'You look more like a drunken farmer,' Tuath said.
Tying up her hair, Melcorka grabbed Bradan's helmet and thrust on her head. 'I need this more than you do,' she said. 'I look too much like a woman.'
Tuath grinned. 'You look fine to me.' He eyed her up and down appreciatively.
'You have your own wife,' Bradan snapped, glanced at Melcorka and looked away.
Tuath grinned. 'Well said, Bradan!' He gave him a slap on the shoulder that nearly knocked him down. 'We'll make a man of you yet!'
They swaggered through the township, ignoring the groups of drunken men and women, listening to the rising clamour from the centre and pushing aside anybody that came too close. Not many men would argue with Tuath and even he had to admit that Bradan, in his battered chain mail and soiled tartan, looked every inch the Cateran.
The settlement had two centres; the harbour where the birlinns were moored and a large grassy square in which the fire was situated and around which the Caterans congregated to drink and sing.
They stopped on the fringe of the settlement. 'How many are there?' Melcorka wondered.
'Hundreds,' Tuath said. 'We are wasting our time counting them.'
'I would say about three hundred to four hundred men,' Bradan estimated, 'and maybe two hundred or so women.'
'Quite a gathering,' Melcorka said. 'I can't see any house that the chief, this Osprey, could occupy. There is no building that stands out from the rest, no great hall or dun or anything.'
'Maybe he lives like the others, like a pig in a sty,' Tuath said.
'Maybe that is how he retains the loyalty of his men,' Bradan suggested, 'by being one of them.'
'That is possible,' Melcorka said. 'I was hoping to maybe kill or capture him tonight when the Caterans are distracted by this celebration, but I cannot see anybody in the crowd that looks important enough to be a chief.'
'There is no focus,' Bradan agreed.
'A pity; that would have made things easier,' Melcorka said. 'So we return to our original plan then and burn their boats. That will attract their attention if anything does.'
'We need fire,' Tuath said sourly.
'And there it is,' Melcorka pointed to a group of men that dragged a women away from the central square. The woman was laughing as hard as the leading man who held up a flaming torch to light their passage.
'A gift from Bel,' Tuath made the sun-sign with forefinger and thumb.
They followed the group, waited until they were preoccupied with the woman and then came among them, sword and axe poised. As Tuath killed three men who watched the fun, Melcorka waited until one was fully occupied with the woman and spitted him clean through the heart, finishing the group by decapitating the last survivor. By that time the woman was screaming hysterically and ran away into the night, naked as any baby.
'That was murder,' Bradan said as they stood amidst the dead bodies. He lifted the Caterans' discarded torches and passed them around.
'That was justice,' Tuath said. 'These men are murderers all, and the women are no better.'
Melcorka held the torch. 'If they were innocent, Bradan,' she said, 'Defender would not have killed them. My sword can kill only those who deserve it.'
Tuath watched her through narrowed eyes. 'That may be a weakness that costs you dear,' he said.
'Defender was forged in the old days,' Melcorka explained, 'and blessed by the People of Peace. She can only fight for good and never for revenge or the lust of slaughter.'
'I see,' Tuath touched his axe. 'I have no such strictures. I can kill who I wish, when I wish and how I wish.'
Melcorka nodded. 'You have only your conscience and goodness to guide you,' she said.
'Shall we go to these damned ships?' Bradan said. 'The night is wearing on and we have achieved nothing except the slaughter of a few Caterans.'
With the torches held boldly before them, they moved to the harbour, laughing loudly as they tried to look like they belonged. There were no watchmen around the ships, only a few stragglers who were too drunk to notice the three strangers who passed them in the night.
Twenty-two birlinns filled the natural harbour, with small waves hushing against their wooden hulls and the occasional seagull perched on the slanted past or tall prow. A crow cawed harshly and rose in wing-flapping rancour as they stopped at the first birlinn. Melcorka wondered what cruelties and horrors these vessels had witnessed, and pushed the thought aside.
'Bradan, you start here; Tuath, count seven ships in and start there and I shall start at the ships at the far side of the bay. Set fire to their sails and it should spread; the tar on the hulls will ignite.' She grinned, 'at worst we have a fine bonfire; at best we bring the Osprey flying down so we can eradicate him and whatever happens we will reduce the Caterans' fleet.'
