Falcon Warrior (The Swordswoman Book 3) Read online

'This is not your fight!' Erik said quickly. 'You are our guest.'

  'In my culture,' Melcorka said calmly, 'guests adopt the enemies of their hosts. Your enemies are now my enemies.' She felt the smile stretch across her face. 'Come, Norseman; let's kill these Skraelings together.'

  Erik's smile matched that of Melcorka. 'I wondered if you could use that sword,' he said. 'Come then.' He advanced without another word, stepping sideways to ensure that both had sufficient space in which to fight.

  Melcorka counted over two hundred Skraelings. They advanced in a semi-circle that outflanked the ragged ranks of the Norse, and fired a constant stream of arrows as they moved. To Melcorka's right, a man yelled as an arrow sliced into his face. He grabbed at the stalk and shouted again as another slammed into his arm. Staggering, he dropped his sword and more arrows landed on him; thudding into his chest and kidneys. He screamed again and fell, writhing on the ground.

  Melcorka spared him one glance and looked toward the Skraelings. 'Do you have a strategy, Erik?'

  'I haven't had time,' Erik said.

  'So we just kill as many of them as we can,' Melcorka said.

  'That sounds like a good plan,' Erik agreed.

  'So be it,' Melcorka hefted her sword and faced the oncoming Skraelings.

  Feeling the power and skill of Defender's previous owners surging through her, Melcorka ran toward the centre of the Skraeling ranks. She saw the first arrow whistling toward her and sliced it from the air, watching the two halves fall harmlessly to the ground.

  A Skraeling fitted another arrow to his bow, but before he could draw, Melcorka reached him. She swung Defender in a short arc that ended with the blade hacking at the man's neck. Propelled by jets of blood, the Skraeling's head sprung up to fall, bounce on the ground and roll over and over until it ended in a shallow indentation.

  Deflecting another arrow that zipped toward her, Melcorka hacked downward at the next Skraeling, neatly removing his arm, altered the angle of her blade to chop at another man's legs and then stepped over the screaming casualties to charge into a group of bowmen, scattering them left and right before her blood-smeared blade.

  'Odin! Odin owns you! Odin!' the Norse battle-cry erupted around her as the Norsemen charged forward to roll up the left flank of the Skraelings. There were a few moments frantic chopping with swords and thrusting with spears, and then the Skraelings broke and ran. There was no attempt at defence; one minute they were there and the next they were gone, fleeing northward with the more forward of the Norse pursuing them and a few arrows chasing them in their retreat.

  Melcorka watched, frowning. 'These Skraelings were no warriors,' she said. 'They ran the minute we attacked them.'

  'Thank you for your help.' Erik was panting slightly as he cleaned blood from the blade of his sword.

  'It was my duty as a guest,' Melcorka glanced around. Bradan was safe, leaning on his staff as he surveyed the scene of the one-sided skirmish.

  Erik nodded. 'You fight well.'

  'Who are these people?' Melcorka nodded to the bodies of the men she had killed. The Norse were busily engaged in disposing of the wounded with neither compassion nor relish. They killed each man quickly.

  'Skraelings,' Erik shrugged. 'They sometimes come from the north and attack our farms. Sometimes we kill them, sometimes they kill us but I've never known them to come in such numbers before.'

  'Maybe they have a reason,' Bradan put his staff across the writhing body of the nearest still-living Skraeling, defending him from a squat and ugly Norseman. 'Rather than kill all these men who are no longer a threat to you, we could ask why they attacked the settlement.'

  'Why do we care?' Erik seemed surprised at the idea. 'If they come, they come. If they don't then they don't. What does it matter?'

  'If there is a reason,' Bradan said patiently, 'you and the Skraelings might work out a way of living in peace together.'

  'Why?' Erik asked. 'We are Norsemen. We are used to war.'

  'There is only a handful of you,' Melcorka explained patiently. 'If you lose a few people each encounter, soon there will not be enough of you remaining to defend yourselves against any number of attackers.'

  Erik shrugged. 'We could do that. Bring him back to Frakkoksfjord and we'll ask him. We can kill him later.'

  His callousness did not surprise Melcorka. 'Or you could let him live and send him back to his people as proof that you are peace-loving Norsemen.' She tried to keep the irony out of her voice.

