By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought)

by Crandall, John

  When Cinder stepped in, she and Selric saw the room the others had already searched. They found blood saturated earth beneath two manacles on one wall, implements of torture racked along the other, and a ladder up to a trapdoor that Dirk was then trying to force. “Oh...oh” Cinder moaned and gasped painfully, as if she would cry. “The evil...I can’t stay here...please take me...” then she fell silent as her eyes caught something.

  Unseen to all, except Cinder, was Bixby Goreman, the apparition. He was faded and almost completely invisible even to her. “Hello?” Cinder said curiously. Her friends were startled, scared in fact, when Cinder seemed to be talking to no one. Slowly the ghost became visible as he floated to Cinder, hungering for her immortal blood; his eyes sunken, his appearance unnerving, though not yet frightening. Dirk nearly lost his grip on the ladder and had to quickly jump down before falling at his sight of the creature. “Selric...” Cinder stuttered.

  As Cinder let the specter near, he changed, then looking like a laughing, hideous ghoul, his skin rotting and his bones pressing against his gaunt, sallow flesh. He reached for Cinder’s tender throat, believing no one there had any weapon which could harm his non-corporeal body. But Melissa did, and she used it. She shot through the ghost, the shaft, enchanted as it flew from the magical elven bow, dragging the monster with it and pinning him to the wall. Fiona took out the symbol of her goddess, a small golden dagger she wore always around her neck, and she shook it at him, chanting in her holy tongue as she moved ever closer. Bixby Goreman screamed and struggled, wounded from the arrow, feeling his soul being forced from the world to roam the netherworld instead by the priestess’s power over the souls of the dead and undead. In a flash, his form vanished with a whoosh of the wind that sounded like a sigh of relief, and the arrow fell smoldering to the floor. “Leave it,” Fiona said, restraining Melissa as she tried to bend low and pick up the shaft.

  Dirk again tried the trapdoor, looking over his shoulder for more ghosts, and pounding the wood with his gauntlets, trying to bash it open. Fiona gave him her mace and after only three strikes, he smashed it to splinters. “Well, Its had plenty of time to flee, hasn’t It?” Dirk quipped.

  “Cinder,” Selric asked, “are you sure there’s no more doors down here?” She looked carefully and shook her head, shivering from some unfelt cold, though his arm was tight around her. The other three were already upstairs and Selric put his hand under her rump as she climbed, thrusting Cinder up and out the door. They emerged up into a normal-appearing back room common in most city shops, obvious by the tools lying about. There were many worktables, and bits of leather lay here and there. A set of steps led up, and a curtain covered the way to the front of the building. Fiona let out a gasp when she passed through the curtain.

  “I’ve been here,” she said. “I buy my whips and pouches and armor here. This is Olaf Svenson’s leather shop.”

  “Isn’t this where we met?” Melissa asked. It was the same place, and the store was filled with the same tables and the same leather items, nothing having changed. The only thing missing was Olaf Svenson.

  “Upstairs,” Selric said. He ran first, followed by Dirk, Melissa, then Fiona; they’d forgotten about Cinder. There was a small landing at the top of the staircase and the steps wound their way up again, but there was a door ahead of them and one to the left, lying over the back room downstairs. Selric opened that one. Inside was a kitchen. He opened the door all the way and went inside slowly; cautiously. Melissa and Fiona went through the other, and gasps of horror and astonishment came from both rooms simultaneously.

  As Selric explored the kitchen, he found many blood covered items, from awls, knives, even forks; to the counters and the floor. In the corner, partially hidden between a huge table and the wall, lay a butchered teenage girl, her leg chained to the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her skull had been smashed in, bits of white bone protruding from her once-brown hair, now a dark, dripping mess. The blood was fresh, her body still warm. The other room looked like a slaughterhouse. The walls were spattered with blood and several enormous pools of the liquid lay on the wooden floor. Fiona could tell that the room had been insulated much like her own temple, since the blood should have dripped through the floor onto the heads of customers below. There were also two women there. One had been beheaded, the other hacked to death with a large, heavy blade. Fiona examined them: no one else had the stomach, even Selric.

  “They’ve been beaten severely...over many days. They each have broken bones and were malnourished, but they were killed quickly, within the last few minutes,” she said, swallowing heavily and looking up in fear at Selric who stood within the doorway.

  “Dirk, help me,” Cinder called softly. He ran to the landing; Cinder had gone up a few steps toward the next level, and stood there, frozen in place. Dirk heard a deep-throated growl and he ran up the steps and stood next to Cinder. Once there, he saw the large gray, wolf-like dog above them. She had never seen any in her mother’s forest; only wolves and other wild creatures and they would do whatever the half-elven maid asked of them. She understood them, and they her.

  When Dirk moved beside her, Cinder leapt down the stairs, right onto Selric, who barely managed to catch her. “No. Don’t run,” Dirk screamed. The dog leapt onto him, knocking Dirk down to the landing, and ran on, stopping before Melissa.

