The Moon Child

by Mark Lucek

  Behind the line of armoured woyaks a few archers drew their bows, but the Karzełek hardly flinched, the shields motionless as the arrows slid harmlessly past. When she next dared to look, the woyaks were almost upon them. The Karzełek battle cries rang in the air as they loosened their throwing spears or made ready with clubs or axes.

  One of the Karzełek stepped forward and, at the last moment, hurled his spear at Grunmir. But the old woyak kept his wits and, even as the spear shaft left the Karzełek’s hand, he had already begun to turn. It was not the daintiest of moves but it was enough to allow the spear to glance off his armour, the tip scraping across his mail in a rasp of metal and a shower of sparks. It had been a heavy throw and the old woyak’s stride faltered under the blow, but Fang was far more agile and, even as he turned, the blade swept through the air to slice deep into the Karzełek’s neck, biting across the windpipe so that it fell in a spray of blood and gore. The snakes died too, spitting out their poison with a final hiss.

  As he neared the group, Grunmir slowed whilst the other woyaks rushed past. Iwa couldn’t look as the sounds of battle closed in around her, the roar of Karzełek mixed with the cries of men. Over to one side the Karzełek felled the next post and Iwa sensed that the barrier had weakened. Lord Bethrayal roared, his spirit crying out in his anguish to be revenged. Quickly, the Karzełek set about uprooting another post, but the woyaks were on them, a spear catching the leader in the temple as he turned to face the foe, his snakes flashing their fangs in a final act of defiance. The rest fared better; a woyak fell clutching his face, blood pouring through his fingers.

  There was another flight of arrows, some of them falling so close that Iwa had little choice other than to duck behind the shields. Where has Miskyia got to? As soon as the arrows stopped, she couldn’t help but peer around the edge of the shields, but there was no sign of the woman. Miskyia can take care of herself, but will she have time for me? Iwa shivered: she doubted that she could bind the Lord Bethrayal by herself. At least the battle appeared to be going well – two woyaks had fallen under Karzełek clubs and a third lay dying, the shattered remnants of a spear spilling his guts on the floor. Suddenly the world crackled around her, her vision blurring as if she had been pulled underwater.

  She was no longer on the ground, but high above the battle with the barrier blazing all around. She saw through Lord Bethrayal’s eyes, felt his pain and his anger, the frustration mounting as he crashed against the barrier. But this time it began to bulge, the magic stretched thin as, down below, the animal skulls winced and the fires burnt low. Then there was an almighty crash.

  Iwa blinked, her cheek stinging as a spear battered one of the shields, the force of the blow quivering through the hide. With a howl of rage the Karzełek lurched forward, but a savage bark from his mate stopped him and the shield held firm. She hardly noticed. Part of her was with Lord Bethrayal as the woyaks turned and fled before him. There was a sharp ringing sound as a stone mace shattered the skull of a fleeing woyak in a shower of tiny fragments.

  Only Grunmir remained, four Karzełek closing in on him. Then she realised why he’d slowed before the attack. Unlike the other woyaks, Grunmir kept his shield strapped to his back as, in both hands, he wielded a battle axe. With a roar the Karzełek charged, but Grunmir kept his nerve, the axe blade dancing through the air as he sang his battle song, his eyes filled with bloodlust and anger. A Karzełek thrust out with his spear, but Grunmir dodged and whirled the axe round to narrowly miss his opponent. However, one of the snakes had been too eager and its head flew off into the night.

  As the axe flew past, the Karzełek struck, the spear point driven up towards Grunmir’s throat. With an almost unbelievable speed, the axe whipped round to slice through the Karzełek’s skull. The creature stepped forward, a look of amazement across its face, the spear tip still thrust upward, but Grunmir had already turned aside. Almost serenely the Karzełek dropped to the ground, the spear falling from its hands. With a howl of rage the other Karzełek pressed forward, their shields locked together.

  One of them lunged, shield raised to parry the axe blow, spear ready for the thrust into Grunmir’s gut once the axe had been knocked aside, but the axe head drove hard into his shield and shattered it while the blade took off his head in one swift blow. Now it was Grunmir who advanced, his axe smashing through blood and bone, ripping the hide shields to shreds until he stood alone, the bodies of the Karzełek scattered about him.

