The leading priest, a tall man with calm eyes, faced Mael Colm. “No amount of gold can atone for the Christian lives you took today.” He pointed to Melcorka. “And you, a woman, should know better. You were born to nurture, not to kill Christians.”
Melcorka touched the cross. “I killed no Christians, priest. The three men I fought were pagans who prayed to Odin.”
“There, you see?” the High King said. “Odin-worshippers, pagans, anti-Christians who would rob your church and murder you. We did you a favour, priest. Take the gold. There will be more to follow, aye and lands for the church.”
“You wanted to see me, your Grace?” Melcorka reminded.
“I did,” Mael Coluim assented, sitting on the altar. “You seem to be handy with your sword.”
Melcorka nodded, saying nothing.
“Good. A warrior is roaming my kingdom, defeating my champions, deflowering my maidens, killing my men, stealing my livestock and generally making mischief. Do you think you can kill him?”
Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender. “Perhaps,” she said. “Your Grace has many warriors, skilled in battle. One of them can surely dispose of this man. There used to be a warrior named Aharn if I recall?”
“Aharn is dead,” The High King said. “He went out after this killer and did not come back. We found his body, days later, with his legs slashed to pieces.”
Melcorka remembered the five border horsemen. “Is this the man people call the Butcher?”
“That is he,” Mael Coluim said.
“He was following your army yesterday, your Grace,” Melcorka said. “Your man MacBain sent a squad of border riders after him. I saw their bodies later.”
MacBain nodded. “That is correct. The Butcher killed them all.”
“Perhaps his Grace should send a whole troop after this man,” Melcorka suggested.
The High King perched himself on the altar with a curious smile on his face. “I am not used to women trying to tell me what to do. I have a kingdom to run and enemies all around. I have not time to put down every enemy within. Now, will you kill this Butcher for me, Melcorka, slayer of the Danes?”
“If he is working for evil, I will kill him,” Melcorka felt the attention of the priests centre on her. The head priest nodded as if approving her words.
The High King swept his hand to the side, knocking down the cross. “I will make that an order,” he said, “a royal command.” His voice softened. “Kill this man.”
“I shall do so,” Melcorka said, “if he is working for evil.”
“My lady,” the head priest replaced the wooden cross with every appearance of piety. “What would you do if he was working for good?”
Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender. “Holy father, if he was working for good, he would not be deflowering maidens and killing men.”
The head priest made the sign of the cross. “God bless your wisdom, my lady, and may He guide you on the right path.”
“Thank you, Holy Father.” Melcorka accepted the blessing.
“Well said, father.” Owen the Bald had been a silent spectator to all that had happened. Now he took hold of Mal Coluim's arm and pulled him off the altar. “You should respect the altar, your Grace. You don't know when you might need the blessing of the church.”
The rain was more torrential now, hammering on the church roof, forcing the men inside to raise their voices.
“I have paid my dues,” the High King said. “The church will need me before I need it.”
“Come, your Grace.” Owen lifted the cross, wiping off the blood that Mael Coluim had left on the altar. “You know better than that. We all need the blessing of the church, especially the High King.”
“Is everybody intent on giving me orders today?” Mael Coluim asked. “Who is the High King here?”
“You are, your Grace,” Owen said, “and as a subject king, I am here to give guidance.” When Owen smiled, he appeared a very likeable king. “While this lady of the sword is here to dispose of your enemies.” He paused for effect. “As long as they are evil.”
Even Mael Coluim joined in the laughter. “You are right, Owen, my shiny-headed friend.” He wrapped a brawny arm around Owen. “We'll leave these good priests in peace and celebrate our victory. Come, Swordswoman, and join us.”
“Pray grant me a moment in this holy place,” Melcorka said.
The High King raised his eyebrows. “People tend to obey me immediately.”
“There is a greater power even than you, your Grace,” Melcorka said.
The priest frowned as Melcorka unsheathed Defender. “Women should not become involved in swordplay, Melcorka Nic Bearnas, or carry a weapon in the church.”
“Sometimes it is necessary,” Melcorka said. “Will you bless my sword, holy man?”
“I will not,” the priest said. “I will not put Christ's blessing on an implement that kills.”
“Then bless the hilt, holy man,” Melcorka said. “It is fashioned in the shape of a cross.”
The priest hesitated for only a few moments before he nodded. “Do not place your sword on the holy altar.” Dipping his hand in a basin of holy water, he smeared it across the hilt of Defender. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, I bless the hilt of this sword. May evil never touch it and may it never fall into other hands unless presented by a good man or woman.”
“Thank you, holy man,” Melcorka said. “I swear that I shall never draw blade unless for the cause of good.”
“And this staff, Holy man,” Bradan had entered the church when Mael Coluim and his entourage left. “It has served me well in many places around the world. I don't think there's any goodness left, now.”
When the priest put two fingers on the staff, he blinked. “Somebody has already blessed this staff,” he said. “I can feel the virtue within it.”
“Yes, holy man,” Bradan said. “That was many years ago.”
“Who are you?”
