By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (55 page)

         “Look out!” she screamed as Dirk stood
looking down at her.  Dirk whirled just in time to turn the Fiend’s blade. 
They were fighting in a large, empty room, broken only by several small wooden
ceiling posts.  The windows were boarded up, but the red light of a brilliant
sunset filtered in, bathing the room in a hellish glow.

         Fiona rushed up and immediately knelt by
Melissa, crying and hugging her in joy, smothering her with kisses.  Selric was
barely able to leap over them to get to Dirk, who was occupying the Fiend quite
successfully; his temper not unnerving him, as It had hoped, but driving him on
as the Fiend gave ground.

         “Are you all right, sweety?” Fiona asked,
cradling her tear-stained face in her chest.

         “Yes.  Yes.  Help Dirk!” Melissa said
urgently.  Fiona stood, focused her narrow eyes on the creature, drew a
determined breath and ran over, mace and shield in her hands.  She didn’t have
time to don her armor when the stranger had told them to hurry with all haste
to Dirk’s assistance.

         Fiona ran wildly up between Selric and
Dirk who had backed the startled Fiend into a corner.  She ran smack into It
with her shield, and the Fiend staggered slightly.  Its reply was a blow so
heavy on her shield that it knocked the priestess to her knees.  Then It raised
Its scimitar and swung it straight down in hopes of cleaving Fiona’s pretty
head in two.  But Selric and Dirk together parried Its blow.  The Fiend was
incredibly strong and kept pressing the blade closer and closer.  Dirk grabbed
the Fiend’s arm with his free hand, as did Selric, and they drove It back
against the wall.  Fiona stood and swung her mace directly into Its ribs; the
result was a loud cracking sound like a great tree snapped by fierce wind.

         The Fiend brought Its foot up and kicked
the feisty girl in the groin, lifting her off the ground and sending her back
ten feet across the room.  Dirk backed off to catch his breath, his endless
swinging tiring him, leaving Selric holding the Fiend alone.  Selric quickly
followed Dirk’s example, but the Fiend pursued him, tearing at Selric.  Its
blade, however, could find no hole in the Stormweather’s flawless defense.  Dirk,
rested, came on again and swung mightily, but the Fiend thought It could best
them both.  As It turned and deflected Dirk’s blow, It pulled forth Its knife,
the long black one It used to butcher many others, to parry Selric’s swing. 
Selric’s sword was a prize greatly valued by a nation of expert sword masters,
and its blade was incredibly strong.

         Selric swung, snapping the Fiend’s wicked
knife like rotten wood and the sword slashing the Fiend in the arm, cutting it
to the bone.  If Its dagger had not slowed the blow the little that it had, the
Fiend’s arm would have been on the floor.  Nonetheless, It could now hold only
a single weapon and not use Its other arm any further.  The Fiend desperately
flew at Dirk, Selric closing right behind.  It backed Dirk to the stairs where
he tripped and fell backwards over the dead dog, then It turned and deflected
Selric’s shot, aimed at decapitating the Fiend.  It ran straight at Selric,
this time swinging fiercely, repeatedly, driving him back in the other direction. 
It could not land a blow, but when Selric was backed into the wall, the Fiend
pinned him with Its great bulk, their blades locked, and the Fiend repeatedly
brought Its thick leg up into Selric’s groin and abdomen, and he fell. 

         As the Fiend was about to behead Selric,
his own skull was smashed by Fiona who had run up and struck It in the back of
the head with her heavy steel mace.  Blood sprayed everywhere, but the Fiend
turned and brought the blade down into her shoulder, snapping her collarbone. 
Only the power of her ring had saved her life.  Defense was all that was on the
Fiend’s mind, hoping to escape the bind It was in, and It kicked Fiona as she
knelt before It, needing to raise Its sword instead against a charging Dirk who
had death in his eyes.  For the first time, the Fiend had a taste of fear,
albeit a small one.  Dirk was the one this time to use his momentum and weight
and he drove into the Fiend, locking up Its sword and overbearing It to the
floor.

