They stood side by side, searching the open surface of the island, with Melcorka ready to draw Defender and gannets rising around them.
“Where are you?” Melcorka called.
“I am here.” The reply came a second later as a man emerged, seemingly from the ground. He stood amid a welter of birds, with a hood shading his face, a circular shield on his left arm and a longsword dangling from the left side of his belt. The twin black ravens against the grey background of the shield were identification enough: this was the Butcher.
“You are a killer,” Melcorka said.
“You are a killer,” the Butcher replied, his voice powerful.
“You kill innocent people,” Melcorka said.
“You kill to bolster the power of a king,” the Butcher responded. “We are no different, you and I, two sides of the same coin.”
“I kill for the right.”
“That is the excuse you use,” the Butcher replied. “You torment yourself, Melcorka the Swordswoman. You like to kill yet your conscience tells you it is wrong.” He stepped closer until he was in the centre of the sloping surface of the island, with moonlight shining on the hilt of his sword and seeming to put life into the ravens on his shield.
“I do not like to kill,” Melcorka said.
“Yet you have fought and killed across the world, Swordswoman, and you hope to kill me.”
“You are a murderer,” Melcorka said.
“Don't you know who I am?” the Butcher asked. “We were companions once.”
Melcorka narrowed her eyes. “Who are you? Throw back your hood so I can see your face.”
Using his left hand, the man flicked back his hood. Moonlight shone directly on his face, showing a broad-featured, high-cheekboned man with light blue eyes. “I am Erik,” he said, “son of Egil, who killed your mother. We explored the New World together.”
Melcorka took a step back as the memories returned. Erik had accompanied her on an adventure from Greenland to Cahokia in the New World. She remembered him as a young, slightly impetuous warrior who had significantly matured on the journey. She had never expected to meet him again.
“I know you Erik, and you know me. You know you cannot defeat me in battle.”
“Let me try.” Erik drew his sword. “I call my sword Legbiter.”
As moonlight ran the length of the blade, Melcorka saw the exquisite workmanship in Legbiter, with the double-edged sword as long as a man's leg, tapering to a sharp point. The Norse made superb weapons, and Legbiter was one of the best she had seen, except the blade was a dull black, unable to reflect the light.
“I do not wish to kill you,” Melcorka said. “We were friends, you and I.”
“And now we are enemies,” Erik said easily. “Are you afraid to fight me since I defeated Owen the Bald?”
“I am not. Come then, Erik.” Melcorka unsheathed Defender and felt the expected thrill of power running from her hand, up her arm and into her body as all the skill and knowledge of the sword's previous carriers transferred itself to her.
“My man will keep Bradan company,” Erik said. “We can't have him interfering with his little stick, can we?”
The lithe grey man appeared as mysteriously as Erik had, to stand 10 paces from Bradan.
“You're the man who was in the king's tent,” Bradan said.
The man's face was as grey and featureless as his clothes. He said nothing, and when he looked at Bradan, his eyes were dull and dark. A grey bag hung from his shoulders to sit below his waist.
“We'll let them fight in peace,” Bradan fought the chill this man gave him. “And when my woman kills your man, we will see who you are.”
The grey man did not acknowledge Bradan's presence by word or movement.
Melcorka waited as Erik walked towards her, smiling, with his sword loose in his right hand. He had attached a long spike to the boss of his shield, while the two ravens seemed to turn their heads to watch Melcorka.
“It was a pleasure to kill Owen,” Erik said. “It will be a greater pleasure to kill you, Swordswoman.” Still smiling, he broke into a run, holding the shield before him.
Melcorka waited, stepping aside an instant before Erik reached her. She swung Defender, aiming at the shield, and gasped as Erik parried her stroke with his black-bladed sword. The ravens on Erik's shield mocked her with their eyes.
Erik's smile broadened as he stopped, turned and pushed with the metal rim of his shield, sending Melcorka staggering back. Surprised, she swung Defender, only for Erik to parry without effort, thrusting with Legbiter, forcing Melcorka to block. “What's the matter, Melcorka? Is Defender not as powerful as you remember?”
Erik advanced slowly, slashing, thrusting and probing, with Melcorka parrying each attack as Erik avoided her assaults with troubling ease.
Melcorka frowned. She felt the usual thrill with Defender, she fought with the same skill, using the moves and manoeuvres that had served her so well in a score of fights in the past. There was nothing wrong with her sword or her tactics. Erik was just faster and more skilful.
Erik came forward, holding his shield high, with only his eyes visible above the rim, while his sword-hand was waist high with the point upwards, toward Melcorka's throat. He jabbed with the shield's central spike, forcing Melcorka to block, angled the shield, rammed upward into Melcorka's chest, and thrust with Legbiter.
Blocking and parrying, Melcorka withdrew, step after step. She was aware that Bradan was watching anxiously, conscious that the grey man was standing as a silent observer with one hand in his grey bag, and aware that the gannets were wheeling around her, white against the star-speckled black of the night sky. Even using all the skill inherent in Defender, Melcorka could make no impression on Erik. He countered every move, blocked every attack and drove her gradually backwards.
Holding Defender two-handed, Melcorka stood on the edge of the cliff, with the sea frothing hundreds of feet below and the moon glinting from Erik's shield boss. She took a deep
