'A length of stick?' Bradan allowed the staff to lie at his feet.
'That staff supported you from the coast of Alba, to Greenland and down the Mississippi River,' Melcorka reminded him.
'It is only a length of stick to me now,' Bradan said. 'It might be useful as firewood for the cool nights.' Dhraji echoed his loud laugh.
'You will remember the seer who gave it to you,' Melcorka said.
'Of course,' Bradan said.
'And you will remember that it is made from rowan wood, which repels evil.' Melcorka continued. 'It has the cross of St Columba on the tip.'
Melcorka felt a perceptible tautening of the atmosphere as Bradan looked at Dhraji. Picking the staff up, Melcorka thrust the cross towards Bradan, who backed slightly away.
'Take your staff, Bradan,' Melcorka urged. 'Take it if you dare.'
'I don't want it,' Bradan said.
'Why not?' Melcorka took another step forward. 'It's yours.'
Bradan glanced at Dhraji, as if for support.
'You choose her, do you?' Melcorka dropped the staff. 'Well, Hell mend you then!' In a surge of anger, Melcorka threw the staff onto the carpet, drew Defender and, in one quick movement, sliced off Bradan's head.
'Now you!' Melcorka whirled around with Defender held ready.
The room was empty except for the teetering corpse of Bradan. Even the leopard had gone. 'Dhraji! Come and fight!'
There was no response. Still holding Defender at the ready, Melcorka knelt beside Bradan's body. 'You look like Bradan.' Ignoring the still-spouting blood from the headless trunk, she opened his top. 'You feel like Bradan, but you're no more Bradan than I am.'
What had she been told? She could not kill the rakshasas, even when they took human form, but humans had to be alive for the humans to take their shape. Bradan was still alive, somewhere.
Now, where would my Bradan be? Lifting the staff, Melcorka slipped it into Defender's scabbard. I know that Dhraji is a rakshasa, and as another rakshasa took Bradan's place, there are at least two to worry about. One is bad enough. Melcorka shook her head and repeated what Bearnas had said. Use the steel from the west bathed in the water from the north to defeat the evil from the south when the sun sets in the east. What does that mean?
Holding Defender in front of her, Melcorka pushed out of the room with her mind working overtime. I came from a long way west of here, and so does Defender, so my sword could be the steel from the west. Yes, that makes sense. That's one part of the riddle.
Melcorka circled, checking all around. The corridors were eerily empty, not even a servant in sight, with the tapestries moving in a slight breeze. The evil from the south must mean Dhraji and her cohorts. That is two. Melcorka crouched at a sudden sound and held Defender ready, only for a cat to scurry from an open door, look at her in evident alarm, turn and run again.
Melcorka shook her head to free it from sweat. What does the water from the north mean? And the sun setting in the east? The sun never sets in the east.
Running down the corridor, she checked each doorway in case Dhraji or the other rakshasa was waiting for her. The palace seemed deserted. With no servants and no guards, every sound was magnified. Melcorka's realised that her breathing was ragged and her grip on Defender was slippery with perspiration; her nerves were jangling.
The door was round-headed and studded with iron. About to kick it open, Melcorka instead pushed it with Defender. She gave it only the slightest touch, and it swung violently open.
The warriors rushed from behind the door, yelling. Melcorka took a single step back to gain more space, and met the leading man with a sharp thrust to the throat that stopped him dead. With the space in the corridor limited, the next two warriors could not push past, so Melcorka finished off the first man, ducked down and held Defender like a spear as the second man jumped over the body of his late companion.
Judging her time until the second warrior was at the apex of his leap, Melcorka thrust upward. Defender sliced open both femoral arteries. Leaving the man to bleed to death, Melcorka followed through with a sideways slash that sliced off the sword arm of the third warrior. The remainder fled.
'Fight me!' Melcorka yelled.
The road to the dungeons was clear. Melcorka stepped onto the stairs, gagged at the familiar stench and moved on. 'Bradan! Bradan are you down there?'
Only the echoes of her voice answered, fading into sullen silence.
Melcorka descended into the dark, step after step, wary, alert, knowing every second was vital. The moment she reached the bottom level, a deep voice sounded: 'Here she is!'
A dozen torches flared into life, nearly blinding Melcorka with the sudden glare.
'Good evening, Melcorka nic Bearnas.' Distorted by echoes, the voice came from somewhere beyond the circle of light.
Melcorka turned, holding Defender in front of her, expecting an instant attack. The torches flickered, spiralling smoke into the already foetid air. Still partially blinded by the sudden light, Melcorka circled, waiting. 'Where is Bradan?'
'You have killed him,' the voice echoed from beyond the flames.
'I killed an image that looked like him.' Melcorka narrowed her eyes, waiting. 'Where is Bradan?'
The laughter was not unexpected, coming from two, three, a dozen, a score, a hundred throats.
'Fight me,' Melcorka invited. 'Fight me. I am Melcorka of Alba, fight me or run.'
The laughter continued, louder, filling the space between the flaring torches, filling Melcorka's head, threatening to overwhelm her thoughts. 'Where is Bradan?'
'Where is Bradan? Where is Bradan?' Melcorka's words repeated themselves, echoing round the chamber and around her head, mocking her, taunting her, frustrating her.
'No!' Melcorka shouted. 'You're not playing with my mind!' Rushing forward, she crouched low and swept Defender in a great arc. The blade sliced through the nearest torches, causing
