By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (14 page)

         Vandelar drained his mug and ordered
another.  Frogger Mason, of the Mason profession, one of Boris’s friends,
became inspired to once more lead the room in a song, another senseless one,
Vandelar felt.  Music, as in any civilization, was almost always welcome, and
an establishment such as
The Crossbow
could seldom afford to hire a
musician, so the clientele made their own.

         Indeed it was a silly song; one Vandelar
could not believe he saw any of the rough, hard working men sing.  He thought
it had something to do with a mermaid, caught somehow; a fisherman’s net, on a
reef or something.  Vandelar wasn’t listening.  His attention was instead
riveted on a stunning, raven-haired beauty in black, who sat alone at a table. 
Only the men being gathered arm in arm in a great circle near the counter kept
the room from growing silent at her entrance:  none had seen her yet.  Vandelar
turned and leaned back against the bar to gain a better look at her.  She saw
him and smiled, then turned away with a grin.  Vandelar had to step aside to
keep his gaze on the female unbroken as a tall, muscular young man came
squeezing between him and Boris to place an order with the barkeep, yelling
over the rough chorus.  Vandelar took his fresh mug and walked over to the
radiant vixen.  She looked up curiously as he said something, but all she heard
over the singing was “alone?” and she smiled, so he sat down.

         “Hi,” Vandelar said.

         “Hi,” came the reply from the young man
he had seen at the bar.  The young man, Dirk, sat down on the other side of the
young woman, Cinder, and handed her a glass of wine.  Vandelar was about to
announce that he had been there first, but judging by the woman’s reaction to
the other gent’s return, it was he who belonged there.  Vandelar sighed and
shrugged his shoulders as the young couple smiled on him, not in an unfriendly
manner.  He smiled back, got up, and took his place once more at the bar. 
Vandelar looked back one more time:  the couple was holding hands.  He turned
away with no ill feelings just as the song came to an end, a welcome end for
him, but it was followed by cheers from the crowd.  They, at least, had enjoyed
the tune.

         After many minutes, several drinks, and
one more song, Boris began to lose control, as he did every night.  Vandelar
heard him mention, in several derogatory terms, what he planned to do with the attractive
young woman who, according to him, wanted his affection.  He pulled up his
pants, took a breath, and, receiving several slaps on the back, staggered over
to the table where Dirk and Cinder were seated.  Vandelar pondered whether to
leave or not.  He did not have any personal ill-will toward Boris, but he did
not like, nor appreciate, a man who became rude under the charm of liquor.  The
young man looked quite capable of handling himself, but if he did then Boris’s
friends would likely step in.  Vandelar just did not want to see it happen this
time:  not to them.  They looked like two happy, nice people, an oddity in
Andrelia.

         “Hey wench,” Boris stuttered.  Cinder
looked up and disgust obviously crossed her face.  “I saw you lookin’ at me.” 
He bent over close to her.

         “Excuse us,” Dirk said.  He looked at the
man and knew by his glassy stare that he was drunk beyond reasoning.

         “Shut up boy!” Boris bellowed.  Cinder
rolled her eyes playfully at Dirk, as if asking, “Now what are you going to
do?”

         “Why do you do this to me?” Dirk muttered
softly, trying not to move his lips.

         “I’ll do something to you if you don’t
scat, bone head,” Boris said, overhearing Dirk despite his whispering.

         “I should let him beat the crap out of me
and do what he wants to you, just to teach you a lesson.  Stop flirting with
everybody!” Dirk snapped at Cinder.

         “That’s a good idea.  I think I will,”
Boris said gleefully, reaching towards Dirk.

         “Let it go, Boris,” Vandelar commanded
sternly enough that those who had not yet paid this discourse any attention, now
sat up attentively.  All grew quiet and the eager smiles of many there, hoping
to see a tussle, faded once Vandelar became involved.  Cinder said nothing,
especially to discourage it, simply watching the hostile humans interact.  Dirk
looked at Vandelar.

