Melcorka took a deep breath. 'Look, Almick. I will show you my peaceful intention.' Unstrapping Defender, she placed it on the ground. Without the magic of her sword, Melcorka knew that she was as vulnerable as any other woman in these circumstances. All her power lay in that weapon.
She stepped forward, fighting her fear. If the Norse were correct, then her fate had been decided long before she was born, so it should make no difference if she was armed or not.
Almick did not lower his bow.
Melcorka took the dirk from its sheath and placed it beside Defender. 'You see?' she said. 'I am helpless before you. We seek friendship and an alliance against the Ice king.'
'What do you know of the Ice king?' Almick asked.
'Nothing,' Melcorka admitted. 'Nobody of Frakkoksfjord had heard of him until one of
your people told us.'
'That was Ulmock, my brother,' Almick said.
Suddenly Melcorka felt extremely vulnerable. 'I did not know.'
'You put him in a fire,' Almick pulled back his bowstring.
'Melcorka saved him from torture,' Bradan stepped beside Melcorka. 'She made his death easier.'
Melcorka could nearly taste the tension as the Skraelings and Norse faced each other, one side holding drawn bows, the other renowned for their skill with axe and sword.
Almick's laughter was unexpected. 'I was going to kill him myself!' He bellowed, dropping his aim. 'You saved me from the trouble!'
The other Skraelings also began to laugh, and soon the Norse joined in, although Melcorka doubted whether one in ten of them understood why they were laughing. Within a few moments, the Skraelings had surged forward and were talking to the Norse in a strange mixture of both languages mixed with signs and facial expressions.
Within a few moments what had nearly been a battle became a party as Norse and Skraelings combined together in a friendship cemented by drinking, singing, and women.
'This is not what I had imagined when we left Frakkoksfjord,' Melcorka stepped over a copulating couple.
'They are getting closer,' Bradan smiled as a young Norseman was dragged happily into one of the Skraeling huts by two stocky, smiling Skraeling women. 'They will be the best of friends tomorrow, or sworn enemies.'
The celebrations continued for two days and two nights before settling down into a drunken slumber. Melcorka surveyed the village, with sundry Norse and Skraelings in various stages of dress and undress in myriad positions occupying every corner, nook and hollow.
Almick and Erik joined her, the former looking as satisfied as any cream-licking cat and the latter white-faced, drained and weak. The Skraeling woman who clung to Erik was grinning until Almick pushed her away.
'That is one of my wives,' he said. 'I told her to make sure you were cared for, Erik. If she failed, you may beat her.'
'She did not fail,' Erik did not meet Almick's gaze.
Falcon Warrior (The Swordswoman Book 3) Page 4
