Chapter 3: Honour the Fallen

Sorry I've kept you waiting. Without further ado the saga continues.

Joana spent the next three days tending to the dead. She had found a spade that had only been singed by the fire and used it to dig a number of shallow graves just outside the boundaries of Kremitz. There were no possessions left to bury alongside the dead, so she piled up a simple mound on grave. She wept a lot and prayed for the lost friends and neighbours. Most of all she wept for her mother who was the first to be buried. Her mother's ring she cleaned and kept on her finger at all times.
She had found a cellar pit under one of the burnt down long houses that had not been damaged. From it she retrieved large amounts of salted meat and some stale bread that had not been overgrown with mould. These provisions she consumed hungrily. Most others had, however, gone off days ago. There was also some strong mead in clay jugs of which she drank a little in the evening. A few mouthfuls was usually enough to make her drowsy and kept away the memories that would haunt her in these quiet hours under the stars.
And even so her dreams were riddled with disturbing images, with fire, screams, blood and cracking bones that would rouse her with a cry in the middle of the night. She would then lie sleeplessly on her bed of moss outsite the village drenched in sweat despite the chill. Up at the sky she would stare and wonder if mama's life and terrible death had warranted her now gleaming up there. Was mama looking down on her now from the heavens? Against all her father's teachings she addressed the gods of the ancestors begging them to grant her oblivion from the last few days. They never did.

During this time Vucara stayed mostly out of sight. Joana could sometimes make her out near the buildings or watching from the tree line. Vucara kept her distance as if to give her charge some time alone with her sorrow and her tasks. Only at dusk she re-joined Joana at their make-shift camp. And even then they only exchanged few words.
After the fight, Joana had carefully removed the arrow from the hip of the injured wolf, washed the wound and done her best to quench the flow of blood. At Vucara's instructions she had gone to find the herbs that the wolf had also used on her ancle, chewed them up and smeared the bitter paste onto the cut. Now they both walked with a limp.
It was while passing back and forth among the ruins that she noticed the signs. There were strange markings carved into some of the ruined buildings. She also found some on lone trees around the village smeared in soot and some blackened liquid that she did not care to examine more closely. Joana was not familiar with them but she knew what they were nonetheless. An old woman from the village had once showed her ones like this. Runes of power she had called them, writing much more ancient than the kind she had learned. Markings of witchcraft, her father had said. Both agreed that many of them were pure superstition to deceive the simple-minded. The old woman had claimed, however, that in the hands of a true warlock some did indeed possess real power. Joana avoided them though she did not feel any power in them at all.
They had, however, obviously proven effective at keeping people away. Joana had wondered before why the village and the dead in it had not been disturbed earlier. Why had travellers that did pass occasionally not taken care of the bodies? Had her people not been missed at the market and had nobody been sent to make sure what had happened to them? Only the looters had ventured here but the ones that had survived did not seem eager to return.

At dusk on the third day when Joana had shoveled dirt onto the last of the burial mounds and said her last prayers she staggered back to her resting place and slumped to the ground. Blisters and fresh calluses stung her hands. She felt exhausted both in body and in mind. She had never had to say this many farewells in such a short time. And never had they all been so final. It dawned on her, however, as she sat and stared across the clearing and the ruins in it and the mounds at the setting sun, that she would have to face an even more difficult task. She had to find father and tell him what had happened. She knew he would be so utterly devastated. But he needed to know. Gods knew what rumours travellers had brought back from the road. But he cared little for common people's superstitions. Why had he not come? Why had mother's body still been lying among the ashes of their house? She sighed deeply and rubbed her eyes. They were sore from the many tears. She would not find answers here.
But there was another desire that had kindled while she had chipped away at the hard soil and dragged bodies that crumbled into ashes on the way to their grave. It was a dark thought that she tried her best to bury with the dead. Still, with every new body and every new grave it crawled back out of its hiding place. It had been born from the grim satisfaction she had felt when the first of the looters had fallen under her blow. It had taken shape when their arrogant leader had grovelled before her and begged for his miserable life. The attackers who, like cowards in the night, had slaughtered all the people of Kremitz deserved far worse. But who would bring them to justice when none even dared to walk near the ruins of the now cursed village? Tramir, the looter had said. It lay out of her way but could be reached on foot. That bastard leader of the band was probably on his way there right now. The name was her only lead. If she waited too long the trace would grow cold. She had to get to the bottom of this. They owed her answers!
