Suddenly the Karzełek halted. Iwa gasped. This was far heavier going than she’d ever imagined. With every step she felt the tug of magic as Lord Bethrayal flowed through her and she found it increasingly difficult to move, as if the air had thickened about her and weighed down her every step. Wading through mud would be easier. Worse, she found it almost impossible to move quietly, her feet catching on loose stones or twigs, much to the annoyance of the Karzelek.
Suddenly she was alone. Iwa stopped and peered about her: the track was deserted. They were on a hill overlooking the river. Here the path narrowed and turned sharply as it rose to run between a pair of boulders. So taken up with trying to maintain the bridge with the Lord Bethrayal, Iwa hadn’t noticed that the Karzełek had fled into the trees.
‘Get out of sight quickly,’ Miskyia hissed, aware of anxious looks from the Karzełek as they crouched amongst the trees. Then, on the track ahead, there came the sound of men. As quickly as Iwa dared she scrabbled behind a thicket. Where was Lord Bethrayal? There was no sign of him, but she could feel his presence, like a dark cloud that lingered at the back of her mind.
She had a sense of him lurking close by yet there was no sign of him. It was as if his body had disappeared into the air. Then she caught a glimpse of him behind the trees, the merest trace of vapour. So he could move as mist twisting through the forest.
‘Keep quiet.’ It was not Miskyia who spoke but a figure on the path. ‘Or do you want to bring Grunmir down upon us?’ The figure moved slowly out of the shadows. Three others followed. They moved quickly, apparently with little concern for stealth. ‘As if Grunmir would wander these woods at night,’ one of the others said as he stumbled along the path, ‘or anyone else with sense.’
They were closer now. Iwa could make them quite clearly, woyaks dressed in ill-fitting leather armour, their spears dragging heavily in their arms and their shields long discarded. Now all they wanted was to be rid of this place. Hungry, haunted glances scanned the dark line of trees. From somewhere in the dark the spirit of Lord Bethrayal strained, and bayed for blood. How long it had been since he had felt the warmth of the world. Who were these people to keep him from it? He could reach out and crush them with one blow.
No, Iwa almost cried out. Lord Bethrayal had to conserve his strength. She felt the bridge through which he travelled ebb and sway. It was too soon to attack. In the darkness she sensed that Miskyia had cast a spell and she felt the spirit of Lord Bethrayal subside, his anger calming to a smouldering cinder.
‘I’d rather take my chances out there,’ one of the woyaks said. ‘Anything’s better than staying in the camp. The land is cursed. We should never have come here. Didn’t I always say, we should never have bothered with a place like this?’
‘I should never have brought you here, son.’ One of the others placed a hand on the young woyak’s shoulder. ‘I should have taken better care than to let you follow that krol.’
‘It was a great dream,’ the young woyak said, as he waited for the fourth figure to catch up. Sweat dripped from their faces as the old man leant on his son for strength. ‘But nothing can civilise this place. The trees have a will of their own, and not even the gods could bring them to the plough.’
‘Come on, Pasek,’ the old man panted as they turned to the last figure. ‘I want to put as much distance between us and the camp as possible before we rest. You know the kinds of punishment Krol Gawel dishes out to deserters.’
‘If he wants to get us back then let Grunmir come into these woods and fetch us, if he dare,’ the last man said.
‘They could search for us by boat in the morning,’ the young woyak said as he scanned the tree line, anxious glances cast to the shadows. ‘I want to be able to see the river.’
‘I doubt Grunmir will think we are that important,’ the old man replied, ‘he’s got far too many problems of his own to bother about a few strays.’
‘I’d rather get as far away from here as we can, all the same,’ the third man said. ‘This is one river that I’ll be glad never to see again.’
The men began to turn as if to leave. Iwa could see the Karzełek, hands tensed on the shafts of their spears. For all their size they’d hidden themselves well, blending into the woods like hunters. But she was exposed. In her haste she hadn’t had time to get under cover, with only a thin line of scrub between her and the path. She tensed, waiting for the Karzełek to attack, but all was silent. Maybe they didn’t want to give themselves away – better to let the men go than to risk losing the element of surprise.
‘Wait up,’ the last figure said as he took out a water skin. Iwa pressed her body flat against the earth as the woyak peered round; surely he’d seen her? But, taking a last gulp, he put the water skin into his belt and made to run off. She relaxed and her leg moved a fraction. A twig cracked. The men looked round, spears held ready.
‘Come out,’ one of them said, his voice hard as if attempting to hide his fear. Iwa couldn’t move, her mouth
