By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (25 page)

         Amber was a high class escort who Cinder
had met a few weeks earlier at a beauty house where they were both being
catered to.  To Dirk’s disapproval, she introduced Cinder to her clientele. 
Cinder, ostensibly finding information on the thief, had gone out every night
with a different rich, influential gentleman, aristocrat, or priest.  Her room
was decorated with flowers, gifts, and even a second wardrobe overflowing with
new clothing:  presents from her admirers.  She insisted to Dirk that she was
not a prostitute, but it wasn’t polite to refuse gifts.

         “Hi,” Cinder and Amber said in unison,
smiling gorgeously.  Amber was beautiful, almost as much as Cinder, Dirk thought. 
If she had possessed the elven mystique she might have rivaled her dark haired
friend.  Amber was blonde with green eyes, in her twenties, with a truly
womanly body:  large breasts and a curvaceous hour-glass shape.  She was nearly
as tall as Cinder; her hips wider than the slender half-Faerie, and her legs
not quite as long.  But they both had long soft hair and delicate skin, wore
face paints, perfume, and beautiful form-flattering clothing.  Just by
appearance, Dirk could tell they were very much alike.

         “Hi,” he replied unemotionally.  Though
Amber liked Dirk very much, he didn’t care for prostitutes and he especially
hated the fact that, as he believed, Amber was introducing Cinder to it.

         “You remember Amber, don’t you Dirk?”
Cinder asked.  Amber smiled.

         “We have to go,” Dirk said. 

         Amber gazed at her friend.  “Look,
Cinder; I have to go, too.  Remember tomorrow...eight bells,” she said.  Amber
threw on a cloak and walked past Dirk, still smiling, though her face showed
disappointment.  “Good-bye Dirk.  It was nice to see you again.”

         “Bye,” he said coldly and Cinder glared
at him.

         “Wait, Amber.  You should have an
escort.  Walk with us.  Right, Dirk?” Cinder said, the rare determination in
her voice cowing the young man.  Amber declined but Cinder insisted and they
all left together, Dirk with a lovely woman on each arm. 

         A few short blocks from Cinder’s home
near the water the fire bells began to ring and the glow of a fire lit the
sky.  Fire could devastate a city, especially in the docks section where nearly
every building was made solely of timber.  “Let’s go by there!” Dirk said
excitedly, I love to see them work.”  Amber said nothing but Cinder was
curious.  A raging fire in the city could be catastrophic, so why was the
honest and sweet Dirk so excited and wanting to get closer to it.

         In a few moments they came within sight
of the tall burning building and Cinder spied men and women floating in midair or
flying around the building, half a dozen of them.  Rays of icy cold came from
fingers and shot web-like strands that melted into raining mists.  And magical walls
of water would form above the building and rain down.  Soon the fire was but a
foul smelling memory. 

         “Wizards?” Cinder asked in awe as Dirk led
the women back along their path into the more affluent parts of the city. 

         “Yes,” Amber said.  “Many of the city’s
mages and priests volunteer to serve on a fire brigade of sorts.  They
understand a fire out of control could soon reach their towers or temples, and
though most of those have magic wards to prevent fire, their owners would
probably not want to test such wards.”

         “Oh and they are paid by the city for
their service,” Dirk scoffed.  “They don’t do it out of the goodness of their
hearts, I am sure.”

         “You never can tell what is in someone’s
truest heart, Dirk,” Cinder said, holding him close and again they strolled on
in silence.  Amber walked nearly halfway to
The Unicorn’s Run
before
stopping at the gate of a rich estate.  A plaque on the wall read: “Jezrah
Parker, Judge.”  She was admitted and shown inside without a glance back. 

         Dirk shook his head.  “A judge,” he said
in a disgusted tone.

         “He’s only human.  Everyone needs
companionship,” Cinder said.

         “Then let them get it the normal way. 
They shouldn’t buy it.  Why would they even want to be with someone who is
there only for the money?”

         Cinder shrugged.  “It’s not like that,
Dirk.  Not many men are like you and can get any woman they want.”

         “I can’t get any woman I want.” 

         Cinder looked objectionably at him.  “Nonetheless,
maybe they just want to be seen with an attractive, well-dressed woman.  It
isn’t always sex.  Many times not at all.” 

         ”I don’t want to talk about it!” Dirk
said and they walked on silently, being the last two to arrive for their
meeting.  The other three companions smiled when Dirk and Cinder stepped in,
and were sitting in the corner booth they had designated as ‘their’ place since
first going there.  After ordering a round of drinks and greeting each other,
Selric eagerly began.

