‘Then I suggest that you go find some trader’s daughter and talk to her of brave battle scars: I’ll even give you a few to be getting on with since you’ll never get any in warfare.’
The woyak was about to say something but Alia silenced him with a kiss. ‘Come on: we’ll be missed,’ she said as she led him away, ‘and it wouldn’t do for you to keep Grunmir waiting.’
Iwa was about to move, but the woyak cast one last glance over his shoulder, a cold look on his face. She watched as they disappeared into the trees before levering herself from the ground.
From behind her there was a rustle in the undergrowth. She should have heard it long ago, but had been too caught up with Alia and the woyak. She sprang up, her muscles coiled ready to run for the safety of the trees, part of her cursing her mistake. A true hunter would never have been so foolish.
But it was too late. A hand grabbed her from behind, the fingers digging deep into her mouth as her head was twisted round with such force that she thought her neck might snap. Frantically she kicked out, her heels jabbing hard against a leg as she bit down on the hand. But the grip held firm and her mouth choked with the scent of hardened leather as she was lifted off the ground and the hard edge of a pommel was jabbed into the small of her back.
‘Keep struggling and you’ll taste the other end,’ a voice said. She was lowered to the ground and spun round to face a young boy only a few years older than herself. Maybe he would have passed as handsome, had his face not held so much fear. ‘You’re only a girl,’ he said in disbelief, as Iwa readied herself for another kick.
Behind him a couple of figures came out from the trees. One of them was Grunmir.
Chapter Fifteen
‘So where have you been hiding?’ Grunmir grabbed her shoulder, his iron-clad fingers digging deep into her flesh. His voice was cold and his eyes were bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept in days. Fang hung from his waist, the blade glinting cruelly. ‘I’d half a mind that you must have slipped back into the waters, little Rusalka.’ The young woyak released his grip so that Grunmir could pull her closer as his voice took on a harsher note. ‘Better for you if you had stayed there. Perhaps it is you who makes the river sing so sweetly. Is it your voice we hear in the night, the one that calls softly with the tide?’
Caught in his grip, Iwa didn’t even attempt an answer; there was nothing else to do but let her body go limp and pray that he’d let go. But the grip tightened, and she felt her skin bruising under his fingers. All her dreams of freedom had vanished, and her hope of finding Yaroslav too. Suddenly her father seemed more distant than ever. ‘Ah, but then I forget you are not a Rusalka. There isn’t much of the river about you.’
Only then did his hand relax and Iwa fell at his feet. ‘Not a Bignica either, as I recall. No,’ he said as if surprised, ‘you are a girl.’
‘Did you expect anything else?’ she spluttered, instantly regretting her words as she tensed ready for the blow that would cuff her into submission. But it never came. Instead she was hauled up by her hair, the blood draining from her face.
He let her hang for a moment. She was perfectly still, her eyes to the ground as he tightened his grip and felt her wince. Without even looking, she kicked out. Then he did strike her, a swift glancing blow, and she was silenced. He was not a cruel man as such but he knew how to get people to talk, the games he’d have to play to loosen a tongue. He paused, letting the fear build as he looked at her frail body through the hooded slits of his battle helm. This needed to be done quickly.
She was sobbing now, an ugly red welt throbbing on the side of her face where his mailed hand had caught her. But for all that there was a strength about her. She was a cunning one alright. Best not to underestimate her, or the lies she’d spin. No, he’d have to be careful.
Around him he felt the others crowd round in their eagerness. Why didn’t he just bash the truth from her? She was only a little girl, after all, some woodland waif hardly worth the bother.
But he’d spent some time amongst the nomads of the great steppes. They were not so different from these people. Even the Avars could not have set up a camp more efficiently or have gathered themselves so quickly once the fight was upon them. Lucky for you, he couldn’t help but think as he glanced at the men around him, that we caught them with the sleep in their eyes, or else you’d have more than a few more battle scars to nurse.
Suddenly he almost despised these men who clung round him, their shields slung carelessly in their arms now that they only had a defenceless girl to face. Milksop boys, with the memory of their mother’s teats hardly wiped from them. Had none of them the wits to think that there might be other hunters about? Or had they become so caught up with relief that the sound they’d tracked had only been a young girl that they could think of
