'No,' Melcorka shook her head. 'We cannot sacrifice that old man just to save ourselves.'
'He is dead whatever we do,' Bradan spoke without emotion. 'It is probable that his village put him out because he was of no use, or perhaps he is a survivor of the Norse.'
'Stay here if you will,' Melcorka said, 'or run away if you want. The choice is yours.'
'You cannot defeat an entire pack of wolves,' Bradan warned, but he spoke to a space that Melcorka had already vacated.
The old man's eyes were wide with fear as he glanced over his shoulder. The wolves were closing, one giving a long blood-chilling howl.
'Here! Look at me!' Melcorka ran forward, swinging Defender around her head. 'Here, wolves; come to me!'
Three of the female wolves turned away from the old man and launched themselves at Melcorka. Two were young, with hollow eyes and slender flanks that told of poor hunting over the winter. The third was older and more devious; she held back until the young two were committed to attacking Melcorka, and then slunk around the side to take her in the rear.
Once again that feeling of power surged through Melcorka. She sliced right and left, cutting the young wolves in half even as they leaped. 'There's for you,' she yelled, felt the hot breath of the older wolf on the back of her neck, dropped to the ground and raised her sword so the wolf landed on the blade, siding down in a howling welter of blood.
As Melcorka rose, twisting Defender so it slithered free of the now-dead wolf, she saw the old man fall under the leader of the pack. 'I'm coming!' she yelled. 'Hold on!'
The male wolf lifted its muzzle in a snarl of triumph, its lips curled back to reveal vicious white teeth. Jumping over the bloody bodies of the females, Melcorka thrust Defender into the body of the male. It squealed high pitched and coiled to bite at the sword, just as Melcorka twisted the blade within the animal. It howled again, jerked and died. Melcorka kicked it aside.
'Get behind me!' she yelled, stepping between the old man and the wolves. 'Get behind me!'
The man's eyes were wide. 'You are after my gold,' He was so dazed that Melcorka had to push him to relative safety with her foot.
'If you value your life do as I say!'
'You just want my gold,' the old man spoke in a cracked whisper.
'We don't care about your gold,' Melcorka snapped. 'Will you get behind me where you are safer?'
'I've got him,' Bradan said. 'You concentrate on the wolves and leave the old fellow to me.'
'I thought you were scared!'
'I am scared!' Bradan shouted. 'So will you chase these wolves away before I die of fright?'
Some of the pack had already left after the death of their leader. The bold remained; the ones in whom hunger or the desire to kill was more powerful than fear.
'You're not getting my gold!' the old man hunched up, holding his badger skin bag close to his chest.
Melcorka took a deep breath and touched the old man on the shoulder. 'It's all right, father. We have no use for gold. We are only trying to save your life.'
'You can't have it.' The old man shouted.
'If they come on the flank, let me know,' Melcorka swung sideways, keeping the wolves at bay. They backed off, growling, their teeth white and vicious.
'Don't worry; you will hear me scream!' Bradan lifted his staff.
'Move back slowly, take the old man with you,' Melcorka backed away, hoping for somewhere she could shelter or at least put her back to a wall. The wolves followed, slavering, growling, heads low as they searched for an opening in her defence.
'There's one coming on the left!' Bradan warned.
Melcorka fell into a crouch and swung her sword low and wide, trying to guard the flanks as well as her front. She saw the lean shape rise up, ducked to the side and hacked at it; missed as it shifted aside, recovered her stroke and swung a powerful backstroke that chopped off its two front legs. The wolf howled and fell, trying to drag itself away. The other wolves fell on it in a cannibalistic frenzy, jaws crunching on still living bone as the wounded animal screamed in agony.
'Now, turn and run!' Bradan shouted, 'while they are occupied!'
'No! They will just come after us,' rather than retreating, Melcorka ran forward. With all the wolves busy eating their friend, she killed two before the others even noticed, bent low and gave a low, sideways swing that cut the legs off two more. The remainder turned and fled, howling.
