There were five of them, the same cat-creatures who had killed Halfdan One-eye. They came on all fours, with faces like cats and bodies like men, covering the ground in great bounds.
“Let's see what you are then, cat-creatures!”
The second they saw Melcorka rise, the creatures spread into a semicircle and attacked, howling like cats. Melcorka took a single step back and swung Defender in an arc that sliced through the left leg of the creature on her right. As it fell, gasping, she pulled Defender back and jabbed twice, with the point of her sword catching the next two in the throat, killing them instantly. The spray of hot blood splattered the remaining two cat-creatures, who hesitated. The braver threw itself at Melcorka, who chopped it down, while the survivor turned to flee. Melcorka followed its mad scramble along the cliff top to a narrow path to the beach. As it ran, panting, Melcorka followed, killing it beside a small, clinker-built boat.
“Cats that can row a boat?” Melcorka said. “How unusual.” Bending over her final victim, she scrutinised it. The face looked like a cat until Melcorka rubbed it with the flat of her hand. “Paint,” she said. “You have the features of a cat painted on your face, and a cloak made of cat-skin covering your body and head. You are a man, like any other.”
Nodding, Melcorka used her victim's cat-skin coat to clean the blood off Defender, returned the sword to her scabbard and boarded the boat.
“Thank you, cat-people,” Melcorka said, pushing off into the ebbing tide. It was only a short row to the sea stack, where Melcorka left the boat at the foot of the route she had marked out. With the sea level dropping, she had to jump to the first handhold, but after that, it was only a stiff climb up the greasy rock. She remembered one occasion when she was a young child, and her mother lowered her over the edge of the cliff in a basket to pluck birds' eggs from their nests. Even then, the height had not scared her, although an enraged sea-eagle had attacked her, until her mother, Bearnas, had repelled it with skilfully thrown stones.
“Compared to the cliffs of my home island,” Melcorka whispered, “this rock is a game for children.”
Twice, seabirds came close to investigate, and each time Melcorka clung close to the rock, remaining static until the birds flew away. Knowing the screams of the seabirds would mask any noise she made, Melcorka hurried up the cliff and on to the base of the castle wall. Here the ascent became more difficult as the stones fitted closely together, affording fewer handholds. With no windows except narrow arrow-slits, Melcorka pulled herself up by the strength of her finger-tips, climbing right to the battlements before she rolled over on to flat slabs.
The cat-cloaked guard stared at her in total astonishment as he reached for his spear. “Where did you come from?”
Killing him with a single thrust of Defender, Melcorka lifted his body and tossed it over the parapet. She did not watch it fall but examined the steel claws that had fallen from the man's left hand. They were well made – five curved talons fastened to a leather strap.
“I want Chattan,” she said, slipping the talons on to her left hand. Anger surged through her as she thought of the death of Bradan. “I'm coming for you, Chattan.”
An opening behind Melcorka led to a flight of dark stairs descending into the interior of the castle. Melcorka moved cautiously, listening for any activity. There was none, only the whistle of the wind, the cry of sea birds and the constant batter of waves against the stack.
She heard the quick patter of light feet, braced herself and swore as a cat brushed against her legs and ran past her, upstairs.
Stepping downward, step by step with the darkness closing around her and the stones chill against the soles of her feet, Melcorka controlled her anger, her grief and her hatred. The best warriors, she knew, fought with a level head.
The voices came from below, three men talking together, two with deep tones, the third higher-pitched. Melcorka paused, trying to hear what the men were saying. Somebody laughed, the sound out of place after the death of Bradan. Melcorka stepped on again, slowly, until she saw a faint flicker of light seeping up the stairs. The voices were more distinct now.
“The lads will kill her.”
“They'll be back soon.”
Again that laughter, high pitched. “The cats will conquer!”