  Above her Iwa could sense her guards’ rage, their shields quivering as they fought back the desire to kill. Suddenly the Karzełek raised their spears: Grunmir was coming for them. But as he neared, a third stepped forward, his club flailing wildly. Grunmir turned to meet the new threat, his head ducking back as the club whizzed past his face. Still the axe continued its dance as the snakes reared, ready to strike should Grunmir’s guard fall. There was a spear thrust at his neck, swift and deadly for all the Karzełek’s bulk, but Grunmir stepped aside. It was just enough to let the blade slip harmlessly past and for the axe to swing behind the Karzełek shield and slice through the armpit.

  As his opponent fell, Grunmir stepped forward, axe at the ready as he faced Iwa’s guards. Then he began to run, not towards the group, but away. Up above, there was a piteous rending as the barrier collapsed and Lord Bethrayal pushed into the camp, Wislaw’s magic torn in shreds before him. Iwa sensed his triumph as the grass withered beneath his feet.

  ‘Keep with the Lord Bethrayal,’ Miskyia said, kneeling by Iwa’s side.

  ‘I thought you’d been killed.’

  ‘I have my ways and means of protection. You’ll have to keep close to Lord Bethrayal, if you are to bind him.’

  ‘But how? It’s not as if anybody’s ever told me about the craft or spells and things.’

  ‘You’ll know when the time comes: your magic will guide you as it has always done.’

  ‘As it has always done?’ Even amid all the gore Iwa couldn’t help but smile, as if her magic had ever been that kind. She’d never had anything much to do with it, or any sense how to control it, or how Miskyia was supposed to help. What am I doing here? Behind her smile the panic raged. Her only thought had been to save Yaroslav as quickly as possible and now she was in too deep.

  ‘Go now.’ Miskyia motioned for the Karzełek around her to advance. Iwa was about to follow, but the witch held her back. ‘Let the Lord Bethrayal wreak his vengeance on the woyaks, but beware of the priest.’ With that, she turned to the Karzełek who had stood guard over her, but they were hesitant, unsure of risking Iwa’s life. Miskyia motioned again, more urgently this time as slowly the Karzełek began to move forward. ‘Remember,’ she shouted over the din, ‘you are the anchor that keeps him to this world. You cannot let him get away too far or else the link will weaken!’

  And then I’ll not be able to bind him when the time comes. Iwa fought against a rising tide of doubt and uncertainty. She was lost, the din of battle closing in all around her as she knelt on the ground and trembled. Two of the Karzełek remained, their shields drawn round her, blocking out the light.

  In the camp all was confusion as the woyaks turned and ran, or else dropped to their knees in mumbled prayer. In the centre of the camp, Krol Gawel stood surrounded by a group of his most loyal woyaks, his goat-heads banner fluttering above them. Even now there was a sense of calm about him, his sword drawn, tip resting on the ground, as he waited for the fate that would bind him to his doom.

  Instinctively Lord Bethrayal turned, anger burning through his body as he made for the group. Down below, Iwa had no choice other than to follow. Somehow she knew that she would have to bind him soon. If only I knew how.

  She could see through the eyes of Lord Bethrayal as, on the ground before him, a woyak turned to run, his shield clattering across the ground in his eagerness to escape. As he fled, he turned to cast a spear over his shoulder, the shaft burning to ash as it flew. Even the iron blade melted through the air, the sight so unexpected that the woyak pau
sed. That was his mistake. In one swift motion the figure of Lord Bethrayal bent down and swamped him, the woyak’s screams turning to a whimper as his life flowed warmly away. The husk of his body was thrown down amongst the fleeing woyaks.

  Iwa glanced round. It was almost impossible to see anything in the dark and the confusion, but at least the prison ships appeared unharmed. Let’s hope that Katchka and the others have the good sense to keep their heads down. But what about Yaroslav’s hut? It was too dark to see anything. Near her a pile of sacks blazed, sending up a thick pall of smoke which only added to the confusion. She clung to the Karzełek guards, the temptation to run and find Yaroslav growing with each breath. What if he were wounded, or worse?