'Now we are safe,' she wiped the blade of Defender clean on the back of one of the dead wolves. 'The survivors have plenty meat here.'
'Let's get this old fellow out of the night …' Bradan looked around. 'Where is he?'
'What?' Melcorka scanned the trees, 'I can't see him. You didn't let the wolves get him, did you?'
'No of course not,' Bradan tapped the end of his staff on the ground. 'There is something not right about this, Melcorka. One minute he was here and the next he was gone and no sign of him.' He looked at the ground. 'There are no footprints either, or anything else.'
'Maybe he was scared that we were after his gold,' Melcorka said.
'Maybe he was and maybe he wasn't,' Bradan did not try to suppress his shiver. 'Wherever he is, he does not want our company and I don't want his. Come on, Mel; let's get out of here.'
'Mel? I have never been called that before.'
'Come on!' Grabbing hold of Melcorka's sleeve, Bradan dragged her behind him.
They moved quickly, putting as much distance between themselves and the wolves as they could before nightfall, found a relatively secure place backed by a sheer stone cliff and built a large fire to keep any prowling predators at bay.
'I want to get out of these hills as quickly as possible,' Bradan kept close to the fire. 'There is a creature here that I have heard of; a large grey man.'
'And a small grey-bearded man with a bag of gold,' Melcorka curled up near the fire with Defender at her side. 'I wonder who he was.'
'You meet strange things on the road sometimes,' Bradan said. 'Sometimes it is best to accept them as mysteries, put them to the side of your mind and walk away. This is one of these times.'
Melcorka looked over to him. 'You came to help me today even though you were scared.'
Bradan shrugged. 'I nearly ran away and left you alone.'
'There is a long step between nearly and action,' Melcorka said. 'Thank you, Bradan.'
'Try to get some sleep,' Bradan looked away. 'It is a long step before we reach Fidach.'
'Mel,' she spoke softly, unaware that he was still listening. 'I like that.'
Chapter Twelve
They heard the whistle low and soft above the sough of the wind. 'I don't recognise that bird,' Melcorka said. 'It is like the call of the Gregorach, except lighter.'
'I do not recognise it either,' Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. 'This is not an area I have been in before.'
They entered a clearing where the grass underfoot was soft and verdant green, with long shadows from a sun invisible behind mauve clouds and a herd of deer grazing with no fear of their presence.
'They are tame enough to be pets,' Melcorka said happily as a hind trotted past to her stag.
'Too tame,' Bradan said. 'I have never seen the like before, although I have heard of it.' He ducked his head. 'Hurry through here, Melcorka. I do not like it.'
There was another low whistle, barely heard but clear inside Melcorka's head.
'Can you hear that?' Bradan asked. He stopped so the hush intensified around them, then moved on, faster than before.
'I hear it,' Melcorka said. 'It has been with us all day, not quite here and not gone.'
'How would you describe it?' Bradan held his staff like a weapon.
'Ethereal,' Melcorka said quietly.
'We spoke of the People of Peace a day or three ago,' Bradan said. 'Today we have our chance to meet them. May God have mercy on us.'
Melcorka felt the sudden racing of her heart. She reached for the hilt of her sword. 'I will not be taken into their realm so
easily,' she said.
'We are already there,' Bradan told her. 'Look around you.'
The deer were still grazing peacefully, ignoring them as if they were not there, while a brace of mountain hares jinked past. A blackbird called; the sound so melancholic that Melcorka wanted it to last forever.
'It is beautiful,' she said.
'It is the land of Faery,' Bradan said. 'Elfhame, where humans are not wanted yet stay forever.'
'How did we get here?' Melcorka kept her grip on Defender.
'We walked through a portal,' Bradan told her. 'We would not see it yet it was there, somewhere on the hill behind us. Look back: can you see our route?'
Grey-green light surrounded them, easing into the misted shape of trees, with the sky invisible and no sign of the hills from where they had descended. 'I cannot see our route,' Melcorka said.
