By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (41 page)

         “That is a good woman.  Strong.  Fierce. 
Beautiful.”  He moved to the sledge and smacked Melissa’s backside several
times as she lay curled up on her side.  “Good child-bearing hips.  Have strong
sons.”  He paused to study Dirk’s reaction:  a look of puzzlement.  “I will
give you the entire haul that is left plus,” he said more loudly, “plus all the
money from my previous stock.  I’ll give it all to you for her.”  He smacked Melissa’s
flank again.  She moaned and rolled over in her sleep.

         Dirk pondered the offer seriously for
several moments before laughing out loud and realizing, “She’s not mine!” he
gasped in revelation.   “I can’t give her, or sell her,” he finally said.  Bear
nodded.

         “I forget your customs
sometimes…sometimes when drunk!” Bear said laughing uproariously.   Then he
grabbed Melissa’s shoulders and shook her awake.  “How much for you?” he asked
slowly.  Her glassy eyes tried to focus, then she smacked Bear’s face and fell
back, rolled over and returned to sleep.  Bear looked bewildered, then pointed
at her and erupted with tremendous laughter again.  The dogs, kept in a
separate part of the building, began to bark and howl at the sound of their
master.  Melissa, in her sleep, covered her ears to shield them from Bear’s
booming voice.  Bear looked at Dirk, “The wolves!” he cried.  “The wolves are
coming.”  He swung the axe off his back and hunched over, as if ready to be
attacked then stalked off toward the sound of their baying.

         He opened the door and his beasts ran out
into the warehouse proper, nipping and snapping at each other as they tore
around this crate, ran down that pathway, leapt upon this or that cargo.  Bear
threw down his axe and started to chase them about.  The room was in chaos. 
The dogs fled from Bear’s grasp, while others came up behind and tugged on his
furs.  When he turned to face them, more came up behind again as those before
him retreated.  Soon, he was literally covered in live, moving furs and the
dogs dug at him, trying, much as the townspeople in the
Swimming Serpent
had
to pull him over.  They ripped and bit furiously and if Bear had not been
armored and heavily robed, he would have been badly mauled. 

         The howling and excited barks echoed
loudly throughout the building.  Bear would hurl the huge dogs aside, then pick
one up and hold it in a great hug, looking like a child loving his squirming
pup.  Once held, a dog would stop snapping and lick Bear’s face with great
affection.  After ten minutes of this play Bear stood still, acting like a god
amidst his faithful, arms outstretched, eyes closed; the dogs settled down only
slightly, running under his massive hands in hopes of a pat on the head or ribs. 
“Enough!” Bear finally bellowed.  “Onskir!” he said in the language of his
tribe and pointed to their common home, the sled.  The dogs ran to the sled and
lay in a circle all about it, as they knew well.  One or two stood on their
hind legs and smelled Melissa while a couple others examined Dirk.  One growled
and Dirk was afraid to even breathe; the dogs weighed nearly as much as a grown
man and were no house pets, barely reserved enough to even be called
domesticated.

         Eventually all of the canines lay down,
one even putting its head on Dirk’s lap, though when Dirk moved or fidgeted to
get comfortable on the wooden floor, the dog snarled until Dirk sat still
again.  Dirk could not imagine feeling so safe, yet so wary at the same time. 
He had nothing to fear from outsiders, but he did from his own protectors. 
Dirk and Bear both fell asleep like this, spilling the ale from their huge
mugs, which the dogs voraciously lapped up.  When they woke in the morning, it
took the men several minutes to recall the night before and where they actually
were; Melissa, though, was without a clue.

         Selric was away that evening and Mendric
was alone in the hearth room, studying a map of the Wild which he had spread
out on the table before him.  The entire chandelier was lavishly lit so that he
could clearly read.  When he heard the door open, thinking it a servant,
Mendric said without raising his head or breaking his thoughts, “I need
nothing.”

         “Nothing?” a sexy voice replied.  He
looked up quickly then scowled when he saw Alanna.

         “You’re not supposed to be here,” he
said, looking back down quickly at the map.  His eyes scanned rapidly over the
parchment and ink, but he studied it not, merely needing somewhere to turn his
gaze from her.