         “You let it go,” Boris responded to his
acquaintance at the counter, blinking slowly in his stupor, trying to clear his
head, nearly falling over each time his eyes closed.  Boris’ friends laughed at
his drunkenness, which made him do the same.  Cinder watched Dirk; his face was
red and angry, his muscular neck bulging.  “She wants me.  She’s a big girl. 
She doesn’t need you to protect her,” Boris continued to Vandelar, no longer
concerned with Dirk.

         “Let me buy you a drink,” Vandelar said,
palms upward, as if beseeching.

         “I don’t want a drink.  I want this!” he
growled, grabbing Cinder’s wrist. 

         Dirk would put up with many things, but
someone grabbing Cinder roughly was not one of them.  He was up in a flash and had
Boris by the throat before the befuddled man knew what was on him.  With one
strike to the jaw, Dirk felled him like a great oak, but Boris was not out. 
Vandelar winced and chuckled as the large man hit the floor and the crowd
gasped, then laughed for only a moment.  From the floor, Boris, with great
strength, pulled a chair right out from under a patron and struck Dirk with it,
knocking him over his own chair and onto his back.  Shaking his head, stunned
for a moment, Dirk wondered where he was.  He looked up between his legs, which
were still lying over his chair, and saw Boris approaching with a long knife in
his hand.  He couldn’t roll away; a table to one side prevented it, and to the
other, a seated customer.  Dirk fumbled for his huge sword, but being so long,
it jammed into the table behind him before he could clear it from its scabbard;
it was essentially locked in.

         Boris would have driven his knife into
Dirk if it weren’t for a flash of steel:  Vandelar’s steel.  With an
upper-cutting thrust, Vandelar dislodged Boris’s knife and sent it sailing,
coming to stick in the tabletop between the fingers of a flabbergasted patron. 
Vandelar stood there, pointing four feet of slender steel at Boris’s throat,
his eyes narrow and nostril’s flared in warning.

         “Now you’re going too far, Boris.  You
don’t kill someone because you want his woman.”  Boris looked around, his face
scared, twisted, and desperate like that of a rabid, cornered animal.  His
breath was fast, eyes darting.  Nearly all influence of liquor had been shaken
from his head.  “Don’t!” Vandelar warned when he saw Boris eyeing the sword of
a seated patron nearby.  Boris relaxed and before Vandelar heard the warning
from Dirk he was seized from behind.  Boris leapt forward, wrestling the sword from
Vandelar’s hand, but as he turned to ply it on Dirk, he was met with two more
iron hard blows as Dirk had quickly risen.  This time Boris was out before he
hit the floor.  In a flash, Vandelar and Dirk punished Boris’ three compatriots
and all four lay still; some moaning, others snoring.  Dirk respectfully shook
Vandelar’s hand and invited him to join them.

         “No.  Thank you,” Vandelar replied, not
wanting to intrude.

         “Just for a drink or two,” urged Dirk.

         “Maybe one,” Vandelar admitted and sat,
this time across from Cinder, not beside her.  He eyed the lovely nymph; both
men did, as parents admonishing a disobedient child.  She blushed, then unable
to hold it any longer, smiled, and then she began to laugh heartily, not her
spritely elven laugh, but a good solid human one.  Vandelar and Dirk looked at
each other, exchanging wry miles.  Two of Boris’ friends rose and dragged their
mates out the door, presumably back to their beds.  Vandelar watched
attentively, just to be sure that they were indeed leaving.

         “Thank you,” Dirk said again.  “This
troublemaker is Cinder.  I’m Dirk.”

         “My name is Vandelar.  And
you’re
very welcome,” he said to Dirk.  “Now Cinder, on the other hand, I’m not so
sure,” he added, looking on her suspiciously, hand on his chin and head cocked in
judgment  Cinder giggled.

         “Yes I am,” she said with bratty
confidence, still smiling unabashedly.  Vandelar raised his brows in disbelief
at her brashness, knowing that she was indeed welcome.  He would have done just
about anything in the world to have her smile on him and thank him in earnest
as she did then.

         “Well,” Dirk said, drawing Vandelar’s
attention, “if there’s anything I can do to repay you, I’ll try my best.”