Just then her gaze met mama's grave. She knew what she had to do.

In the morning Joana gathered together the remaining provisions and stuffed them into a rough canvas sack. She added a flint and a small knife for cutting food. The long knife one of the looters had dropped before he had fled she pushed into the girdle of her dress. The axe, however, she left behind. It was too unwieldy for her. She knew the dead bodies might still possess other useful items or even money but they had begun to decompose. Crows and flies had descended upon them and she could not bring herself to touch them.
Following an intuition she had tried questioning the crows though she did not rightly know what to ask. Had they seen the attack in the night? Had they seen where the looters had come from? The birds made no reply but just studied her studied her alertly, curiously, out of jet black eyes.
Eventually, Joana gave up on the birds and made for the road. One direction would lead to the next village where the market was held during the week of new moon, the other led in the direction of the stone paved road which would take her to father.
"Where are you going?" Vucara had come up silently next to her giving her as worried a look as a wolf was capable of.
"To see my father", the girl replied, "I need to tell him what has happened here."
Vucara made a surprised little whine. "Your father was not among the dead? That is good. I had feared you had none of your kin left."
Joana made no answer, so Vucara went on: "You have not mentioned him before. Where is he and what does he do?"
The girl gazed into the distance along the well trodden path ahead of them. It lead between the fields and then into the forest. It would gradually slope steadily higher toward the mountains that were now still hidden behind hills and trees.
"Do you know what master builder is", she asked by way of response.
Vucara made a sound like a cough. "Is that similar to a master of -" She hesitated searching for the right word. "The forces of the world. To bring the wind or the rain or fire?"
Joana smiled. Even people had asked her such things before. She never knew how to answer them.
"He knows a kind of magic that is all about numbers."
As they began to walk - the girl with the wolf trotting naturally side by side - Joana told the story that father had told her. He had learnt scientia mathematica from a Roman teacher who had taken refuge in their village. The Roman had taught some of the children whose parents would let him about the ways of the crumbling Imperium Romanum. Her father had learned their language but also shown interest in numbers. Then the Roman had spoken of how they constructed walls and roofs and even some of their machines. It was also he who had told father about the new god that had been brought to them from the lands of the rising sun. It was a god that did not allow worshipping others beside him but had sent his own son to earth to teach humans his ways. The things the Roman had told him had impressed father much and he had sucked it all up. He had even later taken on a Roman name that would also please the one god. Three years ago the king had learned of her father's knowledge and commanded him to work on designs for a stronghold and now construction had been under way for near two years. It was to be mightiest such construct since the Roman times and protect the kingdom from any enemy from the north or east.
They walked for a time in silence. Then Vucara said: "I cannot claim I understand all that you have said but I hear pride in your voice. You speak very highly of your father."
The girl nodded. "He taught me a lot of useful things. And to receive such a duty from the king is a great honour."
Vucara pondered this again. Then she spoke slowly: "Your father seems wise to me. It is no wonder that his line should bring forth a Speaker-with-Animals."
And after another while: "I wonder though why such a wise man should leave his mate and child unprotected or live apart from them. Our young never go to live with a different pack."
Joana regarded the wolf sadly.
"I guess for humans it is a bit different. We used to live further east but when the king ordered father to oversee the build he had to be there all the time. He did not want his daughter to live up in the camp with the rough workers and warriors. So he had a house for us pulled up here. Kremitz is only a slightly more than a day's travel from the building site. He usually comes back for the Sabbath. I'm not sure why he hasn't come - but I'm not sure of the day either", she added with hesitation.
"We will find him", Vucara said reassuringly.
"You know", Joana began after walking a long stretch of road in silence, "you said Speakers-" Pronouncing the word was still strange to her and it would not roll easily off her tongue. "Speakers are the stuff of legends."
Vucara did not answer but looked up at her questioningly cocking her head.