         “Here’s what I found out,” he started. 
“It seems that one of my contacts has seen the thief near the palace at least
half-a-dozen times, always looking around suspiciously.  Then he scales the
outer wall, avoids the guards and traps set for such intruders, and climbs the
palace itself.  So, I thought we could cover the palace and hopefully grab him
before he gets over the wall.  The temples might be random, but his visits to
the palace seem not to be.  Remember though, we do not want to chase him
inside.  We’d find ourselves in the dungeon if we get caught in there.  My
source also gave a description matching the person Melissa saw:  little guy,
big cloak.”

         “What’s the plan?” Dirk and Melissa asked
almost simultaneously.

         “I thought we would put Mel on the roof here,”
he said, since they were very near the palace; just down the street in fact. 
“Fiona, Dirk, and I will spread out around the palace and wait for him.  Maybe
Melissa will see him and she can yell to direct us in a coordinated effort.”

         “He’s never struck before midnight, but
he’s unpredictable,” Fiona added.  “I think we should go out at, let’s say
eleven.  Any comments?”  No one spoke.  They sat and, except for Cinder, drank
sparingly, passing the time in quiet conversation and dancing,
The Run
having
musicians within most nights to entertain guests.  Dirk and Selric danced with
each of the three women at least once:  Selric with Melissa under Dirk’s
supervision.  Dirk spent most of his floor time with Melissa who felt awkward
and openly hated dancing:  in fact, she would not dance unless taught how
first, afraid to embarrass herself.  The other three friends, all skilled in
the art, spent the night providing Dirk and Melissa with instruction, Selric
and Fiona or Selric and Cinder on the floor demonstrating every step patiently
for Dirk and Melissa to follow.  At eleven bell tolls from the clock, Melissa
went up to the roof and the others went outside and picked their own spots
strategically around the palace wall.  Cinder, with her friends leaving, spent
her time with some of the pleasure girls she had befriended.

         Melissa paced the perimeter of the roof,
bow in hand.  She had her hair tied back in one tail so that her ears were
uncovered and she could thus hear more easily, though she did not believe he
would come that night.  None of them did.  But they had to wait that and every
night until he did come.  But in the end, they were not disappointed.  That
first night, after one bell, he came.  He had not struck, but he did come to
deposit loot from an earlier haul.  Melissa did not see him initially:  she had
been on the other side of the building when he passed below, near Fiona.

         Fiona pulled the mace from her belt and
closed in on the skulking figure as he slipped through the deep shadows, but he
stole around a corner and over the wall before she could seize him.  Selric,
perched on a second story ledge, saw the thief enter the palace grounds and he
jumped down and, against his own advice, climbed quickly after him.  It was
only a short run to the wall of the palace proper and Selric crossed it so
quickly that he was not seen.  In the towering multitude of spires, he saw a
flitting figure disappear over a rooftop high above.  Selric located proper
handholds, started his ascension and just as he topped the crest, he saw the
cloak disappearing; this time over another roof of the same height, but many
ledges and peaks lay between the climbers.

         Selric danced across the roofs, dodging
wire alarms and razor blade barriers set in tracks, designed to funnel intruders
to specific points which were always under observation.  It was hard to move
against these grooves, but his acrobatic ability gave Selric enough skill to do
so, albeit slowly, and he did not think he had yet been seen.  As Selric came
hurriedly around another corner, he almost stumbled over a figure caught
totally by surprise as he sat hunched over sacks filled with stolen relics. 
The thief drew a small blade and tried to stick Selric in the leg.  Before the
thief could strike, Selric kicked the weapon from his hand and, in the same
motion, kicked him under the jaw.  The little man was sent sprawling backward,
narrowly missing a line of the razor blades.

         The thief reached over and purposely
pulled one of the warning wires.  Loud bells began to ring and, in the
confusion, he tried to escape.  Selric was on the thief and soon had him in the
immobilizing hold he had learned in the East, just as a trapdoor opened less
than fifty feet from where they were.  Several guards crawled out, crossbows in
hand.  Though Selric identified himself and his prisoner, both were taken
roughly into custody and down several flights of stairs before being
separated.  Selric was soon questioned, the thief identified, and Selric
released.

         The great thief’s name was Nathan Weathersby
and he had been burglarizing Andrelia for years, noble homes at first, and then
temples.  In the end Nathan would be sentenced to several years in jail, his
personal wealth confiscated by the government and everything stolen promptly
returned.  As for the group, they were given the offered rewards in a ceremony
the following day attended by many nobles of the court and the clergy of all
the temples and cathedrals that had fallen victim to the outlandish thief. 

