The giant stiffened, looked at the bright blood flowing and slashed downward, nearly catching Melcorka's arm. “You fight well!”
“As do you, Norseman,” Melcorka said. Moving leftward, so Ivar would gradually weaken as he used his injured leg, she circled him, thrusting and withdrawing, thrusting and withdrawing.
“Stand and fight,” Ivar roared, and the cat face altered into that of a man.
“Ivar,” Melcorka said. “Your face.”
Ivar felt his face. “I have lived the last year as a beast,” he said, “but I will fight as a man.”
“And die as one.” Melcorka threw herself forward, slashed low at Ivar's legs, altered the angle of Defender and opened a long deep gash in the Norseman's body, from his navel to his collar bone.
“You'll have to do better than that, Swordswoman,” Ivar said, not heeding the blood that flowed from his wounds.
“Join us,” Melcorka said. “Join us in the fight against the Cu-saeng.”
“It's too late,” Ivar said. “The greyness is inside me.”
“We can take it out.” Melcorka blocked another of Ivar's swings.
Ivar's face altered again, changing from human to cat and back. His eyes mirrored the torment within him. “It is too late. I can feel the evil in my blood.”
The grey men surged forward, more of them, with the grey woman at Ivar's chair, her hair long and blonde as she stared at Ivar through eyes like orbs of granite.
Ivar stiffened, with the cat face becoming more pronounced as he stepped forward, swinging. Blocking a cut to her head, Melcorka thrust Defender into Ivar's chest, twisted and withdrew. The giant Norseman slumped to the ground with his face altering to human again. The pain cleared from his eyes.
“Thank you, Melcorka,” he said. “At least I died as a man.”
“More than that,” Melcorka whispered. “You died a Norse warrior.”
“Mel!” Bradan warned as the remaining Norsemen roared forward.
“Get behind me!” Melcorka yelled. “Guard my back!”
Throwing his short spear at the oncoming mob, Bradan dropped his staff, lifted Ivar's sword and stood behind Melcorka. He had hardly taken his stance when the clash of swords began again, sounding like a blacksmith hammering on his anvil, punctured by gasps, curses and the occasional groan. Fighting like a woman possessed, Melcorka swung and parried, cut, thrust and killed.
“You can relax now, Bradan,” Melcorka said, cleaning blood from Defender's blade.
“Aye, you dealt with them smartly enough.” Discarding Ivar's sword, Bradan lifted his staff.
Astrid appeared, stepping delicately over the bodies and trying to skirt the pools of blood. She shook her head. “You are highly skilled at killing people, Melcorka.”
“Let's see where this book was held,” Melcorka said. “Maybe we can return it some time.”
Bradan shook his head. “It was held secure by a combination of a holy book, the prayers of the Pictish monks and the bones of good people. It will be hard to find that combination again. The book is missing, probably destroyed by the Vikings; the Pictish monks are dead, and only the bones remain.”
“The grey people are still here,” Astrid reminded them, “and the dragon. We cannot return the book of Black Earth to a place of such evil.”
“I want to see this dragon.” Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender. “I've never seen a dragon before.”
“Nor have I,” Bradan said.
Melcorka smiled at him. “Lead on, Bradan, and we shall see what we shall see.”
Feeling as if he were walking to the gallows, Bradan led Melcorka back down the stairs with each step echoing and the air becoming chiller every minute. The door was more substantial than any they had seen before, with iron studs set in the shape of a Celtic cross and a deep rectangular inset in the centre.
“That's where the holy book sealed the thing in,” Bradan observed. “This is the dragon's lair, and this is where the Book of Black Earth was held.”
“I believe they are the same,” Melcorka said. “A thing more evil than any dragon that breaths fire.” She pushed at the door. “It's locked.”
“You have Chattan's keys,” Bradan pointed out. “Try the largest one.”
The first key did not fit, nor did the second. It was the fifth key that turned with a reluctant creak. Pushing open the door, Melcorka stepped inside.
The atmosphere hit them first. It was a deadening, oppressive feeling that bore down upon Melcorka the instant she opened the door. The next sensation was one of disgust at the room itself, with walls built entirely of human bones and a white marble pillar in the centre of the floor, on top of which were iron chains.
“So this is where evil lived,” Bradan tapped his staff on the floor. “A terrible place.”
“It has left its mark,” Melcorka said.
Astrid took a deep breath. “This is not a place to linger,” she said. “The grey men carry evil – they may affect us.”
“I agree with Astrid,” Bradan said. “It would be good to say farewell to this place and never look back.”
Melcorka grunted, pacing around the room. “Go then. I'll join you in a few moments.”
She waited until she was alone in the room, drew Defender and held the sword by the blade, so the cross-hilt was uppermost.
“I have fought evil in many places,” she said quietly. “Yet I have never faced such absolute horror as I sense here. I swear by all that is holy, by all that is good, and by every muscle and bone in my body that I shall destroy you, or you shall destroy me.”
Melcorka heard her voice fade in that chamber and knew that some force was listening to every word she said. She could sense it waiting in the earth around and knew that she faced her sternest test.
Melcorka gasped at the sudden laughter that rang within her head. Once again, she saw herself lying on that sandy ground, with a tall man standing over her and Bradan walking away with another woman. This time Melcorka saw the back of the woman clearly, with long blonde