'Nor can I.' Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. 'Yet we know the hills are there, and the snow and the wind. It should be night, yet it is not dark; nor is it light.'
'It is not right,' Melcorka said.
'We will not reach Fidach,' Bradan said.
'You are scared,' Melcorka said. 'I have never seen you scared before. You were not scared of the Norse or in Castle Gloom. You are more afraid of the People of Peace than you were of the wolves.'
'Mortal man may kill me,' Bradan said, 'and that is the end of things. Wolves will eat me and I will be gone, but the People of Peace are not mortal and I fear immortality.'
'So let's greet them and see what they want.' Melcorka raised her voice. 'I am Melcorka the Swordswoman of the Cenel Bearnas! This is Bradan the Wanderer. What do you wish with us?'
The whistling stopped abruptly. The silence hushed around them, gentle as the eyes of the grazing deer, so relaxing that Melcorka was unsure if she wished to lie down to sleep, or run in pointless panic. She was still wondering when a medium sized woman stepped from the shifting shape of a tree in front of them. Dressed in a neat black and white smock that reached to her knees, and with her red hair braided around her neck, she smiled across to them.
'Well met Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas,' her words formed in Melcorka's mind yet she would have sworn that the woman had not spoken. 'I am Ceridwen.'
'Well met Ceridwen,' Melcorka did not move her hand from the hilt of Defender. 'Are you of the People of Peace?'
'Are you of the people of war?'
'Bradan is a man of peace,' Melcorka said, 'he carries no weapon save a staff. I have been a warrior and will be again.'
'You carry a sword of steel,' Ceridwen said. 'And you have used it?'
'I have,' Melcorka looked around but could not see anybody else in the surreal light. She recognised Ceridwen's clear voice. 'We have met before,' she said, 'in a rock stack off the western coast of Alba. You know all about this sword.'
Ceridwen seemed to glide forward. Her hand was tiny when she reached out. 'Let me touch the hilt of your sword, Melcorka.'
'I will unsheathe,' Melcorka began, until Ceridwen recoiled in obvious alarm. 'No, Ceridwen, I mean no harm! I was intending to make it easier for you. Look…' Melcorka knelt on the ground so the hilt of her sword was easy to grasp.
Ceridwen came cautiously closer and stopped. 'It is a known blade,' she said. She reached forward and touched the hilt. 'Derwen made this sword,' she said. 'It came from long ago, long back, and Derwen made it for Caractacus, who was betrayed by a woman. It was the blade of Calgacus, the swordsman who faced the iron legions of the south in the long ago days of heroes.' She ran her hand the length of the scabbard, without touching the steel of the blade. 'It was the sword of Arthur, who faced the Saxon and now it is the sword of Melcorka.'
'It was a sword well made,' Ceridwen 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.'
Melcorka listened, trying to picture the scene when her blade was forged at the beginning of history.
'It was normal for the apprentices to take the metal to the anvil, but Derwen carried the metal for this one himself, 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.'
'Christ himself!' Melcorka barely breathed the name.
'It is as you say if you say it,' Ceridwen said. 'And 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.' Ceridwen seemed to waver, her shape merging with that of the air around her. '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.'
'It is a good blade,' Melcorka agreed.
'There will never be made a better,' Ceridwen told her. 'Only certain people can wield it, and then only for certain reasons. It can never be properly used by a weak man or a weak woman, or by one with evil in his or heart. The blade is only used for good.'
'My mother told me I must only use it for the right reasons,' Melcorka said.
Ceridwen smiled. 'Your mother was a wise woman. She watches you.'
'I miss her,' Melcorka said softly. She could not say more on that subject. 'How do you know about my sword?'
'It told me- and I remember it being made.' Ceridwen laughed at the expression on Melcorka's face. 'Or am I merely teasing you?'
'Teasing I think,' Melcorka stood again. 'But I thank you for the pedigree of the sword.' She glanced at Bradan. 'We have some salmon with us, and berries fresh from the bush. Would you care you join us at the table?'
