By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (28 page)

         He rolled over, resting the side of his
face against her unfelt softness, but he noticed then, that she was covered in
blood.  This time it was his.  The bottom of her short dress was soaked and it
had run down onto her thighs and covered her hose as well.  Cinder was kneeling
in a thick puddle of red, almost black liquid.  She stood, and teetering on her
heels, pulled with all her strength to help him stand.  Dirk rose and, leaning
on Cinder’s arm, staggered into her room.  She led him to the bed and he lay
down on the cool sheets, too weak to notice the splotches of blood here and
there.  She retrieved a small jar of white salve and rubbed it on his numb
face.  He was wondering how long he had been lying in the street and what the
salve might be when he lapsed into unconsciousness again.  His last memory was
of Cinder discarding her bloody clothing for something clean then running out
the door, her face pale and worried.  She had said something to him but Dirk
could not hear her last words.

         When Dirk woke he was in his room and the
sun was shining in the western window.  Melissa was there in a chair next to
the bed, head sagging on her breast, softly breathing and asleep.  Dirk
marveled, even in his pain, at how she looked so like a child.  There sleeping,
no sign of her fierceness showed.  The dying sunlight danced in her thick hair,
making it shine in a golden light.  He tried to sit up, but his head pounded so
severely that he quickly lay back down.  His beating came flooding back to
memory.  Dirk rolled over onto his side and to his horror saw a hideous man,
his face like a bruised tomato, staring at him.  His head was swollen to the
point of bursting, it seemed.  Dirk let out a feeble cry, like a mother whose
child has been taken by Death.

         At the pitiful sound, Melissa sat
upright, sword flashing from its sheath, the look of a lioness in her eyes. 
She quickly put the blade away and knelt by Dirk.  He had realized that it was
no man across the room, but his own blasted reflection.  Silent tears trickled
down his cheeks as sorrow turned to rage.  Melissa sat by him, shielding the
gaze of his reflection and he tried to roll away, knowing that it must be
difficult for her even to look on him.  But Melissa held him firm; his head
against her breast.  Dirk could hear her strong heart racing; she was
distressed for him and he felt it.   The comfort she had always brought Dirk was
soothing and he closed his eyes.  After several minutes he tried to speak, but
could only make a weak croaking sound.  His mouth was so swollen that he could
barely open it to speak.  Though Dirk would face much greater perils and foes
later in his life, he would never be hurt so badly again.  He wondered what
kind of monster man must be; much worse than any beast or fiend of the wild. 
Knowing Dirk would want to know what had happened, Melissa told him the tale as
she knew it.

         “Cinder came and got us,” Melissa said. 
She rose and got Dirk a ladle of water, slowly feeding it to him.  “She said
you had been in the street for an hour before she got you inside,” Melissa
continued.  “When we got there, Fiona used some kind of magic on you and the
bleeding just stopped.  It was weird.  You look much better than last night, I
must say, and she’ll be by later to do some more.  Well, then this man came by
and helped us carry you to your room.  We laid you on a sheet and me, Fiona,
and this guy carried you over here.  The man hauled you up the ladder and I put
you into bed.  Fiona tended you a little more then walked Cinder home, and the
man left too.  I stayed here with you last night and today...and that’s…that’s
pretty much it,” she finished in her sweet, simple way; the way she was when
they had first met.  Dirk closed his eyes, his curiosity sated for the time
being, and he quickly fell asleep.  He could faintly remember Fiona treating
him again later that evening, but he did not wake fully until the middle of the
night. 

         It was dark in the room when Dirk awoke. 
He was lying on his back, Melissa next to him, her head on his chest.  In his
sleep he thought he had heard someone calling him; someone far off.  Then while
fully awake, he saw a form, a large black form, silhouetted by the moon shining
in the window directly behind it.  Dirk reached for his sword, at least where
he had always kept it.  It wasn’t there.  Just then the form turned aside, the
moonlight streamed in and Dirk saw the form bore a large sack.  It tossed it,
with a “thud,” next to the bed.

