Falcon Warrior (The Swordswoman Book 3)

by Malcolm Archibald

'She already has a name,' Chumani said. 'She is Eyota; the great one.'

  'Look.' Chaytan pointed. 'Is that your canoe?'

  Sea Serpent lay on her side on the shore, with her mast unshipped and her oars neatly piled a short distance away. Catriona was in the river, tied up and bobbing gently to the current. Two bored Dhegian warriors guarded each ship.

  'If my sword is on board,' Melcorka said, 'then I will be a warrior again, able to help you in your fight.' She did not like to think of the alternative. If the Dhegians had taken Defender, then she was no good to anybody. The rock climbing skills of an islander were useless in this land of forests and endless prairie.

  Chumani touched her arm. 'You are Eyota,' she said simply.

  'Wait,' Chaytan said and signalled to Akecheta. The two of them crawled forward, hugging the ground closely until they came to the guards. They rose as one man, placed a hand over the mouth of their target, crashed the war-clubs on their heads and caught the bodies as they fell. The whole affair took less than two minutes.

  'Come on,' Chumani said and Melcorka followed her to the side of the great river. Catriona looked empty and forlorn, a sea-going ship outside her element. Melcorka jumped on board, with Chumani close behind her. The Lakota warriors strung out along the banks of the river, looking outward in complete silence.

  'Find your sword,' Chumani whispered, 'before the Dhegians return.'

  Dropping to a crouch, Melcorka searched for Defender. She looked under the thwarts, in the small lockers in bow and stern and between the benches. The sword was not there. The small flicker of hope that had buoyed her vanished to be replaced by sick depression. She had lost Defender; she was nothing. Doubtless one of the Dhegian warriors now possessed her sword.

  The depth of her loss was crippling. The sword that Calgacus had carried against the Romans, that Arthur had wielded against the pagan Saxons and that Bridei had taken to defeat the Angles at Nechtansmere: gone. It had been entrusted to her care and she had allowed the followers of Wamblee to take it and kill her man.

  'It's not here,' Melcorka heard the catch in her voice. She was near breaking point. She had nothing left to offer.

  There was no future. There was no present; there was only a past.

  'Eyota,' Chumani sounded shocked. 'Eyota.'

  'No; only Melcorka.' Melcorka said quietly. She took a deep breath. She was Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas. She did not need a sword to make her way in the world, however illustrious its history. She had to remind herself that she had existed before she met Bradan and before Defender came into her life. 'I am Melcorka.'

  'No; you are Eyota.'

  Melcorka realised that Chumani was trembling. 'Are you all right, Chumani?'

  The Lakota girl fell to her knees and handed something to Melcorka. It was the head-band from the ice woman and the small bag of falcon trinkets that she had removed from the body.

  'I found these,' Melcorka began and clamped her mouth shut. These people expected a deliverer to come from the north. They expected the deliverer to be a woman. She knew that when she donned that head-band she gained an insight into this place and these people. It now seemed obvious that the dead woman they had found had been Eyota, dead God alone knew how long ago and now buried at sea. Well then; the Lakota had helped her; now she must help them and if that meant wearing the mantle of a dead woman, then that is what she would do.

  'Eyota…' Chumani proffered the head-band and bag again. She did not raise her head.

  'Thank you, Chumani.' Melcorka said. Reaching forward, she took the bag of trinkets and placed them inside her now sadly battered cloak. The head-band was next. She lifted it, feeling the quality of the cloth, the smooth falcon design, and nothing else. The design was not embroidered as she had at first thought, but was composed of hundreds of sea shells, some coloured, others white.

  Chumani watched closely as Melcorka fastened the band around her head as she had done before. All at once she could see more clearly. She felt a surge of confidence similar to that she experienced when she unsheathed Defender, a new vitality, and definite authority.

  'Eyota…' Chumani was on all fours, her face turned to the planking within Catriona.

  Reaching out, Melcorka lifted her up. 'There is no need for that sort of thing between friends.' The words came fluently and Melcorka heard the timbre of her voice. It was deeper, more musical than the Gaelic with which she normally communicated.

  'You are Eyota.'