'You are an evil woman,' Tuath said, smiling.
'Thank you,' Melcorka said. 'Give me a count of a hundred and get started.'
Bradan nodded as Tuath trotted along the line of sleek, long-hulled vessels. 'It seems a shame to burn such lovely ships,' he said.
'Yet a bigger shame to burn you,' Melcorka reminded, 'and to see young Alva drowned in the Holy Loch, or worse.'
Bradan gave a small smile. 'That is true,' he said. 'I did not enjoy being chained to Bel's trees.'
'Then burn these ships,' Melcorka told him, 'and let's get this job done.' She touched him on the arm and set off, overtaking Tuath within a dozen steps.
Running along the line of ships with her torch casting flickering shadows and revealing small vignettes of sundry faces and discarded pieces of equipment, Melcorka pondered how her life had changed. From a peaceful island girl only two years ago, she was now an experienced warrior hunting down Caterans to save the life of a man and a child … and save herself from something even more unpleasant than death.
The ships were arranged in a semi-circle, following the line of the shore, each one with the prow drawn above the high tide mark and the mast at an angle to the ship. Seagulls rose as she passed, and once a drunken Cateran looked up from the deck, growled something incomprehensible and slumped back down.
As Melcorka reached her destination, she saw flames flicker in two places along the line and knew that Bradan and Tuath were already busy with their torches. She swore softly when she saw that her target vessel had no sail, so she had to search for something else combustible.
After a frantic few moments, Melcorka found a bundle of sheepskins lying between two of the rowing benches. Loosening them to allow in air, she applied the torch; they smouldered slowly, with no spurt of flame.
'Come on,' she breathed, and looked up as a band of men hurried toward the fires further along the line of ships. 'Come on: hurry up!' She knew her time was limited for although Tuath could defend himself more than adequately, Bradan was not a fighting man and would be killed or captured within minutes unless he was supported. 'Come on!' The first of the sheepskins turned a healthy black and began to curl at the edges.
A file of men rushed past, each one holding a sword or a short spear and all shouting.
'Burn!' Melcorka said, and breathed out a sigh of relief as flames eventually began to flicker around the sheepskins. Piling them in the stern of the ship, Melcorka slipped over the side, landing right beside a red-haired giant.
'Hey, what are you doing?' The man clutched at the sword he wore at his belt.
'Killing you,' Melcorka thrust her torch into his face, pulled out Defender left handed and sliced low at his belly. The man gave a shrill scream and collapsed, watching his entrails spill onto the rocks. Melcorka gave him a merciful death by cutting his head off and moved to the next ship without a second glance.
She glanced along the line. She had been the least successful in her fire-raising, as there were ten distinct fires blazing, so ten ships were damaged if not destroyed. Even such a numerous fleet as the Caterans would surely miss ten birlinns.
Melcorka's second ship had been hastily landed, with the sail hanging loose from it
s spars. Melcorka gave a brief grin at this easy target. It was the work of seconds to put her torch to the lowermost edge, wait unto the fire caught and run to the next in line.
There was shouting ahead and the clash of arms; that would be Tuath in action. Hoping that Bradan had the sense to get well out of the way, Melcorka jumped on the next vessel. The sail was neatly furled but the mast angled toward her so it was only a long stretch and she could play the flames of the torch on the yard arm.
The noise increased; she was sure she could hear Tuath's roar above the general hubbub. She sighed; she could not leave him to fight alone. Leaving the third ship the second the sail began to smoulder, she ran forward, threw the torch onto the deck of the fourth in the hope it might do some damage and dashed forward to help Tuath. Surely they had caused sufficient damage to attract the Osprey.
On an impulse, Melcorka opened her mouth, 'MacDonald!' She shouted, hoping to create even more confusion, and added: 'Constable! Ocean Constabulary!' If the Caterans suspected that the Constable or even the Lord of the Isles had attacked them, their morale might be damaged and they would be less keen on fighting. Although the Constable had only the one vessel, the MacDonald Lord of the Isles had many more, even if he had been weakened by his recent battles with the Norse.