         “No thank you.  I don’t need anything.  I
just didn’t want to see either,” he glanced at Cinder, “of you get hurt by
those ruffians.”

         “Maybe I could get you something from
Bessemer’s at a good price.”

         “Oh?” Vandelar asked.

         “Yes, I’m the security boss, I guess you
could say.”

         “Now don’t be surprised if I take you up
on that.  I’ll need some things before I head back into the Wild.”

         “You’re going into the Wild?” Dirk asked
excitedly.

         “Yeah.  Interested?”

         “You bet,” said Dirk, sitting up and
situating himself attentively in his chair.

         “When I get my plans straight, I’ll stop
by and we’ll talk, Dirk.  But right now, I’ll leave you two alone.”

         “You don’t have to leave yet,” Cinder
said teasingly.

         “Yes I do,” he answered in a scolding
tone. 

         Dirk stood and shook his new friend’s
hand again as Vandelar rose to leave.  Vandelar walked around Dirk and sternly
patted his shoulder while casting Cinder an even sterner look.  She threw a
naughty grin and waved farewell.  Vandelar shook his head, smiling
uncontrollably.  Dirk stared at Cinder.  Though angry, it quickly passed.

         The weeks he had been seeing her had
caused a change in Dirk; he felt different, mostly about himself.  Aside from
learning the pleasures of the feminine form, he had almost forgotten Melissa. 
Now that she had moved and worked elsewhere—about as far away as she could be
from him and still within the city—he seldom saw her and he decided, as he sat
there, that he would bring himself to finally go see her again.  He missed
her.  Mostly he missed her friendship, and though he did not think it selfish
at that moment, he missed the embrace that was so much different than that of
the half-elf whom he obsessed over. 

         But Dirk had changed in other ways as
well.   The greatest difference was his ambition.  All the attention he
received—from Cinder especially—gave him a confidence like he had never had
before in his solitary life.  His gamble with Mr. Bessemer and the man’s trust
in him.  Melissa’s camaraderie.  It was all like a puzzle whose pieces were
starting to fall into place.  He now had dreams of the great things he would
do, actually going so far as to think that one day he might himself own a place
like Bessemer’s.

         Melissa lay on her bed, chin in her
hands.  Fiona was straddling her, sitting on Melissa’s rump massaging her back
and neck.  She had tied Melissa’s thick, shoulder-length hair into a ponytail
to keep it out of the way of her work.  Melissa had finished her shift an hour
earlier, and since it was her day off Fiona thought she would help Melissa
relax.  Over the past week they had spent many hours each day together, and had
come to think of each other as a kind of sister, both having been raised
without siblings.

         Melissa never felt so relaxed when
touched by anyone.  Dirk made her tingle all over, so relaxing at
his
touch was impossible.  She had always despised the approach of suitors, except
for Dirk, which confused her, because she could not deny they ‘made love’ but
it seemed so unlike what she imagined being courted would be like.  Their
friendship seemed to complicate the love; or was it the love complicating the
friendship?  Could both exist together, and if not which would she rather have
from him?  For Dirk, she had a fond eagerness for things she had wanted only
once in her life and never thought she would again, until she met him:  Melissa
had thought she loved a man earlier in her days, but now with Dirk she knew
that earlier feeling not love, perhaps simple infatuation.  But her love for
Dirk was so different.  It was not as eclipsing as it had been for her first
‘love’, where even concentrating on simple tasks was impossible.  With Dirk
there was a warmth, a need to be near him, and to know even when not near him
that he was never far away, and forever would be.

         Fiona’s touch was noncommittal.  Fiona
was always touching her, whether it was pinching, pushing, hugging, rubbing,
even punching lightly on the shoulder or arm.  Though sometimes it hurt,
Melissa didn’t mind, relishing the attention of a friend; a simple friend as
compared to her whirlwind with Dirk.  Melissa never had to give anything back
or respond.  There was no pressure and this let her feelings for her friend
grow naturally, more deeply.  Melissa was thinking, half-asleep, of how much
she actually trusted Fiona, when the young woman began to speak.

         “Well, what do you think?” Fiona asked,
gingerly squeezing the tension from Melissa’s shoulders.