         “Why not?” Alanna asked, walking over to
him.

         “Because those are my father’s orders.”

         “Your father is not here, is he?” she
asked, rubbing his back and shoulders.

         “Neither is Selric,” Mendric snapped,
knocking her hands away as he stood upright.  “So why don’t you go back to
whatever room he’s keeping you in.  Now.”  Alanna stood silent for a few
moments.

         “Why don’t you like me?” she asked. 
“Because I’m not rich?  Because I’m bad for your brother’s reputation?”

         “Yes.  Those are some of the reasons.”

         “Not as bad as I’d be for your
reputation.”  Mendric said nothing.  “Is it because
you
like me?  Are
you jealous?”

         “Shut up.  You’re being ludicrous.”  He
moved away, uncomfortable with her so near.

         “Well, I’ll leave you,” she said slowly. 
“I’ll go back up and sit in my room; all alone.”  She walked to the door. 
Mendric watched her from the corner of his eye.  When she reached the end of
the table, she set a purse down on it; it was Mendric’s and he was furious.

         “Stop doing that!” he yelled.  “Don’t
pick my pockets.  You just want to torment me, don’t you?  You mock me.  Get
out!”  Alanna giggled and bounced childishly out of the great room, shutting
the door with a great echo. 

         She stood against the door and let out a
vast sigh.  “Well, I found out what I needed to know,” she said to herself. 
“But he wants only one thing.  He could never love me, not like Selric.”  She
didn’t want to cause trouble between the brothers, but she was not going to
give up the only taste of the good life that she would ever have.  She would
not give up Selric without a fight and she needed to know her greatest
adversary to that love.

         Alanna returned to her room and threw
herself on the bed, unsure of what to do.   She contemplated seducing Mendric
so that he might accept her by giving him what he wanted, and then perhaps even
blackmailing his friendliness in return for her silence.  But it was inevitable
that he would eventually tell his brother what had happened.  The risk was too
great and she would have to deal with Mendric in another way, but deal with him
she would.  He could not come between her and her future.

         Cinder sat in the temple waiting for the
ceremony to start.  She was wearing a long black lace dress, a veil over her
face.  The others sat impatiently.  She could see Melissa and Relarius, Marlo
and Donagee, as well as other faces she didn’t know.  Dirk was there with
Selric, whom she could not recall having ever seen there, but it all seemed so
natural to her.  “What do you think is the matter?” asked an attractive young
woman who sat next to her.  Cinder shrugged her ignorance.  She wanted to
speak, but nothing came out.

         Then Fiona, in her low-cut, black and
silver robes slit clear to her hip, came and stood beside Cinder.  “We’ve had
some trouble with the sacrifice tonight.  You don’t mind doing it, do you? 
Everyone likes you,” she whispered in her ear.  Cinder nodded and went with
her.  They went to Fiona’s room where she helped Cinder off with her dress,
leaving only her black, bra-less, half-corset over which Fiona threw a black
robe.  Cinder had witnessed the ceremony before; they never really hurt anyone
seriously; Fiona’s religion would have been banned if she had.  Besides, it was
nothing she wouldn’t like and find wickedly exciting.  They would jab and pinch
and maybe infringe on her, but she liked being the center of attention; she
would like making all those people happy.  Cinder smiled as she thought of
their excitement.

         Fiona led her back into the shrine and
stood her before the altar, turning Cinder toward the crowd as she removed the
robe.  Cinder raised her hands above her head and Fiona fastened her wrists
into the manacles.  As Fiona struck her with the whip across the back, Cinder
winced and whimpered, but not a sound emerged.  She could see Fiona readying
various instruments of torture for the coming aspects of physical pain and
Cinder’s demonstration of how one could overcome it, deal with it, enjoy it. 
Cinder must have fainted, because the next thing she realized was that the room
was empty:  she was alone.  She looked around the long, low chamber.  The
silver benches stood in perfect order upon the jet floor.  The numerous candles
burned smoothly, not a breeze to cause even a flicker.  She pulled on the
manacles and stretched, trying to reach the floor, to maybe flick the chain off
of the hook by which she was suspended above and free herself.  But, just then,
the door flew open and a cold blast blew out the candles. 

