Dried blood still stained the bandage covering the wound on Chattan's neck as he slowly walked past the prisoners, running his hand over each man and woman. “Will we choose you today?” He stopped at the sobbing youth. “Shall I end the misery of your life?” He walked his fingers down the youth's face and from his neck to his groin. “No, not today. You can suffer some more. How about you?” Chattan stopped at the woman next to Melcorka. “Are you ready to die?”
“Yes,” the woman did not lift her head as Chattan played with her tangled hair. “Yes, Lord Chattan. I am ready.”
“Oh?” Lifting her head by putting a finger under her chin, Chattan kissed her full on the lips. “In that case, my pretty, you can wait.” He stepped to Melcorka. “Now you, my fiery woman. Shall I feed you to the cats?” He pressed a finger against Melcorka”s forehead, pressing her head back, then walked his fingers down her face. “How long will you take to die?”
“I'll see you die first, coward!” Waiting until Chattan's fingers were on her lips, Melcorka opened her mouth wide and bit hard, holding on. She anticipated Chattan jerking his fingers back, ignored the pain and worried as hard as she could, tasting blood and feeling the grate of bone beneath her teeth. Screaming, Chattan writhed, until the two cat-women arrived and forced Melcorka's jaws open. She kicked out, catching one woman on the knee, missed Chattan by an inch and spat his blood over his face.
“You taste sweet, Chattan!”
“Take her!” Chattan crouched, holding his injured fingers to his stomach. “Feed her to the cats!”
When the two women approached, Melcorka sighed and hung in her chains as though accepting her death. “Come on then,” she said. “Get it over with.”
Still wary, the women used a small metal key to unfasten Melcorka's chains and led her the three steps to the edge of the pit. Knowing it was feeding time, the cats gathered directly beneath, with the king tabby staring up through its green eyes.
“Well,” Melcorka took a deep breath. “Goodnight and God be with you all.” She extended one foot over the edge, twisted her hip and threw the woman at her side into the pit. The cat-woman screamed, scrabbled at her companion for help. For a few seconds, both tottered on the brink, dropping the small key that had opened the chains. Scooping it up, Melcorka leapt to the prisoner nearest to her and unfastened her chains. Aware of Chattan shouting for more cat-women, Melcorka did not have time to free more prisoners.
“Here,” Melcorka handed the key to the woman she had released. “Free the rest.”
Turning around, Melcorka gave the two cat-women a final push that sent them tumbling into the pit before throwing herself at Chattan, kicking at his injured hand. Chattan screamed, and a dozen cat-women ran into the room, leaping at Melcorka.
“Come on!” Melcorka yelled, “you prisoners! Fight for your lives.” She glanced over her shoulder to see the prisoners still chained to the wall. The woman she had released stared at her.
“It's no use,” the woman said. “It's better to accept our fate than to struggle against it. That is God's will.”
“It's not my will,” Melcorka used all her accumulated skills to fight against the rush of women, but there were too many. She felled one, jabbed straight fingers into the throat of a second, and then the cat-women swarmed all over her. Throwing Melcorka to the ground, they held her there, struggling, as Chattan came up.
Dripping blood from his injured hand, Chattan glared at Melcorka and kicked her in the ribs. The action seemed to give him satisfaction, for he repeated it again and again. When he eventually stopped, he was panting with exhaustion. “Throw her in the pit,” he said.
“Alba!” Melcorka shouted, still struggling. “I am Melcorka Nic Bearnas! Cenel Bearnas!”
Chattan smiled, his yellow eyes shining, as the cat-women pushed her on to the lip of the pit. “Throw her in,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bradan felt himself falling from the bridge, with Melcorka clinging to the rope-work far above. He clutched at the air as if he could swim through nothingness, and saw the sea rushing towards him, breaking on ragged rocks between the stack and the harsh cliffs of the shore. Despite his fear, he had the presence of mind to turn his body and dive for the least disturbed area of sea, yet the shock of striking the water drove the breath from him, and he surged deeper than he intended.
