By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (40 page)

         “If only we had tried to ask Grandfather
or Father before they set sail,” Mendric said.  “Or if Brandon were here...”

         “We had no idea that the king’s officials
would be so idiotic about the whole thing.  Besides, we didn’t want to delay
their journey,” Selric said.

         The Stormweather boys soon found strange
men lurking across the street from the gate.  When approached, these
individuals would produce a royally-stamped edict decreeing that the bearer was
on royal duty and any hindrance of that duty would result in immediate
imprisonment or death of the offenders.  So, Selric and Mendric ignored the
men, and left them to stand their silent, mysterious vigils.

         “What do you think he meant by “The
Fiend” Selric?” asked Mendric as he sat in his father’s chair, rubbing his head
with one hand, a mug of ale in his other.

         “It seems that the story he told before
may be true, or at least he believes so,” said Selric, sitting in his mother’s
chair, a goblet of wine his beverage.  He could still smell her hair and
perfume in the furniture upholstery.  Mendric opened his mouth in disbelief,
but Selric cut him short.  “I’m serious.  I was the skeptic before, but come
on:  they whisk him off to a waiting wagon in broad daylight as he’s about to
tell us some mysterious message.  It’s more than a little strange.”

         “Yes, a great deal strange.  Well, what
about what they said at the prison?”

         “What?  About him being a traitor and
caught trying to pass on secret information to us, his co-conspirators?  No way
in the Hells.  You saw Duncan.  He could not be mistaken for a real spy.  He’s
loony from something.”

         “Yes,” Mendric said, “but they claim that
Duncan is only acting mad to throw off suspicion.”

         “No,” said Selric.  “They would have
arrested us with or without proof, at least for questioning or a mind probe,
and the crown is covering the whole thing up. That’s the key!”  Both sat
pondering, staring at the flickering flames in the hearth.  The room was dark,
lit only by the roaring fire, the manor quiet with those few remaining staff in
bed for the night. 

         “I don’t know what to do,” Mendric
finally said.  “I can’t leave my old friend in that horrid place.”  

         “It’s the Fiend,” Will said slowly,
seriously, startling them both.  Neither one had noticed that he had snuck in
and was lying sideways in Grandfather’s chair.

         “Oh really?” Mendric asked.  “Who says? 
And what are you doing in that chair?”

         “No, really.”  Will sat up and perched
himself on the edge of his seat; his feet barely touching the floor and his face
cast in the shadows of the firelight.  “I’ve seen him.”  Chills ran down the
spines of the brave Stormweather lads as they sat up and tried to shake off the
heavy hand of alcohol.

         “Where?” Selric asked softly.

         “Well,” Will paused.  “I can’t say that I
saw
him,” he hurried before he lost all credibility, “but I
felt
him; in the sewers.  And I saw a shape, like a huge shadow, pass down the
walkway more than once.  But I was so afraid, I couldn’t move.”  The hair stood
up on the necks of the men.  “He stopped and all I could see were these two
glowing green eyes, and I felt real cold; real afraid.  One time, this sack he
carried wiggled and made noises and he looked at it, shook it,” Will
demonstrated this part, “then turned and went off.  He just seemed to
disappear, and I never heard no footsteps either.  I felt that same sick
feeling in my stomach many times and I got real cold, but sweated anyway like I
was burning up.  One time...” he began, then fell silent, his eyes filling with
tears.

         “What Will?” asked Selric.

         “Nothing.”

         “Tell us.  Tell
me
,” Selric said,
leaning over to touch the boy’s arm.

         “One time...one time It tried to get me,”
he said, tears running down his face, though he did not sob.  “I was in my home
and It growled and tore at the stones, but the hole was to small for It to get
in.”

         “When was this?” Mendric asked.  Both
Stormweathers looked eerily at each other, disbelief in their minds, but the
dreadful fear that it might be true in their hearts.

         “Oh, about six months ago.  I have a
blade now.  I’m not afraid.  I could whoop him.  I was just a kid then,” he
said bravely, drying his face on his sleeve and seeming to cheer almost
immediately.

