By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (35 page)

         “Go after them,” Will pleaded.  “They
took my knife!”  Selric stared after them as their steps died away in the
night, along with the urgent cry of:  “Alanna...come on!”  Selric had such fire
in his eyes that Will fell quiet.

         “I’ll get it back,” Selric said finally,
a kinder look coming over him as he patted Will’s back.  “Come, off to bed. 
Nothing else we can do tonight,” he said as pleasantly as he could, though he
could not remember ever feeling so helpless and abused.  Will was safe, and
though his sword was the most important possession Selric had ever owned, he
would get it back.  Will, on the other hand, could not be replaced.

         The King’s personal messenger, Sir
Donaldson, an elderly knight renowned during the reign of Alhad’s father, King
Casmar Buchevelt, handed a letter sealed with the King’s crest to Sergeant
Donder Josh, then turned on his heel and marched out.  Sergeant Josh and
Watchman Odie looked curiously at each other.  Donder swallowed hard and took
the notice slowly up the steps, rapping lightly on the constable’s door.

         “Enter,” Mason called.  Donder Josh went
in.  The Constable sat facing away from the door, staring out the window.

         “There’s...there’s a message here...from
the King, sir,” Donder said.  Mason swung slowly around, unimpressed; he had
gotten letters from the King before.  Donder stepped back uncontrollably at the
fearsome visage of his constable, noticing that Mason’s eyes were bloodshot and
he looked as though he had been in his chair all night.  In fact, Donder could
not recall seeing his Constable come in that morning.  Mason opened the letter
unceremoniously, lazily, and his eyes scanned the parchment, his expression
going from calm, to anger, to befuddlement, to...tears.  He then started to laugh,
salty tears running down his parched and wrinkled face.  Donder thought his
constable had gone mad and again took one slight step back.

         “Read it,” Mason commanded, tossing the
parchment on his desk in front of the sergeant.  Then he turned again.  “Out
loud.”

         “Constable Mason, I don’t know if I
should read...”

         “Read it!” he yelled.  Donder stepped
gingerly forward, as if the floor would open up and swallow him if he dared
take the letter, but take the letter he did, and he began to read.

         “It has come to my attention that you are
wasting man hours on a pointless search in your belief that a few murders are
related.  I am informed by His Eminence Thunderstaff that this is not true. 
Save my money and your time and put your men back to work as they should be.  I
want to hear no more of this.  Stop the investigation.  This is my decree.  Do
my will.  King Alhad Buchevelt.”  Donder fell silent, realizing that the tears
Mason shed, were tears of utter frustration.  Even Donder himself realized that
some of the murders were different; that was obvious to anyone who looked
honestly at the situation.  Perhaps this was because Mason had illustrated to
all his men exactly his thinking, and how the deaths were of a different breed,
as he schooled them in bringing the murderer or murderers to justice.  But
different they were, and all at the station knew it.

         “My people are dying all around me.  I
grew up in this district.  I know thousands of the long time residents here by
name.  How can I look them in the face...”   He hung his head.  “Now—to have my
hands tied by politics!”  He laughed again, shaking his head sadly.  “Leave me,
Sergeant.”  Donder turned and walked out, closing the door quietly.  Constable
Mason had not emerged by the time Sergeant Josh left his shift at dusk.

         As autumn grew on, things changed
little.  The weather grew colder, the days shorter, the mood progressively
darker, but life went on as normal.  Dirk was visited at least once a week by
the regal, mysterious stranger.  Dirk still called him Sindelarius, to which
the stranger smiled sheepishly in reply.  Meanwhile, Dirk saw less of his
compatriots.  Cinder dated or went out alone to taverns almost every night,
unable to resist the temptation to be adored or the chance to watch a new slice
of humanity.  Melissa and Fiona visited Dirk occasionally, but Fiona was busy
adding to her new temple and performing her pain-filled ceremonies.  Dirk went
to a few rituals out of respect for his friend and healer, but was soon too
appalled to continue.  Melissa and he went out once a week alone, but saw
little of each other in between.

