Limping, fighting the pain, Melcorka put her weight on Bradan, winced every time her foot hit the ground, and staggered up the slope. “I can't make it, Brad,” she said.
“You are Melcorka the Swordswoman,” Bradan reminded, bearing most of her weight. “You can make it.”
“Erik defeated me,” Melcorka stopped after only 10 steps.
“Then you will defeat him next time.” Bradan took more of Melcorka's weight.
When they reached the spot where Erik had vanished, Bradan noticed a small declivity in the ground, with an iron ringbolt. The oystercatchers landed beside it, whistling.
“Pull that iron ring,” Melcorka gasped. “Let go of me and pull it.”
The ringbolt opened a square hole in the ground, with a flight of steps leading downward into unseen depths. “Come on, Mel,” Bradan was first in, tapping at the top stair with his staff. He reached back for Melcorka. “I've got you.”
They moved down slowly, with Bradan testing each step as he supported Melcorka until they heard the thud of surf and emerged at the landing place, with the oystercatchers waiting on the gunwales of their boat. Bradan's hopes lifted until he saw that Erik had smashed the bottom of the boat with a rock.
Bradan swore, looked at Melcorka as she lay bleeding and swore again. He peered out to sea and shook his head in disbelief as he saw Catriona bobbing 100 yards offshore. He swam out to her. “True Thomas said you'd come back for us,” he said in wonder.
“You can't row,” Bradan helped Melcorka into Catriona and tied the smashed fishing boat astern. “Sit there.”
“I'm not an invalid,” Melcorka complained, white beneath her tan.
“No, you're a wounded warrior,” Bradan said. “You must depend on me for a while, Melcorka.”
Melcorka gave a weak smile. “There is nobody on whom I would rather depend.” She sank into the boat as Bradan pushed them into the heaving water. He took the oars, pulling hard for shore as Melcorka swayed in the stern, her lips moving soundlessly. She saw the black blade of Legbiter swooping on her, felt the bite and winced. “I can't fight any more,” she said.
“Get healed first,” Bradan eased Catriona to the shore. “Then decide.”
Two fishermen met them beside the cluster of cottages.
“We've brought back your boat.” Bradan indicated the small fishing coble. “I'm sorry it's damaged.”
“Damaged?” a bearded fisherman said. “Nothing two men and two hours' work won't put to rights.”
“Thank you, fisherman,” Bradan wished he had a coin with which to reward the fisherman, knew the man would take the offer as an insult and helped Melcorka out of Catriona.
“Did you kill him then?” the bearded fisherman asked Melcorka, then shook his head. “No, but he nearly killed you.”
“Nearly,” Bradan said. “Not quite.” He saw the oystercatchers circling to the south.
“May God go with you,” the fisherman said as his wife hurried out with a stone flagon of ale and a leather bag of cooked haddock.
“Here,” the fishwife said. “God bless the journey.”
“Thank you,” Bradan said. “Come on, Melcorka, we're back on our travels again.” He pushed Catriona out to sea, knowing that True Thomas would look after her.
“He'll kill me next time,” Melcorka said. “Erik will kill me on a sandy wasteland, and you will walk away with another woman.”
“Is that what will happen?” Bradan stooped, lifted Melcorka bodily and placed her on his back. “Well, not today, I think.” Straightening his shoulders and frowning at the blood that seeped from Melcorka's legs, he set off in the wake of the oystercatchers.
Chapter Seven
The Rock rose before him, ghostly white, with the gannets plunging all around and a keen wind lifting the crests from the waves. From his position on the coast, Erik could not see if there was anybody on the Bass or not. Striding down to the fishing village at the foot of the cliff, he hailed the crew of a boat.
“Give me that boat.”
“We will not.” Eyeing Erik's sword warily, the three men faced him, one lifting a boathook, the others hefting their oars in defiance.
“Give me that boat,” Erik said. The Rock of Bass was only a mile away, glowing in the rising sun.
“Get away.” The bearded man with the boathook gave a tentative prod toward Erik. “Push the boat out, lads.”
Striding forward, Erik drew Loki's blade and killed the man with the boathook, then sliced at the legs of the other two men. With the spirit of the sword coursing through him, he marched to the nearest cottage of the hamlet, kicked in the door and slaughtered the woman and two young children inside. Ten paces in the rear, the grey man watched, wordless and expressionless.
“Who are you?” Women from the remaining two cottages came out. Two screamed in horror at the scene of carnage, and others lifted stones to try to repel Erik. With Loki's blade still sticky with blood and human brains, Erik strode forward and killed the women, then finished off the terrified children who remained inside the cottages and the three dogs who attacked him, madly barking. With his lust temporarily sated, Erik stepped into the blood-spattered fishing boat, tossed the corpses into the sea and pushed out to the Bass.
Knowing exactly where to go, he steered for the landing stage and disembarked without hesitation, striding to the hidden tunnel that pierced the Rock and gave access to the surface far above. The grey man followed, 10 paces to the rear.
“Swordswoman! Where are you?” Erik emerged on to the summit of the rock. Autumn sunshine made the rough grass appear verdant, while gannets rose in fluttering hordes. Erik looked around, seeing the ominous dark stain where Melcorka had lain. “Where are you?”
Only the gannets replied, screaming and wheeling in uncounted thousands.
“No!” Erik looked around at the empty slope of the Bass. When he drew Loki's Blade, he could sense the faint glow where Defender had pressed into the ground.
“Master!” he shouted, “I have failed you.”
The dark shape emerged through the ground. “Where is the sword?”
“I could