  'Why?' Erik was genuinely surprised.

  'For the same reason. So that your people are not killed as they care for their animals,' Bradan indicated the dead Norse farmers. 'There is more to being a leader than possessing a bloody sword.'

  Erik shrugged. 'Bring him to Frakkoksfjord then, although fate decides who lives and dies, not you and I.'

  Melcorka threw Bradan a 'told-you-so' look and ensured the Norse were relatively gentle with their prisoner as they carried him back to the settlement.

  Frakkok looked surprised when the Norsemen brought back a live Skraeling. 'What do you intend doing with that? First, you take in strays from the sea and now you keep Skraelings alive.' She poked at the wounded men with her foot. 'Burn it.'

  Erik nodded. 'We will mother. After we have asked it why the Skraelings attacked the settlement.'

  'You'd be better to ask where the Skraeling village is so you can destroy it and grab their lands.'

  Erik glanced from Bradan to Frakkok and back. 'I'll do that,' he said.

  'No,' Frakkok's voice was soft and sinister. 'I'll do that.' Lifting the wounded Skraeling by the hair, she snapped an order that saw two men run forward and strip the man of his clothes. Melcorka watched dispassionately; she had no love for cruelty but had seen too much to worry unduly about it.

  Stripped of his furs, the Skraeling was stocky, with shining tawny skin and a bleeding sword slash across his ribs. Bradan reached into the small pack he carried over his shoulder, took out a pad of moss and pressed it against the wound. 'That will stop the bleeding,' he said, 'and make sure the devil does not get in to poison you.'

  'Bring fire,' Frakkok said quietly. She watched as the Norsemen made a small fire within a circle of boulders. The piled up driftwood and brought over smouldering rushes. Within a few moments, flames were licking knee high. The Skraeling coughed as smoke curled around his face. He did not look scared as Frakkok ordered him brought closer although it was obvious that she intended something unpleasant.

  'Why did you attack us?' Frakkok asked bluntly. 'If you tell me, I will have you killed quickly. If you don't, I will set you on the fire and ask again as you burn.'

  The Skraeling looked at the fire and at Frakkok. He obviously decided that she was in earnest. 'The Ice king.' He said.

  'The Ice king.' Bradan repeated. 'Who or what is the Ice king?'

  'He rules the north,' the Skraeling said. 'He's guarded by fierce animals and cannibals from the other world.'

  'I see,' Bradan glanced at Melcorka. 'Why do we always end up with monsters?'

  She shook her head. 'That seems to be our fate.'

  'It is not a fate I like.' Bradan grunted and spoke to the Skraeling again. 'Did the Ice king order you to attack the Norse?'

  The Skraeling looked at the fire again. Now it was larger with flames that leaped waist high. 'Will you let me live?'

  'I have no intention of killing you,' Bradan said. 'I hope that Frakkok has the same mercy if you help us.' He turned to face Frakkok. 'Will you allow this man to live?'

  Frakkok grunted. 'He may live,' she said. 'I won't kill him.'

  'There you are, Master Skraeling. You have your life.' Bradan said.

  The Skraeling stepped back slightly from the fire. 'The Ice king did not order us to attack the strangers. The Ice king is pushing on our hunting territories. We need the land where the pale strangers are.'

  'What is this Ice king like?' Frakkok seemed to be interested at last.

  'I don't know.' The Skraeling said. 'Nobody
has ever seen him. We only know that he lives in the north with his animals and foreign man-eaters.'

  'You have told us all that you know, then.' Frakkok said.

  The Skraeling nodded.

  'He has fulfilled his part,' Bradan said. 'Now you must keep yours.'

  'Why in Odin's name would I do that?' Frakkok sounded surprised. She raised her voice. 'Throw him in the fire!'

  'You gave your word!' Bradan stepped forward.

  Frakkok turned aside and walked away. Three Norsemen grabbed hold of the Skraeling, lifted him high and dumped him in the middle of the fire. Sparks and fragments of burning wood sputtered past the containing boulders and sizzled on the coarse grass.

  'No! Let the man live!' Bradan stepped forward, to see half a dozen Norsemen slide their swords free of their scabbards.

