By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (19 page)

         Princess grabbed Lord Andrelin by the
pant leg, refusing to let him enter his own abode:  she would let him do just
about anything, but she would not let him kick her.  “Get this dog off of me,”
he screamed.  When the driver went to help his lord, Selric hung from the sill
and dropped to the one below, and from there onto the padded driver’s bench of
the coach.  The driver turned when he heard the noise, but saw nothing:  Selric
had already slipped around the corner.  “Not you, idiot.  You watch that damn
window,” the lord yelled at his driver.  “You get out here,” he said to the
footmen inside.

         By the time Lord Andrelin reached his
room, the Lady had brushed her hair, fixed her face paints, and removed her
garments.  She pulled down the covers to reveal, this time, her voluptuous
naked form.  Lord Andrelin searched the room, then finding nothing, obliged his
wife.  He may have been angry, but she was still one of the most beautiful of
the noble matrons in the city.  It was he whom she really loved, and with her
exciting and secret affair over, she could now make love to her husband.  If
her fling with Selric was indeed true, it mattered little to the lord there in
their bed:  she was still
his
wife.

         Dirk had been preoccupied all week; thoughts
of Cinder, Melissa, his job, his plans, adventuring, Jenderson, even Fiona all
bothered him.  Before he realized, it had been another four days since he had
seen Cinder, or even Melissa, diligence in doing his job to his best ability
kept him busy.  But Melissa, unlike Cinder, did not get angry or worried if he
failed to visit at regular intervals. 

         Dirk sometimes wondered if the only
reason he wanted to see Cinder was for the sex.  But soon after such thoughts
entered his head he would realize there was more to his desire to be with her
than purely the physical.  Like a beautiful park, or fancy inn, where people
liked to go just for the atmosphere, Dirk liked to be with her.  She was
sophisticated, enjoyable company, beautiful, and
she
liked
him
.

         Melissa was quiet and uncomplicated of
personality.  Dirk was more comfortable with her, able with Melissa to simply
be himself, knowing that he never needed to impress her.  Melissa did not force
him to do anything or to be a certain way.  Cinder needed to be happy, to be
pleased and entertained, or so Dirk imagined for she had never claimed as much. 
Melissa was content with what they decided to do each visit, whatever that
might be.  Dirk preferred neither of them, and loved both.

         With such complications troubling his
mind Dirk came down to the ground floor of Bessemer’s, trying to decide what he
was going to do, and with whom, that night.  And then there was his almost
constant search for the troublesome creature filching items from the store, or
sometimes just moving them around to be a nuisance.  Dirk wasn’t sure what it
was:  a boggart, a brownie, a boggle, a sprite and wasn’t sure he even knew the
difference.  On a few occasions, usually at night, Dirk spied something, just
out of the corner of his vision, small and man-like, which quickly darted
around the nearest corner and when Dirk gave chase found the critter had
disappeared.  Sometimes Dirk would spend long boring hours chasing knocking
sounds when he knew the spirit, or spirits, was simply leading him on fruitless
searches.  

         While searching, for lack of anything
more concrete to do while making his security sweep, Dirk saw a man, taller
even than he, looking this way then that.  He was powerfully built, not like
Dirk but in a desperate, rough way, his bones lean, but muscles well toned and
healthy; like a storm waiting to break.  Dirk stuffed the last two bites of his
left-over-from-yesterday sausage wedged into a slice of coarse bread into his
mouth and drained his mug of ale that he had filled from a keg in his room.  He
stalked down the next aisle to come up behind the scrubby miscreant.  Dirk
mistakenly had not noticed if the man was armed.  But it was Andrelia and
almost every male citizen carried some form of lethal protection, except where
restricted, such as the most expensive taverns, many temples and government
buildings.

         Moving as quietly as he could, Dirk
turned the corner but was there surprised by the unshaven face of the stranger
glaring back at him, mere inches away.  Dirk was dumbfounded.  “Can...can, I
help you?” he stuttered, stepping back.  The stranger’s bright green eyes
softened and he smiled as if he knew Dirk’s plan.

