By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (44 page)

         Selric finally stepped forward.  Dirk
grabbed his shoulder.  “No, I’ll go.  Stay with Cinder.”  He took a deep
breath, then ran up the stairs as fast as he could, screaming wildly.  Melissa
followed, then Fiona, both running.  Fiona was chanting and in moments a
shimmering bubble appeared then broke into sparkling flakes and fell upon her
and the others.  Perhaps it was something to make them stronger, or be more
protected.  None asked and none cared, appreciating any help Fiona and Aura
Painbliss could give them. 

         Selric and Cinder went up cautiously, holding
hands.  There were two rooms upstairs: one was empty, completely.  But the
other contained a huge bed, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a chest.  The room was
cold and the window shutter slammed shut then blew open again.  The Fiend, or
Olaf Svenson at least, had escaped.

         Selric clambered out the window.  “Watch
Cinder,” he said seriously to Dirk.  Then he clambered precariously up onto the
roof.  He saw the Fiend, carrying a large sack, leaping from roof to roof, soon
disappearing into the distance.  “Melissa!  Quick,” he called and she came up,
but by the time he assisted her up, she saw nothing:  the Fiend was gone.

         Fiona and Dirk searched the room while
Cinder sat staring, as if in a trance, at the bed.  They found no signs that
the Fiend had tortured or killed in his room; everything was clean.  The
wardrobe and dresser contained a wide variety of clothing, and the chest a vast
array of weapons; some enchanted, some ancient with keen edges and strong
steel, but all were of excellent workmanship; trophies from his victims.

         Cinder folded her arms and paced
nervously about.  “Can we go
now
?” she asked Fiona, as Selric and
Melissa climbed back in through the window.

         “Well?” Fiona asked Melissa, ignoring
Cinder’s question.

         “He got away.  Actually, I didn’t even
get a shot off.  He was gone before I got up there,” said Melissa, then she
turned to Selric.  “What do you think he had in the bag?”  Selric went to
Cinder and hugged her close; she laid her head upon his shoulder.

         “I don’t know,” Selric said absently,
giving all his attention then to the shaken half-elven maid.

         “What do you mean, bag?” Fiona asked
Melissa.

         “Selric said he saw the Fiend with a big
sack.”

         “Would you like to go, Cinder?” Selric
asked. 

         She nodded.  “Oh yes!” she said.  “Could we?” 
Her eyes were bright, but distant, strangely aglow and hopeful.

         “We’re going outside,” Selric announced
to the others.  Cinder walked out as if in a daze or trying hard to remember
something.  She was not scared or even shaken, just puzzled and sluggish of
mind.  Selric led her down the steps, sword drawn warily, still on edge for the
Fiend or any other surprises.

         “Where’s he go from here?” Fiona asked
hypothetically.

         “The sewers?” Dirk guessed.

         “Maybe,” Fiona said.  “I don’t think this
job was a cover for his murders, or else he would have been caught when people
went to his shop and never came back out.  I think he actually lived two lives;
one by day, one by night.  All the murders seem to have taken place after
dark.”

         “And the man I saw atop the stair was not
what hit me in the alley!” Melissa urged.

         “So, now what?” Dirk asked.  “He can’t
just set up another daytime life.  We know who he is.”

         “He’ll probably try to flee,” said Fiona.

         “We should tell the Watch,” Melissa said.

         “I don’t know,” said Fiona.

         “You don’t know!” Dirk said angrily.

         “You know what Selric said about them
spying on his house and not wanting to admit any trace of this...guy.  We’d be
jailed if we offered proof,” Fiona said.  She paced around, fingering the
furniture.  “I think we’ll have to let it go.”

         “We could send an anonymous note,” Dirk
offered.  “The Watch can catch him now that his identity is known, and we
do
have to do something with these poor bodies.”  Dirk began to feel ill as the
excitement began to pass and the reality of the horror around him became more
clear.  He bent over, hands on knees and took several deep breaths.  “Telvar…”
he prayed softly.