         Dirk looked up.  Now in the light, he
could see who the intruder was.  It was the tall blonde man that he had met in
the store, robed in a long, black cloak.  Dirk stirred and Melissa rolled the
other way, curling up into a ball and driving her butt against his hip.  Dirk
rolled over as well, but toward the man, and he sat up on his elbow.  The man
lit the lantern and left it low, casting a weak orange glow across the shadowy
room.  Dirk could see himself in the mirror and was pleasantly surprised that
Fiona’s treatments had indeed reduced the swelling, though he obviously still
needed more of the mysterious magic, along with much additional rest.

         Unsure of whether to open the bag or not,
Dirk just looked at it.  The stranger stood still, studying Dirk.  “Open it,”
he said softly, yet somehow commanding.  Dirk picked it up and looked inside,
but could see only darkness.  “Dump it out,” the man said and Dirk did.  He was
mortified as two heads rolled out with a “thud” and a “thump,” then came to a
rest.  Dirk could see who they were:  Tyrluk and his squire.  Tyrluk stared up
at Dirk, a look of horror and anguish on his face.  Dirk didn’t know whether to
laugh or scream.

         “Why?” Dirk mumbled.  “How?”  He laid back
down wearily.

         “I saw it.  I was there,” he said.  Dirk
grew angry.

         “There!  If you were there, why didn’t
you stop them?  They could’ve killed me!” he complained, his head throbbing.

         “There are wiser things to do than attack
two armored knights.  Besides, I wouldn’t have let them kill you.  A man in no
hurry to die should be in no hurry to kill.  I was ready to step in...if there
was no other way.  They got theirs, that’s all that should matter.  And I
tended to your wounds before your friends arrived.  You would have died.”

         “Why were you there?  You’d better not be
following Cinder,” Dirk said.

         “You’re both lucky I was.  She’s a pretty
girl, bless her heart, though she knows little of healing.  Melissa is a fine
example of womanhood as well,” he said, motioning to her, “especially when she
sleeps.  She loses that look,” he said, moving his hand down slowly over his
face, like an actor portraying some change of emotion.  Dirk grew angrier;
worried over his friends.  The stranger could feel his apprehension.  “You have
nothing to fear from me, Dirk.”  Then he changed subjects without any
indication.  “You should have seen them when they died.  Not quite so brave and
fierce.”  He held his hands up as if in fear and mimicked Tyrluk’s horrified
expression, before breaking into a quiet laugh.

         Dirk was appalled at the man’s
callousness, but felt if any one ever deserved death, it was the two men whose
heads now littered his floor.  “I’ll be in touch”, the man said.  “Do as your
healer says, and you’ll bear no scars.  And don’t report this instance.  No
need to involve the Watch, eh?”  Dirk rose but when he steadied his swimming
head and looked again, the stranger had gone.  Dirk stumbled out to the
overlook, but there was no trace of him.

         “He either flew, jumped, or disappeared
into thin air,” Dirk said silently to himself, looking out over the southern
rail, nearly falling in his dizziness.  Then he remembered the heads.  He was
about to call and remind the stranger that he had forgotten them, but thought better
of it.  Dirk knew he had to get rid of them before Melissa woke.  He went
inside, found his sword and, holding the bag open with one hand, laboriously
batted the severed parts inside.  He carried them out and, whirling them about
over his head, let the bag fly over the street and onto the roof of an adjacent
building.  They landed with a sickening thud.  Dirk laughed to himself, though
he did not know what he found humorous.  He also thought, too late, that maybe
the strange Fiona might have wanted to see the heads, though he could not
understand what made him think of that.  “I’ve been seeing her too, much!” he
gasped to himself, walking back to his bed and, strangely, resting well. 
Somehow, he felt safe.