"I feel that I am already part of my own legend. I've escaped certain death twice. My closest friend and saviour of my life is a wolf. It rings of a tale father told me years ago. He learnt it from his teacher. The Romans themselves believed that the fathers of their realm were only babes when a she-wolf took pity on them and raised them as her own children - saving them from certain death."
Joana fell silent. Her companion was staring down the length of the road into the distance. She seemed to nod.
"Every life is a tale untold. I have heard tell of similar bondings myself. I also sense that your part in this is not over yet."

They kept off the road walking among the trees about a stone throw off to one side of it. Vucara was more comfortable this way but Joana also felt safer being out of sight of the casual observer. It was for this reason that they spotted the sentries first. They had reached the stop where the road that oxen and cart wheels had stamped out of the forest met the ancient road - built by the Romans supposedly, like most of the weathered stone structures they found - paved with slabs of rock. It was so old that cart wheels had carved furrows into the stones but people still used it to this day. The two warriors had set up camp just off the junction of the roads. There were two horses tied to a tree close by. Shields and spears were leaning against a rock. There was a fire with something roasting on it. Keeping quiet they could hear the men talking in subdued voices. They were the harsh voices of men of war that made Joana shudder. She did not know the men but the voices reminded her of those men that had tried to loot Kremitz. The two companions made a detour to avoid the men. Not even the horses noticed their passage.

The site was on a flat hilltop among the roots of the mountains. On a clear day you could see the peaks gleaming white on the southern horizon. This was such a clear day and the sun was still high. Observing the lofty summits from the edge of the forest they looked to Joana like the sharp lower moulars of a great beast. Construction had progressed since she had last been here. The mighty walls already rose several step lengths above the crest of the hill. Around them lay great piles of hewn stone and lumber. A strange construction like a crooked arm made of wood had been set up on one side. A rope dangled from its end instead of a hand. Joana knew this from drawings father had shown her. The Romans had used things like this one to lift burdens much greater than any man could carry. The workers' encampment was spread around the base of the hill but Joana also spotted the glint of spears. Many of the king's warriors were here to protect the site.
"You don't have to join me any longer, Vucara", she said turning to her companion. "You have already done more than I could ever even thank you for."
Vucara shook herself, a gesture Joana had come to recognise as meaning 'no'.
"I will see you safely to your father. That was my promise."
"I don't think the soldiers will let a wolf enter the camp", Joana objected, "wolves may fear our fire but we normally fear your teeth and claws."
"Very well."
Joana could hear the reluctance in the wolf's voice. She herself had got used to Vucara's presence. It was soothing, reassuring.
"Everything will be all right here", she heard herself say, as much for her own benefit as that of Vucara. "Father is here. I'll be safe. And Alefa won't have to worry about a human blundering around his territory."
"I will wait here until I know you are safe", Vucara said. Her shoulders were set, tail and head raised high. There would be no arguing this point.
"I will come back once I have spoken with father."
Kneeling Joana slung her arms around the wolf's neck. She felt the animal's brawny muscles, the coarse fur, the heaving of her chest. Joana almost hoped that her part in this tale was not over yet. It would delay having to bid her companion farewell for good.
Before the thought could take root Joana rose and turned toward the build site. Then she set her jaw and began walking.

Her father wept as he held Joana close. It was the first time she saw tears in his eyes after grandfather had died. He repeated her name over and over. The armed guards had at first refused to let her through but had eventually agreed to send for him. She gave father a quick account of what had happened though she made no mention of her encounter with the looters. No need to have him even more worried than he had been. When he finally released her from his embrace he took her to his tent, ordered wine, meat and bread be brought to them as well as a bath and fresh clothes be readied. Only now, among other human beings, Joana became aware that she must look like a roaming beggar: her dress was torn and dirty, her sandals lost in the river; her raven hair was tangled, unkempt and caked with blood where she had hit the rock. The scratches and bruises she had received during her escape and fight with the looters had not fully healed yet. And her hands and feet had a crust of dirt from digging and walking.