Looking down the line of birlinns, Melcorka saw flames rising from at least fifteen of them, with the wind blowing smoke toward the settlement, now obscuring the ships, now exposing them, enabling her to see the orange flare ripping through tarred wood, leaping from ship to ship, destroying the Caterans source of income.
'Tuath!' Melcorka shouted, although she had no need to search far. She heard Tuath's roaring and the light of the blazing boats highlighted a knot of men, with the flames reflecting from upraised swords and showing some men rushing in and others backing away or limping with gaping wounds. The small pile of broken bodies told its own story.
'MacDonald!' Melcorka yelled as she attacked the Caterans. The power of Defender surged through her, quickening her reactions, strengthening her muscles, eroding her sensibilities so she had no qualms about killing, wounding, maiming as she sliced into the men attacking Tuath. The first two Caterans died before they knew she was there, the third had time to turn round and see her before she plunged Defender into his chest and the fourth nearly managed to lift his sword in defence before Melcorka hacked off the blade of the sword at the hilt and neatly removed his head.
The sudden slaughter from an unexpected quarter unnerved the nearest Caterans; they recoiled and Melcorka had time to watch Tuath at work. He held his axe in both hands and swung in a figure of eight that was almost impossible for the Caterans to break through. Even as Melcorka watched, Tuath blocked a sword thrust with his axe and decapitated the man with the same easy movement, then sliced off another man's arm without even looking at him. A third Cateran ducked low and tried the groin stroke, but Tuath sucked in his middle, trapped the dirk between arm and axe, smashed down with his head and knocked the man senseless.
'Get back!' One of the Caterans shouted, 'use arrows!'
Melcorka nodded; whoever had said that was using his brain. Could that be the Osprey himself? She scanned the Cateran mob, looking for the man who had given the order or anybody who looked as if they could be a natural leader. 'Tuath!' she shouted, 'keep pressing them; don't give them space.'
Arrows were always awkward to face. In daylight she could chop one or two from the air; at night they would be harder to spot, and given the number of possible assailants, it was almost inevitable that some would get through.
Melcorka and Tuath pushed forward, each ensuring they were outside the killing swing of the other, each disposing of any Caterans who stood to face them. The first spear was aimed at Tuath, and he chopped it from the air without any effort. The second was well wide; the third and fourth came together and Melcorka sliced them down.
'Have you seen Bradan?' She asked.
'No,' Tuath shook his head. 'Nor any sign of the Osprey, or any sort of leader of this rabble.'
The row of archers stepped from behind a cottage, bows drawn. There were twenty of them that Melcorka could see, and others were hurrying to join them.
Looking sideways to Tuath, Melcorka hefted her sword. 'We have to charge the archers,' she said.
'That will be a good way to die,' Tuath said calmly. 'A pity we did not find the Osprey; it was a good plan.'
Thought of Alva made Melcorka flinch. If she failed here, the little girl would be drowned or burned without thought or mercy. Whoever she was, her life had been short and brutal, and her death would be pointless and sordid. 'I don't intend to die yet,' she shouted. 'We will win this battle; we will find the Osprey and we will kill him.'
'On the count of three then,' Tuath said, 'and we charge to victory…'
The horn sounded above the hubbub of battle, the crackling of flames and the screams of the wounded and dying. Melcorka looked up. With the ships burning behind her and the darkness before, she could only see as far as the firelight, which meant the first few houses of the settlement and the growing line of archers.
'Is that the Osprey coming now?' Melcorka gasped, trying to peer beyond the circle of light. 'We will charge for the horn.' She blinked as a gust of wind blew smoke in her eyes.
'I hope so,' Tuath said. 'If I am to be killed, I'd prefer it to be by a known champion rather than some un-named Cateran with a bow.'
'We cannot afford to be killed,' Melcorka reminded. 'Alva depends on us. You are very quick to give up your life!'
'Alva depends on you,' Tuath corrected, 'not on me.' He raised his voice to a roar. 'Come on and fight, you Cateran cowards! Where are you, Osprey? Hiding behind your archers? Come out and fight!' He shook his axe in the air.
