“The Book of Black Earth,” Melcorka said.
“Yes.” Ivar nodded. “The Book of Black Earth, the worst curse ever imposed, something from deep inside the world.”
“What happened?” Bradan asked.
“When Erik Egilsson saw the book, he gave a great roar and slashed at it with his sword. The blade bounced off, and Erik lifted the book and dashed it to the ground.” Ivar stood up with something of his old Viking spirit returning. “The book opened, and something came out.”
“Something?” Melcorka asked.
“Something,” Ivar said. “Nothing solid.” He shook his head. “Something. It entered Erik's sword first and then entered him.”
“And?” Melcorka prompted as Ivar closed his eyes, as if unwilling to recount what had happened.
“The thing turned the blade of Erik's sword black and turned to me. I shut the book, but it touched me,” Ivar put a hand to his face. “You see the result.”
“I do,” Melcorka said. “Where is the book now?”
“They took it away,” Ivar said.
“Who did?”
“We did.” The words came unbidden into Melcorka's mind.
Where the chamber had been empty save for Ivar and the apathetic warriors, now a host of grey men filled it, forming groups around the warriors.
“Who are you?” Stepping behind Melcorka, Bradan brandished his staff as a weapon.
“We are you,” the voices said.
“I am I,” Bradan said. “I am Bradan the Wanderer.”
The grey men spoke again. “We are Bradan. We are Ivar. We are Melcorka. We are you when the good is removed.”
“I am Melcorka Nic Bearnas of the Cenel Bearnas.” Holding Defender two-handed, Melcorka stood with her back to Bradan. As she watched, the grey men wavered and slid into the supine warriors. At once the warriors rose, reaching for the weapons at their sides.
“Will you fight me, Melcorka?” Ivar asked, lifting the rusted sword that leaned against the arm of his chair.
“I will fight you.” Melcorka saw the desperate struggle in his eyes. “Come, Ivar. Take off your mask and become a Norse warrior again.”
“The Picts called this the province of the cats,” Ivar said. “When I captured the dun, the cats took over.”
“Who are the cat-warriors?” Melcorka asked. “Who is Chattan?”
“They are not my men,” Ivar said. “They came when the book opened.”
“Then fight them as you fight me.” Melcorka could understand a warrior – she had respect, if no liking, for the Norse as fighting men. She could not understand a man who crumbled in the face of an adversary. In Melcorka's world, you fought until you could no longer fight, and then you fought some more.
When Ivar rose from his chair, Melcorka realised how tall he was. The top of Melcorka's head reached his neck, while his arms were disproportionately long, nearly reaching his knees as he stood. He took his first swing before he stepped forward and continued to attack as he approached. “Odin owns you!” He roared as his Norse blood fought the greyness within.
Blocking Ivar's sword, Melcorka was shocked at the strength of the man. Even with the power of Defender surging through her, she had difficulty in keeping her balance.
“You are a warrior indeed,” Melcorka gasped, clashing blade against blade, twisting and ducking under Ivar's outstretched arm.
“As are you, Swordswoman,” Ivar said. “I've never met a woman who could match my strength.” He grinned at her over the hilt of his sword. “It will be a pleasure to kill you, Melcorka, or an honour to die by your blade.”
The other Norsemen moved forward, swords and axes raised, shields on left arms, eyes suddenly alive beneath metal helmets.
“Hold!” Ivar said. “Let me win this fight alone. I want the honour!”
Holding his staff as a barrier, Bradan breathed a sigh of relief. He knew that any one of the Norse could dispose of him in seconds. Norse warriors were rightly feared throughout Europe and as far as the Caspian Sea and the lands of Islam beyond. His staff was no protection against such men.
Stopping suddenly, Ivar motioned Melcorka to him. “Come on, Melcorka – Odin will welcome you to Valhalla.”
“I have many friends there,” Melcorka said. “You will be one of them when I eventually arrive.” Ducking before Ivar's next mighty swing, she thrust Defender upwards, into Ivar's right leg.
The giant stiffened, looked at the bright blood flowing and slashed downward, nearly catching Melcorka's arm. “You fight well!”
