Such is the pity, he thought. He’d offered her a kroldom, more power than she’d ever known. Did she really understand? Such a waste for things to come so naturally, and you just a ragged strip of a girl. Not that he’d been serious. He’d only been testing the girl, looking for weak spots, trying to capture her with greed. As if such things should be cast before her. I’d rather give a kroldom to a horse.
Yet he had found the idea of becoming a krol more amusing than he dared realise. Why should he not be krol, why not? These woyaks were always so quick to trust to a warlord to lead them, but there had been times when a mage had ruled over them. What are they without my protection? See how they cower behind the walls that my craft has conjured.
And, in some part of his heart, an anger rose, born of all the slights that he’d had to endure. But his heart was not ready to betray the krol. He was capable of many things, but not that. Some part of him remembered before, the days when he was young and lived in the great halls of the Poles. There things had been good, there was an order to life, a pattern by which each would know their place. And we will bring such order here.
‘Then let me escape: I can take Yaroslav and never return, I swear by Jezi Baba and all the Leszy of the night.’
‘And what of Lord Bethrayal? No, you are a gift, a way for me to bind him once and for all. Ah, it is such a pity that I must destroy your body in the process.’ He grabbed her by the throat but his touch was soft, his fingers supple across her skin. He’d been without a woman for too long not to savour the touch.
No, the tattoos were right. He heard them whisper their warnings. Part of him still clung to the idea of her as a consort, savoured the softness of her skin, the sharp rise and fall of her thorax as she turned away in disgust. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s touch? How long since a girl had rested her gaze upon him? He who was so much more than ordinary men, condemned to live out his life in dark solitude.
She’d make such a plaything. Surely her power was nothing to his. But this was a delicate time, no, she must not be allowed to disrupt the balance of things. Even a trace of the craft, no matter how weak, could be enough. ‘Such a great pity,’ he murmured, his fingers slithering along the soft flesh of her throat and down to the hollow at the base of her neck. ‘but, still, there is no sense in wasting you.’ The old priest chuckled as his free hand slid up her skirts. ‘For me to allow you to die unused, now that would be a crime.’
Iwa tried to kick out but he held her firm. ‘Do not struggle,’ he whispered, ‘let me give you a taste of honey, before I send your body to the fires.’ With that he grabbed her neck and bent forward to kiss it. Suddenly he stopped short, his hand withdrawing from between her legs. An axe blade rested on his shoulder, the edge lying gently against his neck. ‘Krol Gawel will see the girl now,’ Grunmir said.
‘Of course.’ Wislaw bowed, the axe resting heavily against his neck. ‘The krol’s command is my humblest wish.’ Around his face the lizard hissed, but only Iwa noticed.
‘You’d do well to remember that – priest.’ Grunmir withdrew the axe and motioned for Wislaw to untie the bonds. Behind them Eber hovered, his face uncertain. Perhaps once outside the tent, his fear of Wislaw had diminished as his fear of Grunmir had grown. If only he’d come earlier, she shuddered, before the doll.
Caught between Grunmir and the priest, Eber wondered if he should not untie the bonds, his gaze flickering between them. But they stood motionless, eyes trained on one another, the axe blade still resting on Wislaw’s shoulder. Then, much to Eber’s relief, the old priest began to untie the ropes. ‘And what is it that my lord krol would want with someone such as this?’ he said, without turning to face Grunmir.
‘That is for nought but him to know,’ Grunmir replied. ‘The krol keeps his own counsel these days and his words are not for you.’
Too worn out to stand, Iwa slumped to the floor and rubbed her wrists, the marks scored deep where the leather had bitten into her flesh. Grunmir was about to motion to Eber and then he stopped, his gaze settling on her father as if he guessed the truth. ‘Please,’ Yaroslav murmured, ‘whatever you’re going to,’ but his words failed him and he slumped back down the ropes creaking with the weight of him as, without a word, Grunmir pulled her up by the hair.
Chapter Sixteen
More dragged than walking, Iwa was led through the camp. Around the perimeter the animal skulls blazed; flames licked round the eye sockets of deer or poked through the broken fangs of bears and boars. A few guards stood on the ramparts, their bodies silhouetted against the fire, but their fear was palpable. She looked to the rest of the ships. She could almost see the faces that cowered inside, hear the strange prayers muttered to foreign gods, mixed with the sounds of fear and weeping. Now she realised why the ships had been dragged so far from the shore and tied down with so much rope; the woyaks were ready to flee. Thank the bones of Karnobog: this could all be over soon. If only I can keep Yaroslav alive until then.
‘The clans would have little need for a spy tonight,’ Grunmir muttered to a woyak who had come up