As darkness closed around him, Bradan took an instinctive breath, choking as salt water rushed into his lungs, burning, squeezing, pressing his chest, while the water roared and bubbled in his ears. He kicked, felt the surface of the sea-bed beneath, powered upwards and surfaced with a gasp. He sucked in a lungful of mixed air and salt-water and swore as a surge of the sea dragged him back down again, turning him until he did not know if he was upright or upside down.
Trying to swim, Bradan found his strength seeping away. He had the notion of swimming to the sea bed so he could work out which way he was facing, and opened his mouth to yell when the sea threw him against rocks that tore great gouges from his chest and arms. He struck out, and the sea dragged him back, lifted him high and crashed him face down on a seaweed-smeared rock.
Bradan closed his eyes as the water receded, then another wave smashed on top of him, grinding him against the rock. He lay there, stunned, waiting for the next wave to drag him back out to sea.
“Bradan!” The voice was female and familiar. “I'm here.” Somebody dragged him further up the rock, holding him tight as another wave smashed over him, and pulled him when the wave drew away.
“Mel?”
“Not Mel. Lie still.”
Another wave surged down, pounding him against the solid surface, and again the woman dragged Bradan further up the rock until they were above the reach of the water. Bradan struggled on to his back and promptly vomited what seemed like half the ocean, leaving his throat and chest burning.
“That's the way – get rid of it all.”
“Astrid?” Bradan blinked stupidly at her. “How did you get here?”
“I flew,” Astrid said, smiling. “I jumped in when I saw you fall. I can't let my favourite Alban drown, can I?”
“Melcorka.” Bradan sat up. “Did you see Melcorka?”
Astrid shook her head. “I didn't see her. I was too busy trying to save you.”
Bradan washed his mouth with seawater. “Thank you, Astrid. I am grateful to you.”
“Perhaps, even although you prefer Melcorka to me.”
“Melcorka and I have lived through some interesting adventures,” Bradan said.
“Yet she did not try to save you.” Astrid shrugged. “Perhaps she thought you were already dead.”
“Is she all right?” Bradan asked, wiping a rough hand across his mouth.
“I saw her climb up to the top of the cliff,” Astrid said. “She is perfectly safe.”
“Where are we?” Bradan looked up. They were on the rocks at the base of the sea-stack, with the cliff rising sheer above. “We'll never climb up that.”
“No, we won't,” Astrid agreed. “We're lucky the tide is out. When it's high, there is no beach at all, and the sea would pound us against the rock. How are you feeling?”
“Battered, bruised but all right,” Bradan said. “Thank you. I believe you saved my life.”
“You'll want this,” Astrid said, with a smile. She pointed to Bradan's staff, floating in a rock pool. “I saw that before I found you.”
“Thank you. We've been a long way together.” The rowan wood was smooth under Bradan's hand.
“Follow me.” Astrid stood up. “There is an easier entrance to Dun Dreggan than climbing a sheer cliff.”
The seaward side of the rock stack was as steep as the landward, with seaweed hanging in a dripping green forest and a colony of dog seals watching through round eyes. “Now pay attention, and I'll show you some magic,” Astrid strode towards the seaweed, shoved a great tendril aside and promptly vanished. “Are you coming?” Poking her head between the weed, she smiled to Bradan, with her teeth ver
y white and her hair very blonde against the dark tendrils.
“There's a cave behind the seaweed,” Bradan said. “How did you see that?”
“I know everything,” Astrid said, mysteriously. “I drank the snake.” She smiled, shaking her head. “No, I was here when we captured the place,” Astrid said. “We moored offshore for days and saw boats landing here at low tide, so did the same and found the cave.”
The interior was dark, with knee-deep water on the floor and myriad crabs and other assorted sea life. Feeling his way with his staff, Bradan explored the cave.
“There is a torch somewhere, if I remember,” Astrid ran her hand along the wall. “Here we are, and a flint too.” Striking a spark, she applied it to a reed-torch. The flare of light revealed a sloping path leading to a narrow exit at the side of the cave.
“Well, Bradan,” Astrid said. “We have some choices here. I intended only to guide you to Dun Dreggan, and here we are. If you wish, I can leave you now, or we can go on together and find out about this evil.” She paused for a moment as the torch hissed, dropping sparks that the sea-water quickly extinguished. “We have a third choice – we can go back together and leave Melcorka as she left you.”
