By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought)
Page 35
Dirk, Selric, and Will, who had not been allowed into the temple by Selric, went with Fiona to her room and she looked instantly exhausted. She and Will sat on her bed while the men sat at a new, highly polished mahogany table with four chairs around set it.
“Nice table,” Selric said.
“Thanks. Just got it,” she said, lying back with a sigh
“I see you didn’t go to Bessemer’s,” Dirk said, rubbing the glassy finish, no longer worried, now that “Missy” was in Fiona’s competent care. And if Fiona was calm and secure over her dear friend, as she was, then Dirk was no longer worried.
“Are you all right?” Selric asked and Fiona sighed again, rolling to her side so she could look at them.
“I am all right. Channeling my goddess’s power leaves me drained,” she said softly.
“Well, thank you,” Dirk said.
“Yeah, thanks,” Will echoed.
“Mel’s in there...well...it looks like she got lanced by a knight on horseback. What happened?” she asked.
Selric told Fiona the story in his own flowery way, with many blunt interruptions from Dirk and Will. When they were finished, Fiona said, “I’ve felt something, but it wasn’t strong enough that I could claim it with any true certainty.”
“All right,” Selric said quietly, “I will tell you something, if you wish, that could get you beheaded or imprisoned by repeating it within earshot of any of the King’s men, or even the Watch.” Fiona sat up slowly, so Dirk was up quickly and offered his hand to her. She took it and rose, moving to the table with the men, eager for Selric’s tale, though she had to rest her face in her hands, her weariness so great.
“Go ahead,” she said. Dirk nodded in anticipation and Selric told them all what he and Mendric had learned of the Fiend, including what Will had told them.
“It seems to me,” Selric surmised, “that we did indeed meet the Fiend, as Duncan called him, this very night.”
“That was him, or It,” Will added confidently. “Remember, I saw It before.”
“Yes you did,” Fiona said. “And you were very brave saving Selric like that.” She kissed his head.
“Hey!” he cried, wiping his forehead. “Don’t punish me.” Fiona looked in puzzlement at Selric, who chuckled softly for a moment before clearing his throat professionally.
“Punishment?” she asked.
“Inside joke,” Selric said sternly.
“Ah,” she said in understanding. “Well, now what do we do?”
“We find him and cut off his head,” Dirk said angrily.
“Yeah,” Will shouted with true enthusiasm, slapping Dirk several times on the back, as he stood next to the large man, his face at the same height as the sitting store owner. “That’s right, Dirk, kill him. Pow!”
“We realize that,” Selric said. “But how?”
“Well, if Will saw him in the sewer, maybe we should start there,” Fiona said. The thought of meeting the Fiend again filled the boy with fright.
“Uh, no. I can’t,” he stuttered, then thought of an escape. “Yeah, that’s right. Selric said that I can’t go into the sewers again.” Fiona looked at Selric who nodded in agreement.
“You could just show us from a sewer hole, and not go in at all. I’m sure you could do that much for us,” Fiona said.
“I guess so,” Will said, shrugging.
Bright sunlight streamed in through the high glass windows of the King’s council chamber, as the counselors sat around the polished marble table, drinking from golden flagons. At the end of the table the largest chair was empty, as was the one to its immediate right. The counselors were: Andrelia’s two highest-ranking generals, the Captain of the Palace Guard, the Chief Constable of the city, a triumvirate of merchant guild masters, the King’s High Priest, as well as the Head of the Secret Police, who knew the back streets as well as any thief (he had been one). These members, plus the King and his personal advisor, brought the number to eleven. The king and Ponjess Thunderstaff, his mage and advisor, entered the room as all members stood and raised their glasses in salute to His Royal Majesty, King Alhad Buchevelt, twenty-third ruler of his line.
