“Will we succeed in defeating this Butcher?” Bradan asked. “You know what will happen.”
True Thomas shook his head. “I know what happened when you were not involved. I do not know what your futures might be.”
Melcorka shuddered as the image came to her again. She lay broken on a waste of bloody sand, with a tall, hooded man standing over her while Bradan walked away with another woman. All around her, the land was in a yellow and grey haze, and defeat tasted bitter in her mouth.
* * *
Finleac was first to leave the camp. He made quick preparations before taking his leave of most of the Picts who had accompanied him south in the army. Melcorka watched as Finleac sharpened both his swords and dropped a silk handkerchief on each blade. He smiled as the swords sliced through the silk, called for his immediate followers and mounted his horse.
“Ladies!” Finleac kissed three of the women who were weeping at his departure, while the fourth, the buxom red-head leapt on a horse in his train. “I must bid you goodbye. You have brightened my life, and I will never forget you.” Still laughing, he signalled to one of his men, who blew a long blast on his horn to announce his departure.
“The Butcher awaits my swords!” Finleac said, and he trotted northward, waving to everybody he passed. The bull banner of Fidach fluttering above his head was the last Melcorka saw of the Pictish champion.
Black Duncan was slower and more thorough in his preparations. He ordered a blacksmith to make him more darts, put an edge on his sword and gathered the leading nobles of Strathclyde and Lothian together. One by one, he questioned them about the geography of their lands, ensured they would feed him and his men and only then did he prepare to leave.
“Give me your word you will send information to me of this Butcher,” Black Duncan said to each man in turn. When he was satisfied with the noblemen's promises, Duncan left the camp.
Riding a heavy black horse, and with his black cloak hanging free from his shoulders, Black Duncan rode to the west, ponderous, silent, and grim. Two retainers rode behind him, with neither fanfare nor flag.
“And that leaves us,” Melcorka said, chewing a cold leg of chicken as the sky cleared above them.
That leaves us,” Bradan agreed. True Thomas had disappeared again, and the sky had cleared after the royal storm that had taken Owen of Strathclyde. Only the strange behaviour of the birds irritated Melcorka, as flocks of rooks continued to harass the Albans.
“What's upsetting them?” Melcorka asked.
“The same thing that's upsetting the beasts,” Bradan said. “I heard the wolves took a baby last night – they are far more bold than normal.”
Melcorka nodded. “It must be all this bloodshed. They'll calm down once we bury the dead.”
Bradan looked up as a lone crow swooped on a camp follower, scoring her face with its talons. “I wonder,” he said.
Around them, the Alban camp was emptying as the majority of lords, chiefs and nobles led their men back home, with a few marching southward to plunder for cattle and slaves. With the Northumbrian army defeated and hundreds of their men killed, there would be little resistance from that quarter and no need to keep the army intact. Mael Coluim's victory at Carham had secured the southern border of Alba, allowing him to concentrate on the threat from the north.
“So we have to find this mysterious Butcher and kill him,” Bradan said. “Have you not had your fill of fighting and killing, Mel?”
“I have,” Melcorka said. “I feel it is time to hang Defender above the fire and allow her to rust in peace. At this moment, I'd like somebody else to take the burden and the honour of righting the wrongs of the world.”
“You can still do that,” Bradan said. “Tell the High King you have reconsidered his offer as he has an abundance of valiant warriors. You could indeed hang up your sword, find a quiet place somewhere and settle down.”
“The idea is very tempting,” Melcorka said. “But it seems that I am needed here, again. This adventure will be my last.”
“And after this time?” Bradan asked. “Will there be another last adventure and another after that? And after that? Until you are an old, done, woman tottering along with a sword too heavy for you to carry?”
“This will be my last,” Melcorka said. “I have come home.”
Bradan nodded. “Good. If we have to do it, then let's get this thing done quickly. Where do we think this Butcher will head next?”
“The High King thinks he lives somewhere in Lothian, south of Dunedin.”
“We can sail up the coast in Catriona,” Bradan said. “It's not far.”
“The Butcher might be inland,” Melcorka said. “Come on.” She hitched Defender higher on her back, with the cross-guard protruding above her left shoulder.
Putting his small bag of provisions across his back, Bradan grasped his staff and strode at Melcorka's side. They headed north across a borderland that invading tribes of savage Angles had once grabbed from the indigenous British but which King Mael Coluim had now confirmed as Alban. This area was flat and fertile, with spreading farms and prosperous farmers who looked warily at Melcorka's sword, for female warriors were a rarity. At night, Melcorka rested at cottages where old men told her the wolves were so bad this season they had to bring the livestock in early.
“Aye,” Bradan said. “We noticed that further south.”
“It's the end of times,” a grey-bearded farmer said. “You mark my words – it's the end of times.”
“Let's hope not,” Melcorka said, ensuring that Defender was secure on her back.
As they headed north, the land altered, rising to an area of bleak heather moors where whaups called in the lonely sky and herds
