‘The current’s too strong!’ she yelled as she tried to calm the demon, but the Lord Bethrayal wouldn’t be stayed. For millennia he’d drifted through the firmament, an unfeeling, unseeing piece of flotsam lost amid the dark, and now those centuries pressed down upon him in a rage that blanked out all reason. Whatever he might have been in life, he was now little more than a rampant animal, hurling itself piteously against the barrier. Iwa winced with his pain as she tried to find a semblance of humanity behind the fury, but the longing to be free smothered all else and awakened nothing but a deep, hateful hunger.
Over by the wall, the woyaks turned to face the new enemy. She could see their ranks falter as some of the men dropped their shields and ran for the safety of their ships, but not nearly as many as she had expected. Perhaps they’d seen Lord Bethrayal fail to breach the barrier once too often, or maybe they sensed that their doom was upon them whether they fought or not. Better to die with a spear in your hand than cower like a whimpering child. Then, over the din of the drums and the clangour of death, a new sound took hold. The iron wolf heads bellowed as Krol Gawel rallied his men, the fire reflecting across his mail as his great sword cut a Karzełek clean in two.
‘Can’t you get Bethrayal to stop?’ Miskyia shouted as a Karzełek scrambled ashore. ‘You need to keep control, or else you’ll be swept up with him forever.’ A nearby post cracked under a blow from a stone axe, sending the animal’s skull skittering into the waters with a hiss of steam. But the woyaks were quick to see the danger and, even as Krol Gawel rallied his men at the front wall, a dozen gathered around Grunmir as he charged the barrier. His battle chant was enough to bring a few of the woyaks back from their ships, and not even the sight of Lord Bethrayal could quell them.
Without a second thought Iwa scrambled onto the shore, her ears still ringing from the noise as her feet found dry land. By her side a Karzełek hurled a spear at Grunmir, but the old woyak was too quick and, even as the shaft clove through the air, he’d already stepped aside. Keeping her eyes trained on him, she began to back away, but two of the Karzełek stood by her, their shields locked to form a wall. ‘Keep to the sidelines,’ Miskyia called. ‘If we lose you, we lose all.’ Despite that, Iwa couldn’t help but peer out from between the shields as two more spears were hurled at the advancing woyaks. One missed its mark, flying high over their helmets, but the other slipped in over the top of a shield to cut straight through the neck. The blow fell so powerfully that the woyak was lifted off his feet as he crumpled to the ground in a spray of gore.
From somewhere she sensed danger. Out in the great void the spirit of Lord Bethrayal raged. He could feel the world draw near, almost taste the air, the scent of water cold about him. Old sensations woke, the longing to tread the earth once again, to be able to reach out and touch solid ground. After centuries of dormancy his spirit was ready to wake.
Already she could see the semblance of features across the thing’s face, the mists weaving as if caught in some unseen current to take on the appearance of flesh. From deep within the swirling mists, soft eyes glistened and, as the thing raised something like an arm, she could see the fingers smoothly tapering as they reached forward to crash against the barrier once more.
You are so very close, she managed, feeling his anger, the memory of branches, so old and half remembered, but I don’t know how to guide you. There was a great shudder in the firmament. Iwa felt her bones quake as Lord Bethrayal’s power flowed through her ever stronger, blocking out everything else. Too long had he been forced to wander the cold darkness, the simple pleasures of the sun and grass all but forgot, until there was hardly a trace of the man he’d once been. Now there was nothing more than a great longing for the simple things that the memories had awoken, the smell of the waters and the glimmer of fish, and with the longing there came a deep searing hatred. He had not saved the world from the reign of the blood gods, those simple pitiful fools who had condemned him to an eternity of nothingness. She felt his anger, the rage burning through her body. Miskyia, she cried out above the roar of the firmament, but the witch was nowhere to be seen.
Behind the line of armoured woyaks a few archers drew their bows, but the Karzełek hardly flinched, the shields motionless as the arrows slid harmlessly past. When she next dared to look, the woyaks were almost upon them. The Karzełek battle cries rang in the air as they loosened their throwing spears or made ready with clubs or axes.
One of the Karzełek stepped forward and, at the last moment, hurled his spear at Grunmir. But the