         The room was illuminated only by the
light which entered from the hall.  Then, even that glow was cut out
momentarily as a large, broad shadow entered the room.  She had thought at
first that maybe It was Dirk, but she knew It; It was the one from her dreams: 
the dreams she could never remember. 

         It walked up the step and down the aisle
to her.  Her excitement was immense.  Cinder struggled faster, stretching,
trying to touch the floor so she could release the chains above.  But the fear
grew to an unbearable level, stronger and stronger.  Even Cinder, in the peak
of her sexual culmination, could not stand the fear she often found exciting. 
Her heart had never beat so fast, she thought it would burst within her
heaving, convulsing chest.  She wanted down.  She wanted out and away from
there.  For the first time since entering humanity, Cinder wanted nothing to
due with arousal, with excitement.

         “No!  No!” she screamed, but no words
came.  The form went to the altar and picked up the sacrificial dagger. 
“Melissa!  Fiona!” she thought and tried to scream, but Cinder could only gasp,
the fear had so seized her stomach that she could no longer breathe. 
“Melissa!  Fiona!”

         It stood before her.  It was immense;
huge; taller and broader even than Dirk, “and those eyes,” she thought.  It
stood pointing the knife at her, Its face twisted and horrid, the wickedness
plain.  Cinder’s stomach was so knotted that she could not even move her legs
or even wiggle at all.  She shook her head “no” furiously and looked to the
door for Fiona, but no one was there, no one came.

         Then just as she brought her eyes back to
It, the Fiend thrust the blade into her; burying the steel to the hilt.  She
gasped as it penetrated her abdomen, just below the sternum.  Her body swayed
from the force of the blow and It put Its hand up between her legs and grabbed
her to prevent her from swaying.  With her abdominal muscles severed, Cinder
could not raise a leg in a feeble attempt to kick It, even if she had not been
previously paralyzed by immense, unconquerable fear.  The Fiend slowly dragged
the knife down toward her pelvis and Cinder tried to scream, the pain and
tearing unbearable as the tears streamed down her face.  She looked down and
saw the dark blood flow down her corset and down over Its black hand, down her
thighs and run onto the floor, splashing in a great pool.  Her skin peeled back
to reveal her minced, pink insides and It drew the blade even further.  Her
corset snapped away as It cut the last thread and the blade met her pelvic bone
with a scraping sound.  She heard Dirk calling in the distance and she tried to
scream one last time, and she finally succeeded.

          Cinder sat upright in bed, and a
deep-throated, gutteral moan erupted from her chest, sounding nothing like her
normally lilting voice.  Her chest heaved up and down, her supple breasts rose
and fell as she clutched her arms across her naked torso, covering as much of
her body as she could, looking as if she were trying to hold her body
together.  Dirk had been awakened by Cinder trembling in her sleep, her whining
and sobbing, as well as her constant, but nearly imperceptible convulsions
which merely seemed to Dirk like vibrations.  Now he sat away from her,
startled back by her distorted cry, his face white with fear.  In seconds,
which seemed minutes to Dirk, her terror passed and he leaned to her.

         “Geez, Cinder.  What’s the matter?” he
asked, his voice trembling.  She clung fiercely to him, her nails digging into
the flesh of his back.  She said nothing, but trembled incessantly, unable to
speak; she seemed to be in shock.  Cinder then pulled away and, leaning over
the edge of the bed, vomited forth a stomach full of brandy, as pure as if
poured from a bottle.  Dirk pulled her back and held her tightly.  Her
trembling stopped as she mercifully fell into deep, dreamless slumber; the next
morning, she again remembered nothing.  The dream had been so terrifying that
once more she had forced it completely from her conscious waking mind and into
the dream world of her half-human subconscious.  Dirk didn’t mention the
terrifying and bizarre episode; not to anyone.

         It was a windless night.  The heavy air
and falling snow made it difficult for the Fiend to detect the scent of prey. 
Windows were shut and sounds deadened by the thick snowfall.  It needed to
close on Its prey in order to sense it, and the Fiend had to concentrate;
something It found increasingly hard to do.  It walked through the night, Its
heavy boots stepping lightly, crunching the gentle snow.  The Fiend had looked
for several hours, finding nothing, ready to try a random window, hoping to
snatch a feminine victim into the night.  Then It saw three ladies, cloaked
against the cold, their long hair flowing down behind them as they stood under
a street lamp.

