‘But how do I keep the barriers open?’ Iwa said as she drew away from the tree.
‘Your craft will guide you: trust in it and you may accomplish… everything.’ Miskyia gave her a look and left the rest of the words unsaid, but Iwa knew what she had to do. Desperately she tried not to think about how to bind Lord Bethrayal. Getting him here had been hard enough. Still his power ran through her veins as more of him slipped out of the firmament. Can he sense what I am thinking? Iwa wondered and then stopped herself: she already knew the answer. She could feel the Lord Bethrayal, traces of him inside her as the stones appeared to rise up to greet him and the ancient spells sang. Their master had returned.
Then, inside her stomach, there was a kick, as if she had been with child. ‘Karnobog!’ she cried out to her dead god as the kick came again, feeling strong enough to rupture her liver. It was as if a badger were trying to burrow its way out of her stomach. ‘Karnobog!’ she cried out again as she collapsed. ‘Lord of the hunt who guides us through the forest, look down on your child and help me.’ Dimly she was aware of the spells as they buzzed angrily around her. They did not like this talk of an alien god. Who was she to profane this sacred space? Yet, even as the pain stabbed harder and she cried out once more to her dead god, Iwa sensed Miskyia’s own magic coming to her aid.
‘Eat some of these.’ The sorceress pressed a handful of herbs into Iwa’s mouth. ‘They will help take the pain away.’
‘What’s happening?’ Iwa gasped. There was another stab of pain, harder this time. It was no good: she couldn’t keep the herbs down and vomited them up.
‘That priest, Wislaw,’ Miskyia said in shock and surprise, ‘somehow he has managed to draw away some of Lord Bethrayal’s power.’
‘Can he really do that?’
‘Not purposefully, there is no way that his spell could possibly reach in here. What does he know of the hidden places?’
‘Then how can he hurt me?’
‘The magic of Lord Bethrayal’s enemies still lingers on: spells which seek to banish him forever. The bridge between this world and the firmament is weak, and Lord Bethrayal’s grip on this world is slight. Anything can interfere with the link. The barriers that were placed to keep him from this world yearn to close in and trap him. They’ll use anything they can get their hands on, even something as puny as Wislaw’s magic.’
‘Which was strong enough to keep Lord Bethrayal out of the camp,’ Iwa said. Miskyia replied, but her words were lost in another spasm of pain. ‘Get it to stop!’
Thankfully the pain subsided to leave nothing more than a dull ache. ‘That fool priest must have stopped casting his spell,’ Miskyia said as she helped the girl up, ‘but there’s no telling when he might start again, and it would take but a fraction to shatter the bond that keeps Lord Bethrayal to the world.’
Not to mention my stomach! ‘So what can we do? I don’t think I can carry on much longer.’
‘We must attack, and kill that fool priest.’
‘My Karzełeks stand ready.’ A guttural voice came from the shadows. Iwa had no idea how long the Karzełek leader had stood there. For all his size and bulk he moved quietly as a hunter. ‘You were right to send out scouts to find that camp of theirs. Leave this priest to us. We will take this place of man flesh tonight and serve up his head on a platter.’
‘The camp is defended, both by men and by magic,’ Miskyia said. ‘They have iron weapons and mail to protect them. You will need our help.’
The Karzełek leader stood for a moment, his mouth open as he tried to contemplate how a few men could stand against him and his fighters. To him they were puny beings, easily killed by club or spear. He’d never encountered iron or the skill of men who were used to blood and slaughter.
‘Well,’ Miskyia said, ‘what are you waiting for? Rouse your fighters: the Karzełek attack tonight.’
With a savage grunt the leader made a sign and, softly at first, the drums began anew. All at once the word spread through the ruins as the Karzełek rushed for their weapons. The air seemed alive with the clang of stone and wood and the war howls of the Karzełek. Many were bathed in blood from the feast, but as they gathered under the sacred tree, Iwa could see runes daubed on their arms and foreheads. They were older than the clan marks; harder and more angular. Yet there was a brutal simplicity about them: squares, circles and triangles cut with a diamond pattern. Others were marked with the imprint of claws smeared with blood and ochre. Many of their shields carried similar images, as if to mark out their own clan divisions.
Then the Karzełek leader raised his hand and the whole army stopped. Even the drums fell silent. Miskyia walked forward but all eyes were on Iwa. Behind her the figure of Lord Bethrayal rose from the mists, his body wreathed by fire as the flames whipped round him in fury, and even the most fearsome of the Karzełek flinched. A murmur ran through the group, followed by the clamor of club and spear on hide. Inside herself, Iwa could feel the presence of Lord Bethrayal stir, angry and vengeful.
With a harsh guttural cry the Karzełek leader pointed with his spear and the warriors made ready to depart.
‘Are you well enough to travel?’ Miskyia asked.
‘So long as Wislaw doesn’t upset the magic,’ Iwa