         With his free hand, Dirk repeatedly, voraciously,
smashed the Fiend in the face with his gauntleted fist.  Bones snapped, and the
Fiend tossed Its head back and forth, trying to escape from the pain.  Dirk
sobbed for Cinder as he pummeled the Fiend’s face into a bloody mess with his
tremendous strength.  When his anger had passed, leaving him spent, the Fiend
freed Its blade and, not wanting to be stabbed, Dirk quickly rolled away.  In a
flash, the Fiend darted from the room, Dirk and Selric, both panting heavily,
pursued him.  Fiona ran to Melissa’s side where she still leaned against the
wall.  Will was there.  He had secretly followed his friends.

         “Come on,” he said to the women.  “I know
where he’s going.  He’s heading to the sewers.  I know a faster way.  He went
the long way cause he couldn’t get down these steps.  There’s only one way out
of the building into the sewers.  We can surprise him and trap him.  Come on!” 
Fiona looked at Melissa.

         “Go on,” Melissa said.  “I can’t keep
up.  I’ll be fine and come at my own speed.  Get him this time.”  Fiona,
holding her limp arm, blood oozing down her chest, ran after Will and they
descended to the first floor, then down a ladder.  They descended into the end
of a long hallway that had one door on the right hand wall about halfway up its
length, and one door clear down at the other end.  The only light was that of
the dying sun flowing in from the open trapdoor by the ladder above them.

         “That’s the sewer door,” Will said,
pointing all the way down.  Fiona looked around.  There were several small dusty
barrels labeled “oil.”

         “Pick this up,” she commanded, but it
proved too heavy for him, so she helped Will roll one of the barrels down the
hall.  She opened the heavy steel door and knew by the solid construction and
the other heavy doors at one end of the plain room beyond, that they had found
the old chamber where the sewage was burnt off at high temperatures in the deep
trough before them. 

         “Open the keg and dump the oil in the
water.  We’ll knock It in the trough...knock It in the trough...in the trough
and burn It!” Melissa said crazily.  “If we could only start a fire somehow.”

         “Leave that to me,” Fiona growled.

         “Oh well,” Melissa said, “at least we
beat him here.  Quick!  Up past that door.  We don’t want between him and his
only way out.  We’ll give him a little surprise.”  Will ran on and Fiona came
slowly behind.  Just as they passed the door, it flew open.  The Fiend
hesitated, not knowing where they had come from, giving Fiona time to raise her
mace and swing.  But her one-armed blow was too feeble and the Fiend knocked it
aside and kicked her in the stomach.  Will ran to the ladder and scampered up. 
The Fiend was not worried about either of them, but the two madmen who pursued
It through the hallways like hounds.  It had tried to lose them, but was
unable.  Now was Its last chance.  It drew another of Its daggers as well as
Fiona’s as she knelt doubled over, and jammed them under the door, wedging it
shut. 

         The Fiend ran to the steel door, just as
Fiona rose and picked her mace up wearily.  “I don’t want you coming to get me
in the night,” she screamed.  “Get it over with.”  The Fiend was badly
wounded:  Its skull cracked, arm useless and in need of complete amputation,
ribs broken and face smashed.  But It stopped, ready to come back and fulfill
her request when It heard Selric and Dirk pounding at the door.

         Smiling wickedly, It said, “Don’t go to
sleep.”  Then It turned to leave, going in through the open steel door and
preparing to slam it shut, hoping to somehow bar the impressive portal behind
It.  Fiona began to chant, calling upon the power of her goddess and a column
of flame erupted all about the Fiend, setting him alight.  Howling, It turned
and ran off into the burning chamber, slamming the door.  There was a
tremendous explosion and Fiona was blown thirty feet down the hall.  Dirk and
Selric still could not force the door so Dirk began to chop it down with his
axe.

         Fiona sat up; her short hair was burnt,
her clothes blackened, and her exposed skin red.  If the trap door at the end
of the hall had not been open to allow the pressure somewhere to go, she would
have been blown apart by the concussion.  She looked down the hall:  the oil
did ignite after all and the water looked like a burning cauldron.  The steel door,
now lying on the floor, had been blown of its hinges, stopping much of the
explosive force.  Near the door was a burning mound, all that remained of the
Fiend.

