By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought)

by Crandall, John

  Melissa looked around and found several broken crates; hurriedly she ripped a board from one and ran on feebly to the stairs. The dog was crouched in another pile of crates near the stair head, and as Melissa attempted to get by, the Fiend’s pet lunged, catching her behind the left knee. But only its top teeth sank in behind her large outer tendon. The tendon ripped and the dog lost its grip, spinning painfully into the wall with a yelp. Melissa, however, was no longer able to run and tumbled all the way to the turn in the steps, and down the next short flight to the landing below, bashing her face and injuring her shoulder.

  The dog, its claws tearing ineffectively at the wooden flooring, came running down out of control after Melissa where she had landed on her back. At the first turn in the stairs, it leapt and Melissa held up the piece of broken crate. Though the blunt end was driven painfully into Melissa’s chest, bruising her sternum, the other jagged end pierced the dog, killing it instantly. Then, with a floor shuddering “boom,” the Fiend leapt from the top of the stairway to the first turn, only eight steps above her, mouth open and vicious teeth bared, bellowing like a wounded behemoth, shaking the stairwell in Its rage. Just as It crouched to leap again, Melissa rolled down the three steps to the next floor below. The Fiend landed heavily where she had just been lying; so heavily that one foot broke through the landing floor.

  Melissa scrambled to her feet, but fell again, her left leg totally incapacitated. She hurriedly dragged herself across the floor to the stairs down to the first and ground floor. Just then, she heard a crash down below and thought that it must be helpers of the Fiend. She sat back against the wall and gave up, but no longer crying. She would die bravely, at least as bravely as Cinder had.

  “Missy!” she heard the call go up and her heart leapt. She tried to call but had forgotten all about her gag. The Fiend freed Its leg and jumped down the final steps just as she pulled the gag from her mouth. Melissa almost wet her pants in fear, the look on the Fiend’s face so horrifyingly hateful, so far from human that It no longer looked like the creature that had just relayed the story to her. It must have looked much like that horrifying beast before her during Its rage on Cinder.

  “Dirk!” Melissa screamed, sounding more like a woman than she could ever remember. The Fiend stopped as if It realized It now had to fight and It dejectedly drew out Its sword.

  “Now we’ll have to wait to punish you,” It said, Its face once again softening and taking on a human appearance, albeit a hopelessly evil one. Melissa’s heart froze, but she heard Dirk then at the top of the stairs as he nearly tripped over her in his haste.

  “Look out!” she screamed as Dirk stood looking down at her. Dirk whirled just in time to turn the Fiend’s blade. They were fighting in a large, empty room, broken only by several small wooden ceiling posts. The windows were boarded up, but the red light of a brilliant sunset filtered in, bathing the room in a hellish glow.

  Fiona rushed up and immediately knelt by Melissa, crying and hugging her in joy, smothering her with kisses. Selric was barely able to leap over them to get to Dirk, who was occupying the Fiend quite successfully; his temper not unnerving him, as It had hoped, but driving him on as the Fiend gave ground.

  “Are you all right, sweety?” Fiona asked, cradling her tear-stained face in her chest.

  “Yes. Yes. Help Dirk!” Melissa said urgently. Fiona stood, focused her narrow eyes on the creature, drew a determined breath and ran over, mace and shield in her hands. She didn’t have time to don her armor when the stranger had told them to hurry with all haste to Dirk’s assistance.

  Fiona ran wildly up between Selric and Dirk who had backed the startled Fiend into a corner. She ran smack into It with her shield, and the Fiend staggered slightly. Its reply was a blow so heavy on her shield that it knocked the priestess to her knees. Then It raised Its scimitar and swung it straight down in hopes of cleaving Fiona’s pretty head in two. But Selric and Dirk together parried Its blow. The Fiend was incredibly strong and kept pressing the blade closer and closer. Dirk grabbed the Fiend’s arm with his free hand, as did Selric, and they drove It back against the wall. Fiona stood and swung her mace directly into Its ribs; the result was a loud cracking sound like a great tree snapped by fierce wind.