         “Just a kid then, huh?” Selric asked.
“Well, you are my servant now, and I order you to stay out of the sewers, or
you’re fired.”  Will began to protest, but fell silent when he saw the stern
look on his master’s usually carefree face.  “That’s okay,” Will thought
anyway, “I really don’t want to see the Fiend again.”  He rose and sat on the
floor by Selric on a small pillow beside the chair.  He checked the shadows in
the back of the room to see if all was safe.  Selric rubbed the boy’s head and
they all sat silently, lost in their own thoughts for a long time before
heading off to bed.

         Winter came unheralded that week, and
basically unnoticed.  Life still went on.  The first storm, a week after that,
dumped half-a-man’s height of snow on the city and the gates were closed.  No
more wagons would come or go until spring, for while the snow might lapse
during brief warm periods, there was no way a wagon, even from the south, could
make the entire journey before a heavy snow would waylay it.  Dirk, inspired by
the children below pelting passers-by with snowballs, made the same and dropped
them onto others, quickly ducking behind his parapet.  This is how he was
passing the time, nearly two weeks after the snow came, when bells sounded at
the South Gate, signaling the approach of someone, or something.  Dirk rushed
down through the store, out into the street, and over to the gate where many
guardsmen were waiting with long pole-arms shaped like huge forks.  Along with
dozens of spectators, Dirk watched eagerly, little else to spark their interest
now that the dull of winter had settled in. 

         Soon, a sled approached the gate, drawn
by a dozen dogs at least, and piloted by a giant of a man covered head-to-toe
in thick furs.  He ran quickly behind the large sledge, mushing the dogs on.
Then, close behind, announced by the “oos” and “aahs” of the crowd, came three
large ogres shuffling through the snow.  Fond of human flesh, as well as that
of dog, they pursued, rather hopelessly.  He had broken through their trap and
now raced away from them.  Two made the mistake of pursuing too close to the
city walls and were killed by archers along the battlements.  The men with
forks rushed forward as the gate was opened to repel the last if he attempted
to rush the open portal, and to cover the gate as the group of a hundred
soldiers filed outside on a patrol to protect the outlying farms and stockyards
and track down that last beast and any more that may have wandered so close to
the city.

         The traveler, a full two heads taller
than a normal man, must have weighed more than two men, though in his furs it
was difficult to tell accurately.  He drove on up the road, waving furiously at
the cheering crowd, straight to Bessemer’s.  By the time Dirk got back, the man
was dealing with Jenderson on imported items, all small and expensive, that the
citizens would otherwise not see until the thaw, unless another daredevil tried
the dangerous run, or a captain dared the waters infested with chunks of jagged
ice.  Jenderson bought at fair prices and directed the traveler to pull the
loaded sled into the warehouse.  Though he had wanted to, Dirk did not have a
chance to say a word to the man.

         It was several days later, Dirk and
Melissa had been getting along better since Dirk’s change of heart, and they
decided to try life as friends, albeit very close ones.  Melissa arrived at
Bessemer’s just as darkness fell.  One of the guard dogs broke loose and tore
after her, but she calmly stood as the slobbering beast closed in.  When it was
just steps away, she pointed at it and yelled in a commanding tone for it to
stop, staring it dead in the eye.  The animal stopped, but stood growling at
her viciously.  She reached forward, despite its warning sounds, speaking
soothingly, and stroked its head.  The dog stopped growling and relaxed as the
guards came running up.  “That’s not a smart thing to do, Missy,” one of them
said.  “He’s a guard dog, trained to kill.”   The dog leapt forward at his
former masters, biting and barking, restrained only by Melissa’s strong hand on
its collar.  The guards jumped back in fear.  Melissa smiled.  She knelt down,
and placing her arm around the dog’s neck and whispered something only the dog
could hear.  It calmed and wagged its tail, panting in a relaxed, friendly
manner.  She released the dog and it trotted back to its master, showing no
sign of its momentary ferocity toward him. 

         “What’s all the noise?” Dirk asked.

         “Just the puppy,” Melissa said.

         “Yeah, they’re real upset with those sled
dogs in the warehouse barking all the time.  I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep
tonight.”

         “You can sleep at my place, if you want,”
she said.  The guards looked at each other and grinned. 