         Dirk and Melissa woke the next morning
holding hands.  Dirk felt fine, except for his head which still ached a bit. 
He wanted to get up and go to Sellore’s, but knew he was not yet ready:  while
he knew he needed to heal physically, mentally he wanted to train so that such
a thing could never happen to him again.  Melissa released his hand and hugged
him tightly.  They lay like that, with Dirk’s arm around her, for almost an
hour before the trapdoor popped open and Fiona came up.  She turned and took a
pair of hands, their nails painted bright red, and pulled them up, thus lifting
Cinder into the room, both struggling in their effort.  Fiona checked Dirk’s
wounds, mumbled a few incantations which further eased Dirk’s pain and the
pressure inside his skull.  And his teeth seemed not so loose anymore as well. 
He was definitely on his way to a miraculous recovery, thanks to Fiona’s spell
weaving. 

         All three women fawned over Dirk,
touching and rubbing his body, gently kissing his face.  They fed him a tender
steak dinner prepared at the
Wagon Wheel Inn
just down the street and
inside the southern gate.  Melissa cut the food into tiny pieces, Fiona fed it
to him, and Cinder held his cup of fine wine.  When Dirk had finished, Melissa
pulled on her boots and quickly brushed her hair with Cinder’s brush.  After
washing her face in the basin, she gathered her gear and kissed Dirk good-bye. 
“I have to go to work.  I’ll be back tonight.  Okay?” she said.  “Come on
Cinder, I’ll walk you.”

         “All right,” Cinder said as she rose. 
“Goodbye.  I’ll come back after work, too.”  She kissed him, and he touched the
bruise on her mouth that she had tried to conceal with make-up powders and face
paints.  She smiled kindly in return at him, her expression showing that she
would have endured much worse fighting for him as their eyes were locked for
several long, non-speaking but very feeling moments.  She held his hand to her
cheek tightly and closed her eyes, before kissing and releasing it.  Dirk’s
face showed the same will to endure for her, and Cinder left, Melissa helping
steady her down the ladder.  Dirk looked at Fiona; she almost bore a kind
expression on her face, he thought.  She smiled and rubbed his belly as she sat
on the edge of the bed.

         “You know, you’re very lucky,” she said. 
“You have a lot of people who love you.”

         “Yeah,” he scoffed.  “Three women who
want me for sex things.”

         “Don’t overrate yourself, or
underestimate Melissa.”

         “I know.  She’s not like that,” he
admitted.  “I’m just being smart,” he joked.

         “You are gorgeous, but there
are
other handsome men.  We like you for different reasons each.  But not one of us
likes you only for loving.”  Dirk felt low, as if being scorned.

         “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I hope you do,
but I can’t be dumb enough to just think it.  How would I know why three such
special and beautiful women would want to be nice to me?”

         “Well, we’re showing you,” Fiona said
with a kind smile.

         “I don’t know how I’d feel if you hadn’t
done...” he paused, “well, whatever it is you did.  How
did
you do it?” 
Fiona smiled at his appreciation.

         “Priestesses, and priests, who are loyal
to their deity, are rewarded with special powers; powers that further the
deity’s image.  Aura Painbliss gives me the power to heal in a mystical,
magical way, as well as a few other ways.  But I also know the ancient arts of
non-magical healing too.”

         “Oh,” Dirk said, closing his eyes, not
really understanding, nor caring; not right then.

         “You have other friends, too.  Selric was
here yesterday, and your manager and Mr. Bessemer asked about you separately.”

         “Oh yeah?” Dirk asked.  “That’s
surprising,” he thought.  He began to feel lucky, indeed. 

         They sat and talked and Fiona read to
Dirk from a large book of ancient lore she had brought for him, knowing his
interest in such things.  It told of fallen kingdoms and ancient lords tall and
proud, and he enjoyed it immensely.  Fiona had a charming voice and her elegant
manner made the tome and its characters come to life in Dirk’s mind and he sat
as a child enraptured by fairy tales, his eyes closed and his mind roaming. 
That day was the last that his friends stayed constantly with him.  Thereafter,
he laid two days resting on his own with only friendly visits each night.  By
the third he was walking through the store, his dizziness and pain having
completely passed, and Dirk was ready to move on to bigger and more important
things in his life.