  The Fiend brought Its foot up and kicked the feisty girl in the groin, lifting her off the ground and sending her back ten feet across the room. Dirk backed off to catch his breath, his endless swinging tiring him, leaving Selric holding the Fiend alone. Selric quickly followed Dirk’s example, but the Fiend pursued him, tearing at Selric. Its blade, however, could find no hole in the Stormweather’s flawless defense. Dirk, rested, came on again and swung mightily, but the Fiend thought It could best them both. As It turned and deflected Dirk’s blow, It pulled forth Its knife, the long black one It used to butcher many others, to parry Selric’s swing. Selric’s sword was a prize greatly valued by a nation of expert sword masters, and its blade was incredibly strong.

  Selric swung, snapping the Fiend’s wicked knife like rotten wood and the sword slashing the Fiend in the arm, cutting it to the bone. If Its dagger had not slowed the blow the little that it had, the Fiend’s arm would have been on the floor. Nonetheless, It could now hold only a single weapon and not use Its other arm any further. The Fiend desperately flew at Dirk, Selric closing right behind. It backed Dirk to the stairs where he tripped and fell backwards over the dead dog, then It turned and deflected Selric’s shot, aimed at decapitating the Fiend. It ran straight at Selric, this time swinging fiercely, repeatedly, driving him back in the other direction. It could not land a blow, but when Selric was backed into the wall, the Fiend pinned him with Its great bulk, their blades locked, and the Fiend repeatedly brought Its thick leg up into Selric’s groin and abdomen, and he fell.

  As the Fiend was about to behead Selric, his own skull was smashed by Fiona who had run up and struck It in the back of the head with her heavy steel mace. Blood sprayed everywhere, but the Fiend turned and brought the blade down into her shoulder, snapping her collarbone. Only the power of her ring had saved her life. Defense was all that was on the Fiend’s mind, hoping to escape the bind It was in, and It kicked Fiona as she knelt before It, needing to raise Its sword instead against a charging Dirk who had death in his eyes. For the first time, the Fiend had a taste of fear, albeit a small one. Dirk was the one this time to use his momentum and weight and he drove into the Fiend, locking up Its sword and overbearing It to the floor.

  With his free hand, Dirk repeatedly, voraciously, smashed the Fiend in the face with his gauntleted fist. Bones snapped, and the Fiend tossed Its head back and forth, trying to escape from the pain. Dirk sobbed for Cinder as he pummeled the Fiend’s face into a bloody mess with his tremendous strength. When his anger had passed, leaving him spent, the Fiend freed Its blade and, not wanting to be stabbed, Dirk quickly rolled away. In a flash, the Fiend darted from the room, Dirk and Selric, both panting heavily, pursued him. Fiona ran to Melissa’s side where she still leaned against the wall. Will was there. He had secretly followed his friends.

  “Come on,” he said to the women. “I know where he’s going. He’s heading to the sewers. I know a faster way. He went the long way cause he couldn’t get down these steps. There’s only one way out of the building into the sewers. We can surprise him and trap him. Come on!” Fiona looked at Melissa.

  “Go on,” Melissa said. “I can’t keep up. I’ll be fine and come at my own speed. Get him this time.” Fiona, holding her limp arm, blood oozing down her chest, ran after Will and they descended to the first floor, then down a ladder. They descended into the end of a long hallway that had one door on the right hand wall about halfway up its length, and one door clear down at the other end. The only light was that of the dying sun flowing in from the open trapdoor by the ladder above them.

  “That’s the sewer door,” Will said, pointing all the way down. Fiona looked around. There were several small dusty barrels labeled “oil.”

  “Pick this up,” she comma
nded, but it proved too heavy for him, so she helped Will roll one of the barrels down the hall. She opened the heavy steel door and knew by the solid construction and the other heavy doors at one end of the plain room beyond, that they had found the old chamber where the sewage was burnt off at high temperatures in the deep trough before them.

  “Open the keg and dump the oil in the water. We’ll knock It in the trough...knock It in the trough...in the trough and burn It!” Melissa said crazily. “If we could only start a fire somehow.”

  “Leave that to me,” Fiona growled.