         The Fiend approached.  It eyed them then
decided, the one with the dark hair and the bright eyes; she would be the one. 
The others would live, for now, but if she did not satisfy the Fiend, It would
come back.  The Fiend pulled forth a handful of coins and she took his generous
offer, and Its arm.  She peered into the dark hood, but could see nothing.

         “Where to?” the weak one asked sweetly. 
It pointed Its gloved hand to an alley and took her there, carrying her to keep
her feet out of the snow when she had balked at entering a drift.  Even a delay
of a second was painful for It.  “You’re too kind,” she said, but when they
reached their destination, the Fiend set her down and immediately struck her
with a vicious forearm blow, stunning her and knocking her into an alcove,
blood from her nose and mouth spraying across the snow.  As she tried to rise,
the Fiend seized her cloak and ripped it off, then her dress.  She wiped the
blood from her mouth as she was jostled back and forth by Its stripping
attack.  She stood before It, half-naked, a look of defiance on her face and It
stepped forward.  She slapped It as hard as she could.

         The Fiend kept on, drawing Itself up, all
disguise shed and her defiance turned to fear:  exactly what It wanted. 
“Fight,” It growled low.  “Futility brings fear.”  She opened her mouth to
scream, but It punched her in the stomach, doubling her over and snapping
several of her ribs.  Then It pulled back the woman’s hair and lightly slit her
throat.  She bled only a little, but she had learned that her attacker did not
simply want to beat and rape her, but instead to kill her.  Her fear grew
tenfold.

         The Fiend forced his prey down on her
back into the snow where It raped her brutally, viciously.  The Fiend sucked
the gash on her neck, tasting the blood and feeling her fear as It enjoyed
Itself.  Then It heard the snow crunch behind It.  The Fiend whirled Its head as
It kept in motion atop her, and It saw a shape duck back behind the corner. 
Hurriedly finishing Its business, the Fiend stood and drove Its knife into her
stomach, ripping the blade down her body.  As the female winced and whimpered,
blood squirting from her mouth, the Fiend relished, cruelly twisting the blade
one more time before withdrawing it.  Then It drove the steel down into her
neck until the blade struck stone, to silence her, then slit her throat again,
this time deeply.

         Will had wandered ahead of them:  Selric
and Dirk walked along kicking up the snow, Melissa strolled between them. 
“Look, I’m a tracker,” Will said as he followed a distinct set of footprints. 
They were separated by great strides and Will had to jump from print to print to
avoid making tracks of his own.  Melissa walked in the tracks as well, kicking
them into oblivion.  As she did so, Melissa felt slightly ill; the onset of the
flu, she believed. 

         Shortly, Will came running back out of
the darkness ahead, his face white with total and merciless horror.  “Selric. 
Selric!” he stuttered, eyes bulging with fear as he stumbled and fell headfirst
into the snow.  Without bothering to wipe the icy snow from his face, Will rose
again and ran to his master, squeezing him incredibly hard and pointing
wordlessly ahead into the dark, which was broken occasionally by glistening
white and silver snow banks.  His look of terror froze the blood in the others,
but only momentarily, for Selric sprang fearlessly forward, sword drawn.  Melissa
and Dirk immediately followed their leader.  Ahead, down a small side branch of
the alley, Selric spied a large shadow raising Itself, looming over the bloody
body of a woman who lay in the trampled snow, now slushy with and expanding
pool of warm blood.  She writhed and moved slowly, but Selric could tell from
her wounds that she would not live more than a few seconds:  her throat had
been slashed so deeply that her head was had nearly been severed, and her
abdomen was ripped open wide.                      

