“Nor did I,” Bradan said. “That's what worries me. I haven't heard a bird or an animal for some time now.” He forced a smile. “Keep walking, Mel.”
They reached the edge of the Flanders Moss, the vast stretch of bogland, river and floating islands of peat that stretched across the waist of Alba, separating the south of the country from the northern heartland.
“How many people are following?” Melcorka asked.
“I don't know.” Bradan tested the depth of the mud with his staff. When he felt no bottom, he moved on, probing for an entrance to the marsh. “I know there are causeways somewhere.” He swiped at a host of biting insects, frowned and moved on. “Ah, here we are – there's solid ground about a hand span under the water. Can you see anybody behind us?”
“No.” Melcorka had found a half-submerged tree from where she could watch in all directions. “No movement at all.”
“As long as they don't attack us when we're on the causeway.” Bradan waited for Melcorka to laugh his fears to scorn.
“I hope not.” Melcorka did not touch Defender as she looked behind her in sudden apprehension.
“Here we go, Mel.” Testing each step with his staff, Bradan moved cautiously along the causeway, with Melcorka a few paces behind him, occasionally glancing over her shoulder.
“Can you see anybody yet?” Bradan asked.
“I saw something.” Melcorka sounded unusually nervous. “Something moving.”
“If it's friendly, it won't worry us. If it's not friendly,” Bradan nodded to Defender, “you have that.”
Melcorka looked away. “Yes. I have that.” She did not touch her sword hilt.
Bradan looked over his shoulder, squinting to see what was happening. Slivers of mist drifted across the surface of the Moss, making identification difficult, yet he saw movement. Was that a man on the causeway behind them? Or was it an animal? He could not be sure. “It might only be a deer,” Bradan said, “or a trick of the light on the Moss.”
“It was no deer,” Melcorka said. “Can you smell deer?”
“I cannot.” Bradan looked around. It was impossible to hurry, for one step off the twisting causeway meant slow suffocation in the sucking mud. He sniffed again. “You are right. I can't smell deer or anything.” People and animals had distinctive scents to people brought up in the wilds. Although the dampness of the Moss would mask most odours, Bradan knew he would recognise the scent of a deer. He waited for Melcorka to challenge whoever or whatever was following them, to draw Defender and face the pursuers. Instead, she pointed ahead.
“Hurry, Bradan. We'll try to lose them in the Moss.”
“I'm hurrying,” Bradan probed and stepped, probed and stepped, with the causeway taking them deeper into the Moss, turning this way and that over patches of brilliant green turf, areas of reed-covered water and peat holes where dark water covered mysterious depths. Occasional trees thrust through the Moss, isolated on patches of firmer ground, and from time to time a rat swam next to their feet or investigated their ankles, while bog-cotton bobbed in unseen winds.
“Look!” Melcorka pointed to the side, where a man jumped high over the surface of the Moss, to vanish into a patch of mist. “What sort of man can do that?”
“The sort that can bleed,” Bradan said. He saw another man rise high, holding a long pole, then seemed to fly over the Moss. “Whoever they are, they are agile.”
The figures appeared and disappeared, vaulting over or through the mist on their long poles. Only partially seen, they moved silently, without word or gesture.
“They're in front of us,” Melcorka said.
Disfigured by the mist into elongated giants, the men loomed ahead, standing on the causeway to bar Melcorka and Bradan's path. Each held a pole three times the length of a tall man.
“That's not promising,” Bradan said.
“No,” Melcorka looked behind her. “We can't fight three of them.”
“You are Melcorka, the Swordswoman,” Bradan said. “You can fight anybody.”
Melcorka shook her head. “Not now. Not any longer.” She looked around, searching for an avenue of escape.
“Who are you?” Bradan shouted. “What do you want?”
The three men stood in front of them, silent figures in the mist. With their faces smeared with mud and their clothes the same grey-green colour as the surrounding bogland, they fitted perfectly into their environment.
Melcorka gasped as a hand slid from the bog to grasp her right ankle. She kicked out, jumping back as another grabbed at her left calf.
“Get away!” Bradan slammed his staff down. A man emerged from the mud, his eyes dark in a muddy face. Bradan hit him again. Two more appeared, skating over the surface of the mud in shoes like wide saucers.
More hands grabbed at Melcorka, pulling her down, while the skating men lunged at the hilt of Defender.
“No you don't!” Bradan swung his staff, knocking one man down. The second nearly succeeded in pulling Defender free from the scabbard before Melcorka pushed herself to her feet and Bradan wrestled the man away. The Moss-men disappeared into the misty distance, leaving only the three on the causeway.
“They want Defender,” Bradan said.
“Why?”
“Maybe they've never seen a sword before,” Bradan said. “Or maybe somebody has sent them.”
“There are more behind,” Melcorka said. “We can't go back!”
Bradan nodded. Two more of the Moss-men stood on the causeway behind them. “Well, we can't stay here either, Mel. I'm no fighting man, but I'm damned if I'll let strangers block my path. Come with me.”
“I can't,” Melcorka said.
“Yes you can. You have Defender.”
“I can't use it.” Melcorka sounded desperate.
“Maybe not.” Bradan could see that Melcorka was far from her usual confident self, “but they don't know that! Look fierce and follow my lead.”
“I can't look fierce today,” Melcorka said.
“Try your best, or give me Defender and I'll brandish it.”
Melcorka's wry smile failed to hide her fear. “Bradan, you could not look fierce in any circumstance.”
“At least I will try.” Handing Melcorka his staff, Bradan unsheathed Defender and strode forward. Although Melcorka had told him about