At last, when the two of them were sitting in father's tent and a bowl of steaming meat broth and some bread had been found he began slowly, almost timidly to ask questions. How had it all happened? Where had she been? She calmly gave him a more detailed account this time. The nightly attack, her flight through the forest, her fall in the stream. Had the attackers laid hands on her? No, they had not. Apparently they had given up pursuit there. For now she left out the meeting with Vucara. Sitting here with a rational man like father she found it difficult to believe herself. She also still did not tell of her fight with the looters. There were tears in father's eyes again when she recounted burying mama with the rest of the dead.
"Lord rest their souls." She could see his lower lip was trembling. Then looking her deep in the eyes: "Forgive me, Joana. Forgive me I wasn't there to protect you and mama."
Joana shook her head sadly. She felt the grief again but she had no more tears to cry.
"There were many able-bodied men in Kremitz, father. Yet none of them even so much managed as to draw their swords."
"Maybe this is how the Lord punishes us for not believing", he lamented, "I have failed to convince them to forsake the old ways. The Lord protects His own."
Anger boiled up in Joana's heart then. It was not the first time she was at odds with him over this foreign god. And this time mama's loss was still fresh on her mind.
"What would he punish mama for then? She was a good mother to me and always kind to grandfather and grandmother! Did you ever have any reason to complain? You didn't see what they did to her. She did not deserve this! None of them did."
Father raised his hands as if to ward off her words.
"Joana, understand-"
"What", she snapped, "that you didn't come for us? Even on your holy Sabbath. Where were you then, father? Why did you not come? Why did you not perform the rites for mama and the others if you cared so much?"
"Because I did not let him go." A new voice sounded from the entrance of the tent. There was command in that voice though the tone was gentle. And even something familiar. Joana jumped up turning toward the sound. The man standing holding up the flap of the tent was heavy set. He wore dark robes with many subtle embroidered decorations. His greying beard tumbled down to his chest. As he pushed his way inside he leant on a short, carved staff.
"Begging your pardon for my intrusion, Iacobus" he said by way of greeting, "I just heard the good news that your daughter has been found."
Joana's father bowed his head slightly at the newcomer.
"She found us, as a matter of fact. Praise the Lord."
Joana's anger had not abated. "And who in Thunder's name are you", she demanded.
"Joana", her father hissed in consternation, "your manners! Show due respect to the kings advisor." The hesitation before the last word was ever so slight, so that only Joana or her mother would have noticed it. But it was there. Father was going to say something else. Almost as an afterthought he added: "And mind the blasphemy."
To the advisor he continued: "Your pardon, my daughter is very outspoken. She will learn her place."
Their guest made a discarding gesture. With a grunt he let himself setlle onto the chair Joana had vacated. His free hand still in the air gesturing toward Joana's father he continued speaking: "Go easy on your daughter this day Iacobus. She has suffered greatly to stand here before us now."
"And what would you know of my suffering, o advisor", she asked the older man with more than a hint of bitterness.
He smiled mildly: "More than you might think, young Joana. After the news reached us your father wanted to go home immediately and look for you and your mother. I refused to let him go for fear of a trap. His worry for his family weighed heavy on me so I cast the runes repeatedly during the last few days. Unfortunately, for your mother, the outcome was always the same: the Norns had already cut her thread. For you, however, the runes spoke of pain, of trial - by fire, by blood and by fang." She felt his gaze on her intently as he spoke. As if he was expecting a reaction. "But the language of the runes was clear: you had to be alive. And now, thank the gods, you are here."
Joana stood as if transfixed by his gaze. There was something in his curiosity or care that he kept to himself. Her father's gentle but firm hands on her shoulders broke the spell.
"It is a miracle that my daughter should still be alive when, as she says, all others perished. I cannot thank the Lord enough for that."
The advisor nodded and rose again.
"A miracle indeed. It is good that some predictions do not turn out as bad as they may seem." He appeared to turn to take his leave but then remembered something.
"Tell me, young Joana, did you recognise any of those that attacked your village? Could you, par exemplum, make out if they carried a banner?"
Again that gaze. Joana did not answer immediately. She tried to make sense of the images that the question alone had conjured up. Most of her memories of that night were a wild swirl.
"I am certain they did not carry any banner. All of them seemed to be on horseback. They were armed with spears and swords and bows. Their leader was a tall man with hard, hawkish features and a bald head. He was also-" she halted with a cautious glance at her father. He would not like what was coming now. "- a warlock."