Melcorka stopped outside a plain wooden door, ensuring the voices came from within. Pushing open the door, Melcorka entered and three men turned to face her, three men with shocked faces, two with painted cat-faces and one with no disguise – three men who were sitting around a circular table. She killed the first cat-warrior as he reached for a knife, killed the second as he slashed at her with the steel talons, and held Defender to the throat of the third man. Two bodies slumped to the floor as blood spread over the flagstones. The whole affair had taken less than five seconds.
“I want to talk to you.” Melcorka kicked the door closed behind her. “Place these bodies against the door.” She jabbed the man with Defender until he obeyed. He was the smallest of the three, a man in his thirties with prematurely receding hair and a nervous twitch. Melcorka guessed that he was the owner of the high-pitched laugh.
“You are no warrior, are you?”
The man shook his head so violently that Melcorka feared it might fall off.
“What are you?”
“I'm the clerk.” The man gabbled. “I keep the accounts.”
“Oh, good.” Withdrawing her sword point, Melcorka sat opposite the clerk. She gave him what she hoped was a friendly smile. “You will know all that happens in this place?”
“I know some of it,” the clerk said.
“Good. I have questions for you.” Melcorka did not drop her smile. “Will you help me?”
The clerk glanced at the bodies of his companions lying stark dead on the floor. Sweat formed a sheen on his forehead. “Yes,” he said, nodding vigorously. “Yes, I'll help you.”
“I thought you looked like a sensible man,” Melcorka said. “That's why I did not kill you. I am looking for Chattan, the man responsible for the death of Bradan the Wanderer, and I am looking for the Lord of Dun Dreggan.”
The clerk shivered. “They'll kill me if I tell you.”
“Quite possibly,” Melcorka said. “And I will kill you if you don't. The choice is yours.”
“I can't,” the clerk said.
“As you wish,” Melcorka examined the claws she had attached to her left hand. “How do these things work? Do I claw you to death, as a cat would? Or do I use them like needles and thrust them inside you.”
The clerk backed away, shaking his head.
“It's a difficult choice, isn't it?” Melcorka said. She leaned closer to him, so her face was nearly touching his. “Bradan was more than a friend to me,” she said. “He was my man. Tell me where I can find Chattan.” She drew the claws across the top of the table, making deep grooves in the wood. “Where is he?”
“Down below.” The clerk could not take his gaze from Melcorka”s claws. “Chattan is the cat master. He looks after them.”
“Where down below?” Melcorka asked.
“The lowest level.”
“Thank you,” Melcorka said. As the clerk nodded, she hit him once on the point of his jaw, knocking him unconscious. “I'll get the Lord of Dun Dreggan later.” Melcorka knew that she should hunt for the Book of Black Earth, but the death of Bradan had altered her priorities. She was aware that anger and grief distorted her reasoning, but at that moment, she did not care – the Cu-saeng and Erik Egilsson could wait until she was ready to deal with them.
Slipping out of the room, Melcorka continued her descent. Twice she passed arrow slits where grey light seeped in, showing that another day had dawned, and then she was past that level and there was only bare stone on either side as the stairs spiralled downwards into blackness.
Something was different – something had changed. Melcorka stopped to look around. The darkness was the same; the steps were the same underfoot. It was the smell that had altered, and the wa
lls. Putting out an exploratory hand, she touched the wall. It was smooth, too smooth to be stone or rock. The feel was familiar, but from where she could not say.
Melcorka had been aware of the sound for some time, yet only when she stopped was she able to analyse it. It was the howling of cats, many cats, and it was increasing as she descended. What was Chattan's title? Master of the Cats? That might be significant. Knowing that Defender would not kill in revenge, Melcorka slid the sword back in her sheath to free both hands, readied her claws and stepped onward. The ground beneath her feet altered; it was no longer stone but the same smooth substance as the walls, while she had reached the end of the steps and stood on a level surface.
A thin slit of light showed at feet level; the opening beneath a door and the sound of cats increased, yowling and howling as if they expected food. Melcorka moved to the door, precisely as somebody on the other side pushed it open.
“You!”
Chattan stared at her, his face working, his eyes more yellow than ever. “You should be dead.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Not yet.” Melcorka had to fight the rage that urged her to charge forward and rip Chattan to bloody gobbets.
