“My people are dying all around me. I grew up in this district. I know thousands of the long time residents here by name. How can I look them in the face...” He hung his head. “Now—to have my hands tied by politics!” He laughed again, shaking his head sadly. “Leave me, Sergeant.” Donder turned and walked out, closing the door quietly. Constable Mason had not emerged by the time Sergeant Josh left his shift at dusk.
As autumn grew on, things changed little. The weather grew colder, the days shorter, the mood progressively darker, but life went on as normal. Dirk was visited at least once a week by the regal, mysterious stranger. Dirk still called him Sindelarius, to which the stranger smiled sheepishly in reply. Meanwhile, Dirk saw less of his compatriots. Cinder dated or went out alone to taverns almost every night, unable to resist the temptation to be adored or the chance to watch a new slice of humanity. Melissa and Fiona visited Dirk occasionally, but Fiona was busy adding to her new temple and performing her pain-filled ceremonies. Dirk went to a few rituals out of respect for his friend and healer, but was soon too appalled to continue. Melissa and he went out once a week alone, but saw little of each other in between.
Selric, however, had nearly disappeared from sight. He secretly and constantly pressed street contacts for information about the thugs who had robbed him and threatened Will’s life. Selric knew a great many people, and there was very little that he could not find out through loyalty, bribery, coercion or threat. Then, one night toward the close of autumn, nearly three weeks after losing his sword, he approached the dwelling of his robbers: several rooms of an unoccupied apartment building. He had left Will at home, knowing the revenge he planned was not proper for a boy his age to witness.
He climbed upon several stacked crates in the alleyway so he could peer in the window, and silently pried the shutter open. Inside he spied the tall blonde girl sleeping on blankets in a corner, alone in the small room. He slipped in through the window, dagger between his teeth, and stepped silently toward her. Voices could be heard coming through the only door to another room.
Kneeling by her, Selric placed the blade to her soft white throat, but just as he was about to end her life, the young woman’s eyes popped open as if from a nightmare. Their eyes met; his charming blue, her enchanting green and a fire was lit in an instant within each of them. She was clearly scared and Selric no longer had the will to kill her. He held his finger before his lips, praying that she would be silent and that he would not to have to slay her, and she obliged. Selric rose and went to the door. The thief lay motionless, watching him like a child as he opened the portal and peered out. The older woman and the thug who had been afraid to touch Selric’s sword that night were in a room filled with boxes, crates and sacks. They were sifting through a coffer of jewels discussing what each estimated the value of particular items to be. She was wearing Selric’s sword on her back and his blood boiled beyond compare. Selric Arnesson Stormweather had never been enraged as he was there that moment, and that statement said a great deal.
When the thieves began arguing over who would receive a large diamond necklace, Selric rushed in. Both bandits spun and rose, startled at an intruder from a room they had thought secure. Selric kicked the woman fiercely in the abdomen and as she doubled over, he snatched the sword from its scabbard and hacked off her head in one smooth motion. The man stood terrified, and in an instant, Selric made his decision; he kicked him squarely in the face, breaking his nose and loosening his teeth, but leaving him quite alive. Selric didn’t know if he had touched the sword, but he had refrained on the night it was stolen, and that was enough reason for Selric to spare his life.
Selric turned at the sound of another door opening and three men rushed in. He hurled a knife at the first, sticking it in his throat, then ducked under the blow of the second, stabbing up into his stomach with his sword. The third lunged at Selric and lost his arm to a vicious swing, then Selric kicked him in the side of his head, knocking him unconscious. Selric approached the last door and threw it open. Inside stood the leader, the man who had held the knife to Will’s throat.
