I might be a child, Iwa spat, but I can cast you to the outer dark.
Don’t… The ancient spells of the stones coiled about her. We have waited so long; you could replace Lord Bethrayal, become more than he ever could. Without us you will never rid the forest of the woyaks: they will come to dominate all things and the clan will pass away. Their tone was seductive, those sweet words rising up inside her, but Iwa was weary and, almost unbidden, the craft came to her aid and smothered out their voices as, in the firmament, the bridge shattered. Iwa could sense the spirit of Lord Bethrayal inside her head, the panic and terror as he fell into the outer dark. Then she shrieked as her world shattered around her and her body was scooped inside out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A broad ribbon of dawn cut through the dark. Iwa shook her head. She was lying in the mud, her body aching as the river lapped at her feet. There was no sign of Lord Bethrayal, no trace of Miskyia or scent of magic. Behind her the camp was in ruins, but the boats had survived. Groups of woyaks wandered aimlessly through the wreckage, their faces battle-weary and sullen.
So Krol Gawel has his victory, she thought bitterly, and I’m a prisoner once more. Maybe if she crawled away now nobody would notice. Anything was better than ending up spreadeagled on some mad priest’s cross, but that would leave Yaroslav in Wislaw’s hands. If only somebody had the good sense to run a spear through that priest. Somehow she doubted that the world could ever be so lucky.
At least there weren’t any other voices inside her. As she got to her knees she paused and shook her head, just to make sure hers was the only voice that lingered in there. Everything appeared as it should, no strange commands or wittering of magic. I’d better keep quiet about this, or else people will think I’m possessed and Katchka will try and drive the spirit away with that awful broth of hers.
She was about to get up when she heard a voice, faint and far off. Leave me alone. She sank to her knees and prayed that the voice would go away. This head is only big enough for one. Maybe Katchka’s broth wouldn’t be so bad after all. Again she heard the voice, closer this time. It wasn’t coming from her head, she realised, and a sense of relief ran through her.
She was so caught up with the feeling that she had no idea of what was actually being said and it was only when it was too late that she caught the tone of enmity.
‘So it’s you!’ Wislaw screeched. ‘Trust you to have survived when you better had died.’ Iwa tried to get up but he was almost upon her, his dagger drawn. ‘I should have splayed your guts for the crows.’
For a second Iwa thought of running but she couldn’t move. A numbness weighed down like mud upon her. There was nothing to do but wait for death. I’ve been through too much; the thought came to her as the dagger stabbed down towards her in a cruel arc.
Fang saved her. Grunmir came as if out of nowhere and brought the axe down on Wislaw’s hand so that the back of the blade hooked round the wrist and, with a savage flick, the old priest toppled into the mud.
‘It was her!’ he screamed, pointing the dagger at Iwa, ‘She betrayed us. I saw her lead the demon through my barrier.’ Iwa took a step back and glanced round for help. Wislaw’s scream had drawn the attention of every woyak in the camp and they were quick to gather around, their hard, battle-worn faces peering at her. ‘She’s the cause of all this!’ Wislaw’s voice reached fever pitch. ‘It was she who commanded the demon to attack the camp.’
‘She stood and faced the demon with me,’ Grunmir said as some of the woyaks smirked at the thought of this mud-soaked girl standing up to anything, let alone the demon.
‘She should be sacrificed,’ Wislaw screamed, barely able to control his voice as the lizards glared out from above his brow, ‘so that the gods can feed upon her liver. Piórun demands her blood: she has betrayed us all.’
‘I did not see you in the fight,’ Grunmir mocked. There was a pause as the woyaks looked to one another. None of them really believed that Iwa had played any part in the battle, but they trusted Grunmir more than Wislaw’s hysterics.
‘Lord Krol,’ Wislaw turned to Krol Gawel, but he just shook his head.
‘Lock her up with the others,’ Krol Gawel muttered as he turned to leave.
‘You need the hunters if you are to survive,’ Iwa said swiftly. The krol stopped and gave her a backward glance. ‘There aren’t enough woyaks to hunt in the forest, not if you want to fill all your bellies.’ She waited. You should leave, she so desperately wanted to say, go as far away as you can and never come back. That was fools’ talk. As if the woyaks would ever leave. If she couldn’t get rid of the woyaks, then at least she could free the clan.
‘You see, Lord Krol,’ Wislaw said, ‘see how this child conspires with our enemies. Free the hunters and they will do nothing but run and hide in the forest. Then they will be quick to turn against you, Lord Krol. We do not have food enough to waste on them.’
‘Without more men we will never be able to harvest a crop,’ Grunmir said. ‘We need many hands to clear the forest.’
‘And what of our stores in the town, Lord Krol? We have men there, and ships.’
‘Barely enough to make for a thin winter indeed,’ Grunmir scoffed as the woyaks pressed in closer.
‘The captives should fetch a pretty price,’ Wislaw