  Now the wolf-head horns fell silent and toppled as their musicians turned and fled. Even the Karzełek backed away. Only Krol Gawel stood his ground. ‘So you have come to face me at last!’ He raised his great sword. ‘Then let us fight, champion to champion, and I shall send you back to whatever dung pit spawned you, and you can sing there of the courage of Krol Gawel!’

  The clubfooted boy stood by his master’s side, but Krol Gawel pushed him away and turned to face the form of Lord Bethrayal alone, his great sword slicing through the air.

  There was a splinter of light and the air turned molten around her as Iwa raised her hands to her face and screamed. Then the world turned to pitch and folded in on her. When she next dared to look, Krol Gawel was alone. What’s happened to Bethrayal?

  From above them there was a terrible roar. Iwa looked up as the form of Lord Bethrayal lurched over her. Suddenly the entire camp exploded into motion, everyone running to escape the figure as it howled through the chaos. Then the Karzełek attacked.

  Now she was in the thick of battle; spears clattered against the Karzełeks’ shields. What had happened? Somehow the link with Lord Bethrayal had been broken, she could feel it fade, the roar of the firmament howling around her. Now he was helpless, his body flailing blindly as he circled out in his terror and his pain.

  An arrow flew through the air and caught one of the Karzełek in the leg so that he almost collapsed on top of her. Without a pause, her remaining guard picked her up and backed away. They were pressed up against the side of one of the ships. Iwa ducked behind the Karzełek shield. Then she caught sight of Wislaw.

  He was standing by Krol Gawel’s ship, a wreath of woven straw in his hands as he muttered a prayer to whichever gods he worshipped. Still he was trying to hold his barrier, the spells dancing frantically around him as he clutched the totem to him, the prayers dry on his lips. Of course he could see the form of Lord Bethrayal before him, the barrier broken and torn and, even if he’d managed to resurrect the barrier, it would only have served to trap the Lord Bethrayal inside. But the terror had taken hold of Wislaw, and he didn’t know what else to do. The wreath trembled in his hand, the sacred runes of Piórun drawn on a leather band wound across the top.

  Two woyaks stood flanking him, bathed in blood, their spear tips gleaming as they looked in horror at the form that reared before them. There was nothing else to do – their eyes stared wildly as they tried to comprehend the figure, their spears drooping uselessly in their hands.

  Then Bethrayal was gone! Iwa felt a blow, her whole body aching as if someone had stabbed her in the chest. He’s managed to break the link. Somewhere far behind, the form of Lord Bethrayal howled. She could almost feel those ancient spells left to keep him prisoner as they wove about the old priest and, without him even knowing, twisted his magic to their own ends.

  ‘We’ve got to stop him!’ She pointed, but the Karzełek took no notice as his shield moved to protect her. ‘You don’t understand. It’s the priest, Wislaw, he’s behind all this.’ But the power of the spells only grew; she could almost hear them chuckle as they wove about the form of Lord Bethrayal, ready to drag him to that vast blackness. ‘He’s the bridge,’ she yelled, ‘they’re using him to come into this world!’

  But the Karzełek still stood dumbly by her side. Then, one of the woyaks who stood by the old priest looked up, his eyes filled with bloodlust and fury. In the din and confusion it took her a moment to realise that it was Eber. Across the battlefield their eyes locked, a grim look of hate playing across his face. ‘We have to get away,’ Iwa yelled, but it was too late, the woyak had already charged. He’d obviously been in the thick of the fight already, his armour matted with blood and gore.

  One of the Karzełek broke away to meet his charge, his battle club whirling through the air, but Eber ducked and the blow fell short. The woyak turned swiftly, the spear thrust for the Karzełek’s unguarded flank, but, at the last moment, the shield swung round to catch the blade. Eber spun, the blow ringing through his arms as he fought for balance. Turning, the Karzełek unleashed the full fury of the club in a blow that almost caught the side of Eder’s helm. Some instinct must have guided the woyak because, almost without realising, he stepped back, nearly toppling as the club tore past his face, the snakes ready to strike. If the Karzełek had been faster then it could have caught the man whilst he still struggled, but the creature’s bulk told against it and those few precious seconds were enough for the man to regain his balance. The snakes hissed out their anger as the Karzełek closed in on Eber. Once or twice the spear lashed out, ready to catch the Karzełek in the face – each time the shield managed to fend off the blow, but not enough so that it could twist the spear clean away and leave the man exposed for a counter strike.