King Alhad walked briskly to his chair and sat down. Sir Thurmond, Captain of the Guard, positioned to the King’s left, pushed in his liege’s chair. Then Ponjess sat, followed by the rest of the council. “Has all been done as I commanded?” the King asked, his young face awaiting an answer of yes, and only yes. He was young, at thirty-eight years, and had been king just eleven of those years. His father, a great warrior and ruler, died of as the result of a wicked curse, incurable even by the most prominent wizards and priests in the city, brought on during The War in a last attempt by the Baltians to win as their armies were defeated on all fronts. Until the problem with the Fiend, King Alhad had no chance to be a poor king. Things had run smoothly for ten years. But now his indecision brought dissent to his advisory council. His priest, the Chief Constable, and the guild masters urged the King to tell the people, while those in the military and Ponjess all recommended caution and suggested that the Watch could handle the affair secretly.
Actually, Ponjess had known about the coincidental murders nearly a year earlier, but neglected to inform the King until just three months before that current meeting. He forced Faldir, the Chief Constable, to remain silent on what Lord Thunderstaff called his “hunches,” until the matter was for certain. The slaying of Lady Vincent was the final act that now forced the council to meet with action in mind.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Faldir answered, rising. “All has been done. The gates will not open past dark for anyone to enter. And no one will leave at any time. All this has been done as of this very morning, to keep the city sealed.” He sat down again.
“Thurmond?” King Alhad asked and the Captain rose.
“Alistair Duncan is locked away. We believe that he had not the chance tell the Stormweathers anything. Is that correct, Rolandar?” Thurmond sat and Rolandar, Chief of the Secret Police, stood.
“Correct, Thurmond. We’ve seen or heard no indications that they know anything regarding our problem. They’re truly puzzled,” he chuckled, sitting once more.
“Jestul, my priest,” said the King, “did you send condolences to the Vincents, conveying them our deepest sympathy?”
Jestul stood. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
The king waited for him to sit. “Yes, Jestul?”
“Your Majesty, forgive my straightforwardness...but, but may we not tell the citizens, now that this beast is sealed inside the city?” He humbly sat, head bowed.
Quickly, Anthony Bigelow, guild master of the money lenders’ guild, rose. “Your Majesty,” he said bowing. “I believe we may have a demon from the Abyss in our beloved city. The closed gates will not keep him in.” Bigelow sat as hurriedly as he had risen, fearful of the king’s rage.
“Ponjess?” the King asked wearily and expectantly, who rose in turn.
“No, Master Bigelow. I do not believe so. This...creature...has done most of Its deeds in a corporeal, physical if you will, manner. It is difficult to explain in layman’s terms, but suffice it to say that a demon would have used more plane shifting, mind control, direct impersonations, etc. Our villain seems content with butchery in the night. It is a very carnal-minded creature. No, it is a being of this world, undoubtedly.” He sat.
Bigelow stood again. “A vampire, maybe. Werewolf perhaps. Gronga?”
“Perhaps, but those creatures are of this world, are they not?” said Ponjess.
General Derek Silverspear rose and saluted his liege. “Your Majesty,” he said respectfully, then turned to the others. “And if it is of this world, then it can be slain by men,” he said proudly, then sat. Faldir was in charge of the police force, or constables and the City Watch, and responsible for the safety of the citizenry, while the generals only responded to massed, armed confrontations. Thus, it was Faldir who was under the most pressure to succeed, so when addressed next, he felt his pulse quicken.
“I believe he can,” Faldir answered and the King grew angry.
“Yes, but will he!”
“I will do what I can,” he answered nervously.
“No!” yelled the King, growing out of control, as he often did. “You will catch this thing, or you will hang in its place.” All grew quiet. King Alhad cleared his throat and sighed. “Now, you have all winter. That should be enough time, no?” He waited, ready to explode if the answer he demanded did not come.
“Yes,” Faldir answered slowly. There was a collective sigh throughout the room. The King rose and, followed by his advisor, hurried out. Jestul had never had his question answered, but knew not to ask it again. The people would stay, for now, ignorant of their imminent peril.
“Tea?” the king asked as the two passed out of the room.
“Yes, I’d like that Your Majesty,” Ponjess replied. Faldir slumped in his chair. Those near him, patted his back in support, but one by one, all walked out, leaving him alone to his fate.