“As do you, Norseman,” Melcorka said. Moving leftward, so Ivar would gradually weaken as he used his injured leg, she circled him, thrusting and withdrawing, thrusting and withdrawing.
“Stand and fight,” Ivar roared, and the cat face altered into that of a man.
“Ivar,” Melcorka said. “Your face.”
Ivar felt his face. “I have lived the last year as a beast,” he said, “but I will fight as a man.”
“And die as one.” Melcorka threw herself forward, slashed low at Ivar's legs, altered the angle of Defender and opened a long deep gash in the Norseman's body, from his navel to his collar bone.
“You'll have to do better than that, Swordswoman,” Ivar said, not heeding the blood that flowed from his wounds.
“Join us,” Melcorka said. “Join us in the fight against the Cu-saeng.”
“It's too late,” Ivar said. “The greyness is inside me.”
“We can take it out.” Melcorka blocked another of Ivar's swings.
Ivar's face altered again, changing from human to cat and back. His eyes mirrored the torment within him. “It is too late. I can feel the evil in my blood.”
The grey men surged forward, more of them, with the grey woman at Ivar's chair, her hair long and blonde as she stared at Ivar through eyes like orbs of granite.
Ivar stiffened, with the cat face becoming more pronounced as he stepped forward, swinging. Blocking a cut to her head, Melcorka thrust Defender into Ivar's chest, twisted and withdrew. The giant Norseman slumped to the ground with his face altering to human again. The pain cleared from his eyes.
“Thank you, Melcorka,” he said. “At least I died as a man.”
“More than that,” Melcorka whispered. “You died a Norse warrior.”
“Mel!” Bradan warned as the remaining Norsemen roared forward.
“Get behind me!” Melcorka yelled. “Guard my back!”
Throwing his short spear at the oncoming mob, Bradan dropped his staff, lifted Ivar's sword and stood behind Melcorka. He had hardly taken his stance when the clash of swords began again, sounding like a blacksmith hammering on his anvil, punctured by gasps, curses and the occasional groan. Fighting like a woman possessed, Melcorka swung and parried, cut, thrust and killed.
“You can relax now, Bradan,” Melcorka said, cleaning blood from Defender's blade.
“Aye, you dealt with them smartly enough.” Discarding Ivar's sword, Bradan lifted his staff.
Astrid appeared, stepping delicately over the bodies and trying to skirt the pools of blood. She shook her head. “You are highly skilled at killing people, Melcorka.”
“Let's see where this book was held,” Melcorka said. “Maybe we can return it some time.”
Bradan shook his head. “It was held secure by a combination of a holy book, the prayers of the Pictish monks and the bones of good people. It will be hard to find that combination again. The book is missing, probably destroyed by the Vikings; the Pictish monks are dead, and only the bones remain.”
“The grey people are still here,” Astrid reminded them, “and the dragon. We cannot return the book of Black Earth to a place of such evil.”
“I want to see this dragon.” Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender. “I've never seen a dragon before.”
“Nor have I,” Bradan said.
Melcorka smiled at him. “Lead on, Bradan, and we shall see what we shall see.”
Feeling as if he were walking to the gallows,
Bradan led Melcorka back down the stairs with each step echoing and the air becoming chiller every minute. The door was more substantial than any they had seen before, with iron studs set in the shape of a Celtic cross and a deep rectangular inset in the centre.
“That's where the holy book sealed the thing in,” Bradan observed. “This is the dragon's lair, and this is where the Book of Black Earth was held.”
“I believe they are the same,” Melcorka said. “A thing more evil than any dragon that breaths fire.” She pushed at the door. “It's locked.”
“You have Chattan's keys,” Bradan pointed out. “Try the largest one.”
The first key did not fit, nor did the second. It was the fifth key that turned with a reluctant creak. Pushing open the door, Melcorka stepped inside.
The atmosphere hit them first. It was a deadening, oppressive feeling that bore down upon Melcorka the instant she opened the door. The next sensation was one of disgust at the room itself, with walls built entirely of human bones and a white marble pillar in the centre of the floor, on top of which were iron chains.
“So this is where evil lived,” Bradan tapped his staff on the floor. “A terrible place.”
“It has left its mark,” Melcorka said.
