We’re too heavy. Iwa looked for something to hold onto.
‘Just concentrate on Lord Bethrayal,’ Miskyia said as the raft tipped sharply. Recovering herself, the forest witch gave the Karzełek a narrowed look, but they appeared not to notice as the current snatched the raft and took it downriver. The rest of the Karzełek followed, wading awkwardly into the river, their snakes hissing with rage, but they were soon left behind the raft.
As they neared the camp the Karzełek on the raft dug their oars deep into the water in an effort to slow down. At first Iwa thought that she’d lost contact with Lord Bethrayal. Desperately she looked about her, but then there was that familiar throb in the back of her head: Lord Bethrayal was coming across the water. As the mist whipped around the flaming outline of his body, his mouth opened as if in a cry of rage. How could anybody not see him?
Her head throbbed again. She could almost taste his eagerness, his eyes glowing as, dimly, he began to sense the world once more. She could feel him draw close as his power flowed through her and into the world. Miskyia was saying something, but she hardly noticed as she felt the world slip away and she was alone with the firmament wailing all around.
Free. The voice of Lord Bethrayal sounded deep inside her head. When will I be free? She could sense his anger and impatience, the restless yearning tearing through her. I want to walk once more, to feel the heat of the sun, to touch a leaf.
Before, he’d managed to come to the world, but only as a shadow wraith, barely able to evade the firmament, which lay always ready to suck him back. Now the prospect of breaking free loomed as the spells that sought to trap him howled in anger.
Patience, she tried to calm his restless spirit, but then a stab of pain ran through her. Wislaw had begun another spell and the form of Lord Bethrayal grew faint as Iwa’s stomach heaved. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Miskyia work a counter-spell. That helped ease the pain, but the bridge was broken. Over the river the figure of Lord Bethrayal stumbled; anger and frustration seared across the water as, in the firmament, his spirit searched for the bridge. Taking a deep breath Iwa calmed herself and tried to reform the link: if only she knew how.
Nothing. She closed her eyes and tried again as the figure of Lord Bethrayal thrashed, the waves threatening to overturn the boat as the amulet hummed around her neck, but it was no use: the magic wouldn’t work. By her side Miskyia gave her a concerned look as another wave washed over the side of the raft. It’s not as if I ever understood any of this. Iwa tried to fight down the raging ball of panic. I never asked for any of this.
There was another crash of waves as the figure of Lord Bethrayal twisted, the waters boiling under his touch. I’ll drown for sure. Iwa opened her mouth but the words wouldn’t come. Then, almost unnoticed, her magic worked within her. Ancient spells formed unbidden on her lips, commanding her tongue to action, and the form of Lord Bethrayal calmed as the link was reestablished.
By the shore the more Karzełek waited with anxious glances as they peered out from the safety of the trees. Only when Lord Bethrayal was still did they dare to wade out. At least they’ve managed to catch up, Iwa thought as, behind her, the other Karzełek tried to steady the raft, the great oars fighting the waters. They were close to the camp now.
Surely the woyaks must have heard us coming. She grabbed onto the raft, her knuckles white with fear as they rounded the last bend, but the current had taken them too far, so that they were exposed in the middle of the river. With a muted roar one of the Karzełek strained on his oar in a desperate attempt to bring them back. We’ll be seen for sure. She glanced at the figure of Lord Bethrayal as he towered above the raft. He was stronger now, the features of his face clearly visible as more of his power flowed through her.
She needn’t have worried. In the distance the sound of battle raged. It was as if the whole camp were ablaze, a crescent of flame drawn across the horizon. Iwa strained, her mouth dry as she looked across at the shore. All was confusion and smoke. There was no way to pick out the women’s boat, let alone Yaroslav’s hut. If only they are alright, she prayed to whatever gods might listen. By her side the Karzełek picked up their pace, their eyes filled with bloodlust and fury. Will they keep to their promise and let the clan live? she wondered. They are honourable, Miskyia’s had said: but would that count for much once the fever of battle took hold?
As the raft drew closer, it became clear that it was only the rampart which was ablaze. ‘We need to be quick,’ Miskyia said, as the raft jolted against the sand. On the other side of the camp a group of Karzełek broke through the battlements and began to wade into the defending woyaks, their spears bristling with blood. ‘We need to find that priest before his spells break the connection for good,’ Miskyia yelled. Behind her the Karzełek let out a battle roar but Miskyia motioned them to silence. Yet she needn’t have bothered: all was confusion. The air rang thick with the clamour of axe and shield, and the scent of blood and burning. Above it all Iwa thought she could make out Grunmir’s voice.
‘We don’t have time to waste,’ Miskyia said, ‘tear down the barrier before the woyaks see us.’
But the Lord Bethrayal scented victory and nothing could hold him as he