“Yep,” Will said, “that should be about right.” He pointed at the sewer cover.
“What are we doing here?” Cinder asked, hugging herself and stomping her feet against the cold, though she never really felt chilled; with her Elven blood the elements seldom bothered her. She was more bored than anything else, imitating the human behavior she was so fond of. The other four heroes looked at each other; none of them had told Cinder that they were all going into the city sewer system. And no one had mentioned the Fiend. “Well?” she pressed.
“Down there,” Selric said grabbing her arm just as she tried to run away.
“No. Never. It stinks. There’s...there’s...things down there. Garbage and ikier stuff. No. No way,” she said, sounding much like Will. She continued to pull her arm, trying to get loose from Selric’s grasp. It was not fear she exhibited, but a reluctance to begrime herself.
“Come on Cinder,” Fiona said. “You’ve got the keenest senses of us all. You might catch something that we humans would miss.”
“That’s right. My senses are keen, because I stay out of sewers. And with my senses I’ll get utterly sick down there. You are all completely crazy if you think I’m going.”
“We can’t make her go,” Melissa said. “Come on.” Melissa had risen from her sickbed three days earlier, her wound healing well. Though she had not been able to eat until yesterday and was not yet at full strength, she greatly desired to go with her friends. As a reminder of her first encounter with the Fiend, Melissa bore a narrow, pink, three-inch long scar on her abdomen and despite the magical healing, the wound would trouble the huntress the rest of her days, but its effects find place in later tales.
“That’s right,” Cinder insisted, pouting arrogantly. “You can’t make me go.”
“Please,” Selric said sweetly. “I’ll even hold your hand. I promise you won’t fall in or get hurt. I swear. I’ll even carry you on my back.” Cinder softened. She never had been able to tell Selric “no.” She shrugged and Fiona pulled out a pair of pants, a shirt, and some low-heeled boots. Dirk snickered, thinking of Cinder in such plain clothing. Cinder glared quickly at him, insulted at what she knew he was thinking and likely to say.
“Dirk,” Selric said sternly, then looked to Cinder again, who was backing away. “Come on, sweetheart,” he said. She reluctantly took the articles to the nearest shop and with a few flicks of her long lashes, convinced the shop keeper to let her change in the back of his store, constantly entertaining the thought of fleeing out the back door while Selric waited for her out front.
“I don’t want to go,” she said one last time as she rejoined her friends.
“We need you,” Fiona said. “Besides, you’re our good luck charm. All we have to do is rub your bottom.” Fiona did and Cinder giggled. Fiona winked at Dirk and he looked back unpleasantly at her.
“Would you like to rub me for luck, Dirk” she asked with a huge playful smile, running to him eagerly and adorably.
“No,” he said plainly, despite his attraction to her gentleness.
“Please,” Cinder pleaded, batting her lashes irresistibly.
“Oh, all right,” he sighed and he touched her backside quickly. Cinder smiled with glee and Selric made Melissa simply touch her arm, which was the most he could get her to do. Selric rubbed Cinder long and softly, kissed her cheek then lifted her down the ladder to Dirk.
“That is the stupidest thing I have ever seen,” Melissa complained, totally displeased, but not out of jealousy. She knew Cinder was sweet, and she sort of felt like an older sister to the playful nymph, but she did not believe that where they were going was the place or occupation for her.
“Quiet, Mel,” Fiona said.
“Oh that smell!” Cinder cried, pulling forth a perfumed kerchief and tying it around her face to cover her mouth and nose. “Give me your gold,” she said to Selric, quickly, immediately changing her mood and playing the role of a highway bandit.
“Real scary robber you make Cinder,” he said.
“Thanks,” she answered seriously.
“Do you want a ride?” he asked, turning around and hunching over.