         “We’re friends,” Dirk said to them,
annoyed by their improper thoughts.  “Shall we go?” Dirk then asked Melissa,
and they went out for liquid refreshment.   When en route from one tavern to
the next, they walked into
The Swimming Serpent
and there, above the
crowd, stood the horn-helmed, furry barbarian sledge runner:  he was smiling
while arguing with several townspeople.  Melissa had heard the tale of the
man’s arrival from Dirk and admired his courage, so when Dirk smacked her arm
and said, “Come on” as he waded off through the crowd, she fell in behind him.

         “What are we gonna do?” she asked, her
hands on Dirk’s shoulders as he cleared as path through the jam-packed room.

         “See if he needs some help, and maybe get
to talk to him.”  By the time they reached him, the barbarian was thumping
citizens on the head with a large, pitcher-sized wooden mug.  They, in turn,
were trying to grab hold of him and drag him down.

         Dirk and Melissa fought their way
through; everyone there seeming to fight everyone else as the melee spread like
ripples on a pond.  The friends beat back those trying to grab the large man
and just as they found a moment to speak with him, the front door burst open
and the Watch came rushing in to break up the fight, which had already calmed
down in the front of the tavern, but still raged in the back.  After talking to
the Watch near the door, several patrons pointed to the barbarian, Dirk, and
Melissa.  The guards proceeded to press their way toward them, calling for
their surrender.

         Dirk followed the barbarian and Melissa
followed Dirk, and they made a caravan out the back where they piled crates in
front of the door to slow their pursuers and escape.  After successfully evading
the Watch, Dirk, Melissa and the barbarian merchant ended up drinking in
another tavern half the city away from
The Swimming Serpent
and after nearly
five hours of friendly conversation, business talk, and tall tales, the man,
whose name was Bear Fellaxe, asked them to accompany him.

         He led them, all three feeling the
effects of alcohol, back to the warehouse.  It was warmer inside than out, but
was still cold and Melissa crawled up into Bear’s fur-packed sled and became so
comfortable that she was soon fast asleep.  Bear rooted through his belongings,
or what was left after Jenderson removed what items had been purchased, and
pulled out a helm, much like his own:  a sturdy iron affair, with two bull
horns protruding from the top.  He gave it to Dirk.  “You fight like a real
barbarian, Dirk,” he said, and Dirk put it on.  Other than the fact that it
occasionally tipped from side to side, covering one eye at a time, it fit
perfectly.  Bear also presented Dirk with a mug, like his own, which they filled
from one of Bessemer’s beer barrels in stock.

         “I’ll pay for it tomorrow,” Dirk admitted
and Bear nodded emphatically, with a large grin, unaware of Dirk’s true
honesty. 

         “Now that’s a plan!” Bear agreed loudly,
shouting his conversations as if giving his dogs commands.  After several giant
mugs of beer and a couple Northmen songs, the two men calmed and fell silent
for the first time that evening.  Dirk found that he liked being a Northman,
even if only by honorarium.

         “Why do they call you Bear Fellaxe?” he
asked.

         “Because,” Bear roared, laughing, as if
the question were dumb, at least while inebriated.

         “No, why?” Dirk pressed seriously.

         “You must give a barbarian oath to never
tell.  You must swear on your honor as a warrior.”

         “I swear,” Dirk said as soberly as
possible, teetering from side to side as he placed his hand over his heart.

         “They call me Bear because I killed a
bear with only a knife.”

         “Okay,” Dirk said.  “And they call you
Fellaxe because you have a fell axe, or you wield a fell axe?”

         “That’s what people think,” Bear said,
“but...” he leaned closer and pulled from his back the tremendous double-bladed
axe that Dirk knew must have weighed an immense amount, “...one night I was
sleeping, and my axe,” he shook it, “fell off the wall and hit me on my head.” 
He nodded to assure Dirk of his truthfulness.  He even showed Dirk the wicked
scar he bore on his forehead.  Dirk laughed and Bear hit him on the back,
causing Dirk to cough and sputter.  Bear laughed at Dirk’s discomfort, then
fell silent and looked at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes as seriously as he
could.