         Ponjess Thunderstaff, King’s Advisor and
wizard renowned, had personally questioned Selric and when satisfied after a
thorough mind probe he had the rest of the group brought into the palace as
well where they were thanked and directed to return for the ceremony the
following day.

         “It’s seems congratulations are in
order,” Ponjess said, examining the group closely as footmen came forth bearing
great gifts.  Along with gemstones and coins as monetary rewards:  there was an
item for each member, chosen by Ponjess himself from the cache of Nathan or
from the royal treasury.

         Judging by her state when she arrived,
Ponjess gave Cinder a bottle which magically produced vintage wine upon
command, remaining ever full.  As Dirk thought how this would keep her
permanently pickled and useless, he was handed a cloak, the one Nathan wore,
which magically afforded its wearer expert agility.  Fiona received an ancient
Dwarven ring that granted its wearer the protection of steel armor without
actually needing to wear any.  Melissa was given an enchanted longbow with
runes of a silvery Elven metal, called mithril, engraved very deeply into the
wood, seeming to blend with it, becoming one. “It was crafted by Elven masters
over a thousand years ago,” Ponjess said when she looked strangely at it.  He
handed Melissa a flat box with a hinged lid he stated was for them all.  She
opened the lid and saw half a dozen small vials of magical potions with labels
such as strength, bravery, anti-poison, and three of healing.

         Selric was given something entirely
different. He was granted a writ excusing him and his family from any taxes due
on all owned establishments for one full year.  Selric was elated, mostly
because he would finally please his father and grandfather both.  He would save
them thousands of crowns in the coming months and he hurried home with the
news.

         The wind was strong this night and the
gusts help blow the stagnancy from the catacomb of ghostly, often dilapidated
buildings called the Dock District.  The Fiend moved, Its face always to the
wind, hoping to pick up the scent of prey.  But as It tried stealing past a
gang of half-a-dozen thugs, the Fiend was spotted.

         “Hey buddy!  Who do you think you’re
supposed to be, over there sneakin’ ‘round?” one of them asked.   There were
five men and one woman and It smelled her immediately.  She felt fear creep
over her like a slow tide.  To her, the world stopped; all else but the Fiend
seemed to vanish.  Two of the brigands moved toward It, threateningly.  The
Fiend did not move, but Its eyes flared at her in recognition.

         “Well?  Answer me,” the man said, three
others joining the first two as they circled It.  “Come on, Trish,” he said and
when the two nearest the Fiend turned to check on the location of their
compatriots, the first lost his head to a slashing blade, and the other found
himself trying to hold in his intestines after the disemboweling strike he
never witnessed.  The other three thugs froze as the stranger grew into a
larger-than-human form.  Before they could turn and flee It was on them, It’s
eyes full of hate and fire, Its face twisted and angry as if wracked by the
wickedness inside.  The Fiend caught the leader under the chin with Its curved saber;
the thrust lifting him clear off the ground before the blade erupted from his
head, taking the top half of his skull with it.  With a kick, the Fiend freed
It’s blade from the dead man and eagerly pursued the others.  It leapt onto the
nearest victim and with a great hug snapped his ribs like kindling, then spun
and hurled Its axe at the last brigand, catching him in the back before he
could flee even half-a-block.  The man fell, sprawling, into the street,
wounded and feigning death.

         The Fiend looked for the female, but she
had slipped away.  It could smell her:  fear dripped from her like blood from a
wounded stag.  As It was about to move into the nearby abandoned building in
search of her, It’s keen ears detected soft breathing.  It followed the sound
to one of the fallen thieves.  Taking the dagger from the thug’s own sheath,
the Fiend slit his throat and his blood filled the gutter in which he lay.

         The other three, being clear examples of
the Fiend’s strength and fierceness, were dumped into the nearest sewer opening
to be consumed by the beasts sometimes found there, least of which were the
great crocodiles.  Then It sped into the nearby building and picked up the
female’s scent.  It followed a winding trail which led up some stairs, then
down, and down once more into the basement of an adjacent building, entrance
garnered through a hole in the basement wall.  There It found her hiding
beneath a pile of broken furniture.  Like a rabbit cornered by a wolf, Trish
lay quivering, unable to break her terror and flee any further.  It hurled the
wood aside and with a great claw reached down and lifted her by the neck.  He
pulled out three leather straps and bound and gagged her before placing her
into a large sack.