         “Yes.  Yes you can,” he said.  “I’m
looking for arms.”

         “Don’t you have two?” Dirk mused,
unintentionally trying his sense of humor, or more accurately, Fiona’s.  He
realized then that it did not work for him as well as for the spry young
bodyguard.  Dirk’s laughter died when the man turned away.  But Dirk thought
that he had caught the glint of a smile on his face, or maybe it was a sneer. 
Dirk wasn’t sure.

         The stranger walked to the weapons
section.  Dirk wondered how this man knew where the weapons were, and if that
was what he wanted why was he not there already.  The stranger picked up a
large sword much like Dirk’s, from the rack bearing blades of all makes and
sizes and pointed it at him.  Dirk felt naked; vulnerable.  “Will he run me
through?” he wondered.  “I’d never get my sword out in time.”

         “How did you know where the weapons
section was?”  Dirk asked, hoping that talking would hide his apprehension.

         “I’ve been here before.”

         “I would’ve remembered you,” he said. 
Dirk could not guess the man’s age.  He appeared to be perhaps forty years of
age, but Dirk wasn’t sure.  Young and old, both, it seemed, his build that of a
young man, but the weathering of his whole countenance that of an old one.

         “It’s not nice to doubt a customer. 
Especially one with gold,” the man said calmly, jingling a pouch full of
coins. 

         “You’re right.  I’m sorry.  But it
is
my job,” Dirk tried to explain.  Dirk believed that his instincts about people
were usually right:  if this man meant him harm, Dirk would feel it.  Anyone
who looked so harsh should have made him feel more on edge.  The stranger did
not.  There was some dark charisma there.  Maybe it was his enchanting eyes, or
maybe because that under that scrubby growth of a beard there was a handsome
face.  There were no scars and no permanent sneer that Dirk felt some evil-doer
would bear, just the look of a hard life and a long road of sad memories.

         “No harm done,” the stranger said.  “Now
how about these weapons?” he asked, turning and picking another. 

         They spent some time going through the
selection together.  The stranger seemed skilled in many as he moved with them,
turning them all about, testing their balance and weight.  Dirk was jealous; he
could barely master one weapon.  He half-imagined this man as an heir to a lost
kingdom, or a hero of the Wild.  Dirk thought the man might be special in some
way, but in all likelihood it was just Dirk’s imagination making more of him
than was true.

         “What do you need these for?” Dirk asked,
pausing.  “I mean, so I know how to help you.  Are you going into the Wild? 
Are you a guard?”

         “No, neither.  Enough of the Wild for
me.  How about you?” he asked, testing the tip of a small knife on the end of
his finger for balance, the blade standing upright upon his fingertip.

         “Oh yeah!  I’d like to,” Dirk said
eagerly.  “It would be grand.”  He took out his sword and swung it.  The
stranger chuckled.

         “You certainly have a big enough sword
and arm for the Wild,” he said.  “Trolls will flee at the sight of you.”  Dirk
shuddered at the thought of trolls.  “Oh trolls?  You know that ages-old
saying:  The bigger they are, the harder they fall?”

         “Yes?” Dirk asked attentively.

         “It isn’t true.  It should say:  the
harder they are to fell.”

         “Yeah, I believe it,” Dirk said, nodding,
a bit of fear coming to him, though his trip to the Wild, if it ever came, was
still far enough off that he needn’t worry.

         “Dirk, there is nothing grand about
adventures in the Wild.  The Wild is a lonely place.  There are many things
more grand,” he said as if lecturing a child. 

         “Like what?” asked Dirk skeptically.

         “Hearth and home, boy.”  He paused as he
looked at the small sword he was then holding as if remembering.  “Hearth and
home,” he murmured.

         “Now you sound like a friend of mine.”

         “How’s that?”

         “Oh, she wants to get married.  Hearth
and home, you know,” Dirk said nonchalantly.

         “There are worse things than marriage,”
the stranger said with a hungry grin.