  'And you are Chumani, my friend.' Melcorka held her upper arms. 'Come on, Chumani. We did not find my sword.'

  Suddenly the loss of Defender was less important. Out here in this wild western land of great prairies, vast forests, broad rivers and lakes as large as the sea, Melcorka's priorities altered. This head-band with its intricate design seemed to give her some authority. But why her? Was it because some of the residual magic of Defender was retained inside her and the force within the head-band, whatever it was, recognised that magic and transferred its power to her?

  Melcorka shook her head. She did not know. She only knew that there was something here, something that affected her. She stepped clear of Catriona and onto the bank of the Mississippi River.

  Chaytan stared at her, open- mouthed. 'So it's true,' he said. 'You are Eyota. Chumani was right all along. Well, don't expect me to grovel at your feet.'

  'I would not wish that,' Melcorka said. The Lakota warriors were watching her, some openly staring; others shy, as if afraid to catch her eye. She raised her voice. 'I am Melcorka of Alba' she said. 'I am also Eyota of Dhegia.'

  They nodded accepting her words as fact. Their eyes were filled with respect.

  'Now we can rid ourselves of the plague of Wamblee.' There was great satisfaction in Chumani's voice. 'Eyota is back.'

  'We'll return to your village,' Melcorka said, 'and plan how best to do this.'

  'As you say, Eyota,' Chumani agreed at once.

  Cahokia was awake. Melcorka frowned at the sound of a cracking whip and the shouts of the slave drivers. Chaytan's mighty hands unceremoniously pushed her into the shadow of a wall as the Dhegians passed. There were three of them and all held a long whip with which they belaboured the long file of naked prisoners that walked in front.

  'Why don't they fight back?' Melcorka asked.

  'They are slaves,' Chumani explained. 'If they rebel against the legal ruler in any way their ancestors will be cast out of the Spirit World.'

  'We will have to do something about that,' Melcorka felt the spirit of Eyota surging through her, adding knowledge and authority to her. She was no longer the young girl from the islands, but Eyota of Cahokia. She watched as the slaves left the centre of the town to descend a huge pit and worked with primitive spades, filling baskets of earth. They were joined by more, in dozens and scores until there were hundreds of them, mostly men but also women digging into the ground and carrying baskets of earth to add to an already large pile.

  'They are building another mound,' Akecheta said. 'Wamblee wants this one to be the largest pyramid in the world, a tribute to his greatness. He will sacrifice two chiefs today to gain the approval of Wi.'

  Melcorka nodded slowly, understanding Wamblee's need for blood sacrifice in this culture. 'I want that to be the last sacrifices that Wamblee ever makes.'

  'Wait.' Chaytan said. 'Somebody is coming.'

  The Dhegian patrol was fifty men strong, trotting in unison as they moved toward the citadel. Armed with heavy carved maces and small wicker-work shields, they checked the identity of every man and woman they passed.

  'You!' the leader pointed to a man who had tried to slip away from them. 'Where are you going?

  'Nowhere,' the man stuttered.

  'Nobody leaves when we sacrifice to Wi.' The captain took hold of the man's arm.

  'I wasn't going anywhere,' the man said.

  'You are now.' The captain snapped an order and two of his warriors grabbed the man. 'Take him to the compound.'

  'No…' the man looked around in su
dden panic. 'You can't do that.' Suddenly jerking his arm free, he dashed up the nearest alleyway, with the warriors in close pursuit.

  'We could help him,' Melcorka said.

  Chaytan held her arm. 'Watch and learn Eyota,' he said. 'It is better that you see what happens here.'

  Caught by the warriors, the terrified man was dragged to the nearest open space. 'Kill him,' the captain said laconically.

  'No…' The man screamed once before the maces rose and crashed sickeningly on his head. Pushing the body to the side of the road, the warriors moved on.

  'Stay here, Eyota,' Chaytan said. 'Things have altered a lot since you were last here. You should know about the evil that you have come to cleanse.'

  Within a minute a tall man supervised a group of slaves who lifted the dead body and carried it away, with one slave sprinkling river sand over the mess of blood.

  'That man mentioned a compound,' Melcorka said. 'What did he mean?'