  The snakes drew back, ready to spit out their venom, but Eber was careful to keep out of their reach as he weighed up his opponent, a smile playing on his lips. Then, suddenly, he stepped aside. The Karzełek was quick to counter the move, his body turning to bring the whole weight of his shield round, ready for the blow. For a second the shield crossed the Karzełek’s face and then Eber struck. In one swift movement he danced back, the spear reaching behind the shield as the Karzełek recognised the danger too late. In a fountain of blood the iron tip drove under the ribs.

  Around the thing’s neck, the snakes hissed, the closest striking out in its death throes, but the fangs found only the helm. Yet Eber, with his single arm, wasn’t strong enough to land the killing blow, so he had to crash against the Karzełek and bring his full body weight behind the tip.

  His hand slipped along the shaft but it was enough for the blade to cut deep to the heart. If they hadn’t been caught in their death throes, the snakes would maybe have struck, but they were spent, their bodies writhing and the venom spitting from their fangs.

  Then Eber turned, his face still filled with bloodlust and fury. Putting his foot on the dead Karzełek he withdrew the spear and gazed at Iwa, who shrank back from that terrible look. Desperately she looked round for an avenue of escape, but there was nothing but smoke and confusion.

  Eber ran forward, a grim look on his face. Whether he guessed the truth or he was too carried away with bloodlust to care for anything but death and slaughter, she would never know. She fell back on the ground, helpless before him as slowly he raised his spear.

  ‘Eber…’ she began to plead, but there was a far-off look in his eyes as if he no longer really comprehended what he saw. She tried to get up but slipped on the mud, and the spear point raised, preparing to strike.

  Caught up in his bloodlust he didn’t even notice the Karzełek behind him. Eber’s brains were dashed out in a fountain of gore as the mace cracked open his battle helm and his body toppled to the floor. It was all Iwa could do to roll away so that he didn’t fall on her, his spear point missing her by inches as he hit the mud by her side. She had to get up, and quickly. She’d had enough of this place. Her face and hair were matted with blood and ichor.

  Before her the Karzełek who had killed Eber stood, his club trembling in his hand as he looked down at her. And, for a second, the club hovered as if he was deciding whether to kill her or not, that ancient enmity playing across his face.

  ‘I have to keep the link with Lord Bethrayal!’ she screamed,
though she wasn’t certain if the Karzełek had understood a word. She could sense Lord Bethrayal, feel his blind fury as he staggered through the camp, ready to kill all who crossed his path. A pang of fear ran cold in the pit of her stomach. What if he should turn on the women, or Yaroslav?

  ‘He’ll kill us all!’ she said. Slowly the Karzełek let the club fall to his side. Then he turned, his great shield drawn over her. In the distance she head the roar of the Lord Bethrayal, and with it came the echo of the firmament. She could feel it rage about him, the darkness waiting to claim him.

  Somehow she had to rebuild the bridge, if only she knew how. Miskyia, where was she? For all she knew the sorceress could be dead by now. She tried to trace the pattern of the craft that swelled around her, the spells dancing wildly without reason or rhyme. She had to tame them, bend them to her will.

  Suddenly a spear clattered against the shield and, with a roar, the Karzełek lashed out at a young woyak. He must have been sleeping before the attack because he hadn’t finished putting on his armour, the straps hanging loose from the leathers as he ducked beneath the Karzełek’s blow. He was young and quick and, as the Karzełek struggled to bring his shield to bear, he struck to catch his opponent in the chest. Caught off balance, it was all the Karzełek could do to swing the butt of his club in an arc so that it rang from the side of the woyak’s shield, but the blow landed hard enough to bring the boy to his knees. With a roar the Karzełek lashed out his club again, hungry for the woyak’s throat. Iwa couldn’t see what happened next but suddenly the Karzełek slid to the ground, the broken end of the woyak’s spear protruding from his gut.