         “I guess so,” Fiona agreed as her
thoughts drifted elsewhere.  “What a mind.  So wicked, so torturous.  So evil.” 
She turned quickly to Melissa, with a strange smile on her face; a look of
devious perversion.  “It could have been you; helpless, at his merciless
rage...”  Melissa turned uncomfortably away, weakened from the wound caused by
the Fiend where It had stabbed her, realizing now that she still needed more
rest.

         “Could’ve been you, too,” said Dirk. 
Fiona looked at him as if to say:  “I don’t think so.”

         “Simple old Svenson, the Fiend,” Fiona
continued.   “I can’t believe it.  There is no way that...that...man was the
Fiend.  How could he hide it so well?  How long has he been doing it?  How many
of the disappearances is he responsible for?”

         “Shut up Fiona,” Dirk said.  “You don’t
admire this bastard, do you?” he said, not really asking.  “Because if you do,
I’ll just kill you right now.  We don’t need a “Mrs. Fiend” running around. 
You do enough already to further sickness and disgustingness.”

         “Dirk,” she said coldly, “nothing you say
could ever change the way I feel about anything or change what I actually do. 
Don’t even try to tell
me
anything.”  Dirk got angry, his feelings hurt
at her bitterness.

         “You’re a real bitch, Fiona,” he said,
stepping forward, ready to punch her.  They all nearly jumped out of their skin
in their haste to draw weapons when a shape appeared in the doorway.  It was
Selric and they breathed a collective sigh.

         “I sent Cinder to a tavern next door. 
What did you find?” he asked.  He was calm and mature, no longer jovial or
spontaneous; his manner demanded, and received, respect from his friends.

         “Not much,” Dirk said, kicking the chest
open.  “These weapons, some clothing.  That’s it.”  Selric looked the things
over.

         “The variety of clothes could be his
victims outfits, or disguises, or both,” Selric said as he sifted through the
nicely folded items.  He went to the chest.  “These are nice weapons.  Only the
best,” he said, sounding impressed.   “I’m sure it was difficult to leave them,
and his slaves.”  His look grew cold as he sorted carefully through the
weapons, his mind on the grisly remains below him.  He pulled out a long curved
dagger, and put it in his belt.  “Here you go, Melissa,” he said, tossing her a
gleaming short sword.  “No maces, and certainly no giant swords for you,
Dirk.” 

         Fiona sat on the bed, thinking that she
would pick up a few more free whips etc. from the store; items made for evil,
by someone who truly knew what they were for and what evil was.  “Dirk thinks
we should send an anonymous letter to the Watch,” she said.  Selric shrugged.

         “I suppose so,” he agreed.   “We’ll go
home and write it out.”  He stood and shut the lid.  “Why don’t you carry that
Dirk.  There’s some valuable steel in there.  Sell it at Bessemer’s and give us
a share, or keep them until this settles down and we’ll see what we have.  Now,
let’s get out of this...this
place
.”  He turned and walked out, slowly
examining the surroundings and shaking his head in pity.

         “Well,” Melissa said, running after him
down the stairs, “how can we catch him?”

         “I don’t think we have to.”

         “What’s that mean?” she asked but got no
reply.  She stopped on the steps and turned to Fiona, who was just coming
down.  “What does that mean, what he said?” she asked her.  Dirk came next,
grunting and swaying as he labored with the chest.

         “I don’t know, Mel,” Fiona said solemnly,
looking at her with a half-smile as she passed her and went on down.

         “What does he mean?” she asked Dirk next.

         “What?” he asked angrily.  He hadn’t
heard what Selric said.  Melissa gasped with anxiety and blew past Fiona to
catch Selric just as he reached the shop portion of the building.

         “Selric?” she pressed, grabbing his arm
strongly.

         “It means, Melissa,” he answered slowly,
“that the way he looked at me just before he vanished over that last rooftop,
is that he isn’t going to flee or hide, or even relocate.”

         “Then what?” she asked.

         “He’s going to find
us
.”