  Chaytan and Chumani exchanged glances. 'Come with us,' Chaytan said. 'It is not a pretty sight.'

  'We'll have to climb one of the pyramids,' Akecheta said.

  'Then that is what we shall do,' Chumani said. 'Eyota wishes it.'

  There were many pyramids in the city, some were simple mounds of soil surmounted by the house of wealthy merchants or chiefs; others were taller with public buildings on top. Chaytan brought them to one of the latter.

  'This place is empty today,' he said. 'The officials are all going to the public square for the sacrifice.' A flight of stone stairs led upward to the palisade that encircled the summit of the mound and enclosed a squat building. Akecheta led them to the palisade and peered over. 'You can see from here, Eyota.'

  The compound lay on the outskirts of the city. There was a twenty-foot high wall of beaten earth topped by a stout palisade of pointed stakes. A dozen Dhegian warriors guarded the open doorway, with some two hundred men and women huddled together under the open sky.

  'Why are they there?' Melcorka asked.

  'They are now slaves,' Chaytan said soberly. 'Whoever needs a slave or two will come to the compound and select who or what they want, man or woman, for whatever reason they want.'

  Melcorka eyed the guards. 'I am not surprised there is an aura of fear in this city.'

  'We are waiting for your leadership,' Chumani said. 'We need somebody to unite the tribes. No tribe will follow the chief of another. Only somebody that can command the respect of all the tribes will be successful.'

  That sounds very much like Scotland, Melcorka thought as the weight of responsibility pressed down on her. I am an island girl, not a diplomat! Yet there is nobody else. There are wrongs to be righted and evils to remove. I have lost Defender; without my sword what can I do?

  'You can do your best.' Bearnas' voice sounded clear as the piping of an oystercatcher within her head. 'You are my daughter: I did not bring you up to shirk responsibility. You led the Albans against the Norse. Now lead these people against Wamblee and the Dhegians. That is your clear duty.'

  Melcorka touched Eyota's head-band. This is what I have. This is the symbol of power that these people seem to understand. Let's hope it is enough.

  She choked on a sudden wave of depression. Oh, God, I wish I had Bradan here.

  There are other men.

  That thought came unbidden to her mind. She blinked. Other men? Did she want other men? She looked around: Chaytan was too old; Akecheta was definitely not too old. Without conscious thought, her eyes drifted over his body from his feet to his head and back. He was a well-made, muscular man, of that there was no doubt.

  No! Melcorka told herself. That was not her way. From where had that thought come? From where had those desires come?

  'How is the sacrifice conducted?' She tried to alter the direction of her thoughts.

  'You'll see soon,' Chaytan said. 'The city is closed off; nobody can enter or leave. Everybody must attend or they'll end up in the compound.'

  Melcorka nodded. 'Then I will see the evil that we must eradicate.' She studied the city. 'How many warriors does Dhegia have?' The seemingly unending procession of armed men poured into the central square with the great sacred pyramid at one end and the royal citadel at the other.

  'Dhegia is the largest tribe in our world,' Chaytan said. 'And every man is a warrior. All the farming work and labouring work is done by slaves, who can also be called up as warriors.'

  'Hundreds? Thousands?' Melcorka hazarded.

  'As many as you can see,' Chaytan said 'and more guarding and patrolling the borders. The ones you have to watch for are the Guards.'

  The huge public space was filled. Rank after rank of warriors lined the outside, with the outer ranks facing outward and the inner facing inward, where the civilian population of women, old men, children, and slaves stood in their thousands. The warriors pushed through the centre of the crowd, forcing a passage that they quickly lined with armed men. Every second man faced the crowd, holding their clubs and spears, unsmiling, unemotional and professional.

  'Here they come.' Akecheta said.

  Wishing she had Defender in her hands, Melcorka could only watch as the procession entered the public square. Five tall men dressed in feathered head-dresses and white furs were in front. Dignified and aloof, they carried an aura of sinister menace.

  'The priests,' Chaytan said. 'They will perform the sacrifice. 'They are monsters without compassion, without mercy, without humanity, without pity, without a soul.'

  'I see them,' Melcorka said.