         Then It rose, fire still burning upon Its
head and clothing; Its damaged arm had been completely blown off.  The Fiend
walked down the hallway, slowly.  “Dirk, Selric hurry!” she screamed and the
sounds of chopping came faster.  Fiona heard something behind her; it was
Melissa lowering herself down the ladder using only her arms, her leg dangling
limply.

         “Hurry.  Drop ‘em,” Melissa called up
frantically.  Fiona looked up; Will was holding Melissa’s bow and quiver.  He
had brought them for her, refusing to believe that she had been killed.  He
knew how she took her bow everywhere and that she would probably want it when
found.

         Sitting on her backside, her bow turned
sideways and spreading nearly from one wall to the next, Melissa knocked an
arrow and with deadly accuracy and no hesitation she shot the Fiend in the
chest.  Fiona could see the pain in Melissa’s face; pain from her shoulder
wound, from the poison, and from her leg.  The Fiend staggered, like the living
dead, then came on, the arrow smoking in Its chest as the Elfin-enchanted
missile assailed the wickedness of the Fiend.  She fired rapidly again and
again, giving It no time to advance, each shot driving It back another few
steps from the force of the blow.  On the fifth shot the Fiend staggered and
fell back silently into the burning sewage.

         Dirk and Selric knocked the door to
pieces and stepped through.  “He’s in the water!” Melissa cried.  Dirk and
Selric looked in disbelief at the women, wondering how they had beaten them
down to the basement then ran where directed.  Fiona leaned back into Melissa’s
lap; it was her turn to be comforted her wounds and the use of her magic
draining her.  Melissa looked up at the boy who once hated her, the one who had
just saved her and Fiona’s lives. 

         Will gave her the thumbs-up in return,
smiling broadly.  “Yeah!” he said emphatically.  “Way to go, Mel.”

         Dirk and Selric raced down the hall and
Selric leapt the flames and landed on the opposite walkway.  Together they
literally hacked the Fiend to pieces as It floated upon the water.  The only
thing recognizable when they had finished was Its blackened head.  They looked
at him, Olaf Svenson, now just bits of flesh and bone.  All of It was gone,
only the leather worker’s shattered body remaining.  The oil burned in little
scattered puddles all about, lighting the hall and filling it with bitter smoke
as well. 

         “That’s it then,” Selric said as simply
as if he had just finished a bottle of wine.

         Constable Mason drained his cup of milk
as he signed the parchment on his desk.  He read it through one last time,
making sure that it was written as well as possible then set it down.  Mason
rose and took his woolen cloak off the rack and walked out his door.

         “Good bye, boys,” he said as he walked
past the front desk.  Odie and Donder looked at their constable.  Mason had
lost thirty pounds of his once proud physique, and much of his dark hair was
now gray from his constant search for the Fiend.

         “When will you be back in, sir?” asked
Donder.  Mason shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but was
interrupted by merchant lord Varrick Hansen as he came running in.

         “Mason,” Varrick said.  “It seems that it
is over.”

         “What is?” Mason asked, his voice
scratchy and hoarse from weeks of talking very little and by nearly constant
exposure to the cold and damp of the sewers.

         “The murders.  I thought you would like
to know that the merchant council received a note this morning telling us that
the thing, this Fiend, has been killed.

         “Where is this note?”

         “Well, let’s keep it our secret,” said
Varrick. “We don’t want his majesty to hear of this.  He has made it clear that
the matter is treasonous.”

         “Do you really believe this note?” Mason
asked.

         Varrick shrugged with a weary smile and
walked back outside.  As he stood upon the top step, he turned back.  “Can’t
you feel it?” he asked. “Yes, yes I believe the note,” he surmised, smiling and
walking briskly down the stairs and away up the street.  “Hello!  Good
morning,” he called to passersby who replied just as gaily.  Mason
could
feel it.  Everyone could.  He walked back up to his office and tore his
resignation in half, then setting it alight, dropped it out his window, watching
it float down to settle onto the snow bank far below.

         “Sir?” asked Donder as Mason passed once
again for the door.

         “I’m going to get some sleep,” Mason
said.  “But, I’ll be back,” and he smiled for the first time in almost a year. 
Donder and Odie looked at each other and simply shrugged.