         The Fiend moved through the falling snow,
Its mind racing.  The Fiend burned so hot with rage that It killed any It
encountered:  man, woman, beast.  “Those humans have seen me,” It thought.  “It
would be easy to change guises, to start a new life.  But they have seen me,
they may hunt me and follow my trail.  I cannot rest until there are none who
know me.  How dare they!”  The only other being to survive the Fiend’s attack,
the old wizard who blinded It, had since been killed.  The Fiend found his
home, stole into his room in the dark of night and murdered him, ripping his
body into a hundred pieces and consuming the magic-tainted bits.

         The snow fell heavily; visibility was
only a few feet and the Fiend wandered the maze of streets looking for the one
place It had met someone months ago.  Bixby was gone, but had proven useful and
now the Fiend felt the need again for allies.  They said they would be there,
so It kept searching, carrying a sack of gifts. 

         The Fiend thought of ways to rid Itself
of the humans.  Days had passed since It fled Its home, and It had spent the
time trying to find them.  It found Selric Stormweather and Dirk Bessemer, but
the others still eluded It.  Then the familiar doorway loomed ahead, dark and
leery, breaking Its thoughts.  This was the place.

         Opening the door, the Fiend walked inside
and looked around; soon three canine shapes appeared.  They walked on their
hind legs and stood nearly as tall as the Fiend.  “What? What do you want?” the
first and largest asked.  His voice was whiny and panting and he stepped
forward, swaying back and forth on his back paws, seeming to bounce up and down
as he tried to maintain balance.  The Fiend studied them:  their bristling fur,
their savage jaws, their luminous eyes.

         “I want you to kill a human,” the Fiend
said, Its voice as deep as a well, as cool as darkness, as wicked as death.

         “Why?” the leader whined, his voice
hissing.  He bounced faster, drooling in anger.  “We owe you nothing,
especially obedience!  We spared your life, remember?” he cackled.  With a
flash of brilliant, speeding steel, the wolfman’s head was hacked off, slamming
into the wall as it flew off.  His body bobbed two more times, then teetered
forward and fell to the ground.  The other two whimpered and howled to
themselves, bouncing uncontrollably. 

         “Don’t hurt us,” they cried, falling to
all fours and slinking near the Fiend, not like humans, but different than
their bipedal form:  now almost indistinguishable from large wolf-like dogs.

         It had drawn Itself up to Its full height
and raised Its scimitar, now glowing fluorescent blue, over Its head.  The
Fiend’s eyes flared like green torches and Its darkness grew to an impenetrable
black, the evil overflowing from It.  Barely able to control Its rage, the
Fiend struggled to spare them but It needed their help.

         “Remember who spared who,” It growled. 
“I need you to kill a man called Dirk.  He lives at Bessemer’s.”

         “Yess, we know wheer it iss,” one said. 
They smelled something in the sack, and both sniffed it eagerly.

         “Good,” It said calmly.  “Get him, but
not there.  Track him and kill him in the streets.  It mustn’t look planned. 
Devour the evidence, and if there are any with him, kill them as well.  When
you have done this, there will be others for us to kill.”  He emptied the
sack:  two bodies slumped out, that of a man and a woman, clothed against the
cold, but bloody and clearly slashed to death by terribly heavy strokes.

         The beasts teetered up and down and from
side to side, afraid to touch the meat.  “We understand,” one said, eyeing the
bodies but wary as long as the Fiend hovered near.  The Fiend nodded and walked
out to the sounds of growling and ripping flesh.  The noises excited It.

         Now that the Fiend’s plan was in motion,
Its lust returned.  It thought of the dark haired beauty, the one called
Cinder:  she smelled of the elves.  The Fiend liked it.  It liked how they
protected her.  “If I took that one, and spoiled it, took it away from them
forever, then they would be overcome; afraid. They would give up, save
themselves, fall apart and no longer work together against him.”  Then the
Fiend thought again; that was not likely, not for such humans who had dared to
search It out.  “Even if they did come for precious revenge, their pride and
rage would undo them, make them easy.  “This, I will do,” It decided.

