Melcorka lifted Defender in front of her, blocking Erik's next thrust. The point of Legbiter scraped off Defender's blade and scored across Melcorka's ribs, drawing blood. For the next few moments, Melcorka was too busy fending off Erik's attacks to pay any attention to anything else, and then she saw Bradan approaching the grey man, staff in one hand and Bible in the other.
“Bradan!” Astrid stepped in front of him, with her hands outstretched and her blonde hair blowing in the wind. “You know me! You know I am a woman of peace. We share so much, you and me.” Her eyes were soft, her voice liquid as she placed her hands on Bradan's shoulders. “We can do so much together, Bradan.”
“No.” Bradan shook his head. “No! You are an enchantress!”
“Bradan! It is me! I removed the evil eye from you, remember?”
“You are the grey woman! You were making us trust you!” Bradan could see it all now. Using the Celtic cross at the top of his staff, he thrust it at Astrid's hip, then her shoulder, pushing her back. You never touched my blessed staff, Bradan remembered, and you never handled the Bible. How could I have missed that? As Astrid reeled away, Bradan saw the grey man with his hand thrust deep inside his bag.
“You!” Bradan stepped forward, only for a gust of wind to blast sand in his face. He cursed, clawed blindly and fruitlessly. He could not see the grey man in the driving sand, reached with his staff and blundered onwards in fading hope.
As Bradan floundered in the sand, Erik laughed and slashed down with Legbiter, for Melcorka to parry and push back, feeling her strength waning.
“Bradan! I can't go on much longer.” Melcorka tasted blood in her mouth. “Bradan!”
Forcing his eyes open, Bradan saw a vague shape in front of him and lurched forward. The grey man drifted away from him, merging with the sand as if he were part of it. Astrid stood there, smiling, with her blonde hair blowing around her face. As Bradan watched, she altered into the grey woman, with the same blonde hair but with eyes that glowed with sudden intense light.
Bradan swore, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. He felt the strength drain from his limbs and was unsure where he was. The road stretched ahead, clear under his feet, with a building of domes and pointed windows standing in a sunlit city square. An aura of peace surrounded him as a group of serious-eyed men extended their hands in welcome. The doors of the building swung open, revealing a treasury of books and manuscripts, a whole world of knowledge.
“This is the House of Wisdom in Baghdad,” Bradan said. “How did I get here?” He shook his head. “I didn't get here. I am not where I appear to be.” Fighting to regain control, he pressed his thumb on the Celtic cross on top of his staff, and the image cleared away.
As the grey woman stared at him, Bradan shoved his staff forward like a lance, thrusting the cross at her. Although he made no contact, the woman backed off, showing her teeth.
Clutching the Bible in both hands, Bradan shouted: “In the name of God!” And jumped forward. At the words, the grey woman vanished and the grey man changed, becoming more solid, writhing under the touch of Bradan's staff.
“The bag, Bradan!” Melcorka's words carried a plea of desperation.
Hoping he was doing the right thing, Bradan snatched the bag from the grey man, ripped it open, and dropped the Bible inside.
The grey man gave a strangled scream and stood still, pointing at Bradan with a long finger. Without hesitation, Bradan lifted his staff and thrust it straight at the man's forehead. He fell at once.
“Melcorka!” Bradan looked around, as the wind began to die away.
Melcorka had risen, Defender in hand. She faced Erik, who was now on the defensive, backing away as Melcorka swung, slashed and thrust without breaking stride, forcing Erik backwards.
Once again their swords locked, and Melcorka felt the power in Legbiter, but this time Defender matched Loki's sword. She pushed Erik back, holding him blade to blade and hip to hip. With a final flourish, Melcorka slipped her right foot behind Erik's and forced him to the ground. He lay on his back with Legbiter in his hand and an expression of disbelief on his face.
“Loki,” Erik shouted. “Loki; help me!”
For one second, Melcorka thought she saw something towering over Erik, although in the still unsettled sand she could not be sure. The figure could be a figment of her imagination, something dragged from Erik's mind or even another Norseman. Melcorka did not know.
“I am Loki.” The voice had humour in it, as though the owner was laughing at Erik as he lay helpless on the ground. “This is none of my work.”
“Loki!” Erik said again.
“Loki was not your lord,” Melcorka said. “You fought for something much older and more evil than Loki could ever be, even if he exists.”
“What?” Erik twisted on the ground as the darkness entered his eyes again. He stared up at Melcorka, snatched Legbiter and slashed at her. Blocking the blow with ease, Melcorka turned Legbiter aside.
“Kill me,” Erik pleaded, “for the love of God. Please, Melcorka, for the friendship we once shared, kill me.”
“For the reason of mercy,” Melcorka said and thrust Defender into Erik's chest. The Norseman”s eyes opened wide, and then he smiled.
“Thank you, Melcorka,” he said.
Bradan nodded. “He looks peaceful.”
“Get his sword. Get Legbiter!” Melcorka grabbed at the sword as it began to sink into the ground. She lifted it with a grimace of distaste. “I feel dirty even touching this thing.”
“How do we destroy a sword?” Bradan asked.
“Like this,” Melcorka said, and placed Defender against it, blade to blade. The blades locked with a high-pitched whine, and slowly the black faded from Legbiter.