The men's eyes widened. The advisor spoke first: "A warlock you say. Are you sure of this?"
Joana nodded. "I saw him produce fire without flint or tinder with a wave of his hand alone."
The advisor exchanged a long glance with father. Stroking his beard with his free hand he said gravely: "Then it is as I feared. Though we may already be in greater danger than even I have guessed. By bringing us this information you have done your king a great service, young Joana. And he will hear of it - he needs hear all of this. I fact, I will dispatch a mounted messenger at dawn. Before that though I would have your counsil on this, Iacobus. In private."
Joana's father nodded, his features unfathomable, his gaze seeming miles away. The advisor continued: "When you have tended to your daughter's needs, come and find me."
With that the old man exited the tent leaving Joana and her father staring after him. When she faced her father again his lips were pressed together. She could see his jaws grinding in thought, his fist clenched around the chair's arm rest. She cut into his thoughts: "What's the matter, father?"
He looked up at her then meeting her gaze. Then he forced a smile. He shook his head as if to get rid of some pesky insect.
"Nothing. Pay it no heed."
"Nothing? The two of you were talking as if war was upon us", Joana persisted.
"Nonsense." He brushed her remark aside impatiently.
"And this man", Joana continued in a hushed voice jerking her thumb toward the flap of the tent, "he is more than an advisor. He's a seer. He wouldn't be as worried as that over nothing-"
Her father brought his hand down sharply on the arm rest of the chair. He still kept his voice down when he spoke.
"Enough of this superstitious babble. Seers. Warlocks. I have taught you better than this. Apateus is a man of an exceptional but perfectly mundane insight." He sighed. Then he seemed to reach a decision. "Be that as it may, you are not safe here. As long as the keep is not finished this camp is exposed. All the women should be sent to a secure place and you will go with them."
Joana gaped at him in dismay. "But", she stammered, "but what about the murderers? I even caught a hint of where they may be from. Are we to let them get away with this?!"
"Certainly not. The king will hear of this and he will take appropriates measures. But you will certainly not be involved."
"By the time the king decides they will be long gone and-"
"You will listen to your father!" He had jumped to his feet now. His voice and his lower lip quaking with agitaion. "Loosing a good wife is more than a man can bear. Would you have me loose my only daughter, too?"
Without a further word Joana stormed out of the tent.

Joana furiously paced the length camp until a maid found her. How could the blood not be boiling in his veins at what had happened to mama! And what if these men - these unknown warriors - remained on the loose? It might be somebody else's mother or brother or daughter tomorrow. With the kind but firm words of someone used to obstinate children the maid talked her into first taking her bath and changing into the fresh clothes that had been found for her. Eventually Joana let herself be led to a tent in which there stood a wooden tub with steaming water.
The woman gasped when Joana disrobed. There were few spots on her body that were not bruised or scratched. She had scraped her knees and her foot had swollen again during the walk. A dark bruise on her hip marked where she had bumped into a rock while crossing the stream. Now gazing down along her bare slender frame for the first time since the attack on Kremitz Joana realised she had not even noticed some of these.
"You are lucky to be alive, lady", the woman remarked wide-eyed.
Joana nodded grimly but said no more as she climbed into the water.
The hot bath did dissolve some of her anger yet it also strengthed her resolve. She would not stay. Yet she would not run and hide behind some thick walls. Thinking she switched her mother's ring from one finger to the other. The next day she would depart with the messenger and seek out the answers she craved - with or without father's consent.
Later bringing her clothing the maid apologised. There were only few women present and they were taller or much fuller than Joana. So she had found a pair of boots, breeches and a shirt from one of the men. The boots were sturdy but sewn out of soft leather. Breeches and shirt were made of strong wool. It suited Joana well since she might be travelling far. She thanked the maid and left. The day was waning and it was time to find father.
As she approached the tents at the center of the camp she heard voices arguing. She stopped behind a canvas and listened. One voice clearly belonged to the Roman seer Apateus. The other she did not recognise though it was destinctly familiar.
"-the fact is, o auguratio", the unknown but familiar voice was saying sharply, "that your man has failed so far. Your visions have not come through. And now another village has burned. Men, women and children lie dead and yet there is no trace? Our patience is being severely tested."