         “But the others, the fierce one.  I
stabbed her before and she came back; so strong, so soon.  She fought well. 
That one I would like to keep.  I will spoil their Cinder, but when all the
others are gone, I will take and keep the strong one.  She will last longer
than any other I have had.  She will not break and die so easily.”  The Fiend
laughed, or what was a laugh to the Fiend, and turned to the nearest house. 
The thoughts of depravity fueled Its lust and It was out of control.

         It shattered the door and found a woman
in her bed, not as pretty as some, but just as soft and feminine.  It killed
her mate, her husband, then took her and raped her as she screamed in fear.  It
let her, no longer afraid of anyone.  It raped her and killed her as It
finished, butchered her, then walked out of the house, leaving the door open as
the Watch approached somewhere off in the distance.  It laughed at the ease of
Its life and walked into the dying snowfall. 

         “What’s the matter?” Alanna asked, her
brows raised in sincere concern.  She sipped her wine and gently set it down on
the lace tablecloth, her eyes locked on him, eyebrows raised questioningly and
a gentle smile on her pretty face.

         “Huh?” Selric asked, ending his daydream
and looking up at her.

         “I said...what’s the matter?” she
repeated, head cocked as she waited sweetly.

         “Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Don’t be
silly.”  He smiled.  She smiled back.  To Selric, Alanna was certainly
beautiful, but he had enjoyed it so much less that week.  He thought of those
women; the young girl no more than fourteen, her ankle swollen from the chain. 
He thought of three of his girl ‘friends’ who had disappeared or been murdered,
now he knew by whom:  the Fiend.  “You are beautiful,” he said, shaking his
mind from the monstrous sights to his lovely companion.  Alanna blushed, a
reaction she was not used to performing in her time on the streets.  “How are
you and Mendric getting along?”

         “Oh, better,” she said, though it wasn’t
true.  Mendric still would not look at her, and the few words he said were
never kind.  In fantasies, he made love to her, and she liked it, but not in
the real world of daylight.  Here, her heart belonged to Selric, and it was he
she truly loved.  Alanna knew fantasies were just that, and Selric gave her
everything she ever wanted and more than she deserved. 

         And she was truly happy.  Her fantasies
for Mendric were of a one-time affair, where-after he would leave her be and
disappear from her life, no longer a threat to her love for Selric.  The only
reason she thought about Mendric was because she could never have him.  He was
handsome and strong, certainly, but if she had never met Selric, she would not
have even acknowledged Mendric’s presence.  He and his ways, his mannerisms and
likes, were totally alien to the street thug, but then again, maybe that was
her attraction, as if she were the noble matron dreaming of the stable-hand. 
Selric was as perfect a mate as she could ever wish for...and there she was,
right before him, fate kind to her.  “Life is strange,” she thought as she
sighed.   Then another thought of Mendric forced her to laugh aloud, fully
recognizing the frivolity of fantasy.

         “What?” Selric asked, smiling at her
mirth.

         “Oh, nothing.  Just your brother.  I
don’t know why he hates me.”  She laughed harder, knowing that Mendric wanted
her for the exact reasons that she wanted him, and hated her just to push her
out of his mind.  She pictured him loving her again and she giggled.  “I’m
sorry,” Alanna said.  “I can’t help it.  I’m in a silly mood.”  And she was. 
By Selric’s reputation, he was one of the very greatest lovers in the city, yet
she wanted his brother for no reason clear to her, no serious reason, no
true
reason.  It was simply a desire for the forbidden.

         “You
are
being strange today,” he
confirmed, laughing nervously and shaking his head briefly.

         “Let’s go make love,” she proposed passionately,
knowing that that was the only way to get the strange ideas out of her head. 
Two patrons obviously of aristocratic extract sitting at the next table looked
over, insulted, and Alanna stuck her tongue out insolently.  Selric laughed.

         “Stop that,” he said.  He took her hand
and rushed out, happy to be with someone he loved so much, and oddly enough,
someone as audacious as himself.  He wanted to make love to her.  It was the
only way to get the horror off of his own mind.  And so they did, each because
they felt a love growing for only the other—as well as to separate themselves
from troubling thoughts.  They went to the city’s finest inn and Selric
brazenly asked for the room “with the nicest bed.  We only need it for a few
hours.”  The proprietor, though shocked, had no choice but to lead them to it.

