“Where are you going?” Suddenly the potential warrior sounded like a little lost boy.
“Don't you worry,” Melcorka said. “Just keep away from the Norsemen.”
Selecting the best of her remaining arrows, Melcorka slid forward in the bent grass that fringed the sands. She was fortunate that Erik stood between her and his army, presenting a relatively easy target. Lying on her side, Melcorka drew her bow back and aimed between Erik's shoulder blades. She knew this method of killing was nearer to murder than honourable war, but the stakes were too high for such considerations.
Drawing the bowstring back to her chin, Melcorka took a deep breath, released it slowly and loosed. She saw the arrow arc and dip, with the point heading for her target, until the grey man lifted his head, stared at the arrow and glanced at Erik, who stepped smartly out of the way. The arrow hissed past to bury itself deep in the sand 10 paces further on.
Melcorka swore. That man in grey had warned Erik, somehow. Withdrawing through the bent grass, she stopped at the edge of a belt of trees. Erik had not bothered to send any warriors after her. He either did not think her worth the trouble or was confident that the grey man could protect him.
When the sound of pipes and war-horns drifted to her from the south, Melcorka nodded. It seemed that Mael Coluim was coming with his army and with no pretence at stealth. If the High King caught Erik on Culbin Sands, he might be able to drive him into the sea. Although Erik's ships were safe in Findhorn Bay, the exit was narrow, so any retreat would of necessity be slow.
“Come on, Mael Coluim – Erik's overconfidence has taken him into a trap, if you attack at once.”
Climbing a prominent tree, Melcorka looked to the south, where the plain of the Laigh of Moray stretched to rising moors in the south. The sound of pipes grew louder and, far in the distance, Melcorka saw the flash of sunlight on many arms. She watched for a while as the column crept closer, rank after rank of men, Albans with spears and swords, the clans with long axes and dirks, and a scatter of horsemen on the flanks.
“Well done, Mel Coluim,” Melcorka approved. “You must have a couple of thousand men there, fewer than Erik but you're defending your homeland, and your warriors have a history of victory.”
“Who are you talking to, Melcorka?” Fergus asked.
“The world, Fergus, if it cares to listen. Come and join me, and I will show you the army of the High King.”
Holding the boy safe on a high bough, Melcorka pointed out both armies, giving him an insight into the workings of kings. “You see, Fergus? Mael Coluim is sending out his horsemen as scouts, and camping for the night.”
Melcorka watched as the Albans' campfires twinkled cheerfully on the flat plain. Carrying the flagging Fergus, Melcorka descended from her tree and trotted to the Alban camp.
Chapter Thirty
“I seek the king,” Melcorka said to the nervous sentries. “I am Melcorka Nic Bearnas, known as the Swordswoman.”
“Back there.” The sentry carried a long spear. He jerked his thumb behind him. “Did you see any sign of the Norse?”
“Aye. Erik Egilsson is camped on Culbin Sands.”
Mael Coluim sat beside an open fire with MacBain at his side and his chiefs and lords around him. “You sent good warning, Swordswoman,” the king said as Melcorka approached, with the sleeping Fergus in her arms. “My scouts tell me that the Norse camp is on the shifting Sands of Culbin.”
“That is where they are, your Grace,” Melcorka confirmed.
“Tell me more,” the king commanded. “How many men? Who commands them? Is it King Cnut of Denmark or the Butcher?”
“There are between two and a half and three thousand,” Melcorka said, “a mixture of veterans, mercenaries and foolish youths, with Erik Egilsson in command.”
Mael Coluim grunted, taking a bite from an apple. “Erik has a larger army than mine. There will be hard knocks tomorrow, then.”
“I fear so,” Melcorka said.
“Will you be joining us?” Mael Coluim asked. “I could order you to, and your sword will be handy.”
“I will join you and willing,” Melcorka said. “I will face Erik Egilsson.”
“Who”s the young lad?” MacBain gestured to Fergus. “Is that your son?”
Melcorka shook her head. “This is Fergus. Erik orphaned him.” She held Fergus close.
“I will look after him.” A matronly woman took the sleeping boy from Melcorka”s arms. “I have three already.”
“He has two younger brothers,” Melcorka said.
“The more, the merrier,” the woman said with a smile. She gave Melcorka a sideways look. “You'll have your own children to care for, Swordswoman, once you put away that foolish sword.
“You should let me kill this Erik,” MacBain said. “He's killed Finleac and Black Duncan. I should be next to test his Legbiter.”
“Leave him to Melcorka, MacBain,” Mael Coluim said. “She has a sword to match his.”
“My sword is as good as any.” MacBain drew his blade with a surprising flourish. “It has been inside many Norsemen, and a few Northumbrians and Danes as well.” Weak sunlight reflected from the Clach Bhuaidh.
“Erik Egilsson is unlike any other man you have fought,” Melcorka warned.
“And MacBain is unlike any Alban he has fought,” MacBain responded, smiling. “I know your reputation, Swordswoman, and how you defeated three Danes at Carham fight, but I also know Erik bested you last time.” He pointed at the vivid white scars on Melcorka's thighs. “I will try to save you from more souvenirs of Erik's sword.”
“I cannot stop you, MacBain,” Melcorka said. “And I wish you victory.”
“Then that is agreed.” Mael Coluim sounded happy with the arrangement. “You can stand by, Swordswoman. If Erik is victorious, then you can fight him next, although I seem to be losing my champions man by man.”
“I hope that MacBain defeats him.” Melcorka looked around. “Has anybody seen Bradan? I thought he would have been here.”
“Bradan
