“Fool.” That single word drove Erik back to the edge of the cliff, with the 300-foot drop to the sea sucking at him. “Fool!” The words curled around Erik lifted him high, poised him above the sea and dashed him down to the surface of the Bass.
“Get it.” Once again, the words seared into Erik's brain, making him cringe.
“Yes, Loki.”
“I chose you because your father killed the Swordswoman's mother.” The words were softer now, lacking the cutting edge. “I chose you because you are an adventurer from warrior blood, a man who has been where others dare not go.”
Erik rose, straightened his back and tried to face the shape. “I am Erik Egilsson,” he said. “I have travelled beyond the bounds of the Western Ocean and seen empires and lands that few others know exist.”
“Have I chosen badly?” The voice asked hardening again. “Are you not fit to carry my sword?”
“I am fit, Lord,” Erik said.
The darkness came from below, covering the surface of the Bass and wrapping itself around Erik. He tried to breathe, choked and tried again.
“There are other warriors, Erik Egilsson, other men who would welcome my blade. You have until the end of this year to bring me Defender.”
“Yes, Lord,” Erik bowed his head.
The darkness increased again, with an earthy smell in which Erik caught a whiff of sulphur. The blood trail led to the tunnel through which Erik had just come. He stopped at the landing place and swore again when he realised Melcorka's boat was missing.
“Swordswoman!” Erik roared to the bright bowl of the sky. “Swordswoman! You cannot hide from me. You will die of your injuries, and I will have Defender!” A thousand birds rose at his words, calling and screaming. “Wherever on this land you go, I will find you!”
Still 10 paces in the rear, the grey man looked directly at Erik.
“You will need help.” The words exploded inside Erik's head. “I will send you help.”
“I will find the sword,” Erik said. “I will find Defender!”
“What is the use if you cannot lift her?” The words were hard-edged. “You failed me again.” The pain hit Erik in wave after wave, each one more intense than the last. When it finished, he lay on the ground, gasping. “You have men to kill.” The words cut into Erik's brain. He cringed on that landing stage with the waves washing at Melcorka's blood and the gannets crying all around.
“Oh, great Odin, have mercy on me,” Erik prayed. “Loki, I am your man.”
Chapter Eight
The triple hills reared ahead, three green peaks against a sky of ragged clouds.
“Those are the Eildon Hills,” Bradan lowered Melcorka to the ground and eased the strain on his back. He watched as the oystercatchers circled his head before flying, arrow-straight, towards the peaks. “I have no wish to visit for I've heard that Elfhame sits beneath them.”
“I have also heard that legend,” Melcorka leaned on a solitary elm to rest her aching legs. Despite all Bradan's ministrations and the power of Defender, her wounds still wept blood. She crouched down, trying to force a smile. “The People of Peace live in Elfhame. The Daoine Sidh, or the fairy folk, if you prefer.”
“I do not trust the People of Peace,” Bradan said.
“I know.” Melcorka lifted one leg and then the other to alleviate the pain. “Yet the oystercatchers are leading us there. Don't forget, the People of Peace raised Maelona, and she was the gentlest person I have ever known.”
Bradan nodded. “I remember Maelona, the good queen, but the People of Peace are deceivers of the worst kind, people who lure you in with false promises and take away years of your life.”
As they spoke, they stared at the triple peaks, which seemed to have a strange glow, as if something lit them from within.
“Bradan,” Melcorka said. “There is no need for you to go closer. I will enter alone.”
Bradan did not even contemplate the idea. “You cannot walk,” he said. “We both go.” He lifted his chin. “And may the Lord have mercy on our souls.”
The deer came silently to them, a young stag and two hinds, walking at their side, watching them through velvet eyes without venturing into touching distance.
“The People have seen us,” Bradan murmured, grasping his staff tighter. “Let's hope they're still wary of rowan wood.”
“Your staff will protect you,” Melcorka said, “although I think there is no need for worry.” She released her hold of the tree, stumbled, gasped and fell headlong, causing Bradan to drop his staff and rush to help her.
“I've got you.” Bradan lifted her on to his back. “You're all right now.”
The instant Melcorka fell, the deer closed around them and the sky altered colour. Balancing Melcorka on his back, Bradan realised his staff had vanished, and with it, any protection against the People of Peace. Feeling a surge of fear, he looked around, to see he was no longer in a familiar landscape. A green mist formed around him, softly alluring, while the harmony of distant harps augmented the quiet caress of bird song in the trees.
The undulating land of fields and farms had changed into a single stretch of open woodland, through which deer and hares ran free, while the dull autumn sky had altered to bright sunshine.
“We're in Elfhame,” Bradan said hopelessly. “And the People of Peace have hidden my staff.”
Melcorka nodded. “We're in Elfhame.” Despite her previous words, she felt uneasy, for the People of Peace were unpredictable. They could be the best friends imaginable, or they could spirit away a human for 100 years or more. It all depended on their mood, or how the humans treated them.
“They are watching us.” Bradan fought his fear.
The animals closed in on them, deer and hare, pine marten and foxes, badgers and wolves and the tusked wild boar, until the pressure of bodies forced Bradan to hold Melcorka ever tighter. “Put me down,” Melcorka said. “I need to stand.”
As her feet touched the ground, Melcorka's legs gave way. She