“No I can walk, but hold my hand, like you promised. Oh wait!” she said, “I know a trick.” She mouthed an incantation and soon Dirk’s sword shimmered with a glow as bright as a lantern, lighting the tunnel for dozens of feet. “Okay, let’s go,” she said, walking along, an innocent child in their adventure. She batted her eyelashes at Selric. With the rest of her face covered, her eyes were even more alluring, seeming as big as coins and as colorful as the bluest sky had ever been. Selric took her hand and smiled.
They searched passage after passage, looking for some cave or door of obvious origin. They had no idea what they sought, but they did know to start in the city’s underground. After hours of walking, Cinder began to tire. “I don’t want to walk anymore. These shoes hurt my feet, and my perfume is wearing out. I want to go up. It’s starting to stink.”
“Then find the place,” Melissa said impatiently.
“What place, and what makes you think I can find it better than anyone else, even if I knew what it was?”
“If Will saw It in here more than once, or felt It, at least, then It must have some type of entrance or lair here somewhere,” Selric said. “It probably doesn’t use the sewers to travel around the city, It seems to use the rooftops for that.”
“Well, I’m tired,” Cinder continued. “What does It look like?”
“What?” Selric asked.
“The thing, the thing that uses the sewers. The thing,” she whined impatiently, with a stomp of her foot.
“It’s large and black, like a big man-shaped form, cloaked in shadow,” Selric said.
Dirk noticed Cinder stop, as if she heard something far off. “What is it?” he asked softly. She came back to her senses, the description not strong enough to recall the dreams which were too tightly locked away.
Cinder shook off the feelings of dread which seemed to be closing around her. “Fine,” she said, not having heard Dirk as she walked, seemingly bravely, ahead of them all. “Stay back.” She went almost out of the edge of their light and bent down near the edge of the water, squeaking softly. In seconds, a large brown rat swam up to her. “Not so close,” she said, standing up away from it. “Yuck. Tell me, have you seen a big shape, all dark, like a big man?” She turned to Selric, “Right?”
He nodded his agreement. “Evil,” he added, leaning forward as if that would help him see her at the edge of his vision, but obeying her orders not to go near.
“Evil,” she said to the rat. The creature sniffed for a few moments, almost as if thinking, then started squeaking fiercely. Cinder said, “Ah, yes. Oh, I see. And then? Ah! Oh, okay,” then she turned to Selric. “He says this way,” and she pointed.
The rodent dove away
and Cinder motioned her friends to her and she led them off into the dark. At every turn, Cinder would ask another rat for directions, and eventually the group was directed to a tunnel which had no life in it at all. The last rodent had told them the way, so that was the direction they traveled. They walked a good distance when Cinder stopped and pulled on Selric’s arm, pointing at the wall.
“What?” he asked, looking.
“A door, silly,” she laughed.
“Where?” Fiona asked.
“There.” She pointed again. Cinder took Selric’s knife after they stood stupefied longer than she cared to wait, and dragged the blade up and down the stone. Eventually, watching the line she traced, the others noted a completely disguised door frame. “Gosh..can we go now?!”
“How do we open it?” Dirk asked.
“I don’t know,” Cinder said in a bratty tone. “My goodness, do I have to do everything?” she gasped, looking closely at the wall. Soon she found a small knob flush with the wall and pushed it. The door slid inward and Cinder appeared to have her breath sucked from her chest, and she fell back into Selric, grabbing his sleeve tightly, gasping and panting for air, nearly falling over. Dirk, however, moved inside, his sword still aglow. Melissa knocked an arrow and followed him, Fiona close behind.
“I can’t go in there,” Cinder said, looking not like herself at all and unable to breathe. “No...no!” she gasped terribly. She showed no sign of innocence or immaturity, but seemed more like an older, able woman, totally capable of reasonable thought, not the flighty irresponsibility she was known for. Cinder did not plead or whine, but insisted, and was quite convincing at it.
“Come on,” Selric urged, gently leading her. “I promised that you would not be hurt. I still promise. I will give my life before I let another harm a hair on your beautiful head. You can’t stay in the sewers.” He kissed her forehead gently and she seemed to relax. Cinder moved as slowly and shakily as one afraid of heights who is led to stand at the edge of a tower parapet high above the ground.