Ceridwen laughed again. 'It is normally my people who offer hospitality in our own home.'
'Your generosity is well known,' Melcorka said, 'there are tales of hospitality that never ends.'
Ceridwen's smile did not falter. 'Such tales may be exaggerated,' she said.
'Shall we eat?' Bradan's voice shook with a deeper fear than he had shown with the wolves or the Norsemen.
'We shall eat,' Ceridwen's smile included Bradan without assuaging his dread.
'And then Melcorka and I shall be on our way,' Bradan said. 'We have much to do and little time in which to do it.'
'That may happen, indeed,' Ceridwen said.
They sat around a small fire with large leaves as plates and the herd of deer grazing unheeded within a hundred paces.
'You are scared of me, Bradan,' Ceridwen spoke softly. 'Why is that?'
'You are of the People of Peace,' Bradan answered honestly. 'I have heard tales of men and women who were taken by your people.'
'Do you think I will take you away, Bradan the Wanderer?' Ceridwen's tone was mocking and her eyes mischievous. 'I would imagine that a wanderer would wish nothing more than to wander in our realm.'
'Only if we returned safely and timeously,' Bradan said.
'Am I that frightening?' Ceridwen finished a mouthful of salmon. 'I don't feel very frightening. After all, it is Melcorka who carries the sword of Calgacus and you who have a large staff while I,' she looked down at herself, 'I have only my hands.'
'I think you have a great deal more than that,' Melcorka said directly. 'You have knowledge and power.'
'So why are you not afraid of me?' Ceridwen asked.
Melcorka shrugged. 'Why should I be afraid? Would that help any? Would my fear act as a barrier to save me? Would it wrap around me as protection from any harm? Would it help in any way?' She did not know from wher
e the words came, only that they were genuine and were out before she could put a curb on her tongue.
'Calgacus has a worthy successor,' Ceridwen said. 'Only a handful of warriors have held that sword.'
'Who were they?' Melcorka asked.
Ceridwen reached forward and touched Defender's hilt again. 'Caractacus of the Catuvellauni, Calgacus of the Caledonii, Arthur of Camelot, Bridei of the Picts, Kenneth MacAlpin of Alba … you know the names.'
'I know these names,' Melcorka agreed. 'Caractacus and Calgacus fought the legions, Arthur stemmed the Saxons, Bridei defeated the Angles at Dunnichen, and Kenneth united the Scots and Picts, except for the men of Fidach…'
'All great men who did great deeds,' Ceridwen said. 'What will Melcorka do, I wonder?' She raised her eyebrows. 'You are the first woman to carry that sword; what will you do with it?'
'Why did it come to me?' Melcorka asked. 'Why me? I am only an island girl.'
Ceridwen's laugh died immediately. 'You are who you are, Melcorka; you have your parents' blood in you, and now you must forge your own legend. You chose the sword and it chose you; that was not chance. That was destiny.'
'The oystercatcher guided me.'
'She did, didn't she? Yet she only guided; you had to heed her guidance. You could have chosen the harp and a life of ease and luxury. That was your other option.' Ceridwen leaned back against the bole of an apple tree. The blossom was two months early and all the more perfect for that.
'How do you know these things?' Melcorka asked.
'Rather ask yourself: what destiny will the sword of Calgacus and I forge between us?' Ceridwen held Melcorka's gaze. 'Where are you bound, Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas or Melcorka of Alba?'
'Fidach,' Melcorka said flatly. 'The Norse have over-run Alba. They have defeated the royal army and enslaved the king. They are burning and raping their way around the country.'
'So you don the blade of Calgacus and Kenneth, Arthur and Bridei to repel them.' Ceridwen said. 'Is that your destiny?'
'I cannot repel the Norse,' Melcorka said, 'I am only an island girl.'
'So why are you going to Fidach?' Ceridwen was direct.
'To gather support,' Melcorka said. 'I am only a messenger.'
The Swordswoman Page 14