“We go on,” Bradan said without hesitation. “I don't believe Mel ignored me.”
“As you wish.” Astrid shook her head. “Where do you think Melcorka is now?”
“Up there,” Bradan pointed a finger upwards, “or plotting to get there. I know her – she will not stop until she achieves her objective.”
“Aye, her and her magic sword,” Astrid said. “She would not be so good without it.”
Bradan smiled. “We have achieved successes with and without Defender.”
Astrid lifted the torch high, so its spluttering light showed a flight of steps. “We go up there,” she said, “although you would be better without a woman who constantly kills.”
“I have no complaints,” Bradan said. “Melcorka does not kill for the love of killing, but the cause of good.”
“I wonder how many killers have said that through history,” Walking in front, Astrid emphasised the swing and shape of her hips. “They pick a side, and then kill anybody they claim is opposed to their king or their conception of right or good.” Astrid turned around. “Killers are killers, for whomever they claim to kill.”
“Have you never killed?” Bradan asked.
“No.” Astrid shook her head. “I saw too much slaughter when I was younger, and my father carved his way to honour. I chose another path. A wise woman taught me how to gain knowledge – that's how I learned how to repel the evil eye and some healing.” She began climbing again. “How many people have you killed, Bradan?”
“Some,” Bradan said. “Too many. I can see every face and recall every incident.”
“Do you get nightmares?”
“Yes.” Bradan did not elaborate. Although the dreams were intermittent, when they came, they left him sweat-soaked and disturbed.
“I'll wager Melcorka doesn't get nightmares.” Astrid said. “Killers move on to the next victim, the next cause, the next fight, the next adventure. You can call it anything you like, Bradan, but they all end up with the killer wiping blood from his, or her, blade. It becomes a desire, a disease and a compulsion. The killer must kill and will continue to kill until she meets somebody younger, fitter or more skilled.”
“How do you know so much about it?” Bradan looked ahead to see how many more stairs they had to climb.
“I told you, I drank the snake.” Astrid gave an enigmatic smile. “I grew up with Norsemen. Every man wanted to be a great warrior, kill all they could for Odin and die gloriously in battle. Most settled to be ordinary fighting men, but there were always a few who caught the killing disease.”
Bradan nodded. “I have heard that about the Norse.”
Looking over her shoulder, Astrid met Bradan's gaze. When the torchlight reflected from her eyes, Bradan could see flecks of orange in the intense blue. “Then we settled on the frontier between the Jarldom and Alba.” Astrid said. “I thought the Alban men might be different, but no – they all wanted to be great warriors, kill all they could for king or Christ and die gloriously in battle.” Astrid stopped when the steps ended at a wooden door. “That is why I like you, Bradan. You are different.”
Bradan did not pursue that line of conversation. “What's through that door?”
“Horrors worse than any nightmare,” Astrid said. “Things you will wish you had not seen.”
“Come on then,” Bradan tapped his staff on the stone step. “I won't leave Melcorka to battle these things alone.”
“You are a good man, Bradan.” Wrenching open the door, Astrid stepped inside, with Bradan following.
The light shocked him. Coming from the darkness of the cavern into a chamber where candlelight reflected from walls of polished white, Bradan had to shield his eyes. “Where are we?”
“In the foundations of Dun Dreggan,” Astrid said, “the lowest level of the castle of the dragon.”
Once his eyes adjusted to the light, Bradan could see that the walls were of bone, joined together end to end. “A house built on human bones,” he said.
“What more horror could you devise?” Astrid asked.
“That is horror enough for me,” Bradan agreed. “Listen for the sound of fighting, for that is where Melcorka will be.”
The smell hit them first, a stench that Bradan recognised, but magnified twentyfold. “Cats,” he said.
“No,” Astrid shook her head. “Worse than any cat. What is the name of this place?”
“Dun Dreggan,” Bradan said. “The fort of the dragon.”
“That is the dragon you smell,” Astrid said. “It cannot be anything else.”
“There is no such thing as a dragon,” Bradan said. “They belong in tales to scare children to sleep at night.”