  “Okay puppy. It’s all right,” she said, holding her hand out. She had always been able to calm even the most vicious of dogs, but this one had evil in its eyes, some influence of the Fiend, Melissa guessed. It snapped at her hand, then jumped toward her. Dirk had already risen, and he struck it with his sword as it flew on, severing its spine. The beast fell, snarling and yelping to the floor, only its head able to move. Dirk raised his sword and hacked off the dog’s head, ending its tormented life.

  “Oh, Selric,” Cinder whined as she lay in his arms.

  “I said I’d protect you. Now, you’re fine,” he said, stroking her hair. “You are fine!” he urged as merrily as he could in that house of horrors. A shuffling and thumping came down from the top of the stairs and Melissa ran to their foot, bow drawn. The string sang and they heard the arrow strike the wall at the stair head. “He’s there!” she said, the fear in her voice undeniable. “He just ducked back.” Then something slammed, a door maybe, but all the friends jumped at the sound, then looked at each other, wondering what to do.

  Selric finally stepped forward. Dirk grabbed his shoulder. “No, I’ll go. Stay with Cinder.” He took a deep breath, then ran up the stairs as fast as he could, screaming wildly. Melissa followed, then Fiona, both running. Fiona was chanting and in moments a shimmering bubble appeared then broke into sparkling flakes and fell upon her and the others. Perhaps it was something to make them stronger, or be more protected. None asked and none cared, appreciating any help Fiona and Aura Painbliss could give them.

  Selric and Cinder went up cautiously, holding hands. There were two rooms upstairs: one was empty, completely. But the other contained a huge bed, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a chest. The room was cold and the window shutter slammed shut then blew open again. The Fiend, or Olaf Svenson at least, had escaped.

  Selric clambered out the window. “Watch Cinder,” he said seriously to Dirk. Then he clambered precariously up onto the roof. He saw the Fiend, carrying a large sack, leaping from roof to roof, soon disappearing into the distance. “Melissa! Quick,” he called and she came up, but by the time he assisted her up, she saw nothing: the Fiend was gone.

  Fiona and Dirk searched the room while Cinder sat staring, as if in a trance, at the bed. They found no signs that the Fiend had tortured or killed in his room; everything was clean. The wardrobe and dresser contained a wide variety of clothing, and the chest a vast array of weapons; some enchanted, some ancient with keen edges and strong steel, but all were of excellent workmanship; trophies from his victims.

  Cinder folded her arms and paced nervously about. “Can we go now?” she asked Fiona, as Selric and Melissa cl
imbed back in through the window.

  “Well?” Fiona asked Melissa, ignoring Cinder’s question.

  “He got away. Actually, I didn’t even get a shot off. He was gone before I got up there,” said Melissa, then she turned to Selric. “What do you think he had in the bag?” Selric went to Cinder and hugged her close; she laid her head upon his shoulder.

  “I don’t know,” Selric said absently, giving all his attention then to the shaken half-elven maid.

  “What do you mean, bag?” Fiona asked Melissa.

  “Selric said he saw the Fiend with a big sack.”

  “Would you like to go, Cinder?” Selric asked.

  She nodded. “Oh yes!” she said. “Could we?” Her eyes were bright, but distant, strangely aglow and hopeful.

  “We’re going outside,” Selric announced to the others. Cinder walked out as if in a daze or trying hard to remember something. She was not scared or even shaken, just puzzled and sluggish of mind. Selric led her down the steps, sword drawn warily, still on edge for the Fiend or any other surprises.

  “Where’s he go from here?” Fiona asked hypothetically.

  “The sewers?” Dirk guessed.

  “Maybe,” Fiona said. “I don’t think this job was a cover for his murders, or else he would have been caught when people went to his shop and never came back out. I think he actually lived two lives; one by day, one by night. All the murders seem to have taken place after dark.”

  “And the man I saw atop the stair was not what hit me in the alley!” Melissa urged.

  “So, now what?” Dirk asked. “He can’t just set up another daytime life. We know who he is.”

  “He’ll probably try to flee,” said Fiona.

  “We should tell the Watch,” Melissa said.

  “I don’t know,” said Fiona.

  “You don’t know!” Dirk said angrily.

  “You know what Selric said about them spying on his house and not wanting to admit any trace of this...guy. We’d be jailed if we offered proof,” Fiona said. She paced around, fingering the furniture. “I think we’ll have to let it go.”

  “We could send an anonymous note,” Dirk offered. “The Watch can catch him now that his identity is known, and we do have to do something with these poor bodies.” Dirk began to feel ill as the excitement began to pass and the reality of the horror around him became more clear. He bent over, hands on knees and took several deep breaths. “Telvar…” he prayed softly.

  “I guess so,” Fiona agreed as her thoughts drifted elsewhere. “What a mind. So wicked, so torturous. So evil.” She turned quickly to Melissa, with a strange smile on her face; a look of devious perversion. “It could have been you; helpless, at his merciless rage...” Melissa turned uncomfortably away, weakened from the wound caused by the Fiend where It had stabbed her, realizing now that she still needed more rest.

  “Could’ve been you, too,” said Dirk. Fiona looked at him as if to say: “I don’t think so.”

