Ymdaton returned to Radomir’s house, which was mostly empty. The owner was away on some business, his family was sent away to Obrejin as soon as rumours about the war arrived, the lodging men were all spending their evening somewhere. Only serfs were present and they probably understood Crewslayer’s mood well enough to not disturb them. The only living soul to meet him in the courtyard him was Spoosh.

“Why do you keep coming?” asked he the cat, which was brushing against his boot. Ymdaton gently pushed the animal away and entered the house.

When he came back with a bowl of milk in hands, Spoosh was still waiting for him patiently. He put down the bowl and sat on the porch. The warrior looked how the cat was rhythmically scooping the milk with its tongue.

“You know,” said he thoughtfully, “I am constantly telling you to go away because it is what I expect myself to say. I am a crewman. I am ever away from home. I do not have time to look after a cat.”

Spoosh raised his muzzle which was covered in milk and glanced at the human for some moments, before continuing his feast.

“But then I still feed you everyday. Why? Because despite what I am saying, despite what I am trying to convince myself to believe… It’s what I truly think is right” he was silent for some moments, “Thank you.”

Next morning Ymdaton was standing before the house of knez.

“Tell him Crewslayer has come,” said he.

“Master is not awake yet, come later,” told him the guard with the most obtuse face possible.

“I know that you are lying. Azytenisar gets up early. Go, tell him.”

“I was instructed to not let any visitors in. Master will have a busy day, he do not have time for you.”

“Now listen,” Crewslayer sighed, “You know who I am, right? There are songs about me ringing through the streets. I have few equals across your whole accursed forest. Now when Khladnetz loses this war, you are free to blame yourself for not letting me in that day. For not letting the warrior of my prowess to aid knez in most important battles.”

The guard drilled him with a gaze for few moments.

“I’ll go and ask.”

Soon Ymdaton was standing before his lord in private chambers. Azytenisar was obviously recently awoken, wearing only a simple robe, his beard messy and uncombed.

“You better have a good reason to demand an audience this early. And you better lay it out quickly,” said he.

“I want an appointment. I want to lead a disruption attack,” said Ymdaton, carefully keeping words passionless.

“For what purpose? You were involved in one and you failed it spectacularly,” uttered Azytenisar, regarding the warrior with a piercing stare.

“Everybody makes mistakes. I want a chance at fixing mine.”

“If repairing your reputation is the only case here, then I’d better keep you in the city still,” said knez without any hint of accusation.

Ymdaton was silent for some time.

“Not exactly this,” finally answered he, “I thought about that. Song crafters probably will not understand the very concept of leaving your enemy alive as a benefit in war. They will show me as a mighty champion slaying the enemy warlord in a single combat. They probably did already. So in terms of a good name I am even better now. I see now that there are noble things which should be done, yet which would not fit into tales. And now I want to do what I feel right, not what people think to be right.”

It was Azytenisar's turn to keep silence.

“Fine, you’ll have your second chance. However you can only recruit drevlyani warriors which were trained by you.”

“That will do,” Ymdaton bowed deeply, “Thank you, my lord, I will not disappoint.”

The only force on the move was an army of crickets. Their battle was made without violence, contesting with noise that rolled through the cold air of midnight. Those miniscule warmongers shared wet grass and pale starshine with another armed group. A squad of drevlyani enjoyed the halt, regaining forces for the march next day. Only several sentries kept their watch.

Powers of the woods were seemingly absent, leaving creatures of the forest to roam in peace and humans to murder each other without assistance.

One of the sentinels was lucky to get a company, making the duty a bit less boring. He scanned blueish shadows between dark shadows of trees, while talking to a man beside him.

“So how are we going to stop fellas from Ovrajin, my dear seafarer?”

“Have you heard the story of Woostin city?” asked him Ymdaton.

“Can’t recall.”

“Strange. I thought this was a well known piece of Drevlyani lore. An old servant at Dragomir’s household told me it.

Long ago, before the coming of guardians, your kind attempted building first cities in Odwitchni.

Woostin was one of those settlements. It was built on a shore of Zlena river. For several years the town prospered, it’s thick walls protecting people from evil spirits.