         Selric, however, had nearly disappeared
from sight.  He secretly and constantly pressed street contacts for information
about the thugs who had robbed him and threatened Will’s life.  Selric knew a
great many people, and there was very little that he could not find out through
loyalty, bribery, coercion or threat.  Then, one night toward the close of autumn,
nearly three weeks after losing his sword, he approached the dwelling of his
robbers:  several rooms of an unoccupied apartment building.  He had left Will
at home, knowing the revenge he planned was not proper for a boy his age to
witness. 

         He climbed upon several stacked crates in
the alleyway so he could peer in the window, and silently pried the shutter
open.  Inside he spied the tall blonde girl sleeping on blankets in a corner,
alone in the small room.  He slipped in through the window, dagger between his
teeth, and stepped silently toward her.  Voices could be heard coming through
the only door to another room. 

         Kneeling by her, Selric placed the blade
to her soft white throat, but just as he was about to end her life, the young
woman’s eyes popped open as if from a nightmare.  Their eyes met; his charming
blue, her enchanting green and a fire was lit in an instant within each of
them.  She was clearly scared and Selric no longer had the will to kill her. 
He held his finger before his lips, praying that she would be silent and that
he would not to have to slay her, and she obliged.  Selric rose and went to the
door.  The thief lay motionless, watching him like a child as he opened the
portal and peered out.  The older woman and the thug who had been afraid to
touch Selric’s sword that night were in a room filled with boxes, crates and
sacks.  They were sifting through a coffer of jewels discussing what each
estimated the value of particular items to be.  She was wearing Selric’s sword
on her back and his blood boiled beyond compare.  Selric Arnesson Stormweather had
never been enraged as he was there that moment, and that statement said a great
deal.

         When the thieves began arguing over who
would receive a large diamond necklace, Selric rushed in.  Both bandits spun
and rose, startled at an intruder from a room they had thought secure.  Selric
kicked the woman fiercely in the abdomen and as she doubled over, he snatched
the sword from its scabbard and hacked off her head in one smooth motion.  The
man stood terrified, and in an instant, Selric made his decision; he kicked him
squarely in the face, breaking his nose and loosening his teeth, but leaving
him quite alive.  Selric didn’t know if he had touched the sword, but he
had
refrained on the night it was stolen, and that was enough reason for Selric to
spare his life.

         Selric turned at the sound of another
door opening and three men rushed in.  He hurled a knife at the first, sticking
it in his throat, then ducked under the blow of the second, stabbing up into
his stomach with his sword.  The third lunged at Selric and lost his arm to a
vicious swing, then Selric kicked him in the side of his head, knocking him
unconscious.  Selric approached the last door and threw it open.  Inside stood
the leader, the man who had held the knife to Will’s throat. 

         “Prepare to meet your god,” said Selric,
his anger still swelling higher and higher as he forced himself to think of
Will that night, picturing how he would have looked with his throat slit, dying
in the alley.  This enforced rage spurred Selric on to kill, easing any guilt
he might otherwise have felt.  The man’s shoulders slumped as he reluctantly
drew his own sword, knowing who it was that he had robbed and that he stood
little chance in a sword-fight with him.  He took a deep breath and charged
Selric violently, wanting the encounter over for better or worse.  Selric
caught his arm in an iron grip and slammed his sword up into the thief’s
midsection.  They stood face to face.  The man’s eyes glowed in hate as he spit
in Selric’s face, then his gaze shifted, looking over Selric’s shoulder and his
countenance softened as his life ebbed away. 

         Selric turned and released the man’s arm,
allowing him to fall to his knees, and then he saw the blonde girl standing in
the doorway, weaponless and not a threat to him.  As the leader fell to the
floor, she pulled Will’s knife from a bag and held it out as if giving it. 
Selric took the blade as he walked past her and he saw that the two men he had
not killed had gone, one of them leaving a great trail of blood.