  The priests moved sedately and were followed by two burly, broad-shouldered men carrying the largest war-clubs that Melcorka had ever seen. Each club had a stone head ornately carved into the shape of a pouncing falcon. Diagonally across their backs, each man carried a short, broad-headed stabbing spear.

  'Those two are Wamblee's personal bodyguard,' Chaytan said. 'They kill on order. They are as fast as a falcon, as strong as a buffalo. They don't care who they kill. If Wamblee tells them to kill, then they obey without question. They crush skulls with ease and stab their spears into man, woman or child.'

  'I see them,' Melcorka said.

  Behind the bodyguard was a collection of men dressed in feathers, with rattles attached to their legs and carrying drums, rattles and whistles.

  'Wamblee's musicians,' Chaytan said. 'They play only for the king and nobody else. Their music is sacred and can transport a man or woman into the next world.'

  'I see them,' Melcorka said.

  A huge man was next. He was the tallest man that Melcorka had ever seen, a full head and shoulders above even the two bodyguards, with a breadth of shoulders that was double any ordinary man. His long tunic reached the ground and rippled with the coloured sea-shells that seemed to be valued by the Dhegians. The design on his chest and back was a falcon, and on his head, he wore a head-dress made from falcon feathers.

  'That is Wamblee,' Chaytan spoke with venom. 'He has never been bested in battle and has the power of Wi within him. He is evil on two legs. He kills on a whim, orders death as easily as he draws breath and drinks the blood of his victims to gain their strength.'

  'I see him,' Melcorka said. She eyed the man who dominated this empire; the king who had made this city feared the length and breadth of this new world and whose power even extended to Greenland.

  Behind Wamblee marched a hundred warriors, each one bearing a falcon's head-dress and carrying a spear and a carved stone-headed club.

  'They are Wamblee's Citadel Guard,' Chaytan said. 'They are the best warriors the world has ever seen or ever will see. They fight as one man, welcome death in honour of Wamblee and revere him as their god. They get the pick of the female slaves and the best of the crops. They train nine hours a day and have never been defeated in battle. To get to Wamblee, any enemy would have to kill every one of them. That is how loyal they are.'

  'I see them,' Melcorka said.

  Behind the Citadel Guard were a hundred young warriors with their faces half black, half whit
e. They carried spears and a small shield. All were young men, lithe and handsome.

  'They are the Wall Guard,' Chaytan said. 'Their job is to guard the wall of the Citadel. They have the best eyesight in Dhegia and practise with shield and spear seven hours a day. When they reach twenty- eight summers the best of them fight each other and the victors are trained to become Citadel Guards. They are tested every full moon and if any of them cannot hit a mark with his spear at fifty paces ten times out of ten, he is put to death.'

  'I see them,' Melcorka said.

  Behind the Wall Guard came two tall men as naked as the day they were born. Despite the ropes that tethered their legs and allowed them only a step of six inches, they walked straight and proud, ignoring the taunts of the guards they passed and the prods and insults of the men who pushed them onward to the steps of the sacrifice pyramid.

  'They are the chiefs of the Kahows and the Hunoigs,' Chaytan said. 'A Dhegian raiding party captured them and now they will be sacrificed. Their old women and children were put to death, and their young women handed to the Citadel Guard as gifts; their men will be enslaved to build the great pyramid. All hope is gone from them.'

  'I see them,' Melcorka said. She watched the two chiefs, wishing she could help but knowing that without Defender she could not stand against even one of these muscular warriors.

  At the back of the procession marched fifty more warriors. They were older and wore furs while carrying shields and clubs.

  'They are the Veterans; they have served their time as Citadel Guards and are now waiting to be told if they can take a wife, or if they will be sacrificed. Wamblee will decide. If they can take a wife they may choose from any woman, slave or free; even those that the Citadel Guard have already chosen. If they are selected for sacrifice then they will die willingly, knowing that their blood will merge with that of Wamblee, their king, and god.'

  The tail of the procession was still entering the central square when the head was mounting the steps of the great sacrificial pyramid. There was a complete hush as the priests reached the summit, and then the priests began to chant. At first, Melcorka could not make out the words, although she recognised that the priests were talking to their god. They circled around a curious table with sides that sloped to a narrow top ridge.