“Prepare to meet your god,” said Selric, his anger still swelling higher and higher as he forced himself to think of Will that night, picturing how he would have looked with his throat slit, dying in the alley. This enforced rage spurred Selric on to kill, easing any guilt he might otherwise have felt. The man’s shoulders slumped as he reluctantly drew his own sword, knowing who it was that he had robbed and that he stood little chance in a sword-fight with him. He took a deep breath and charged Selric violently, wanting the encounter over for better or worse. Selric caught his arm in an iron grip and slammed his sword up into the thief’s midsection. They stood face to face. The man’s eyes glowed in hate as he spit in Selric’s face, then his gaze shifted, looking over Selric’s shoulder and his countenance softened as his life ebbed away.
Selric turned and released the man’s arm, allowing him to fall to his knees, and then he saw the blonde girl standing in the doorway, weaponless and not a threat to him. As the leader fell to the floor, she pulled Will’s knife from a bag and held it out as if giving it. Selric took the blade as he walked past her and he saw that the two men he had not killed had gone, one of them leaving a great trail of blood.
Selric picked up what valuables he could carry and went back to the window where he had entered the building, climbing back out. But as he clambered down the crates he saw the girl standing there behind him, following timidly. He held out his hand and she ran to him. They walked to the manor together, but still had not spoken a word. He stole her into his room and as he lit the lantern, they found Will sitting on Selric’s bed. He rubbed his eyes and looked at them curiously.
“Hey!” Will said when he realized who it was, pointing his finger as if it would help him recall that night, and let her know that he remembered infallibly. “You...you’re that lady that took my knife.” He turned to Selric, “Good job, Selric. What are we going to do with her? Lock her in the tower? Take her to jail? Make her kiss and touch us?” Selric smacked Will’s head.
“The first two, maybe, but not the last. A gentleman never does that, does he?” Will shook his head “no,” as if quizzed on the subject previously, but he appeared puzzled.
“Well, if you’re not going to kiss and touch her, why did you bring her here?” Selric paused for a moment, knowing the boy was indeed learning from his master. “Do I have to sleep in the hall, again, like when your parents are out and Fiona or Cinder come?”
“No,” Selric snapped. “I’m sleeping with you.”
“Hey,” Will said, “No way, Selric. I sleep by myself.”
“Not tonight,” Selric said, pulling him back over to his bedding. Will stopped in his tracks, as if frozen.
“Hey!” he said. “That’s where you went.” He saw Selric’s sword. “Hey, you went without me! Awe, man. That’s not fair.” Will ran to his bed; it was all he could do to keep from crying. Selric came near and presented the knife to the boy, and Will brightened. “Wow, it’s been a long time since I saw this.” He tucked it under his pillow, and with a glance toward the corner, as if trying to see the bed where the girl was, he lay down to sleep. Selric lay by him for several minutes, until Will was asleep, before giving in to his urges and returning to his bed.
When Selric woke the next morning, he could see daylight through the small tower windows set high in the wall. The windows faced west and south; the tower interior at his back was on the eastern side, and the manor proper lay to the north. He looked at the girl, Alanna, as she slept next to him. She lay on her back, one hand behind her head, the blankets about her waist revealing her naked breasts. He gently ran his finger down from between her eyes, over her nose, and traced her lips with his fingertip. Placing his finger under her chin, he lifted her face and gently kissed her on the mouth.
He climbed over her and out of bed then drew the covers up. Selric turned and noticed Will peering around the corner, and when his gaze met Selric’s, he
popped out of sight. Selric stole over, and came slowly around the gentle slope of the wall and spied Will lying under his covers. Selric pulled the blankets down; Will was fully dressed. At the discovery of his ruse, Will stood and faced Selric defiantly.
“I see which punishment you gave her,” Will said almost jealously. Selric glared at him, hands on his hips.
“She received no punishment,” Selric said. “She didn’t deserve any. She helped me. Besides, kissing and...and, doing other things is not punishment. It is agreed by both people.” Selric wondered if the child had heard them thrashing about in the bed. Every other time that he had had a lover in the room, Selric insured that Will slept somewhere else. But he was sure the night before that Will would have slept the night through in the contentment of finding his weapon. Now, Selric felt dirty: he did not want to shatter the tiny bit of innocence that Will had somehow managed to preserve through his turbulent youth.