The horn sounded again, louder, and then flames appeared in the heather roof of the cottage beside the archers, spreading quickly in the wind. The archers looked up; some moved away and then the burning heather slid toward them as the roof collapsed. Melcorka saw a dark figure behind the flames, heard the horn again and another cacophony of shouts and yells.
'What in the name of Bel?' Tuath asked.
'It must the Lord of the Isles or his Constable,' Melcorka said. 'Nobody else would come here to attack the Caterans in their own island.'
'No,' Tuath said, 'it is not. That is not the slogan of Clan Donald.' He took a step forward, ready to charge. 'What in the name…'
Lit by the blazing ships and thatch, a mob of men roared onto the scattered archers. Some were armed with sticks, others stones and most had only fists and feet as they crashed into the already disorganised Caterans.
'Who are they?' Tuath asked.
'I do not know,' Melcorka said.
While some of the Caterans turned to fight, the majority ran before this new and unexpected assault. Within five minutes the harbour area was free and Melcorka stepped forward to meet the leader of this new force. He stepped toward her, silhouetted by the fire at his back, tall and rangy and swaggering like any successful warrior.
'Well met, Melcorka,' Bradan said, grinning. 'I think we should try and salvage a ship or two to get these men off this island.'
Melcorka surveyed the mob that seethed around them. Ragged, unshaven and half starved, they all carried bruises or other injuries. Now that the fighting was over they were gasping with reaction, sinking to the ground or visibly shaking. 'Who are these men?'
'These are the survivors from the Cateran raids and the seamen from captured ships,' Bradan said. 'Or some of the survivors anyway. While you and Tuath were fighting the Cateran warriors, I had a look around the village and found these good men locked in a sort of compound.'
Melcorka replaced Defender into her scabbard. 'You saved us, Bradan.'
Tuath walked around the wounded Caterans, killing them off without mercy.
'Leave one alive!' Melcorka shouted. 'I want to ask him questions.'
'Too late,' Tuath said. 'That's the last one gone.'
'A pity,' Melcorka
cleaned the blade of Defender. 'I wanted to find out if the Osprey was among the dead.'
'He was not,' a bald man said. 'He is in his broch.'
'How do you know that?' There was suspicion in Tuath's voice.
The bald man shrugged. 'The Caterans liked to boast; I like to listen.'
'Then we'll find his broch and kill him there,' Melcorka decided.
Chapter Eleven
'It is a pity you burned all the boats,' the bald man stood beside them in the grey light of dawn. 'Now we are trapped on this accursed island.'
'We did not burn them all,' Tuath was surprisingly mild. 'There is one left whole and others are only partially destroyed.'
'One boat and bits of boats are not enough to escape with,' the bald man said. 'There are over a hundred of us, prisoners of the Caterans. How are we to escape?'
'There is no escaping yet,' Melcorka told him. 'First we destroy the broch and capture or kill the Osprey.'
'The Osprey's broch is impregnable and he cannot be captured,' the bald man said. 'It would be best to escape now, before he rallies his men and comes for us.'
'What is your name?' Bradan asked.
'I am Duncan; Duncan of…'
'Do not tell us what community you dishonour with your cowardice, Duncan,' Tuath said. 'You were captured like a poltroon and now you want to flee like a whipped dog without even trying to get revenge?' He turned his head to the side and spat his contempt onto the ground. 'You get in that birlinn, crew it with faint-hearts and leave this island any way you wish. Melcorka, Bradan and I will take this broch and burn it around the feathered ears of the Osprey. We are men, not sheep scared of their own shadow!'
'I am not a man,' Melcorka said quietly, 'but I am glad you have included Bradan as one, this time.'
'Bradan proved himself in battle,' Tuath said. 'Nothing else matters.' He looked sideways at Melcorka, 'and you are as good as any man; you are nearly as skilled as I am.'
'Perhaps,' Melcorka said. She did not admit that all her skill lay in Defender; some things were best left unsaid, especially to a man who would have orders to kill her if he thought it necessary.
The Shining One (The Swordswoman Book 2) Page 12