Light from beyond the door illuminated the corridor, allowing Melcorka to see her surroundings. She stood on white bone, while the walls around her were the same. She remembered that this was a house built on human bones, so she was surrounded by hundreds of human remains, with skulls grinning at her, vertebrae, shin bones and femurs making up the walls and ceiling.
“Dear God, what level of evil have I come to?” Stepping forward, she pushed Chattan before her and immediately wished she had not.
The door opened into a large room made entirely of bones. In the centre, sunk into a deep pit, scores of cats circled and howled, raising clawed paws toward Chattan, who had half a dozen people chained along the walls, while two dark-haired women looked up, snarling through cat-painted faces, as Melcorka entered.
“What's this, Chattan?” Melcorka asked, watching the women warily. “Your pets?”
Chattan gave a weak smile, eyeing Defender and Melcorka's claws warily. “You are in my lair now, Swordswoman.”
“I have a question for you.” Melcorka fought against the waves of hatred that swept over her. She pushed Chattan towards the lip of the pit, holding her claws ready to strike. “Where can I find the Lord of Dun Dreggan?”
Chattan staggered under Melcorka's push. “You are in his house, Swordswoman. He already knows you are here.”
“Where can I find him?” As Melcorka spoke, she thought of Bradan falling from the rope bridge, with the sea frothing grey-white and furious beneath him and the cold, lonely death he would have, choking on salt water.
“You don't need to find him,” Chattan said. “He will find you.”
The two women were circling Melcorka, their hands extended like claws, cat-faces snarling. At a sign from Chattan, they pounced, slashing sideways. Unable to use Defender in this battle, Melcorka relied on her speed and experience, ducked away from the first woman to slash in turn with her claws at the second.
As the woman reeled back with both hands to her face, Melcorka sensed the second woman behind her. Rather than turning, she fell flat, rolled to the side and kicked out with her feet to catch the woman behind the knees, knocking her on to her back.
Rising quickly, Melcorka stamped on the woman's throat, only to see another dozen dark-clad cat-women entering the room, and Chattan holding a short spear. Knowing that, without Defender, she could not defeat such numbers, Melcorka ignored the women and lunged directly at Chattan. She managed to avoid his spear thrust, slashed at his throat with her claws and felt half a dozen hands dragging her back.
Struggling furiously, kicking, biting, slashing with her claws, Melcorka saw Chattan reel back with blood flowing from his cuts, only to stand again, injured but alive. A dozen cat-women held Melcorka, snarling as they thrust their claws into her arms and legs.
“I'll kill you, Chattan,” Melcorka promised, as she realised her anger had overcome her sense. She had allowed her grief at losing Bradan to hand victory to Chattan.
“I don't think so, Swordswoman.” Chattan raised his voice. “Don't kill her.” He spoke to his cat-women. “She can join the others.” He indicated the prisoners who hunched in chains against the wall. “We will feed her to the cats.” Blood ran down from the wound in his neck as he approached Melcorka. “I had your man killed, Melcorka, and now I will watch my cats kill you.”
In the pit below, scores of cats hissed, spat and fought over half a dozen human skeletons. Holding his wound, Chattan gave a slow smile. “I'll let you watch what happens first, Swordswoman, and then lower you in.” He raised his voice. “Take her sword away and put her with the others.”
* * *
Chained to the wall, Melcorka looked directly into the pit where the cats prowled, hissing and spitting at one another. One green-eyed tabby monster seemed to be the king of the glaring pack, dealing with any challenger with a vicious swipe of his claws. Unable to help herself, Melcorka stared at the tabby, which returned her look with a smouldering malevolence that promised a horrible death if she tumbled into the pit. She did not know how long she had been there; had it been six hours? Ten? She could not tell. Melcorka looked up when the door opened, and Chattan appeared, with half a dozen of his cat-women behind him.
With blood staining the fresh linen bandage on his neck, Chattan walked along the line of prisoners, touching a face here, patting a shoulder there.