  “Oh well,” Melissa said, “at least we beat him here. Quick! Up past that door. We don’t want between him and his only way out. We’ll give him a little surprise.” Will ran on and Fiona came slowly behind. Just as they passed the door, it flew open. The Fiend hesitated, not knowing where they had come from, giving Fiona time to raise her mace and swing. But her one-armed blow was too feeble and the Fiend knocked it aside and kicked her in the stomach. Will ran to the ladder and scampered up. The Fiend was not worried about either of them, but the two madmen who pursued It through the hallways like hounds. It had tried to lose them, but was unable. Now was Its last chance. It drew another of Its daggers as well as Fiona’s as she knelt doubled over, and jammed them under the door, wedging it shut.

  The Fiend ran to the steel door, just as Fiona rose and picked her mace up wearily. “I don’t want you coming to get me in the night,” she screamed. “Get it over with.” The Fiend was badly wounded: Its skull cracked, arm useless and in need of complete amputation, ribs broken and face smashed. But It stopped, ready to come back and fulfill her request when It heard Selric and Dirk pounding at the door.

  Smiling wickedly, It said, “Don’t go to sleep.” Then It turned to leave, going in through the open steel door and preparing to slam it shut, hoping to somehow bar the impressive portal behind It. Fiona began to chant, calling upon the power of her goddess and a column of flame erupted all about the Fiend, setting him alight. Howling, It turned and ran off into the burning chamber, slamming the door. There was a tremendous explosion and Fiona was blown thirty feet down the hall. Dirk and Selric still could not force the door so Dirk began to chop it down with his axe.

  Fiona sat up; her short hair was burnt, her clothes blackened, and her exposed skin red. If the trap door at the end of the hall had not been open to allow the pressure somewhere to go, she would have been blown apart by the concussion. She looked down the hall: the oil did ignite after all and the water looked like a burning cauldron. The steel door, now lying on the floor, had been blown of its hinges, stopping much of the explosive force. Near the door was a burning mound, all that remained of the Fiend.

  Then It rose, fire still burning upon Its head and clothing; Its damaged arm had been completely blown off. The Fiend walked down the hallway, slowly. “Dirk, Selric hurry!” she screamed and the sounds of chopping came faster. Fiona heard something behind her; it was Melissa lowering herself down the ladder using only her arms, her leg dangling limply.

  “Hurry. Drop ‘em,” Melissa called up frantically. Fiona looked up; Will was holding Melissa’s bow and quiver. He had brought them for her, refusing to believe that she had been killed. He knew how she took her bow everywhere and that she would probably want it when found.

  Sitting on her backside, her bow turned sideways and spreading nearly from one wall to the next, Melissa knocked an arrow and with deadly accuracy and no hesitation she shot the Fiend in the chest. Fiona could see the pain in Melissa’s face; pain from her shoulder wound, from the poison, and from her leg. The Fiend staggered, like the living dead, then came on, the arrow smoking in Its chest as the Elfin-enchanted missile assailed the wickedness of the Fiend. She fired rapidly again and again, giving It no time to advance, each shot driving It back another few steps from the force of the blow. On the fifth shot the Fiend staggered and fell back silently into the burning sewage.

  Dirk and Selric knocked the door to pieces and stepped through. “He’s in the water!” Melissa cried. Dirk and Selric looked in disbelief at the women, wondering how they had beaten them down to the basement then ran where directed. Fiona leaned back into Melissa’s lap; it was her turn to be comforted her wounds and the use of her magic draining her. Melissa looked up at the boy who once hated her, the one who had just saved her and Fiona’s lives.

  Will gave her the thumbs-up in return, smiling broadly. “Yeah!” he said emphatically. “Way to go, Mel.”

  Dirk and Selric raced down the hall and Selric leapt the flames and landed on the opposite walkway. Together they literally hacked the Fiend to pieces as It floated upon the water. The only thing recognizable when they had finished was Its blackened head. They looked at him, Olaf Svenson, now just bits of flesh and bone. All of It was gone, only the leather worker’s shattered body remaining. The oil burned in little scattered puddles all about, lighting the hall and filling it with bitter smoke as well.

  “That’s it then,” Selric said as simply as if he had just finished a bottle of wine.

  Constable Mason drained his cup of milk as he signed the parchment on his desk. He read it through one last time, making sure that it was written as well as possible then set it down. Mason rose and took his woolen cloak off the rack and walked out his door.