         The broken clouds passed overhead, now
and again casting the streets and alleys of Andrelia into darkness, the stars
winking in and out.  The moon had already set.  As It flew through the streets,
the Fiend searched for prey; for the humans It so desired to destroy; to
devour.

         Jestell Andrews, thief of the night, felt
something approach, though she heard nothing but breathing:  no footfalls, no
voices.  She leapt out from hiding, blade drawn against the hooded figure
before her.  It paused and drew Itself up to Its full height; Its head standing
a foot above hers.  It swept back the hood and fear gripped Jestell, the knife
falling from her hand and her mouth dropping open.

         Jestell turned to flee, but It seized her
by her long red locks and jerked her backwards, off of her feet.  The Fiend
placed Its foot on Jestell’s hair, pinning her to the street.  She opened her
mouth to scream, but the Fiend struck her.  It was going to smash her face, but
her beauty was alluring, so the Fiend pummeled her midsection, catching her in
the midst of her scream and cutting it short.  One blow took Jestell’s breath,
the next snapped her ribs like twigs.  She brought her knees up to fend off the
blows, but instead of hitting again, It bound her wrists to her ankles, behind
her back tightly, and stuffed her own hood inside her mouth so far that she
could not expel it.

         “Great Aurauch!” Constable Mason said,
slamming his fist down onto his map and slouching back in his chair.  He stared
at the parchment and the markings he had placed in ink; showing the murder
sites as well as the areas of disappearances.  Markings in black were the ones
Mason felt were solitary; unique.  The red blemishes he believed related.  He
concentrated on the red ones, and even with thirty years spent in the Watch he
could find no pattern, no motive, no relevancy; only plain viciousness.  Women
and children slain helplessly; men killed here and there, many with their
weapons lying nearby, apparently useless against the murderers, or murderer. 
Mason leaned forward, resting his chin on his fists, eyes on the map,
searching, studying.  Then there came a knock on the door.

         “Yes,” Mason called, not gazing up from
his map.  The door opened and Watchman Odie Spellman came in.

         “Sir, we may have a lead,” he said. 
Without hesitation Mason stood, nearly thrusting his chair back through the
wall.  Odie ran out to stay clear of his charging constable.  Mason went
through the hall, down the stairs and to the intake room, or the main office.

         “Well?” he asked Watchman Sergeant Donder
Josh.

         “Sir,” he replied, pointing at a filthy,
bearded, and robed vagrant with wild eyes who sat in a chair near the wall. 
“This man claims to be a seer and says he knows who is responsible for the
prostitute murder last week.”  Mason looked at the vagrant who slowly rose and
stretched out his arms as if he meant to take flight.

         “I had a vision,” he began in a crackly
voice.  “I saw the Gronga sneaking into windows and stealing children...his
long claws covered in blood...his eyes fiery green.  He took this woman as
well, and stole into the sewers.”

         The Gronga was a mythological (believed)
“bogey” type character with whom mothers threatened their children in order to
keep them well behaved.  The Gronga would supposedly steal children and take
them to his lair in the sewers where he would lock them in cages and eat them
at his leisure, throwing the scraps to his servants, the rats.  So every
disappearance became infallible proof for parents that the Gronga existed,
though such jesting or cajoling was used less and less as the real threat of
harm loomed larger over every citizen of Andrelia.

         “What!” Mason bellowed grabbing the
vagrant and hauling him to the door, where he put his boot firmly to the man’s
backside and sent him sprawling into the street.  “Get outa here with that
nonsense.  Don’t waste my time, ya loon.”  Mason turned and cast his men a
steely glance.  “Next time, find out the story before you disturb me.”  He
stomped back up the stairs and slammed his door.

         “Whew!” Odie sighed.  “Next time, get him
yourself, Sergeant.”