“You, I think.” Chattan stopped in front of a sturdy young man with crusted blood over a wound on his face. “Yes, you.”
Four of the cat-women scurried forward, to surround the chosen man. He struggled as they unfastened his chains, and managed to fell one before the others dragged and pushed him to the edge of the pit. Rather than plead for mercy, he swore at them.
“Fight them!” Straining against her chains, Melcorka tried to help, kicking out until the iron manacles around her ankles pulled her back. “Fight them!”
The man did his best, wrapping his arms around the nearest cat-woman. Heedless of their companion, the other cat-women surrounded both and threw them into the pit.
Led by the giant tabby, the cats flooded forward, jumping on the two humans in a flurry of fur, fury, claws and teeth. The man tried to defend himself, throwing the first two cats away, but there were so many he was soon submerged. The woman screamed and tried to scramble clear, calling for help that her colleagues did not give. They watched as half a dozen cats jumped on her, clawing until she collapsed, a bloody, whining wreck on the ground.
Melcorka did not watch the prolonged death of the woman or the prisoner. Instead, she stared at Chattan, who was licking his lips, enjoying the spectacle. “It will be your turn to die soon, Chattan. I promise you.”
Hardly able to shift his attention from the horror in the pit, Chattan smiled at her, his yellow eyes wild. “I'll give you a few days, Swordswoman. Enough time for the cats to get hungry again, and then I'll have you lowered slowly, an inch at a time.”
“You will never see that, Chattan,” Melcorka said. “You'll die before I do.” She forced a laugh. “I promise you that. You murdered my man and I'll look down into your dying eyes.”
Chattan opened his mouth to speak, dropped his gaze before Melcorka's steady eyes, turned and walked away. In the pit, the green-eyed tabby chewed at the man, with blood oozing from the side of its mouth.
* * *
Melcorka lost track of time. She did not know how long she had been in that place of bones and blood. At irregular intervals, the cat-women lit a circle of small lanterns, so it was never fully dark and never more than dimly lit. Melcorka pulled at her chains, aware it was futile for they were of solid iron, firmly imbedded into the bone wall at her back.
“Are we ever released?” Melcorka asked the other prisoners.
“Only to feed the cats,” the reply came after a long pause.
&
nbsp; “Are we ever released at the same time?” Melcorka asked.
“No. One at a time, with Chattan and his cat-women present.”
Melcorka pulled at her chains again, wondering how she could escape. “It doesn't look too hopeful, then.”
“There is no hope,” the woman at Melcorka's side said. “It is best to accept the inevitable. When it is my turn, I will jump in the pit, so Chattan does not see my fear, and I will stretch my jugular to ensure a quick death.”
“I'll fight to my last breath and kill as many cats as I can,” Melcorka said.
“What will that avail you?” The woman asked.
“Pride,” Melcorka said. “And if I kill them all, I will climb out and kill Chattan as well.”
“They will still kill you, and there are always more cats.”
“If I am dead,” Melcorka said. “I won't care if there are more cats or not.”
She relapsed into silence again, still working at her chains. “We must fight them.” Nobody replied. One youth began to sob.
“We must fight them,” Melcorka repeated.
“There is no point,” the neighbouring woman said. “It's better to accept the inevitable and greet death calmly.”
Melcorka grunted in denial. “I'll fight to my last breath.”
There was no answer in that place of depression and defeat. More time passed; the lanterns began to gutter as their fuel failed. The cats set up a howling, running back and forward in their stinking pit.
“They're hungry,” the woman beside Melcorka said. “Chattan will be coming soon. Say your prayers, everybody, and may God have mercy on our souls.”
“God will have to wait to meet me,” Melcorka said through gritted teeth. “And the devil can prepare a hot hob for Chattan.” She had no idea how to validate her words but knew she would not die quietly.
Melcorka watched as the door opened and Chattan appeared, humming a little song. “Soon, my darlings,” he said to his cats. “Soon, you will have fresh meat.” Two cat-women followed him with painted faces and narrow, predatory eyes.
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