Astrid took a deep breath. “This is not a place to linger,” she said. “The grey men carry evil – they may affect us.”
“I agree with Astrid,” Bradan said. “It would be good to say farewell to this place and never look back.”
Melcorka grunted, pacing around the room. “Go then. I'll join you in a few moments.”
She waited until she was alone in the room, drew Defender and held the sword by the blade, so the cross-hilt was uppermost.
“I have fought evil in many places,” she said quietly. “Yet I have never faced such absolute horror as I sense here. I swear by all that is holy, by all that is good, and by every muscle and bone in my body that I shall destroy you, or you shall destroy me.”
Melcorka heard her voice fade in that chamber and knew that some force was listening to every word she said. She could sense it waiting in the earth around and knew that she faced her sternest test.
Melcorka gasped at the sudden laughter that rang within her head. Once again, she saw herself lying on that sandy ground, with a tall man standing over her and Bradan walking away with another woman. This time Melcorka saw the back of the woman clearly, with long blonde hair that shimmered within a yellow light.
“If I must pay the price, then a warrior's death is at the end of the road for every fighting woman.” Sheathing Defender, Melcorka turned away. Astrid and Bradan were waiting beyond the door as she emerged.
“Now we have to find Erik Egilsson,” Melcorka said. “And a holy book.”
“A holy book?” Bradan repeated.
“If that's what contained the Book of Black Earth,” Melcorka said, “then that is what we must find. Remember that Erik's black blade more than matched mine last time we met. I have no doubt he can do the same again, and if he brings an army with him, we need all the help we can muster.”
“We certainly cannot fight him alone,” Bradan said.
“The High King will raise an army,” Melcorka said. “And Jarl Thorfinn, perhaps. If only we knew where Erik might land.”
“Let's get away from Dun Dreggan,” Bradan said. “Although I'm not sure how.”
“That is how.” Melcorka nodded to Catriona, which floated a few yards off the stack. “And then we seek the king.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
King Mael Coluim did not remain at any one spot, but toured his country, ensuring the loyalty of his nobles with the threat of his presence. Melcorka found him at the ancient stronghold of Dunkeld, where the Lowlands meet the Highlands, and the River Tay rushes powerfully between darkly wooded banks.
“We seek Mael Coluim,” Melcorka told the doorkeeper, a broad man she did not know. “I am Melcorka Nic Bearnas, and this is Bradan the Wanderer.”
“You're the Swordswoman,” the doorkeeper looked her up and down with little respect. “I heard the Butcher killed you.”
“You heard wrong,” Melcorka said. “Please tell the High King I am here.”
“He won't be pleased,” the doorkeeper warned. “He wanted the Butcher killed.”
The doorkeeper was correct. While MacBain greeted Melcorka with a friendly nod, the High King glowered from either side of his long nose.
“Speak your piece, Melcorka Nic Bearnas.” Mael Coluim listened to their tale with a growing frown, interrupting with a peremptory raising of his hand. “I ordered you to kill this Butcher, this Erik Egilsson, yet you failed, and now he is going to invade my realm with a fleet.”
“Yes, your Grace,” Melcorka said. “We thought we had better warn you of the danger.”
“If you had succeeded in killing him, there would be no danger,” Mael Coluim said.
“Yes, your Grace,” Melcorka said. “And if he had succeeded in killing me, I could not have warned you.”
The king glowered at her, then gave a surprising smile. “That is true, Lady of the Sword, that is true. Where is this Erik Egilsson going to land?”
“I do not know,” Melcorka said. “But if he intends to ravage both Alba and the Jarldom of Orkney, it will be somewhere close to the border of both realms.”
Mael Coluim and his chief nobles sat around a table, with the king, deep in thought, drumming his fingers on the wood. “He will strike on the coast of Moray, then, Fidach as the Picts would have it.”
“That would be my guess, your Grace,” Melcorka said.
“Do you know when, Swordswoman?”
“I do not,” Melcorka said. “I presume as long as it takes him to gather an army and a fleet.”
Mael Coluim's fingers continued their drumming. “That will not take long. There are always many Danes and Norsemen willing to fight for pleasure, glory or plunder, while King Cnut has already tried, and failed, to invade Alba. After our victory at Carham, he will wish to show his power and regain his prestige.”