But one day an army marched out of the current. Ugly things they were, slithering, scaly, with bulbous eyes. They besieged the town and were repelled only at thr cost of great casualties.

A week later a second attack came. Terrifying warriors as huge as a mead barrel rode out of the river on wide-mawed hooved fish. Both riders and mounts were armoured in glistering plates of the depths. They nearly broke the defences of Woostin, many brave warriors dying in that battle.

But that wasn’t the end. The third attack came. Water itself rose and marched to war, pummeling walls, squishing men.

There was no chance of victory anymore and few survivors fled the city.

Drevlyani never built a town on the shore since the fall of Woostin. That’s why your main sources of water are springs and rains.”

“That’s a fascinating fairytale which sounds like an elaborate warning to not stay near rivers for long. Don’t draw the attention of wodby. They can be terrifying. But I doubt the whole thing is truth. And how is it related to our mission?”

“You’ve just answered all your questions. I’ll show you how the lore could help in war.”

Two armies were passing through Odwitchni. Armored riders with features slightly hazy were gliding on the surface of a forest pond, a squad after squad of armed reflections. Their real counterparts were moving slowly above, on the narrow passage between a whole green wall of ancient trees and the body of water.

“What’s wrong? You didn’t say a word for the whole day,” one of militia asked a comrade who rode beside him.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“My cousin… I spent my whole childhood with him, as if we were blood brothers. He was killed. I received the news with the latest runner we met.”

“I’m sorry. Damned invaders! Soon we’ll make them pay.”

“He wasn’t killed by a foreigner. The word was he died by a hand of militiaman from Khladnetz.”

“How low did they fall. Murdering own kin as beasts do. Listen, Trived. Soon we will reach Khladnetz. Soon we will make them pay for all the atrocities. With the help of Guardian their diversions did not stop us. Now nothing will save them. No space left to maneuver. Just few…”

The warrior was cut off by shouts from the head of the force. Unintelligible at first, they soon turned into words.

“Wodby! Wodby are upon us!”

“Curses! And I thought the forest will leave us alone.”

The disturbance seemed to come from the pond, which was still several dozen steps ahead of Trived and his friend. The tight road did not allow them to ride onwards and assist fellow warriors, so the only choice was to wait.

They waited when screams of pain exploded not so far away.

They waited when bakhmats started to panic.

They waited, doing their best to keep the animals calm.

They waited when the ranks before them shifted, suggesting the skirmish which wasn’t yet seen.

They waited.

They waited some more thought the time that oozed like honey.

Then the mount just in front of Trived reared, throwing its rider down.

Between the broken ranks creatures charged. Mocking the human form, their bodies were made of mud, soil, algae.

Trived swung his sword at one of them. The thing parried with a dirty cleaver, slamming its shield of corroded metal into man’s hip. Next moment it dragged the shocked warrior out of the saddle.

His friend tried to save Trived, but was cut off by more creatures that seemed to swarm from all sides.

“Retreat! Retreat!” rang the order through the air.

The warrior hesiated. He pulled reigns to ride back. Then he stopped and pushed to help the fallen comrade. Then he pulled back again. Then forth once more. Finally, with a heavy heart, he turned and rode alongside the retreating force.

He did not look back, but heard wodby murder those who were not quick to disengage. Yet none of them pursued. Perhaps, monsters were satisfied with defending their territory.

Another good man lost. Those in Khladnetz should pay, thought he. Today the price became heavier once again, thought he. Now it’s my duty to make them pay it, thought he.

When the enemy troops vanished behind curls of the road, Ymdaton commenced to cleaning his armour of mud.

“That was a nice work,” said a militiamen beside him, who was equally dirty.

“You did well too,” smiled Ymdaton, “I’m glad my training worked, you became ferocious warriors. No mercy, no doubts.”

“How did you come up with this, it is a wonderful idea, breathing through it” said the man raising a hand with a stick of reed in it.

“A friend showed me it,” answered Ymdaton.

“We halted their advance for some time. It will be several days before they dare to pass this lake by again.”

“Yes, but they will come eventually. It is at most eight days before siege begins. Then we all will have a true opportunity to prove ourselves.”