         The Fiend carried her back to the alley
and disappeared down into the sewers.  There, It dragged the men to separate
areas then retrieved his victim, proceeding home through the tunnels.  It knew
them as well as the rooftops and was rarely bothered by the crocodiles and
things more sinister when It traveled them.  The Fiend reached Its lair and
entered the hidden stone door that It had had a dwarven craftsman create for It
shortly after arriving in the city.  The Fiend was in his human disguise at the
time and destroyed the little creature upon completion of the work.  The Fiend
often wore human form; it was the only way It could travel under the
all-revealing sun, concealing Its evil as well as Its truer form.

         It took Its prize inside and laid her on
the dirt floor.  There would be no need to go upstairs.  Instead, the Fiend
bound her with manacles that were set in the wall.  It drove them there when It
had captured an elf maiden months back.  She was so beautiful and smelled so
alluring that the Fiend hoped to keep her forever, despising, yet drawn to her
more than It had been to any others.  But after only four days It’s lust
overcame It, and the Fiend bit the female, her immortal blood so intoxicating
that the Fiend consumed it all.  It had longed for elvenkind since, but they
were too rare and their magic likely too powerful.  But It would certainly take
the risk if the opportunity arose once more.

         When Dirk arrived at Cinder’s, she was
dressed in a long, flowing dark blue gown, decorated in gold with diamond
chips, the fabric swishing against the floor as she moved.  Her hair was pulled
up and back under a large bow, and the thick curls fell evenly down her back
like a dark waterfall.

         “Where are you going?” he asked after
walking inside and closing the door.

         “To a ball,” she said, kissing him then
rushing back in front of the mirror.   “How do I look?” she asked, ecstatic and
her smile showing as much.  To Dirk, she seemed flawless; a pampered noble
brat.

         “You look nice,” he said quietly, almost
pouting.  “Who are you going with?  Do you know his name?” he quipped
sarcastically.

         “Mm-mm,” Cinder said, primping herself,
constantly finding something on her appearance that was not “just-right.” 
“He’s a noble.  He’s charming and handsome.  Maybe you know him:  Selric
Stormweather?”  She laughed and turned to look at Dirk, her eyes flashing with
incredible beauty, joy, and playfulness.  “He bought me this dress.  Isn’t it
marvelous?”

         “It’s very pretty,” Dirk said quietly. 
“I would’ve bought you one.  You never said you wanted one.”

         “Did you want to go out?” Cinder asked
with sweet sincerity, noticing for the first time that Dirk was dressed finer
than normal.  “I’m sorry.  He asked me last week, two days after we caught...”
a knock interrupted her words.  Dirk, still standing near the door, opened it. 
A man in a servant’s uniform stood there.  He looked strangely at Dirk.

         “Is this the residence of Miss Cinder
Starshine?” he asked, collecting his wits and clearing his throat politely.

         “Just a moment.  I’ll see if the Lady is
accepting visitors,” Dirk said smartly, shutting the door with a slam.  When he
turned, Cinder was right behind him, cloak in hand.

         “Please?” she asked.  “That will be the
coach.”  Dirk placed the cloak around her shoulders as she spun about and
Cinder clasped it with a large jeweled brooch.  “Good-bye, love.”  She kissed
his cheek and stood waiting for him to open the door, which he did with a
sigh.  Dirk followed her out and she handed him the key to the door.  When he
finished locking it, she was already outside, being helped up into the
carriage.  The driver then climbed aboard.  Cinder’s hand stuck out the window
and Dirk firmly pressed the key into her palm.  “This is my first ball,” she
said.  “Be happy for me.”  Dirk smiled as sincerely as possible and stepped
back.

         “Have fun,” he said, waving.

         “I will.  Okay, driver,” she called and
the coach pulled away, then stopped again at Cinder’s call.  “Dirk,” she
yelled.  “Come ride with me.  We’ll take you to Melissa and Fiona’s.  You
shouldn’t be alone.”  Dirk climbed inside and gave the driver the directions. 
He sat down on the padded bench across from Cinder, looking at her as she gazed
out the window.  She was beaming, her radiance seeming to light the dark
interior of the carriage; the most beautiful creature Dirk had ever imagined,
seeming much like an angel.  Dirk turned and watched the streets roll by.

         “What did you want?” she asked.

         “Nothing special.  I just haven’t seen
you in a while,” he said, still looking out the window.  “I’ve been busy.  You
know, straightening my money away and stuff.”  Dirk had not seen Cinder since
they received their reward, but had been with Fiona and Melissa twice that
week.  He was no longer interested in the cloak he had gotten as reward.  He
wore it for several days, leaping and flipping as he had often seen Selric do
in training, but the delight wore off.  When he went to sell it at Duvall’s
Magic Emporium, he was offered twenty thousand crowns for it, and he no longer
cared to be agile any longer:  it seemed he had gotten a very expensive prize. 
He did not tell Cinder, not that night.