Apateus replied patiently and with a hint of condecension: "I have great faith in this man's ability - as should you, young master. But if it pleases your father I will send word to him immediately to redouble his efforts."
"It would please me, o auguratio, if I knew more about this - what's even his name? Rauvanoy? What manner of a name is that?"
There was a smirk in the seer's voice when he replied: "I will arrange a meeting then once this matter is resolved. Until then I beg that you trust my judgement. Things are proceeding well. Now I take my leave."
There were retreating steps.
"The last word has not been spoken in this", Joana heard the other man murmur.
She moved cautiously forward - and nearly bumped into the man coming around the tent. He wore a clean shirt, a rich, green vest and high boots. A sword dangled from a belt whose clasp shone like only silver would. His hair was long and had a hint of the gold of the Northern folk in it and his beard was braided below the chin. His eyes were keen and blue.
Joana attempted mumble an apology and, bowing her head, quickly get out of his way but he grabbed her arm and held it in a firm grip.
"What's this?" The was genuine wonder and amusement in his voice. "A girl wearing a man's clothing? Or is it a wolf in a sheep's pelt?" He laughed not unkindly but with a hint of mockery. Then he was quiet and pulled her around.
"I know you. You're the girl that speaks with animals. What brings you here, girl?"
"My name is Joana." She intoned every word. Then looking up to defiantly meet his gaze she said: "I am the daughter of the one who builds the king's stronghold."
He laughed again at this. But he let go of her arm and there was less derision in his voice now. "The gods have gifted you with a tongue like a sword. Just don't cut yourself with it one day. Very well, Joana-" He intoned the word. "-I am the son of he who owns the stronghold."
"I remember you well", Joana said quietly for she had known Prince Toben the moment she had seen his face. He had not changed much since that day in the woods. Then after a moment's hesitation she added: "Will my lord answer me one question honestly?"
"Depends on the question." He was serious now.
"The seer and my father speak as if we were on the road to war. Is that true?"
"A young woman should not concern herself with such things", he replied beratingly now. He drew himself up speaking gravely. "The two men debate often and at length about the Old Foe from the east. But do not worry, no harm shall come to you. I will vouch for that."
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she persisted: "And the fallen will be avenged and those guilty brought to justice."
"They will be. Would you have me swear it?" There was his teasing air again.
Joana shook her head quietly but said: "I am only a girl, lord Toben, but I will hold you to your word."
With a bow she departed.

Joana spoke no more word with anybody that evening. After a silent supper with father she lay on a mattress of straw on a cot that had been set into his tent. She stared at the canvas wondering and waiting while he was brooding over some drawings by the light of two oil lamps. She had resisted the urge to tell him her resolution. He would not have it, she knew that much. He would forbid it or, worse still, have her put under guard. Was it the right thing, however? Somewhere under the fur-blanket her hand found her mother's ring twisting it this way and that. Did not his god forbid vengeance but teach forgiveness and kindness? Was she not bound by her father's will? And yet the questions turned round and round in her head. Who and why? Ancient Ziu demanded bloody justice. And besides she would not be alone. Vucara would be there.
She was not asleep yet not decided when her father was called upon and quietly left the tent. This would be her chance to grab some provisions and leave before he returned to argue to the question. She set her jaw and took a deep breath. She knew what to do.
Then the light went out. Joana jumped. When she wanted to lift her head to peer at the lamps a hand was clasped over her mouth. She let out a muffled cry but there was something cold and hard against her throat.
A harsh voice whispered beside her ear: "One sound, one move and we'll stick ye like a pig."
Joana went stiff. She desperately tried to suppress the trembling of her body. With wide eyes she tried to get a glimpse of what was going on. She could only make out the darkness of the tent. Then a shadow slipped past her, pulled the furs covering her aside and fumbled a coarse rope around her wrists. A bunch of smelly cloth was pushed past the hand and into her mouth. She gagged but the grip of the hand only tightened.
"Get up, walk ahead. I'm right behind you. No tricks. Yes?" There was a strange note in the man's accent. She could not place it. The edge of the knife was pushed into her throat until she was sure it had drawn blood. She was trembling now after all but she managed a nod. When she got up and turned she saw the rent in the back of the tent, just high enough to bend through.