         As Dirk and Melissa rounded the corner
they were belted with fear so strong that they stopped in their tracks as if
they had run into a wall.  The shadow turned slowly toward them, Its green eyes
glowing eerily within the black of Its form, as if it peered
through
Its
own darkness.  “Great gods!  What in the Abyss...” Selric thought aloud.  Dirk
then saw the woman, blood flowing down out of the alcove where she had been
butchered in a red icy stream.  He covered his mouth, trying not to vomit,
while Melissa instinctively loosened an arrow in her quiver with her trembling
hand.  The Fiend sensed their fear and rose up like some great serpent.  All
three stepped uncontrollably back several paces as the Fiend crouched, then
hurled Itself through the air toward them an incredible distance.

         It covered the gap so quickly that
Melissa could not loose an accurate shot, the arrow glancing off the building,
three stories up, as the Fiend flew down at them.  It landed on Dirk, kicking
him into a great snow drift, then It grabbed Melissa’s bow with a howl of pain,
the elfin magic burning Its hand as she readied another shaft.  She held it so
tightly that when the Fiend jerked the weapon away she flew with it, but was
unable to hold on for long, flying into the midst of a pile of snow covered
crates.  The Fiend then hurled the bow as far as It could, drawing Its great
curved sword with the other hand.  The sword was raised just as Selric swept
his keen blade across, attempting to behead his opponent.  Sparks flew, but the
Fiend’s enchanted steel held; it was the ancient sword given It by Bixby in
exchange for the dark pact they had made.

         Dirk drew his own sword and rushed
instinctively forward, fear subdued as the Fiend grabbed Selric’s sword arm and
hurled him into a wall and the deliveryman feared for his friend’s life.  Dirk
and the Fiend exchanged blows, but it was all Dirk could do to keep from
getting slashed.  He could make no attack without sacrificing his defense:  the
Fiend was a great sword fighter as well as incredibly ferocious and strong. 
While engaging Dirk’s sword, the Fiend used Its free hand to punch him in the
face, stunning him.  Then It kicked him back again into the snowdrift.  It went
to Selric knowing, despite Dirk’s strength, it was he who It needed to worry
about most.  Ready to bring the scimitar down on Selric as the young nobleman
frantically searched the snow for his sword, the Fiend’s hand was pierced by a
small knife and the scimitar fell from Its grasp.  The Fiend whirled and saw
Will, his tongue sticking out arrogantly, the insolence driving the Fiend
insane with rage.

         It flew at the boy and Melissa came
rushing forward, her small sword gleaming in the moonlight.  The Fiend felt
little fear from her and It was impressed by such great bravery, especially in one
as pretty as she.  “If only she knows what I’m going to do to her when I kill
the others,” It thought.  Secretly, behind Its back, the Fiend drew Its long
dagger.  As she brought her blade to bear, the Fiend knocked Melissa’s arm wide
and drove the knife into her abdomen so hard that It actually lifted her off
the ground.  It continued the violent motion and hurled her over Its head and
onto Dirk just as he stood, knocking him down yet once more.

         The Fiend pursued Will, who ducked just
ahead of Its blade into a small basement window, much too small for the Fiend
to ever enter; as it was.  “Fuck off, you big piece of shit!”  Will yelled,
afraid and angry, worried for his friends’ safety.  “You’d better get outa here
before my master cuts your head off and I cut your balls off, you scum.”  The
Fiend raged, pounding the masonry around the window, again and again, loosening
the mortar and sliding the stones, destroying the building’s very foundation in
Its rage.  Will’s eyes bulged as he realized that his hole was not as safe as
he had first thought.  Will reached for his small knife, then remembered he had
thrown it already, so he picked up a stone and hurled it.  One of the Fiend’s
green eyes winked out as It closed it in pain.  “Ha, ha.  Take that,
Fiend
,”
he mocked.

         Selric charged, sword now in hand once
more.  The Fiend leapt up and turned the sword aside with Its dagger, then It
grasped Its sword again and held both weapons aloft.  Dirk who had been
comforting Melissa, rose and came running to the melee, bellowing like a bull. 
The Fiend looked at the blood dripping from Its hand and felt how weakened was
Its grip.  Just before Dirk reached It, the Fiend put Its blades away and leapt
up, a full ten feet onto a drainpipe, then scampered up, and in just a few
seconds disappeared.  All was quiet. 