         “Like what?” Dirk asked.

         “Loneliness.  Having no home.”

         “You could stay here,” Dirk blurted then
realized that he must have really sounded stupid and immature.  He didn’t know
what it was that drew him to the stranger.  Perhaps, he thought, that since
meeting Cinder and Melissa and feeling so close to them for no reason, that it
was the same with this man.  “I mean, if you have nowhere else to stay.  I
could offer you a job.”

         “Oh, I have somewhere.  But thank you. 
Now, I think, I’d better be going.”

         “Well,” said Dirk, feeling embarrassed at
his own forwardness and afraid he had chased the man off.  “If you need
anything else, I can get it for you with my discount.”

         “That’s kind of you,” the man said as he
studied him.  It made Dirk uncomfortable.  “How did you remain this way?” he
asked cryptically.

         “Eh?” Dirk asked in confusion.

         “Innocent…friendly,” the man said, his
face expressionless.  Dirk scowled, being called innocent equal to being
labeled weak in his mind.  “I will probably be back to see you.  Take care and
be wary, Dirk.”

         “How do you know my name?” Dirk asked,
now having heard it twice.

         “I asked before I saw you,” he said with
a laugh.  “You’re skeptical.  That’s good.  Perhaps she was right after all.”                                                   

         “Right?  Who?” Dirk asked.

         “Oh no one you know.  An old friend of
mine.  I think she went off as a priestess to some monastery far to the north.”

         “Then how does she know me?  What is she
right about?”

         “So many questions!” the man said with a
light laugh.

         “Well, at least, what is your name?”

         “It’s really not that important; names
and such.”

         “Well let’s pick your weapons and...”
Dirk said, looking briefly at the weapon racks.  When he turned, the man was
gone.  Dirk ran to the door:  the desk girl was sitting there as usual. 
“Janet, did a tall guy come by here?” he asked excitedly.

         “Gee, no Dirk.  Nobody’s come by here in
ten minutes,” she said.  “Hey, would you like to go...” Dirk did not hear her,
as he ran off to try and find the mysterious stranger, but there was no trace
of him.

         Selric was dressed and ready to go when
Andria came back from the bath.  “Oh, don’t go, Selric, not yet.  One more
time.  Please, please.  I’ll be real nice, let me show you.”  Selric knew her
behavior was peculiar, but he undressed again anyway.  He thought her
friendliness was an effort to get him to return to her more often, and to
forgive her.  He hadn’t seen Andria in well over two years:  since before
leaving overseas.  She had caused a great deal of trouble by claiming,
publicly, that she carried Selric’s child, thought such was physically
impossible. 

         Selric and his brother were, through the
use of magic, unable to produce children, in order to prevent just such an
instance.  When married and ready to further their line, their vitality would
be restored via the same magical process, but reversed of course.  Though it
was impossible for Andria to be pregnant with Selric’s child, gossip ran
rampant and the Stormweather name was temporarily slandered.  But the disgrace
lasted only until another family had their own travesty, which was not, as was
usual, any longer than a week.  Nonetheless, Selric’s father and grandfather
were irate and this was one of the incidents which led to Selric’s internship
in navigation.  But when Selric saw Andria that day, her past crime seemed just
a hazy dream for she had always been a warm and passionate lover.  How could he
blame her for her desperation?  Her beauty and allure were all he could think
about.  He did not know, however, that she had been plotting revenge since the
day that he threatened to never see her again.

         Andria tried to please Selric for a long
time and seemed extremely eager to make him happy.  Just when it took a little
too long, and when she kept sighing and looking at the door, Selric rose,
preparing to leave.  Before he could dress, in walked a man:  large, mean, ugly
and carrying a sword which he promptly drew. 

         “Dunston, help me.  He made me do it,”
Andria whined, cowering.  Selric rolled back over the bed just as the blade
came slashing down, sending a spray of mattress feathers into the air.  He
looked down at Selric’s naked form and said with rage, “I’ll cut it off.”