“Well,” Will quipped, “you will be punished. Violet was in here this morning.” Selric put his palm on his forehead.
“Shit!” he said. “Why did you let her in, peanut brain?”
“I didn’t penis brain,” Will snapped back, fleeing immediately after the words had left his mouth.
“Wait til I get my hands on you. I’ll hang you by the ankles buck-naked from the highest tower,” Selric said, running out into the foyer, before realizing he was himself naked except for the towel he had wrapped round himself. Will raised his nose and walked slowly into the hearth room, knowing he could not be pursued.
Selric raced back into his room, washed, and dressed, before going to receive, what seemed to him to be, his weekly berating. His four judges were all present, something he was not surprised to see. Mendric stood behind their mother as she sat in her chair. He was smiling though she was obviously distraught. Andric stood before the hearth and Grandfather sat near him, facing the fire. Will was not there. As was common, Grandfather spoke first, rising as quickly as his old frame allowed.
“If it isn’t our wayward son. Did you rest well, boy?” he asked as he approached, leaning again heavily on his cane.
“Yes Grandfather, I did. And thank you,” Selric said, trying not to laugh as Mendric continued to chuckle to himself and make faces at Selric, trying to get him to buckle and get into even more trouble.
“I would hope so,” his grandfather said. “Coming in at odd hours and getting up near lunching time. You’d better clean up your act, mister.” He shook his cane at Selric. “I may have to take you down a few notches.” Selric looked at Mendric who was still musing.
“Mendric, you don’t look well,” Selric said, and when the family turned to look at him, Selric cast him an obscene gesture. Mendric had stopped his harassment, at least momentarily, and simply smiled back.
“I feel fine,” he said. Then, their father began and Selric knew he would not quell him so easily.
“Well?” Andric asked expectantly. Selric raised his brows for his father to continue, truly fearing to say a word. “Have you anything to say? Any confessions or requests for mercy?” his father continued. Selric shrugged. He had no defense; he had defied his parents’ orders. “You know that you are not to have women in your room.” Selric knew as much and was generally very careful when he had guests.
“You’d think,” Grandfather added, “that if you had half a brain, boy, you would take them somewhere else. It’s not as if you have to come home. Hell’s bells, you don’t most nights anyway.” Violet looked at him. “I mean, it’s not that we want you sleeping overnight with any women,” he said softly and hurriedly, trying to avoid the Lady’s disapproval, “but it seems stupid to do it here.” He fell silent, before he put his foot any further into his own mouth.
“Father,” Selric said, “it’s not like the other families will care. There won’t be any slander on your family name,” he said impudently. Andric grew red and Selric knew that he had not said the right words.
“I don’t care about the other families and what they think!” Andric yelled. “We have rules here that you must obey. And I see that you use your “family name” whenever it suits you, you little whelp. I ought to boot your ass right off the estate and see how you like not being a Stormweather. All this, beside the point of your mother finding naked women with her son, and the type of women that they are. But then, I don’t suppose you’d find women of station doing what you require.”
“I am sorry,” Selric said sincerely, though not able to look at his mother directly for the apology. “But I really didn’t think she’d be safe anywhere else. I won’t go into detail, but, on my honor, that is the truth. I was going to sleep with Will, but...”
“You couldn’t resist,” his father finished. “How many times have I heard, “I couldn’t resist?””
“I don’t know father, but this time...”
“Too many,” Andric blared. “What about the servants' quarters, or even a guest room, if she is important to you?”
“I was wrong,” Selric admitted loudly, growing annoyed.
“You were wrong because you got caught,” his father snapped. “And without severe punishment, you’ll do it again. No more. Do not have another overnight guest in your room. Do you understand? Or you are out!” Selric looked at his mother, but she turned away, sadly, in support of her husband in admonishing her son’s disobedience. Selric nodded in understanding then silently walked out: an ultimatum delivered by his father was as sure as the sun rising and setting. He heard his mother begin to cry, followed by the compassionate voices of his father and grandfather as they comforted her; her sorrow was a sound he never wanted to hear again.