  Melcorka put a hand on Bradan's arm. 'No, Bradan. This is not our concern. We don't know how this settlement works.'

  'I told that man he would live!' Bradan shivered as the Skraeling began to scream.

  'Frakkok decided otherwise,' Melcorka said. 'And she rules this settlement. She has more power here than Erik has.' She had to raise her voice above the shrieks of the Skraeling. The Norsemen were prodding at him with their swords, keeping him inside the flames.

  Melcorka watched for a moment. 'Killing one's enemies is one thing,' she said. 'But torture is something I dislike.' Drawing Defender, she thrust it through the Skraeling's heart. When the Norsemen voiced their anger at this end to their entertainment, she faced them, sword in hand and they backed off.

  'Don't you wish to fight me?' Melcorka challenged. 'Come on now, there are scores of you and I am a lone woman.'

  They withdrew, shouting, with their swords pointing toward her. Not a single man stepped forward.

  'Come on Bradan.' Melcorka said. 'There are no warriors here.' Returning Defender to her scabbard she turned her back and stalked back to the settlement. The behaviour of the Norse worried her; she had never in her life met Norsemen who were afraid to fight, whatever the odds. Something was wrong with these men.

  Chapter Three

  They sat within the stone built hall that was the largest building in the village, with the mist creeping outside and a great fire roaring at the head of the room. Smoke coiled from the open fire to the rush thatches far above while uneven beams of driftwood spanned the breadth of the hall, some decorated with elaborate carvings, others rough and crude as they were the day they were lifted from the shore. Shaggy haired dogs lay on the floor or watched the men and women who shared the long table that stretched the full length of the building, with horns of ale and great hunks of meat spread on wooden platters. There was the occasional burst of song and rough northern voices roaring their opinion on every subject that came up.

  Frakkok and Erik sat at the head of the table as befitted their status.

  'We'll sit tight in Frakkoksfjord,' Erik said, 'and put out sentries to warn of any Skraeling inroads.'

  Melcorka exchanged glances with Bradan and said nothing. Frakkok was less reticent.

  'If I knew you wanted to live forever I would have raised you in my wool basket.'

  'What does that mean?' Erik looked bemused.

  'I think your mother is suggesting that you should do something more aggressive,' Melcorka hinted.

  'What?' Erik wondered, smiling as always.

  Frakkok leaned forward and pressed a long finger into his ribs. 'Have I taught you nothing? If you have an enemy, you destroy them. You don't wait for them to come to you!'

  'You think I should attack the Skraelings then?' Erik sounded a little disappointed that his idea had not been praised.

  'You can do that, Erik.' It was obvious that Frakkok had difficulty controlling her temper, 'but then you will have this Ice king on our border.'

  'It may be better to attack him as well,' Erik said.

  Frakkok raised her eyebrows. 'That would be best.'

  'If I may speak?' Melcorka asked.

  'Indeed you may!' Erik was all amiability. 'You are an honoured guest and you fought well against the Skraeling army.'

  'Thank you.' Melcorka tried to avoid Frakkok's pointed glare. 'Did you have any trouble with the Skraelings before this Ice king appeared?'

  'Not really,' Erik said at once. 'A few skirmishes between our herders and hunters and theirs. We were never attacked like that.'

  'Then the Ice king is the problem,' Melcorka said. 'Remove him and the Skraelings will not bother you unduly.'

  'Will you come along?' Erik asked eagerly.

  'You are my host,' Melcorka said. 'Your enemies are my enemies.'

  Erik's smile showed his pleasure until he realised that Frakkok was frowning. He looked away with his face colouring red.

  'It's not our fight,' Bradan said as they squeezed into their quarters, a corner of the great hall shared with a courting couple and two slavering hounds.

  Melcorka glanced at their companions. The dogs were more intent in scratching fleas than in anything else, while the young lovers had far more interesting things on their minds than the words of a pair of foreign travellers. 'We are guests. It is tradition to embrace the friends and fight the enemies of our host.'

  'It is a foolish tradition,' Bradan said. 'What if Erik's enemy was the Lord of the Isles, your half brother? Or the Queen of Alba?'

  'Then he would not have invited us,' Melcorka said. 'It is the way of the world and it is best never to make a tradition or break a tradition.'

  'We are not in Alba now,' Bradan said.

