The ravens circled Melcorka, their calls sounding like the mockery of old gods. Melcorka looked up. “Your time is coming. Take my message to whomever sent you, omens of death. Tell her that Melcorka the Swordswoman is here.”
The ravens continued to circle as night drew in, and the surge of the sea increased. Remaining where she was, Melcorka waited for star-shine before she scanned the stack on which Dun Dreggan stood. When she was a child, growing up on a small Hebridean island, Melcorka had to augment the food supplies of her family by climbing down the cliff for birds' eggs. A rock face above the sea was not insurmountable to a woman of her skill. As the silver light ghosted across the surface of the stack, Melcorka picked out her route to the top, searching for hand and foot-holds, ledges and any vegetation that could support her weight. After committing the route to memory, she stood up, to pace the edge of the cliff.
“But first I have to get there,” she said. “The best time would be when the tide is out, so there is less water to cross. That is also the time the garrison should send across a party to kill me. Let them come.”
Remaining in full view of Dun Dreggan, Melcorka dug a small hole for her hip and stretched out as if asleep. Used to the sounds of nature, she discarded the whisper of the wind and thud of the waves, so the scuffle of feet was quite distinct. She waited until they were close before rolling over, with Defender already naked in her hand.
There were five of them, the same cat-creatures who had killed Halfdan One-eye. They came on all fours, with faces like cats and bodies like men, covering the ground in great bounds.
“Let's see what you are then, cat-creatures!”
The second they saw Melcorka rise, the creatures spread into a semicircle and attacked, howling like cats. Melcorka took a single step back and swung Defender in an arc that sliced through the left leg of the creature on her right. As it fell, gasping, she pulled Defender back and jabbed twice, with the point of her sword catching the next two in the throat, killing them instantly. The spray of hot blood splattered the remaining two cat-creatures, who hesitated. The braver threw itself at Melcorka, who chopped it down, while the survivor turned to flee. Melcorka followed its mad scramble along the cliff top to a narrow path to the beach. As it ran, panting, Melcorka followed, killing it beside a small, clinker-built boat.
“Cats that can row a boat?” Melcorka said. “How unusual.” Bending over her final victim, she scrutinised it. The face looked like a cat until Melcorka rubbed it with the flat of her hand. “Paint,” she said. “You have the features of a cat painted on your face, and a cloak made of cat-skin covering your body and head. You are a man, like any other.”
Nodding, Melcorka used her victim's cat-skin coat to clean the blood off Defender, returned the sword to her scabbard and boarded the boat.
“Thank you, cat-people,” Melcorka said, pushing off into the ebbing tide. It was only a short row to the sea stack, where Melcorka left the boat at the foot of the route she had marked out. With the sea level dropping, she had to jump to the first handhold, but after that, it was only a stiff climb up the greasy rock. She remembered one occasion when she was a young child, and her mother lowered her over the edge of the cliff in a basket to pluck birds' eggs from their nests. Even then, the height had not scared her, although an enraged sea-eagle had attacked her, until her mother, Bearnas, had repelled it with skilfully thrown stones.
“Compared to the cliffs of my home island,” Melcorka whispered, “this rock is a game for children.”
Twice, seabirds came close to investigate, and each time Melcorka clung close to the rock, remaining static until the birds flew away. Knowing the screams of the seabirds would mask any noise she made, Melcorka hurried up the cliff and on to the base of the castle wall. Here the ascent became more difficult as the stones fitted closely together, affording fewer handholds. With no windows except narrow arrow-slits, Melcorka pulled herself up by the strength of her finger-tips, climbing right to the battlements before she rolled over on to flat slabs.
The cat-cloaked guard stared at her in total astonishment as he reached for his spear. “Where did you come from?”
Killing him with a single thrust of Defender, Melcorka lifted his body and tossed it over the parapet. She did not watch it fall but examined the steel claws that had fallen from the man's left hand. They were well made – five curved talons fastened to a leather strap.
“I want Chattan,” she said, slipping the talons on to her left hand. Anger surged through her as she thought of the death of Bradan. “I'm coming for you, Chattan.”
An opening behind Melcorka led to a flight of dark stairs descending into the interior of the castle. Melcorka moved cautiously, listening for any activity. There was none, only the whistle of the wind, the cry of sea birds and the constant batter of waves against the stack.
She heard the quick patter of light feet, braced herself and swore as a cat brushed against her legs and ran past her, upstairs.
Stepping downward, step by step with the darkness closing around her and the stones chill against the soles of her feet, Melcorka controlled her anger, her grief and her hatred. The best warriors, she knew, fought with a level head.
The voices came from below, three men talking together, two with deep tones, the third higher-pitched. Melcorka paused, trying to hear what the men were saying. Somebody laughed, the sound out of place after the death of Bradan. Melcorka