         “I’m in charge and you’ll do as I say. 
Now get back to work,” Donder said shaking his head partly in frustration, partly
in disappointment.  Many of the constables and their watchmen were edgy and
frustrated at their inability to solve what they believed were related murders. 
The killing went on as the protectors stood helplessly by.  In districts such
as Mason’s, where the constables were convinced of the relativity and where
most of the murders took place, massive clue finding expeditions had been
launched, but to no avail.  In the other districts, no search was made at all,
only routine, separate investigations carried out, usually by different
investigators who rarely shared information from case to case or district to
district.  This lack of cooperation only made the chance of solving the linked
murders more impossible.  So life went on as fear and frustration grew.

         Dirk had already been up and well for a
week, cured of his wounds and, indeed as Fiona and the stranger had told him,
he bore no scars.  It all seemed then to him as a bad dream dissolving with the
first rays of revealing sunlight.  He stood upon the roof and felt the cool
morning wind in his face as a cloud bank rolled in off the sea.  Summer was
dying and the days shortened.  In a few weeks, the warm autumn days with their
cold nights would replace the sweltering days and warm evenings; dry breezes
would push out the humid stillness; high rolling clouds would fill the normally
clear skies.  Then, two short months later, the first snows would come and the
city would be an island in a sea of white:  no one coming in, no one leaving.

         Yet another merchant train entered the
city below Dirk, coming up from the warm southern lands, a long line of laden
wagons and their mounted guards.  Like bees, busy as summer drew to a close,
traders became more and more hurried, then frantic, each one trying to get in
one last haul.  The whole scene made Dirk nervous.  Soon it would be winter,
and another year would have passed with him stuck within the city walls.  He
had been busy all week, cramming his head full of information and methods
pertaining to the store, especially shipping.  Dirk was going to take control
of that facet of the store’s management, making sure that ordered loads arrived
and departed on time, and that they were correctly loaded.  Jenderson would
handle the books, as well as placing and receiving orders and keeping stock. 
Both men would split other duties as needed; customer service, rearrangement of
goods and displays, as well as directing the employees.

         Jenderson and Dirk had gotten along
remarkably well that week; both had come to at least respect, if not like, the
other.  Mr. Bessemer gathered what he needed, had scribes copy many of the
important documents, then turned the office over to Jenderson.  He left, vowing
to return in the spring and fill them in on the new business he counted on
having up and sprinting by then.  The paperwork was complete; Dirk was co-owner
of Bessemer’s and after his loan payments, still made over three hundred crowns
every month.  This was not the income of even the lowliest noble, but Dirk was
now as affluent as all but the most prosperous merchants.

         That day, it was back to work as before
for Dirk.  There were three wagon-loads of goods that he needed to find a
caravan for, so that they might travel south in two days at the latest with the
protection of numbers, rather than strike out alone.  To have his wagons tag
along with an arranged caravan, Dirk needed to find then pay the caravan master
for the permission, though such a fee was cheaper than hiring his own guards to
escort the wagons to their destination. 

         Dirk also had two loads on order to
deliver throughout the city; one of which he would have to do himself, as he
had done for years, business so heavy that week that his deliveryman could not
keep up.  He also needed to hire more security, since items had come up missing
during his illness.  His plan was to go to the Stormweather military school,
The
Brawny Arms Academy
, to hire skilled and trusted guards.  When a soldier
graduated that school, he was under contract to work for his employer two
years, for scant pay along with room and board; the remainder of his salary,
instead, going to the Stormweathers in exchange for the soldier’s schooling. 
Thereafter, the man was free to seek employment wherever he desired at standard
rates of pay as mercenaries, caravan guards, bodyguards, soldiers, etc.