  'There are some traditions that I will carry with me wherever I go,' Melcorka said. 'It is only good manners to help your host.'

  'Even if he is a Norseman and you have no love for the Norse? They slaughtered your family, remember!'

  'I remember,' Melcorka said. 'I will never forget. But Erik did not slaughter them. He is quite entertaining. He is the most vulnerable and personable Norseman I have ever met.'

  'You are beginning to like that Norseman,' Bradan sounded amused.

  'I am,' Melcorka agreed, shaking her head. 'There is something about him that I cannot fathom. He is not like any other Norseman I have ever met. He is rather cute, I think.'

  'Oh.' Bradan looked away. 'Rather cute.'

  'He is like a puppy dog,' Melcorka continued, only slightly aware of the impact her words were making. 'He's all wagging tail and big eyes. He is the sort of man who would do anything for anybody. Even you, Master cynical, must admit that he is friendly.'

  'Oh he is friendly enough and to spare,' Bradan agreed.

  'It's his mother I am wary of,' Melcorka said. 'Frakkok is the real power here. She orders poor Erik around and manipulates him as if he was still a child.'

  'Then by siding with your host, you are supporting her,' Bradan pointed out. 'For all you know, the Ice king is a peaceful man who has been here for ever and the Norse have provoked him. Don't forget what they did to Alba before you kicked them out.'

  'I won't forget,' Melcorka said. 'But as you said, Egil is dead now. Erik is nothing like him.'

  'No; he is cute,' Bradan said.

  'Exactly.' Melcorka did not recognise the sarcasm. 'I will accompany him to face this Ice king.' She smiled. 'He was brave enough against the Skraelings but I don't think he is a natural warrior. He may need help.'

  'In other words, you'll put our lives at risk fighting a Norseman's battles,' Bradan said.

  'Our hosts' quarrels are our quarrels,' Melcorka reminded. 'Besides, you don't have to come. You're not a warrior.'

  'I am coming!' Bradan said fiercely. 'Do you think I would let you go alone?'

  Melcorka took a deep breath. 'No. I don't think you would ever do that.' She put a hand on his arm. 'We have done too much together.' Her smile was of pure mischief. She watched the courting couple for a moment. Both were now stark naked and indulging in a very energetic bout of love- making. 'Erik is very cute, though.' Placing her hands under the hips of the girl at her side, she shoved the lovers aside and spok
e sharply to them.

  'Go and do that elsewhere; we need the space.' She watched them roll away without either of them breaking contact with the other, shook her head and smiled. 'Young love, eh?'

  Bradan nodded. 'Melcorka; they are only a year or so younger than you.'

  'I know,' Melcorka said. 'It is only that sometimes…' She hesitated. 'Sometimes I feel so very much older than my years.'

  'It's the kind of life you lead,' Bradan said. 'Perhaps you might be better settling down somewhere. Find a good steady man and build a life together, rather than wandering the highways, byways, and oceans with a wastrel like me.'

  'Perhaps sometime,' Melcorka said. 'Not yet. I rather enjoy the company of a sour faced wastrel like you. I think…' Reaching over to him, she demonstrated what she was thinking.

  Next morning was bright and cold, with a hint of mist lying close to the ground. Leaving Bradan to sleep, Melcorka left the hall to walk around the settlement, ignoring the scurrying slaves who tended the livestock and did the menial tasks.

  'Well met Melcorka,' Erik's cheerful voice greeted her. 'You are up early!'

  'As are you, Erik.' She said.

  'I like the mornings,' Erik said. 'I noticed that you always carry that sword.'

  'I do,' Melcorka said.

  'It is unusual for a woman.' Erik was smiling as always.

  'So I am told,' Melcorka said.

  'May I see it?' Erik held out his hand. 'Please?'

  She pondered for a moment. Could she trust him with Defender? Without it she was no more than an island girl; all her power and skill was invested in that blade. Over three years ago she had made her choice between luxury and the way of the warrior. She had chosen the warrior's path and Defender had been presented to her on that lonely island off the west coast of Scotland. At first, she had thought it only a sword, until Ceridwen of the People of Peace, the fairy folk, explained to her how Defender had been made.

  'Derwen made this sword,' Ceridwen had 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.'