As they came closer, one of the Karzełek’s lips parted to reveal two blackened fangs that curved like knives. If there had been more of these fighting Karzełek, then men would never have been able to defeat them, Iwa realised, but that had been long ago. Even the men in the cave hadn’t seen such things, and that was long before the coming of the clans. She looked to the ancient weatherbeaten faces of the stones. How long since the last of the Karzełek were driven into this hidden place? The old ones talked about the eternal face of the mountains and the river, but generally Iwa had only thought in terms of the span of a few generations. Suddenly, eternity seemed much longer and more terrible than she’d ever realised.
Perhaps there was another reason why the Karzełek were vulnerable to the hunters – they had no iron, copper, or metal of any sort. Maybe they’ve never faced men armed with iron. The men she’d seen in the cave had only stone tools. Will they be able to fight against armed woyaks? But there was no time to ponder. Miskyia walked out of the ruins and the massed ranks of the Karzełek parted before her. Iwa followed, conscious of the looks of hate emanating from all around. Yet there was something else: a reverence that played across the faces of the Karzełek as if she were somehow special.
‘See, the Karzełek sense what has happened,’ Miskyia said. ‘Your body has been well prepared and the craft flows strongly through your veins.’
‘So there is nothing to fear?’ Iwa clung closely to Miskyia as the Karzełek closed in around her, their muscles thick as birch bark. No, Iwa didn’t care how few the Karzełek were: men would surely never have defeated them without iron.
‘There is always something to fear,’ Miskyia said. ‘We must be wary until this is done.’
Iwa was about to say something more when Miskyia stopped. Before them, sitting on a chair carved from a fallen tree trunk, was the Karzełek leader. At his feet two others sat cross-legged on the floor, huge drums cradled in their laps.
‘So all is prepared,’ the Karzełek leader said. It was a statement, not a question.
‘She has been to the place of tears and survived,’ Miskyia replied simply.
‘Then she is ready.’
‘And Lord Bethrayal will walk the earth once more.’
The Karzełek leader smiled as he signalled his drummers to begin, and the rest began a savage war chant, the beat rising as the drummers pounded on the leather and the Karzełek warriors raised their weapons in triumph. It’s lucky that we’re in a hidden place, Iwa thought as she clasped her hands to her ears, or else the woyaks would have heard us for sure.
Worse was to come. As the howl died down, the drums began a different beat, so loud that it threatened to split open her ears. It was all she could do to make her way through the throng, the Karzełek parting before her but, more than once, she caught a bitter look of hate. She might be the vessel or bridge for Lord Bethrayal, but that old enmity ran deep within them and would never be easily quashed.
Thankfully, they had other things on their mind. Some heaved up huge carcasses onto their shoulders. Iwa had never seen animals like these before: larger than elk or bison so that even the Karzełek had trouble carrying them. Maybe those animals live only in the hidden places. She had no time to find out. The Karzełek ate their flesh raw there and then, claws and fangs ripping into the freshly killed animals as, around their necks, the serpents hissed in triumph. Do the snakes eat separately? Iwa wondered, in an attempt to take her mind from the gore.
In front of the ruins two Karzełek stood guard. Best not to ask about the snakes, she decided, and tried her best not to flinch as she passed. At least they didn’t appear to notice her. They hardly moved, their oval shields sunk deep into the earth by their sides. These were different from the woyaks’ shields, far larger than even Krol Gawel’s, but made of hide stretched taut across a wooden frame. But it was the spears Iwa noticed most. In the hands of the Karzełek they moved easily as if crafted from the supplest yew, but each was large and thick enough to be fashioned from the trunk of a small tree and ended with a stone blade bound with sinew to the shaft. The Karzełek may not have learnt the secret of iron, but they were experts in stone. Nothing she’d ever seen had been napped so fine. Despite their great size the stones had been chipped to form a edge as sharp and as smooth as any iron knife. Yet, for all its savagery, the blade was a thing of beauty, the sunlight running smoothly across the napped ridges of stone to reveal the pattern of the rock like a fingerprint beneath. Allied to those powerful arms, those spears were more than capable of cutting through mail. At least it should be, she hoped. It’ll be a short battle if it isn’t.
Some of the Karzełek hefted stone axes or clubs, but it was the spears which
