Night fell swiftly in the high places as late afternoon, twilight, then dusk followed one another
in fast succession. The scree and shale gave way to smooth, unyielding rock. Laboriously,
they trekked up a winding path, feeling carefully for safe places to set their feet. A wind
sprang up, harsh and chilling.
Cupping her hands, Karay blew warmth into them and sniffed. 'We'd better look for
somewhere to shelter. I'll bet that lot of villains ahead of us have made camp by now.'
The best they could find was a dry bracken bed beneath an overhanging rock. It was not at all
comfortable, being open to the winds on both sides. Karay sat down dejectedly. 'This'll have
to do, I suppose. There's no caves round about.'
Dominic took out his knife and began cutting bracken. 'I'll show you what hunters do up in
the high places. Gather as much bracken as you can, and pile it up against the rock here.' By
the time they had gathered enough bracken, their hands were numb with cold. Dominic lit the
bracken, directing them to sit facing the blaze, close together, with their cloaks around them
forming a shelter. Ned squidged in between Ben and Karay as the facemaker explained: 'With
the rock overhanging us and our cloaks acting as a shield, the firelight glow will be hidden.'
Ben warmed his hands gratefully. 'I shouldn't think even the Razan would be out on a night
like this. We're pretty safe here. Wait while I dig some food out.'
They ate cheese and some of the ham with a loaf of bread. Dominic broke open the loaf, then
toasted it over the fire and divided it into four. It tasted very good.
Night closed in around the four figures crouched around their fire on the bleak mountainside.
The bracken did not last long, as it was brittle and burned quickly.
Dominic tossed his toasting twig into the embers. 'We're in for a cold night. 'Tis a pity there
isn't any wood hereabouts—all the forestland's far below us now.'
Karay shivered. 'My back is freezing. That wind seems to go right through these cloaks!'
Ben rose and trampled the fire embers flat, until the spot was just a warm patch of ground.
'There's nothing more to burn, mates, so let's sit on the ground with our backs against the
rock. It might help a bit.'
When they had settled themselves and huddled together, Ned climbed over Ben and lay in
front of Karay. 'There! That'll keep her warm. Ben, I can hear somebody coming this way.
Quick, tell our pals to duck under the cloaks and keep very still!'
Ben whispered to the other two, 'Someone's coming. Let's throw the cloaks over our heads
and keep quiet!'
Ned shuffled back and got under the front of Karay's cloak. A moment later, the tap of a staff
end hitting the rock became audible. Ned had been right—someone was coming. Ben peeked
through an open fold of his cloak, covering his mouth so that his breath would not mist out
into the open.
It was an old woman, bent almost double—whether it was from old age or the heavy jumble
of tattered shawls, scarves and blankets draped across her back, Ben could only guess. She
leaned for support on a tall pole from which the bark had been peeled, making the wood
appear stark white. She halted not far from where the travellers lay hidden, then slowly she
turned until she was facing them.
Ben caught his breath, then immediately relaxed. The old crone was blind. She wore a dark
strip of cloth bound about her eyes. He caught Ned's thought. 'She can't see us, mate, though
I've never seen a woman who looked more like a witch in my life!'
Ben stared at the old one. He had to agree with the dog: her face was like a bundled-up and
creased parchment with hairs sprouting from odd bumps all over it. Above her shrunken,
toothless mouth a hooked nose practically touched an uptilted chin. Truly the image of a
witch. When she spoke, her voice was wheezy and shrill. 'Are ye friend or enemy?'
They kept silent, scarcely daring to breathe. She swung the staff. Ben felt the whoosh of air as
it whipped by, inches from his face.
The hag took a pace forward, calling out, 'I am Gizal, friend of the Razan. I know ye are
there. Speak.'
The friends held their silence. Gizal cackled nastily. 'A touch of my staff can turn folk into
bats, toads or worms. So, my children, if ye speak not, I will cast a great spell on thee. 'Tis the
last chance I'll give you. Now speak!'
Dominic felt Karay's hand grasp his beneath the cloaks. The hag took another pace forward
and grasped the staff tight in both her clawlike hands, swinging out as hard as she could.
her hands into numbness. She fell backward, letting go of the staff and wailing with pain.
Ben clasped his hand over those of Dominic and Karay, urging them to remain quiet.
Gizal rolled about, clutching her clenched fists to her mouth in agony and making a noise as if
she were humming.
After a while she pulled herself up onto her knees and started crawling about, arms
outstretched as she searched for her fallen staff. It had dropped between Ben and Karay, one
end up against the rock, the other end on the ground. Gizal blundered forward, her hands
grasping the air as she came closer to them. Ned took a chance. Poking his head from the
cloak, he butted the pole outward. It toppled, striking the old woman's shoulder. Instinctively
she grabbed it. Slowly she hauled herself upright, hissing viciously through her shrivelled lips.
'I curse thee to the pit of Eblis and the fires of the damned! Ravens shall pick over thy bones
and maggots devour thy flesh whilst thou art still alive and praying for death!'
She shuffled laboriously off into the night, still muttering the direst of curses and predicting
unthinkable ends for the four companions.
They waited quite a while before anyone ventured to speak. It was Ben who finally broke the
silence. 'Whew! She's got a very nasty mouth on her for an old lady.'
Karay sounded nervous. 'She looked just like a witch— maybe she can really curse folk.'
Dominic laughed. 'You don't believe in all that old rubbish, do you? Huh, I wish we had some
of those hellfires she was raving about here right now. At least we could get warm from them,
eh, Ben?'
The boy stood up, stamping life back into his cold feet. 'Aye, right, Dom. Don't worry about
some old biddy's curses, Karay. I've been cursed at much worse than that, and look, I'm still
here. Ned, too!'
The dog's thoughts cut in on Ben. 'We may be here, but I think we'd be better off somewhere
else. That old Gizal is bound to run into the Razan gang up ahead. No matter how quiet we
kept, she knew we were here. If she tells the Razan, I'll bet they'll send men to search us out. I
don't think they take kindly to being followed.'
Ben mentally thanked Ned and suggested to his friends that they needed to find somewhere
else for the remainder of the night. They broke camp hurriedly.
Further up the mountain, Ligran Razan sat beneath a canvas awning, cooking goat meat over a
fire and listening to Gizal's story. He gave her wine and a few of the roasted goat ribs to pick
on as he weighed the situation. Gizal was respected among the Razan hierarchy—it was not
considered wise to ignore her words. Ligran kicked out at a man lounging nearby. 'Rouge,
you an' Domba take Gurz. Track back down the mountain an' see if ye can capture whoever
'twas hidin' out there.'
Gizal butted in. 'There'd be two, mayhap three, and a dog. I'm sure I could smell dog. Look ye
for young ones, their breathing was gentle, not noisy like grown folk.'
Rouge, a big redheaded ruffian, clasped the chain to the mastiff's collar. 'Gurz'll sniff 'em out,
never fret, Gizal. Me an' Domba will give the brats a good slappin' before we drag 'em back