"Go."
Nobody seemed to take note of the three shades that walked through the camp avoiding the fires and making straight for the dark forest beyond. After a hard day's work most of the men were too preoccupied with their supper or their bed. All the way the tip of the knife rested in the small of Joana's back. She felt the cold iron against her skin. Once they had reached the edge of the trees several more shadows joined them that obviously been lying in waiting. Without a word they made their way through the undergrowth.
Where was Vucara? Fearfully Joana darted her glaces left and right desperately hoping to see the wolf. Why was she not there? Stupid girl, she chided herself, you didn't show up for near half a day. Vucara has left. She wouldn't wait here like any trained dog. Or had she been here but had been killed? The thought made Joana''s blood go cold. Please, Vucara. Joana repeated the words in her mind. Please be here. Please be alive.
At length Joana could make out a light in the distance between the dark boughs of the trees. It was not silvery like the light of the moon and stars but flickered red and yellow. Any other time it would have been a welcome sight. The small, taciturn company made for the light. It turned out to be a camp-fire. Around it sat four shadowy shapes of men wrapped in furs. All were visibly armed with spears, clubs, two with bows. The company halted.
"Oi", one of her captors called. She recognised the voice as that which had threatened her. Now in the light of the fire she also noticed that all her captors were shorter than her in stature although they were much stockier. Their faces were swarthy and bearded. She still could not make out details since they kept to the shadows away from the fire light. Their forms all seemed to be wrapped in thick cloaks.
"We got her." Again that strange accent.
"Well dun", a voice replied from the other side of the fire. Then a tall man stepped into the circle of light. His hair hung into his face but Joana could still make out the cuts across his cheek. And a thick bandage was now wrapped around his right wrist. He was carrying an axe again.
"You!" Joana exclaimed aghast.
He smiled a dirty smile of gleaming, yellow teeth.
"'Ello poppet. Did you miss me?"
"You bastard-son! I let you go!"
He laughed loudly. The men around the fire joined in though none laughed quite as loudly as their leader. The company of short men remained stoically silent. Then with a few long paces he was right in front of her. His arm shot out slapping her across the face so hard her head was jerked around. He caught her, gripping her neck forcing her face close to his.
"No vicious doggie to protect you this toime, is there", he hissed, his foul breath flooding Joana's senses. Suddenly his tongue came out as he licked her right up her cheek. Close to her ear he growled: "You're lucky you're wanted unspoilt."
"What you do with her is none of our concern", the short man cut in, "but we had an agreement." He stretched out a hand in a demanding gesture and as he did there was the glint of polished metal under the cloak.
The tall man turned to him. He gave Joana a casual push so that she stumbled and came down heavily on her behind next to the fire. The men around the fire chuckled.
"And we'll honour it", the man with the axe was saying grandly, "as soon as we meet the master."
"And when will that be", the other demanded.
"We set off in the mornin'. By nightfall we'll be with 'im. We is not as at home in the dark as you."
"No", the short man burst out raising his voice for the first time. "We have waited enough!" With that he reached under his cloak and in a smooth motion brought forth a heavy short sword. Suddenly, weapons seemed to flash up in the hands of all the others of his company, as well. The men around the fire jumped to their feet. Under the furs they had been hiding shirts of hard leather.
Axe in hand the tall leader of the men bellowed: "You bloody dwarf, don't be so stupid. You know well that your debt-"
There was a loud cry from the darkness that was abruptly silenced and died away in a gargle. There were several exclamations as suddenly all eyes were scanning the forest. Joana realised now it was intensely quiet. Another cry rang out. It also came from the company of short men. There was a snarl and a tearing sound then the forest fell silent again.
"What's goin' on", the leader bellowed turning this way and that.
Her heart beating in her throat Joana tried to edge away from the fire toward the trees. Maybe the gods had not deserted her just yet.
A deafening roar rang out on the other side of the fire that made everybody jump. The man closest to the side whirled around. Something struck him with such terrible force that he spun right back. The left half of his face was hanging down in bloodied shreds.
Then all hell broke loose.

... to be continued ...