         When Dirk looked back at her, Cinder was
leaning forward on the edge of her seat, smiling with a wicked gleam in her
eye.  “I know you haven’t been around and I bet you know some of the things I
miss.”  She took his hand and pulled him over next to her.  Cinder leaned over,
attacking the buttons on his pants.  “I’m sorry I’m going out.  Let me make it
up to you.”  She soon had all four buttons undone through a remarkable feat of
manual dexterity, using only one hand, steadying herself with the other by
gripping his leg and keeping herself up and her dress unwrinkled.  Dirk did not
touch her, afraid he might mess her, and said not a word, feeling uncomfortable
and selfish, even though he had never asked her to do anything.

         “No,” he said.

         “What?” she asked, looking up at him
oddly.

         “No, Cinder.  I don’t want that.”

         “I do,” she whined.

         “I don’t, so stop it.  I’m not mad you’re
going out, so don’t feel you have to make it up to me.”  His tone was somber
and quiet, but serious and he would brook no argument.

         Cinder buttoned his pants just as quickly
then held his hand tightly until he was dropped off at Melissa’s doorstep. 
Dirk didn’t know what to say, so he simply stepped out and waved goodbye. 
Cinder smiled and waved as the coach pulled out.  Dirk had no idea what he
wanted in life anymore.  He wanted Cinder, but she clearly would not commit. 
And his alienating Melissa as his serious love-interest left him splitting time
between them and feeling awkward and oddly alone.

         Cinder was fond of Selric.  She felt he
was as beautiful, if not more, than she, and the two of them were so alike it
was peculiar; eerie.  Though Selric was born of aristocratic parents, and
Cinder of a Faerie and a human criminal, they were nearly identical.  From
their fine, chiseled bone structure, dark hair, entrancing blue eyes, and
slender attractive bodies; to their keen minds, child-like curiosity, and rampant
sex drives.  Despite, or perhaps because of, their similarities, they had
almost immediately given up thoughts of marrying each other, but they had
indeed talked about it.  Though they liked themselves well enough, neither one wished
to spend the rest of his life with someone just like him, or her.  But as
friends they seemed to share the same spirit and knew they would remain such
always.  It was inevitable, this draw they felt.  They spent little time
together at this point in their lives, but felt as if they knew each other very
well; and they did.  Things unsaid could be felt as clearly as the spoken
word.  Hopes and dreams were understood, as were weaknesses and strengths of
the other.  Neither could explain this closeness, simply accepting and
welcoming the friendship of someone so intimate.  It was almost as if they were
twins, or had known each other before, perhaps in another time or another life.

         The coach arrived and Cinder was lifted
out by two waiting footmen.  Selric was standing near and she took his arm. 
The courtyard, lit by many torches, was filled with carriages and brilliantly
dressed people, momentarily detoured, laughing and talking on their way inside
to the real party.  To her, it was awesome.  There she was, at the veritable
height of human society in that world.  It was so much different than any elven
function she had been part of.  It was all so grand, so heavily perfumed and
decorated; everyone there wearing so much of their wealth in show. 

         Selric guided his attentive lady through
the crowd and into the hearth room.  The great table was now set against the
wall and loaded with rare and delectable dishes and snacks.  Kegs filled with all
manner of beverages lined another wall, as well as a rack of fine wines,
brandies and other liqueurs.  Servants stood all about, awaiting any request,
their fine uniforms pressed and brilliantly clean.  Cinder giggled softly at
the new experience and was surprised to find herself almost immediately being
introduced to Selric’s mother and father.  Andric’s eyes opened wide.

         “Well, well. 
This
is Cinder,” he
said.  “She is beautiful indeed, Selric.”  He kissed her hand, bowing low.

         “This is my father, Andric and Violet, my
mother,” Selric said proudly.  “Mother and Father, this is Miss Cinder
Starshine.”  With that the men left for refreshments, Selric nodding politely
to Cinder as he went. 

         “I don’t know any Starshines,” Violet
said.  “In what businesses do they take interest?”

         “Oh, we are into...” Cinder paused,
“...forests.  I mean, forestry.  Yes, lumber and, ah...magic.  Lumber and
magic,” she stuttered.  Violet studied her then spoke.

         “You’re not of an Andrelian family, are
you?  You’re not even nobility at all.”

         “No,” Cinder said, uncomfortable, but not
ashamed.  “Not human nobility and not of Andrelia.  I’m half-elven,” she said,
not wanting to be put down.