         Alanna held Selric’s hand as she was led
into the room and she waited patiently as he closed the door and took her in
his arms.  Though she was full of self doubt, Alanna had a lifetime’s share of
street smarts and intuition, and the look she saw in Selric’s face was more
than lust.  He leaned her back against the door with a gentle smile and pressed
his body gently but fully against hers, holding her hands in each of his, their
arms fully extended.  He kissed her deeply and warmly and Alanna’s fire was
stoked as he pressed his body against hers heavily, pinning her to the wall.

         “Oh Selric,” she sighed when the young
Stormweather broke their oral embrace.  Selric chuckled lightly as he kissed
down her neck, pulling her forward off the door.  His touch was so deft only
cool air blowing across her back let her know he had unlaced her dress and
corset and she giggled as he pulled his chest slightly from hers so her top was
barely held upon her shoulders.

         After sucking passionately on her neck
Selric leaned back an arms-length from her and studied Alanna up and down. 
“For someone who’s worn breeches and linen shirts her entire life, you carry a
silk gown with grace.”  She blushed and could barely feel his hands stroke her
shoulders, like he was grasping a chum.  When he pulled his hands slid down her
arms, she laughed, feeling her gown, now unlaced and given a nudge, slide down
her torso.  At the last moment she bent her arms to stop its fall just below her
breasts.  He now caressed her bare arms and shoulders and again wrapped his
arms about her and kissed her deeply. As she took a deep breath and sighed,
then let out the resultant exultation, the loosened corset followed the gown
and she was now half naked, but unashamed.

         “Why are you not with Angelique?” she
whispered between kisses.

         “Who?” he asked, pausing, not as unsure
of the topic as he was the timing.

         “Your childhood friend.  The one the
city—the kingdom—thinks you should marry.”  Her face smiled, but uncertainty
was showing in her eyes.

         “Because I would rather be here…with
you…doing this…than anything I could be doing right now, anywhere, with her.” 
He looked at her, engaging her stare, not avoiding it. He did not press her as
they stood there, the world silent outside their door.  He looked on her, his
gaze so plain and clear that she had no answer for him.  “If I wanted to be
with her, would I not be?  Alanna nodded and smiled weakly.  Selric pulled her
close and held her, swaying gently, as if a soft and slow song was playing in
his head.  She dropped her arms, and thus her garments and stepped forward out
of them, Selric retreating at her behest.  That continued until Selric reached
the bed and Alanna climbed atop him, her long hair then falling over her
shoulders as she straddled him, hiding her nude chest from view.

         They made love for hours, poring over
each others dazzling forms with the fire of passion and the desire of love. 
They laughed and never took their actions so seriously that it became dull or
responsible.  Neither needed to please the other; it happened naturally.  They
made love on the bed, they made love before the roaring fire, they made love in
the bath as they looked out the huge glass window—which cost more than the
average worker made in five years—refined, clear glass that was suitable for a
window still a rarity and thus the room priced extravagantly. 

         With several bouts of lovemaking behind
them, the couple lay in the warm bath, she in his arms, as the snow fell and the
day died away bringing on night again, and both forgot the troubles that had so
bothered them over lunch.  They did not realize that the island of peace they
shared that day would be the last refuge from pain they would feel for many
months.

         “I missed you those weeks you were
staying away,” Cinder said, her eyes flashing like twinkling stars.  Night had
just come and the falling snow grew heavier.  Snowflakes stuck on the beard
Dirk had grown, and Cinder pulled him to a stop, picking the glistening flakes
off his chin with her lips.  They stood nose to nose—or forehead to chin, for
even in her high heeled boots Dirk stood above Cinder—two dark silhouettes in
the falling white; the snow piled about them in great drifts here and there. 
The wind was nonexistent and the snow fell slowly, steadily, seeming to hover
in midair; the world was as quiet as a tomb.  Only Cinder’s giggling at the tickle
of Dirk’s hair on her nose broke the silence.