‘Come and face me if you dare!’ Krol Gawel said, froth forming across his lips in fury as the flames reflected across the blade of his great sword. Some of the woyaks were quick to gather round him, their hearts filled with the memory of battle and past glory. Even in the dark they recognised that blade. Had they ever had cause to doubt the battle craft of the one who wielded it? Hadn’t they faced hardships and dangers before? Hadn’t the krol always been there in the heat of the battle? And, even if they were to die, what better way than under the gaze of their krol? Before the camp fires had burned the night, now their light dripped across the blade, illuminating the woven pattern of the steel and the tempered edge. But it would take more than battle craft to get them out of this.
‘No, my krol.’ Grunmir had come up beside them. ‘You must not throw your life away; no blade can touch that thing.’ But the krol took no notice as he began to move forward. Grunmir grabbed his arm. ‘Not even your sword.’
‘I am the krol,’ Gawel replied, his voice dropped to a whispered growl. ‘What happens here is my responsibility and mine alone. If I am to die then let it be here before the eyes of my woyaks and with their battle cries burning through my ears.’
The wind picked up and moaned, soft and hollow through the wolf-head horns as their iron tongues lapped around their fangs. From the statue Wislaw yelled and pointed to the river. ‘Over there!’ he screamed. Breath held, Iwa followed the line of his finger, her eyes ready to look away.
At first she could see nothing, except for the desolate swell of the river and the dark line of the trees, like pitch against the night sky. Then, across the water, the first tendrils of mist swirled. By now the noise had risen as the mist began to thicken and take shape, the water boiling below. Suddenly the whole camp fell silent as the creature moved forward.
Bethrayal had gained power, because now she could clearly make out the shape of his feet and the outline of his body; there was even the semblance of a face ghosted across the dark. For the first time she noticed a smell, like rotten fish. ‘Remember me to your gods,’ Krol Gawel said as he leapt forward. The club-footed boy began to follow, dragging the shield with him, but Grunmir caught his arm. ‘This is something the krol has to face alone, boy,’ he said, not taking his eyes from the river. ‘Nothing made of man will help him now.’
Before the boy had time to react, there was a crack as if the air had been torn apart. The waters boiled as the flames flickered in their skulls and the wind began to howl. An explosion rent the air as Lord Bethrayal crashed into the barrier. Sparks snarled through the night as the form howled with rage and agony, his voice twisting cold and inhuman above the crack of magic.
On the other side the krol stood impassive, his sword drawn. Now his headache had gone, replaced by the cold certainty of battle. There was nothing else, only the faint beat of his heart as he regarded the enemy before him.
‘See, my barrier holds!’ Wislaw yelled as the creature tumbled back. ‘My craft has beaten it.’ But the old priest had spoken too soon. As the waters boiled in fury, tendrils of smoke and flame reached out into the night and the form of Lord Bethrayal rose up once more. Again it tore at the barrier, the light crackling as sparks flew across the shore and the woyaks fled in terror. All except for the krol and Grunmir.
‘The demon has grown stronger!’ Grunmir yelled above the clamour. A woyak fled past, flinging away both spear and shield. Without a word Grunmir picked up the spear and hurled it at the creature. Iwa could almost make out the line of the barrier as it buckled against the weight. The air became hot and, as the spear flew through the night, the shaft burst into flames.
‘Remember me to the gods,’ Krol Gawel said as he raised his sword to his lips, ‘and may fortune grant you each a better fate.’ But, before he went, he paused and took something from around his neck; it was a gold ring that hung from a silver chain. ‘Perhaps I deserve no better,’ he said as he gave the ring over to Grunmir, who took it with a nod. ‘Take the men should I die. May the gods grant you a swift escape and, if by some chance or the malice of some god you have the occasion, give this to the duke and tell him of my death.’
Maybe he said something else but his words were lost as, with another almighty howl, the figure of Lord Bethrayal flung itself against the barrier, the wooden posts splitting and the waters burning with fury. The reflected light rippled across the krol’s armour and the blade of his sword.
Iwa glanced around; everyone was caught up in the scene, even Grunmir. He stood with his mouth open, the magic almost burning in the air and reflecting across his face and the bright dome of his battle helm. She seized her chance and twisted free of the woyaks. The colours intensified, sparks of light darting across the night as she ran into the camp. Behind her there was a savage cry and an awful rending sound and she couldn’t help but turn, her feet slipping across the wet grass as she fell to the ground. Still she couldn’t take her eyes from the scene, as the light blazed and Lord Bethrayal struggled,