“The dragon is along there,” Astrid gestured with her head. “Secured behind lock and key.”
“Have you seen it?” Bradan asked.
Astrid shook her head. “No. But I saw the door that contained it, and I smelled its scent, as you do now.”
Bradan fought the temptation to view the dragon. All his life, he had been a wanderer, a seeker after knowledge and here was an opportunity to see a mythological creature that had fascinated people for centuries. He shook his head. He must find Melcorka – the dragon would have to wait.
“In here!” Astrid said, suddenly urgent. “Somebody is coming.”
The chamber was cold but dry and, Bradan noted thankfully, hewn out of rock rather than constructed of bones.
“Stay close!” Astrid pulled Bradan to her. “As close as you like, Bradan.”
Her smile was appealing, white teeth in a face that Bradan was growing to like more than he found comfortable “As close as I like? How close is that?” He regretted his words the instant he voiced them.
Astrid laughed outright. “We are in the dragon's lair here, Bradan. You should not be thinking about such things. Leave that to me!”
Bradan shook his head. “We are searching for Melcorka, remember.”
“I have no wish to find her,” Astrid said, raising her eyebrows. “I'd prefer to leave this place now, you and me.” She paused for a moment. “Together.”
Bradan closed his eyes as Astrid's words coiled around him.
“We could walk the roads together, Bradan. We could discuss the philosophy of the Druids and the Greeks, learn the history of the world, walk to the Holy Land to see what it is really like.”
Bradan thought of such a life, with mind meeting mind, thoughts delving deeper into ideas and working out the hidden meaning of existence. The temptation was stronger than he had realised. Did Melcorka need him? Or did she just tolerate him as she sought out causes where she could wield Defender.
“How about Melcorka?” Bradan asked.
“I have spoken of her type,” Astrid said. “She will kill and kill until she meets somebody better than h
er, faster than her, younger than her, who will kill her, take her sword and begin the whole merry circle again.”
Bradan nodded. Some of Astrid's words made sense. Trouble did follow Melcorka, she did not run from a fight, and she had come close to death on a few occasions. Never closer than with Erik Egilsson.
“Do you like the excitement with Melcorka?” Astrid asked, “or do you wish for a quieter life of academic research and travel?”
Bradan thought of the places he and Melcorka had visited – he recalled the beauty and the slaughter. “I would not miss the bloodshed,” he said.
“Would you still like Melcorka if she could not protect you with her sword?”
Bradan smiled. “Yes. The sword is not important to me.”
“That is good.” Astrid stepped away from the wall to face him. “I have only known you a short time, Bradan, yet I know you are a good man, one of the few men who do not like to kill.”
“There are many good men,” Bradan said. “And many are better and more peaceful than I am. Holy men, for instance, of most religions, although not all.”
When Astrid spoke, her eyes seemed to glow. “I have been seeking a good man all my life, Bradan. There are few. When I first saw you, I thought you were only a companion to a killer, but then I learned more about you, and I think you are the man I seek.”
Bradan smiled, shaking his head. “I am Melcorka's man,” he said.
“Are you sure, Bradan? Are you certain you wish to spend the remainder of your life with a killer? Just think of the places we can go, the libraries we can visit, the scholars we can meet. With Melcorka, it is battle, destruction and death. With me, it will be knowledge, conversation and learning.”
Astrid stood still as the light spread from her eyes to her head, gradually bathing her in a pool of white. She glowed softly as her smile reached out to him.
The images came unasked to Bradan's mind. Shelves of books, piles of written manuscripts, the accumulated knowledge of Rome, of Greece, of Persia and Alexandria, of the scholars of the East and further East. He shivered. He could nearly taste the information, almost hear the words of wisdom from the world's greatest scholars. Would he rather experience that, or more bloodshed, more battles where men butchered each other so that arrogant kings could exchange territory? He thought of Melcorka striding across the field of Carham with blood dripping from the edge of her sword and fragments of human brains and flesh spattered across her body. And he thought of Astrid with her enthusiasm as she told him of her greatest treasure, the book she had saved from her father's looting.
Loki's Sword Page 24