  “Good bye, boys,” he said as he walked past the front desk. Odie and Donder looked at their constable. Mason had lost thirty pounds of his once proud physique, and much of his dark hair was now gray from his constant search for the Fiend.

  “When will you be back in, sir?” asked Donder. Mason shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by merchant lord Varrick Hansen as he came running in.

  “Mason,” Varrick said. “It seems that it is over.”

  “What is?” Mason asked, his voice scratchy and hoarse from weeks of talking very little and by nearly constant exposure to the cold and damp of the sewers.

  “The murders. I thought you would like to know that the merchant council received a note this morning telling us that the thing, this Fiend, has been killed.

  “Where is this note?”

  “Well, let’s keep it our secret,” said Varrick. “We don’t want his majesty to hear of this. He has made it clear that the matter is treasonous.”

  “Do you really believe this note?” Mason asked.

  Varrick shrugged with a weary smile and walked back outside. As he stood upon the top step, he turned back. “Can’t you feel it?” he asked. “Yes, yes I believe the note,” he surmised, smiling and walking briskly down the stairs and away up the street. “Hello! Good morning,” he called to passersby who replied just as gaily. Mason could feel it. Everyone could. He walked back up to his office and tore his resignation in half, then setting it alight, dropped it out his window, watching it float down to settle onto the snow bank far below.

  “Sir?” asked Donder as Mason passed once again for the door.

  “I’m going to get some sleep,” Mason said. “But, I’ll be back,” and he smiled for the first time in almost a year. Donder and Odie looked at each other and simply shrugged.

  Selric woke from his sleep, just as the black, icy hands grabbed his throat. He looked around, half-expecting to see the Fiend. But his conscious mind knew It was dead and he drifted peacefully back to sleep.

  In the morning, he, Alanna, and Will made their rounds up the tower. In Alanna’s room, Brandon’s in reality, was Fiona. She had cured her shoulder cut herself, but the clavicle still needed several weeks to mend, her skill not yet great enough to mend broken bones. It had been a day-and-a-half since the demise of the Fiend.

  “Good morning, Fiona,” Selric said, bringing her morning meal on a tray. “How are you?” He kissed her on the lips.

  “Just fine,” she said, smiling. Selric remained and fed her the food, giving her all the attention, playful or otherwise, that she could stand.

  Will carried his tray into Melissa. “Hi Missy,” he said cheerfully.

  “Don’t ca
ll me that, you little twit.”

  “Okay, Mel. Here’s your breakfast.”

  “You’re such a doll,” she said, grabbing him and kissing his cheek when he drew close enough. He simply smiled, too happy that no one else had been taken away from him to complain about a little kiss. “Besides,” he thought, “it doesn’t feel all that bad anyway.”

  Dirk was the last to visit the injured, but his charge did not live in the tower, but in the loft of the stable, by his own preference. “Morning, Bear,” he called lightly.

  “Good morning? It’s about time. I’m starving to death! Some barbarian’s woman you’d make.” Dirk laughed. “Go ahead, laugh. I don’t believe she’s hurt. I bet Melissa just doesn’t like me. I don’t like you taking her place either. You’re not half as pretty, you little wench,” he said, smacking Dirk in the thigh. I have to sit here and listen to Aldren’s stories about horses and cattle.”

  “It isn’t all that bad,” Aldren told Dirk with a sly wink.

  “I’ll have to do, gentlemen,” Dirk said. “I won’t let Tallow serve you. You’d try to have her in bed in two minutes,” he said to Bear.

  “Ha,” Bear objected. “I’d have her there in one. She would not be able to resist my northman charms. And after looking at your skinny bones all day, she’s ready for a real man.” He jiggled his belly.

  “And that real man would deny her,…me,” Aldren said and Bear growled at him.

  “Shut up and heal,” Dirk laughed. “I’m tired of taking care of those mangy dogs. They like me better now anyway. I think maybe they might chew your leg off if you ever come back.”

  “Will they now? I bet...Hey! Where’s my beer? I can’t heal without beer,” he said, noticing then that there was no large mug of the beverage in sight. “Fetch my mug, woman, and fill it.” Dirk laughed and did as requested.