         Dirk hoped to hire four men to work in
two shifts, each pair of men with one guard dog.  When Dirk inquired at
The
Brawny Arms
, he was informed, not to his surprise, that the Stormweathers
also owned an animal training hall, where he could purchase a trained animal or
have animals of his choice trained.  They worked with dogs, small and large,
great hunting cats, bears, and beasts more strange and mystical, commonly
called “monsters.”  Dirk hired the men, then the dogs, and took them back to
the store.  He showed them the area they were to protect with orders to start
the next day.  He then showed them their quarters; an apartment in the upper
story warehouse behind the store.  By that time it was six bells and Dirk was famished. 
He had the foresight to arrange a date with Cinder and he washed, dressed
nicely, and met her at the perfume shop.  He walked in to the “ding” of the
bell which hung over the door. 

         “No,” Cinder said to a wizened old man,
probably, Dirk thought, in his sixties.  “I can’t.  Tonight I have an
engagement.  No, tomorrow too.”  She looked at Dirk.  “Hello, sweety,” she said
to him with a smile, rising and coming to greet him with a kiss.  Dirk kissed
her long and deeply, dipping Cinder back, her hair almost touching the floor. 
She was smitten.  Dirk had never kissed her like that before; not with such
flair and confidence.  Cinder stood wide-eyed, staring, smiling, and biting her
bottom lip playfully.  Neither lover heard the old man pass out the door.  “I’m
going,” Cinder called into the back, not changing her expression, nor turning
her eyes from Dirk’s.

         “All right,” came the answer.  Cinder
was, for the special occasion, permitted to leave early that day.

         Cinder’s stare made Dirk uncomfortable:  to
him she seemed like a vampiress, ready to devour him, and he wondered if maybe
he should have kissed her in his normally friendly manner.  “No,” he thought,
“not this time.  I’m ready for it,” he said bravely to himself.

         Cinder took his arm, smiling and still
staring, teasing him as they left arm-in-arm to dinner.  After the meal they
went to
Gambler’s Paradise
, as named, a gambling den for high-class
patrons.  Though winning was tough and infrequent, a good haul could still be
taken in one game if the player was deft enough.  And if smart, the winner
would quit while ahead:  the
Paradise
was notorious for getting back
what they had lost.

         After a small snack the couple enjoyed a
round of drinks.   “It’s nice to finally get you on a date again,” Dirk mused.

         “Mm-mm,” Cinder agreed, beaming across
the table at him, her radiance making her seem rather dream-like to Dirk.  She
was truly glad to be with him, having been alerted by his illness how easily
she might never see him again.  “I’d rather be with you than anyone else.  But
you’re busy, too.”

         “Even Selric?” he asked.

         “Yes,” she said.  After a moment, she
continued.  “You see, Selric and I enjoy each other’s company.  He’s rich,
sophisticated, charming—very charming—and a wonderful lover.  But it will never
go beyond that.  And I do like being with you just as much, doing the things we
do.”  Dirk was not sure he understood, but he was not particularly encouraged. 
Just then he saw a familiar shape pass behind Cinder.  It was the stranger; the
decapitator of his attackers.

         As the stranger passed, he glanced at
Dirk, a sly grin on his face.  He stepped behind Cinder, raising his eyebrows
and smiling in tribute to her beauty.  Dirk grew nervous.  Cinder noticed
Dirk’s stare and whirled around, her hair flying out around her wildly, but the
man had already walked away.  Dirk stood, excused himself and went over to the
man.

         “What are you doing here?” Dirk asked,
trying to be polite.

         “I’m going to have a few drinks and ply
my hand at gambling,” he said quite matter-of-factly.  Then he smiled wryly saying,
“That’s Cinder, is it not?”

         “Yes,” said Dirk, his eyes narrowing. 
“You know it is.  Did you follow us—or
her
?” 

         The man’s reply was evasive.  “Have you
ever played this?” he asked, walking over to a game table.  “It’s called the
fox.  See that piece?  That’s the fox,” he said pointing to a black token on a
board designed similar to the track on which charioteers once raced.  At
various lengths behind the piece, were several white tokens.  “Those are the hounds. 
Players roll the dice, as does the dealer, who gets a head start.  If someone
catches the fox before he reaches safety,” he pointed then to a line across the
board, “they win.”  He looked at Dirk.