“Owen is dead.”
“It was the word of a king,” MacBain said. “The last promise of Owen of Strathclyde.”
Mael Coluim grunted. “Why did the Butcher pick Owen to fight? He could have chosen MacBain, or Black Duncan, me even, or Melcorka. Why choose Owen?”
“I may have the answer.” Bradan spoke reluctantly, not wishing to draw attention to himself.
“Tell me,” Mael Coluim ordered.
“Before he fell asleep, Owen said he was going to tell us something about this warrior who is killing people across Alba,” Bradan said. “When he told us, I swear that the man in grey was listening.”
“The man in grey?”
“A man dressed in grey came into the tent last night,” Bradan said. “And the Butcher had a man in grey as a servant.”
“Was it the same man?” Mael Coluim asked.
“I am not sure,” Bradan said. “I could not describe either of them.” He tried to remember, shaking his head. “I saw them both clearly, yet they were so featureless I could not pick them out of a crowd of two.”
“I saw them too,” MacBain said quietly. “I would not recognise them if they stood next to me right now.”
Mael Coluim grunted. “I do not like that. I don't like that at all.” He stood up, took a few paces left and right and shook his head. “I do not like it when murderers can come into my camp, kill my kings and walk away unchallenged. I do not like it when featureless men can drift in and out of my tent, listening to conversations at my table. I am not happy with the situation in my realm when I can defeat Norse attacks in the north and quell the English in the south, yet an unknown warrior can butcher with impunity.”
Melcorka waited, knowing that the High King was about to make an announcement that would concern her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw True Thomas standing, nodding his head, and wondered where he came into things.
Mael Coluim stopped pacing as he came to a decision. “This situation will end. MacBain, I want you to arrange mobile patrols to quarter my kingdom and search for this Butcher, part mounted and part on foot with at least two gallowglass and two archers in each. If they find this Butcher, kill him without trial. Black Duncan the Grim, I charge you with hunting down the Butcher in the south of my kingdom, the lands of Lothian and Strathclyde. Finleac, I give you the same charge for the northern half, the lands between the Forth and the Moray Firth.”
Finleac nodded, smiling, while Black Duncan's expression did not alter.
Mael Coluim paced again while True Thomas stood, unseen, watching. Bradan ran his thumb across the carved cross on his staff. Melcorka felt her heartbeat increase and knew the High King was considering what mission to give her. Eventually, Mael Coluim faced her, with his quiet words unable to hide the force of his personality.
“I charge you, Melcorka Nic Bearnas of the Cenel Bearnas, and you, Bradan the Wanderer, of unknown family, to supplement my champions Black Duncan and Finleac the Pict. You will search my entire realm of Alba, find and destroy this warrior known as the Butcher, and all who may be associated with him. If you succeed, then you may ask one boon of me, and I will grant it. On this, you have my royal word.”
“And if we fail?” Bradan asked. “If this Butcher defeats us?”
“We are not interested in the possibility of defeat,” Melcorka said. “It does not exist.”
The thunder sounded again, a single last peal that seemed to split the heavens apart, while lightning tore open the horizon all around. For one instant, the entire camp was lit up, giving Melcorka an image she knew would stay with her for ever.
The High King stood at the head of the table, with one hand on the back of his carved chair, his clean-shaven face long and serious as he finished his proclamations. Beside him, MacBain curled a hand over the crystal pommel of his sword, where the Stone of Victory reflected the lightning flash. Slightly further down, Black Duncan was half rising, reaching for the mead, with his black cloak gaping open and an angry scowl on his face. Opposite Black Duncan, Finleac the Pict looked thoughtful, eyeing Bradan as though wondering how a man of peace came to that table of warriors. Bradan looked directly at Melcorka, still rubbing the cross on his staff.
But Melcorka did not know the identity of the man in grey who stood on the other side of the king, with no expression on his face and no recognisable features. Only his eyes were memorable, and they were dark pits of oblivion.
After the lightning, there was darkness, and Melcorka knew with a sickening certainty that the men at that table would never all gather in one place again. She could sense the graves gaping open to receive them and the ravens pecking at their heads.
Chapter Four
“Now you know the reason I summoned you from the sea,” True Thomas said as they stood beneath the wind-twisted rowan tree on the south bank of the River Tweed. “Now, you know your purpose in life. All else that you have done has to prepare you for this mission.”
“All else?” Bradan asked.
“I have watched you from the moment you took your first step on the road, Bradan, and you, Melcorka, from the instant of your birth. You must succeed.”
“If we don't?”
“If you don't,” True Thomas said, “this world will be condemned to more horror than you can ever imagine.”
“Aye,” Melcorka said. “It is a rare gift you have, Thomas, seeing backwards through time. “Can you alter anything you wish?”
“I have never tried before,” True Thomas said. “I have only one thing to alter, the time that the world twisted toward darkness.”
“When was it twisted?” Bradan asked.
“That you must find out yourselves,” True Thomas said. “You have free will, you see. I am only able to point you