         Selric picked up what valuables he could
carry and went back to the window where he had entered the building, climbing
back out.  But as he clambered down the crates he saw the girl standing there
behind him, following timidly.  He held out his hand and she ran to him.  They
walked to the manor together, but still had not spoken a word.  He stole her
into his room and as he lit the lantern, they found Will sitting on Selric’s
bed.  He rubbed his eyes and looked at them curiously.

         “Hey!” Will said when he realized who it
was, pointing his finger as if it would help him recall that night, and let her
know that he remembered infallibly.  “You...you’re that lady that took my
knife.”  He turned to Selric, “Good job, Selric. What are we going to do with
her?  Lock her in the tower?  Take her to jail?  Make her kiss and touch us?” 
Selric smacked Will’s head.

         “The first two, maybe, but not the last. 
A gentleman never does that, does he?”  Will shook his head “no,” as if quizzed
on the subject previously, but he appeared puzzled.

         “Well, if you’re not going to kiss and
touch her, why did you bring her
here
?”  Selric paused for a moment,
knowing the boy was indeed learning from his master.  “Do I have to sleep in
the hall, again, like when your parents are out and Fiona or Cinder come?”

         “No,” Selric snapped.  “I’m sleeping with
you.”

         “Hey,” Will said, “No way, Selric.  I
sleep by myself.”

         “Not tonight,” Selric said, pulling him
back over to his bedding.  Will stopped in his tracks, as if frozen.

         “Hey!” he said.  “
That’s
where you
went.”  He saw Selric’s sword.  “Hey, you went without me!  Awe, man.  That’s
not fair.”  Will ran to his bed; it was all he could do to keep from crying. 
Selric came near and presented the knife to the boy, and Will brightened. 
“Wow, it’s been a long time since I saw this.”  He tucked it under his pillow,
and with a glance toward the corner, as if trying to see the bed where the girl
was, he lay down to sleep.  Selric lay by him for several minutes, until Will
was asleep, before giving in to his urges and returning to his bed.

         When Selric woke the next morning, he
could see daylight through the small tower windows set high in the wall.  The
windows faced west and south; the tower interior at his back was on the eastern
side, and the manor proper lay to the north.  He looked at the girl, Alanna, as
she slept next to him.  She lay on her back, one hand behind her head, the
blankets about her waist revealing her naked breasts.  He gently ran his finger
down from between her eyes, over her nose, and traced her lips with his
fingertip.  Placing his finger under her chin, he lifted her face and gently
kissed her on the mouth.

         He climbed over her and out of bed then
drew the covers up.  Selric turned and noticed Will peering around the corner,
and when his gaze met Selric’s, he popped out of sight.  Selric stole over, and
came slowly around the gentle slope of the wall and spied Will lying under his
covers.  Selric pulled the blankets down; Will was fully dressed.  At the
discovery of his ruse, Will stood and faced Selric defiantly.

         “I see which punishment you gave her,”
Will said almost jealously.  Selric glared at him, hands on his hips.

         “She received no punishment,” Selric
said.  “She didn’t deserve any.  She helped me.  Besides, kissing and...and,
doing other things is not punishment.  It is agreed by both people.”  Selric
wondered if the child had heard them thrashing about in the bed.  Every other
time that he had had a lover in the room, Selric insured that Will slept
somewhere else.  But he was sure the night before that Will would have slept
the night through in the contentment of finding his weapon.  Now, Selric felt
dirty:  he did not want to shatter the tiny bit of innocence that Will had
somehow managed to preserve through his turbulent youth.

         “Well,” Will quipped, “
you
will be
punished.  Violet was in here this morning.”  Selric put his palm on his
forehead.

         “Shit!” he said.  “Why did you let her
in, peanut brain?”

         “I didn’t penis brain,” Will snapped
back, fleeing immediately after the words had left his mouth.

         “Wait til I get my hands on you.  I’ll
hang you by the ankles buck-naked from the highest tower,” Selric said, running
out into the foyer, before realizing he was himself naked except for the towel
he had wrapped round himself.  Will raised his nose and walked slowly into the
hearth room, knowing he could not be pursued.