The two armies met with a grunt from the allies and a roar from the Northumbrians. The Lowland spears probed, thrusting at half shielded faces, bare legs and thighs. Northumbrian axes and swords chopped at Alban spear-shafts and Strathclyde heads. Men died or fell hideously wounded, with spear wounds in groin or belly. Uhtred, the Northumbrian king stood in the centre of his shield wall, with his hearth-carls, his picked fighting men, all around. They fought with the stubborn, unimaginative courage that the Northumbrians always displayed, big men with longswords, axes and circular shields killing and dying together.
“Out! Out!” The Northumbrians barked.
“Aigha Bas!” The allies responded. “Battle and die!”
The Northumbrian shield wall quivered as men from the second rank stepped forward to replace the casualties in the front, and then Mael Coluim gave the order:
“Caterans! Get over!”
As soon as the words were uttered, the second Alban rank laid their shields horizontally on their shoulders, and 50 of the lightly armed skirmishers leapt on top. Using the shields as a springboard, the caterans jumped over the three ranks of the Northumbrians, turned, and attacked with their long dirks. They used the terrible Highland groin stroke, drawing their arms back and thrusting upward with the single-bladed dirk so if the point did not maim the groin or slice through the femoral artery, it penetrated the belly or stomach.
Under this fresh assault from the rear, the Northumbrian battle line weakened. Some men turned to face the caterans, others continued to fight the advancing allied wedge, and a few turned and ran.
“Now!” Owen pushed forward, and the Strathclyde men increased their efforts, hammering at the shaken Northumbrian shield wall with sword and axe. At that moment, with the allies on the point of victory, a horn sounded in the undulating country behind the Northumbrians, and three men strode forward. One was taller than any man in either army, with a double-bitted axe balanced over his shoulder and his dark hair braided over his shoulder. The other two were nearly as tall, with naked longswords in their hands.
“Here's trouble,” Melcorka said. “These lads mean to fight.”
“Wait,” True Thomas said, “and you will be noticed.” When he turned toward her, Melcorka could see the force behind his smoky eyes. “I have not summoned you here merely to kill a warrior or two.”
“Then why am I here?” Melcorka touched the hilt of Defender. “I've had sufficient of your hints, Thomas. Tell me plain or leave us in peace.”
“I have a much more onerous task for you, Melcorka the Swordswoman.”
By the time True Thomas had finished speaking, the three newcomers had arrived at the allied line. They attacked at once. “Odin claims you!” the tall man said as he decapitated a lithe cateran with a casual swing of his axe.
“King Cnut of Denmark!” The second roared as his longsword sheared through an Alban shield and sliced off the arm of its wielder.
“Thor!” The third shouted, hacking through a Lowland spear.
“Now?” Melcorka wrapped her fist around the hilt of Defender.
“No.” True Thomas's eyes were smokier than ever.
The group of young hopeful Alban champions that Melcorka had noted earlier ran to oppose the three advancing warriors. The Albans were laughing with the prospect of worthy adversaries, eager to prove themselves. The tall Angle met them on his own, blocking the swing of the first man with the head of his axe, turning the blade and swinging sideways. His axe took the first champion's left leg off at the knee, and he finished the man with a quick hack that broke his spine. Meanwhile, his supporting swordsmen held the second and third champion back.
“You are mine,” the second Alban champion leapt over the still-twitching body of his companion, sword swinging.
“Odin claims you,” the tall man said, quietly, as he sidestepped the sword thrust and cut the champion's head in two. “You will fare well in Valhalla, brave warrior.”
The third young Alban hesitated for only a second. “I'll kill you, Northumbrians!”
“We are Danes!” The axeman roared. “We fight for King Cnut!”
“They are Danes,” Melcorka said. “They are not Northumbrians.”
The remaining young Albans charged forward, full of courage but lacking in guile as the Danes killed them in seconds.
The three Danes advanced further, with two hacking at spears and shields so the third could dispose of the bearer. After a few moments, they had made an ominous bend in the Alban line so that Mael Coluim was pointing in that direction. The Alban advance began to creak as men looked over their shoulder at the Danes who were chopping a bloody furrow towards them.
“Now, Melcorka,” True Thomas said. “Now's your time. The High King will observe all that you do. Fight well, Swordswoman.”
“Take care, Melcorka,” Bradan said as Melcorka at last unsheathed Defender and trotted forward.
Chapter Two
As always, Defender's power ran from the blade of the sword into Melcorka's hand, up her wrist and through her whole body. Brushing aside a hopeful jab from a Northumbrian spear, she killed the owner with a thrust to his chest and shouted as she ran.
“You three champions! The Swordswoman is coming for you!”
The Danes halted their push into the Alban ranks to face this new challenge.
“We fight for King Cnut!” the axeman man roared. “We are Danes!”
“Danes, Angles or Norse, it's all the same to Defender!” Melcorka replied. “Will you die one at
