“I did,” Maelona said. “Alba is no longer the place for me. Aharn was a fine warrior, yet Erik Egilsson killed him casually, without any difficulty.”
Bradan leaned closer to Melcorka. “Maelona and the People of Peace saved your life, Mel. You were near death, and they brought you back.”
Melcorka remembered the sublime peace of the place she had left. “Thank you, Maelona.” She glanced at her legs again. “I don't know how Erik overpowered me so easily. He knew my movements before I made them. It was as if I had an ordinary sword rather than Defender.”
Maelona sighed. “I am not sure advantage what Erik has,” she said. “All we know is he possesses the power of evil. Nobody, no champion or hero, can stand against him. His sword, Legbiter, senses their moves and counters them. Once he has their measure, Legbiter cuts them, and the poison of evil on the blade kills slowly.”
Melcorka touched her legs; although both still throbbed, she knew the worst had passed. “You cured me.”
“The People of Peace only cured the physical, not what evil was planted within you. It was difficult, even for the People of Peace,” Maelona said. “You were at the pit of death, Melcorka.” She glanced at Bradan. “If Bradan had not brought you here, you would have died.”
Melcorka touched her swollen legs. “Can I get up?”
“You will have to learn to walk again,” Bradan said, “and then you must regain your strength.” Although he smiled, Melcorka saw the shadows in Bradan's eyes and knew he was worried about her.
“I can do that,” Melcorka spoke with more optimism than she felt.
In Elfhame, time passed differently from elsewhere, so Melcorka did not know how many days, or weeks, elapsed before she could even stand. As Melcorka's health slowly improved, she was aware of the presence of the People of Peace. Sometimes they were as solid as any human, at other times they were ethereal beings, nearly transparent as they flitted at the edge of Melcorka's consciousness to her side and away again.
“Walk,” Bradan encouraged. Standing a few paces in front of Melcorka, he held out his hands. “Come to me.”
Gritting her teeth, Melcorka took a single step, gasped, rode the pain and took another. Her legs felt like heavy weights, although both were skeletal, merely bones with a thin covering of flesh. The scars left by Erik's sword were pale red, still weeping a colourless liquid. Melcorka's first step was painful; the second was agony, and she fell, with Bradan rushing to help her.
“I've got you,” Bradan's arms were around her. “You're all right.”
“No,” Melcorka tried to struggle free. “I must conquer this.”
Standing alone, reeling on unsteady legs, Melcorka stretched her arms in front of her and tried again, wincing each time her feet made contact with the ground.
After the first day, Melcorka lay on her bed, wondering what had happened. Beating the physical pain was hard; fighting the mental and emotional battle was worse. Used to constant victory, she found defeat nearly impossible to accept.
“Welcome to the real world,” Bradan sat at her bedside, smiling down at her. “Once you can walk, we'll have you running about like a young deer.”
“My legs are aching,” Melcorka said.
“Good,” Bradan said. “The muscles are beginning to work again.”
Melcorka forced a smile. “I'd like to meet Loki, face to face,” she said. “On my terms, not his.”
Maelona joined them, perching on the opposite side of the bed to Bradan. “Whatever power is in Erik's sword, Melcorka, it does not come from Loki.”
“Erik told me it did,” Melcorka said.
“Erik is either lying or mistaken.” Maelona spoke quietly. “Loki is the name of the Norse spirit of mischief, if he exists at all. He will play pranks, he will cause upset and humiliation, nothing more. He cannot produce sufficient evil to counter the power inherent in Defender.”
“What then?” Melcorka tried to order her cudgelled brain. “What can counter Defender?”
“Something infinitely worse than Loki,” Maelona said. “The People of Peace think it is something even older than them, an evil so old it was here before life came to this world.”
“Can I defeat it?” Melcorka asked.
Maelona considered before she replied. “I do not know,” she said. “It is not from our time. You will need to find the man who awoke this evil and ask from where it came.”
“Where is he? Was it Erik Egilsson?”
Maelona shook her head. “At present, you are too emotionally weak to seek the man who unleashed the old forbidden entity.”
“Where will I find this man?” Melcorka lifted her chin as some of her old spirit returned. “From where does this forbidden entity come?”
“We do not know,” Maelona said. “It is knowledge that only the remaining Druids might have.”
“The Druids?” Melcorka said. “I thought that order was extinct!”
“Driven into hiding, perhaps,” Maelona said. “Some of the oldest families in the land still have a personal Druid. They are gatherers and holders of knowledge, as Bradan knows.”
“I know it,” Bradan agreed.
“Each Druid has his or her store of knowledge and wisdom,” Maelona said, “and once every year, they gather to share that knowledge.”
Melcorka listened, trying to get her dazed mind to function.
“Nobody except the chiefs knows who the Druids are, and only the Druids know where the gathering place might be.”
“Carry on,” Melcorka invited, knowing that Bradan was absorbing every word.
“Even the People of Peace only have one obscure clue,” Maelona said, “and we cannot work out the time or place.”
“Tell me,” Bradan said. “I am a wanderer. I have wandered the paths and trackless places of Alba, Erin and Cymru, as well as the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, all my days. I may know of this gathering place.”
“Tell us your clue, Maelona.” Melcorka said.
Maelona glanced around as if afraid of being overheard before she spoke in her low, musical voice. “One within three beside the mirror of the moon, with the wisdom of the old drawing