10
The Fiend stood in the shadows, moaning and licking the blood from Its claws. Its lust would not subside, the satiation barely lasting longer than the time it took to cruelly torture and slay Its victims. The drive to kill became painful and the Fiend realized this desire would eventually come even under the Great Star’s gaze, and men would see It, and track It to Its lair and kill It. Winter was coming. If the urge to slay came under light then, It would be unable to escape; the gates would be locked, the city snowed in. It would have no escape until spring. The Fiend could flee now into the Wild and luckily trap an occasional female. But prey would mostly be animal while It hid out in the wilderness, biding Its time.
The Fiend looked down at the two bodies, now ripped and bloody. It knew It could not leave such a place where females were so easy to catch. They were easy prey, and there were so many of them. The Fiend knew few hungry nights now. Men here were inept, corrupted by greed, power, or desire to stay alive. The Fiend flourished here. It did as It pleased. Someday, the King’s men would catch It, but not for seasons yet, and the Fiend knew, as a panther unable to resist a cattleman’s herd once he has trimmed it, that it was far better to die for the chance at taking easy prey, than to barely survive in the Wild. “No flight,” the Fiend decided. And then there was the mission: there was always the mission. What exactly it had been, the Fiend wondered now, less and less able to remember any of Its life or training before Andrelia.
Even if It were discovered, It would prey on the politicians and officials who sought to have It killed: the ones the Fiend was originally sent to destroy. It could remove all opponents and spare one man, one greedy man, who undoubtedly would agree to allow the Fiend to live as It willed, while in return It would eliminate this man’s enemies. But it was months before the Fiend would have to find a corrupt human such as that; maybe years. The Fiend decided that It would prey until then. It felt no fear, no remorse, and no need to stop. No longer would It work toward the goal It was created to accomplish. The time had come to please Itself.
The two dead women had fought bravely and in unison, and the Fiend was unable to subdue them and to take them to It’s lair. So, It took out It’s axe and hacked them into little pieces and placed what It did not consume in a sack. It placed this sack aside and went off into the night, finding Its next prey far from defenseless. Th
e Fiend had gone no more than two city blocks when It came upon an old man leaning heavily upon his walking staff. Though It could not satisfy It’s lust to spoil and to take, the Fiend could stave off the need for blood until It found suitable females. It crouched, ready to leap, and when the man was close enough, It did. But as the Fiend flew toward the wizened figure, It was turned aside by the staff and fell to the street. The old man cast back his cloak, revealing the robes of a wizard beneath; the glyphs and sigils upon it glowing in silvery radiance as he summoned all his power. The Fiend was undaunted, It had killed priests and wizards before, as well as warriors and guardsmen; but never one as powerful as the one It faced then.
Small balls of light flew from his fingertips, striking the Fiend, stinging like arrows. The Fiend bellowed and leapt again. This time, Its claws grabbed hold of the mage’s throat. Hatred burned the Fiend and It nearly snapped the neck of the old man, but by strength of body, mind, or magic, he knocked the Fiend’s arms away and blasted him with magical fire. The Fiend recoiled and covered It’s face, leaping yet again. It’s recently acquired enchanted sword swept down, nearly severing the wizards arm, and shattering the globe of magical protection that surrounded the mage with a bright flash. But for the third time, the Fiend was blasted back by magical energies. This time It was blinded. The Fiend fled using It’s other senses, and the mage, too seriously wounded to want to tangle further with the Fiend, fled to his own home. Using mostly his keen nose, the Fiend found Its way to the sewers and wandered for more than a day until the blindness had passed. But until then, all other denizens of the darkness fled before It. The Fiend ripped to pieces anything It got Its claws on during the rage, but could not make it to Its lair without Its sight.
By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) Page 29