Melcorka took a deep breath. She did not like people interrogating her, or playing word games. 'People call me Melcorka the Swordswoman.' Melcorka lifted Defender higher. She thought she saw something else beside the man, somebody indefinable, a shimmering black-and-white light between the boles of the trees.
'Melcorka the Swordswoman.' The man nodded. His eyes were older than his body, deep and wise and serene. 'You are a woman who lives by violence and delights to kill.'
'I have no delight in violence, nameless man. I only kill when it is necessary.'
'Meet yourself,' the man with no name said. 'You are coming to see me, as you did and as you are.'
'Turn around,' Bradan murmured. He placed a hand on Melcorka's arm. 'Hold your temper in check, Mel.'
Melcorka did as Bradan asked and gasped in shock. An image of her was striding up the beach, legs thrusting vigorously, face set in determination and with one hand hovering above the hilt of her sword. 'I have a cure for hostility,' she said, tapping the sword hilt. 'I have a cure for hostility.' The image of Melcorka repeated its words and actions. 'I have a cure for hostility. I have a cure for hostility.'
'You are a woman who lives by violence and delights to kill,' the man repeated.
'I was provoked,' Melcorka said.
'You may have felt provoked,' the man with no name said and waved the image away. 'You may be taking offence where none is intended.' When he lifted his hand, the image of Melcorka returned.
'As well for him.' The image of Melcorka lifted Defender above her head. 'You there! Magician! We came in peace, and you have played with us. Greet us fairly or, by my sword, I will part your head from your body.'
The man with no name dropped his hand again, and the image disappeared. 'Would you be so bold without your sword, I wonder? Nobody caused you offence. I merely wanted to see you before you came close.'
'You did not reply to us.' Melcorka found she was defending her stance.
'You chose to come to my home,' the man with no name replied. 'You landed on my island and approached my house uninvited and unannounced.' The expression on his face did not alter. 'You depended on the skill that lies within your sword to look after you if you were unwelcome.'
'How do you know about the skill that lies within my sword?' Melcorka asked.
The man reached forward and put his forefinger on the hilt of Defender. 'Derwen made this sword,' he 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. It was the sword of Arthur, who faced the Saxon and now it is the sword of Melcorka.'
'Who are you?' Melcorka asked. The nameless man had repeated, nearly word for word, what Ceridwen had told her when first she gained Defender.
The man continued. 'It was a sword well made 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, remembering the day when she had chosen Defender, or the sword had picked her.
The man with no name continued. '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. 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 and retested the blade, then hardened and sharpened it with his own touch and his own magic. In 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.'
'You know it,' Melcorka said.
'The sword told me most of it,' the man with no name said. 'And some came from within you.'
The shimmering beside the man was more definite now, a black-and-white mass that settled on the sand. Melcorka frowned, trying to clear the confusion from her mind. She should know what that shimmer was; she had seen it before, more than once. She delved into her memories and found only a labyrinth of uneasiness.
'That sword is worthy of heroes.' The man interrupted her thoughts.
'It is,' Melcorka said.
'Now you must prove yourself worthy to bear it.' The strange man lifted his hand again, and a circular hole appeared in the sand at his side. As Melcorka and Bradan looked, the hole deepened until they saw water at the bottom. 'Defender will rest here for eternity,' the man said. 'Or until a hero comes along who deserves her.'
Melcorka shook her head. 'No man and no woman can take Defender from me.'
'Perhaps not.' The man fixed his eyes on Melcorka. 'Throw her into that hole.'
'I will not.' Yet even as Melcorka spoke, she unbuckled Defender and held the sword, together with her scabbard and belt, high in the air above the hole.
'Melcorka!' Some unseen source held Bradan back, foiling his attempt to grab at the sword. He struggled desperately, fighting to move. He could only watch as Melcorka tossed Defender into the