         Selric may have been able to chase It,
but Dirk grabbed him.  “Not alone,” he said.  “Let’s get Melissa to Fiona.” 
Selric nodded his agreement, looking warily to the rooftops, ready for the
creature’s return.  Dirk lifted Melissa in his arms and carried her down the
alley while Selric called Will forth from his burrow.  Reluctantly, the boy
came, and immediately he began searching for his knife.  He found it in a
black, blood-stained patch of snow where the Fiend had hurled it in his rage as
It flicked Its great hand.  “Thank you,” Selric said to Will, handshake so firm
and sincere that it caused Will to blush with pride. 

         Melissa was moaning, her wound deep in
her stomach.  Dirk could smell the beer she had drunk which the blood now
forced out through the open gash.  “Dirk,” she said, “why do you call me
Melissa all the time?”

         “I don’t know,” Dirk said in puzzlement
as he rushed her down the alley and out into the street.  “That
is
your
name,” he explained.

         “Yeah, I know, but the others call me
Mel,” she said weakly.

         “Is that what you want me to call you?”
he asked, watching her eyes slowly close.  She moaned loudly.

         “It hurts,” Melissa screamed.  “Dirk,
hurry.  Get me home!”  Dirk looked back to find Selric just now running up,
Will close behind him.  Selric had Melissa’s bow.

         “Hurry up, Selric!” Dirk snapped,
overcome with worry.  He knew nothing about healing and felt that Melissa might
die at any moment.

         “The other day,” Melissa continued,
swallowing heavily, “a man, one of your guards, called me Missy.”

         “Yeah?” Dirk asked.

         “That’s what my Daddy calls me.”  She
paused, trying to catch her breath.  “Would you call me that?” she asked,
forcing her eyes wide open for a few labored seconds; their big, brown centers
glossy and shiny.

         “Yeah, sure,” Dirk said, but Melissa
still seemed uncomfortable.  She repeatedly opened her eyes, looking
impatiently at him.

         “Now, stupid,” she finally murmured.  She
was very tired, and Selric laid his cloak over her for warmth.

         “Now,
what
?” Dirk asked her,
confused, so overcome with worry that he had no idea what is was that she
wanted “now.”

         “Call me that,
now
,” she urged.

         “Oh!” he exclaimed, finally enlightened. 
“Okay.  Uh, um.  Missy,” he said none too deftly.  “Missy,” he said again, this
time more fluidly.  Melissa closed her eyes and fell silent, a soft smile on
her strained face; a soft smile which quickly faded.  Dirk nearly cried,
holding her out to Selric like a child with a broken toy.  Selric put his hand
to her neck, shaking his head and Dirk began to sob.

         “No!” Selric urged.  “No, Dirk.  She’s
not
dead, that’s what I meant.  We still have time.  Her wound is not that
serious.  Painful, yes.  Deadly...but we have some time.”  Dirk cheered up and
Selric commandeered the first wagon they encountered.  They loaded her aboard
then rushed Melissa home where Dirk carried her to bed.  Meanwhile, Selric ran
to the manor house where Fiona was working.  Fiona came straight over and ran
directly up the stairs.  Relarius, Donagee, Marlo, and Aldren all stood outside
the door, worried expressions on their faces and she pushed past them.  “No,
no,” she said to Dirk impatiently, her eyes glaring.  “Get her up!” she
snapped, “on the altar.”

         “You’re going to sacrifice her?” Dirk
asked, worried.

         “No, fool.  That’s where my power is
greatest.  Do it now.”  Dirk whisked Melissa up as if she weighed nothing and
carried her up to the altar in his great strides, laying her upon the cold
stone.  Selric was in the back of the room with Aldren, and the other three
came and knelt in front of the benches.

         “You have worshipped here, Dirk.  You
should join them.”

         “I don’t believe in that nonsense,” he
replied angrily.

         Fiona cast him a wicked glance.  “These
men don’t want to hear your blasphemy.  This is the goddess that saved your
life, and this is the goddess that is about to save Melissa.  You’ve worshiped
with us.  Kneel down,” she commanded and Dirk did without argument.  She raced
out and returned shortly with the small box given them by Ponjess Thunderstaff
and pulled forth one of the healing potions and gave it to Melissa.