“With your permission, your Grace, Bradan and I will go back north,” Melcorka said. “Perhaps Jarl Thorfinn will help.”
The king”s brow gathered in a frown. “I have no desire for a Norse army marching across Alban soil.”
“This war is more important than any squabble between Alba and the jarldom of Orkney, your Grace.” Melcorka tried to emphasise the danger to both realms.
“One set of Norsemen is as bad as another,” Mael Coluim said. “I won't have Jarl Thorfinn's army on my land.”
Melcorka nodded. “As your Grace pleases.” She nodded to the king, determined to go her own way.
“May God guide your footsteps.” MacBain made his sole contribution to the conversation. Although he smiled, his eyes were troubled.
“Where now, Melcorka?” Bradan asked as they stepped out of the royal dun. The Tay continued to rush past as blackbirds sweetened the air with song.
“Jarl Thorfinn,” Melcorka said. “Perhaps he'll have more sense than Mael Coluim.”
“Perhaps.” Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. “The ways of kings and jarls are not our ways.”
* * *
Jarl Thorfinn listened to Melcorka with more attention than Mael Coluim had shown. He nodded when she explained about Dun Dreggan and frowned at her mention of the Book of Black Earth.
“I have heard of that book,” Thorfinn said. “I thought it a myth rather than anything real.”
“It is real,” Bradan said, “and it is powerful. All the evil of the Cu-saeng is condensed in that book.”
“I do not wish it in my hall,” Thorfinn spoke with rough humour. “I knew there was a reason I did not collect books!”
“Even without that book, Erik Egilsson's force will be powerful,” Melcorka said. “I heard he intends to gather all the broken men, all the wolfsheads and outlaws, all the berserkers and the scum of the towns to invade Alba and your Jarldom.”
Thorfinn nodded. “I command warri
ors, men of honour, not things like that. I will gather a war band fit to throw them back into the sea. Where will they land?”
“I do not know,” Melcorka said. “I suspect somewhere on the Moray Firth, from where they will have easy access to both nations.”
Thorfinn took a long pull at a horn of mead. “If they land in my jarldom, I will be ready.”
“If they land in force, do you have sufficient warriors to repel them?”
“We are Norsemen.”
“I know. But Brian Boru defeated Norsemen at Clontarf in Erin a few years back. One of your predecessors, Sigurd of Orkney, died then, with many of his men, men from your jarldom. Have you recovered enough strength to repel a major invasion by veteran warriors?”
Thorfinn lifted his chin. “We will fight.”
“You may need help,” Melcorka said. “Mael Coluim has an experienced, veteran army.”
“Mael Coluim the Destroyer?” Thorfinn crashed a massive fist on the table. “That murderer will never enter my jarldom! I will fight him before I fight Erik Egilsson and all the hordes of Hel!”
“If you combined your forces, you'd have a better chance of victory,” Melcorka said.
Thorfinn spat on the ground. “That for Mael Coluim,” he spat again, “and that for Alba. If Erik Egilsson ravages Alba, I will line up my men and cut down any Alban who tries to flee into my realm.”
“Jarl Thorfinn,” Melcorka said, “Erik could destroy you both, one at a time.”
“I will not help the Destroyer,” Thorfinn said. “You may take that message to him, and I will write the proof in red ink and with a very sharp pen.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Melcorka gave an ironic curtsey. “Then you shall have to fight a lone war against both the Cu-saeng and Erik Egilsson. I will do my best to help if Erik lands in your realm.”
Busy with a horn of mead, Thorfinn was not listening.
“What do we do?” Bradan asked.
“We do what we always do,” Melcorka told him. “We do what is right, whatever the kings and lords decide.”
* * *
The boom and sliding suck of surf on shingle dominated the night. Melcorka stood on Cullen Bin, the imposing hill that overlooked a vast swathe of the Fidach coast. She looked to the west, where she had stationed Bradan, and east, where she had placed Astrid. Between the three of them, they kept watch on most of the southern coast of the Moray Firth, the area where Erik would most likely land if he came at all.
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