  “Simple old Svenson, the Fiend,” Fiona continued. “I can’t believe it. There is no way that...that...man was the Fiend. How could he hide it so well? How long has he been doing it? How many of the disappearances is he responsible for?”

  “Shut up Fiona,” Dirk said. “You don’t admire this bastard, do you?” he said, not really asking. “Because if you do, I’ll just kill you right now. We don’t need a “Mrs. Fiend” running around. You do enough already to further sickness and disgustingness.”

  “Dirk,” she said coldly, “nothing you say could ever change the way I feel about anything or change what I actually do. Don’t even try to tell me anything.” Dirk got angry, his feelings hurt at her bitterness.

  “You’re a real bitch, Fiona,” he said, stepping forward, ready to punch her. They all nearly jumped out of their skin in their haste to draw weapons when a shape appeared in the doorway. It was Selric and they breathed a collective sigh.

  “I sent Cinder to a tavern next door. What did you find?” he asked. He was calm and mature, no longer jovial or spontaneous; his manner demanded, and received, respect from his friends.

  “Not much,” Dirk said, kicking the chest open. “These weapons, some clothing. That’s it.” Selric looked the things over.

  “The variety of clothes could be his victims outfits, or disguises, or both,” Selric said as he sifted through the nicely folded items. He went to the chest. “These are nice weapons. Only the best,” he said, sounding impressed. “I’m sure it was difficult to leave them, and his slaves.” His look grew cold as he sorted carefully through the weapons, his mind on the grisly remains below him. He pulled out a long curved dagger, and put it in his belt. “Here you go, Melissa,” he said, tossing her a gleaming short sword. “No maces, and certainly no giant swords for you, Dirk.”

  Fiona sat on the bed, thinking that she would pick up a few more free whips etc. from the store; items made for evil, by someone who truly knew what they were for and what evil was. “Dirk thinks we should send an anonymous letter to the Watch,” she said. Selric shrugged.

  “I suppose so,” he agreed. “We’ll go home and write it out.” He stood and shut the lid. “Why don’t you carry that Dirk. There’s some valuable steel in there. Sell it at Bessemer’s and give us a share, or keep them until this settles down and we’ll see what we have. Now, let’s get out of this...this place.” He turned and walked out, slowly examining the surroundings and shaking his head in pity.

  “Well,” Melissa said, running after him down the stairs, “how can we catch him?”

  “I don’t think we have to.”

  “What’s that mean?” she asked but got no reply. She stopped on the steps and turned to Fiona, who was just coming down. “What does that mean, what he said?” she asked her. Dirk came next, grunting and swaying as he labored with the chest.

  “I don’t know, Mel,” Fiona said solemnly, looking at her with a half-smile as she passed her and went on down.

  “What does he mean?” she asked Dirk next.

  “What?” he asked angrily. He hadn’t heard what Selric said. Melissa gasped with anxiety and blew past Fiona to catch Selric just as he reached the shop portion of the building.

  “Selric?” she pressed, grabbing his arm strongly.

  “It means, Melissa,” he answered slowly, “that the way he looked at me just before he vanished over that last rooftop, is that he isn’t going to flee or hide, or even relocate.”

  “Then what?” she asked.

  “He’s going to find us.”

  13

  The Fiend moved through the falling snow, Its mind racing. The Fiend burned so hot with rage that It killed any It encountered: man, woman, beast. “Those humans have seen me,” It thought. “It would be easy to change guises, to start a new life. But they have seen me, they may hunt me and follow my trail. I cannot rest until there are none who know me. How dare they!” The only other being to survive the Fiend’s attack, the old wizard who blinded It, had since been killed. The Fiend found his home, stole into his room in the dark of night and murdered him, ripping his body into a hundred pieces and consuming the magic-tainted bits.

  The snow fell heavily; visibility was only a few feet and the Fiend wandered the maze of streets looking for the one place It had met someone months ago. Bixby was gone, but had proven useful and now the Fiend felt the need again for allies. They said they would be there, so It kept searching, carrying a sack of gifts.

  The Fiend thought of ways to rid Itself of the humans. Days had passed since It fled Its home, and It had spent the time trying to find them. It found Selric Stormweather and Dirk Bessemer, but the others still eluded It. Then the familiar doorway loomed ahead, dark and leery, breaking Its thoughts. This was the place.

  Opening the door, the Fiend walked inside and looked around; soon three canine shapes appeared. They walked on their hind legs and stood nearly as tall as the Fiend. “What? What do you want?” the first and largest asked. His voice was whiny and panting and he stepped forward, swayin
g back and forth on his back paws, seeming to bounce up and down as he tried to maintain balance. The Fiend studied them: their bristling fur, their savage jaws, their luminous eyes.

  “I want you to kill a human,” the Fiend said, Its voice as deep as a well, as cool as darkness, as wicked as death.

  “Why?” the leader whined, his voice hissing. He bounced faster, drooling in anger. “We owe you nothing, especially obedience! We spared your life, remember?” he cackled. With a flash of brilliant, speeding steel, the wolfman’s head was hacked off, slamming into the wall as it flew off. His body bobbed two more times, then teetered forward and fell to the ground. The other two whimpered and howled to themselves, bouncing uncontrollably.

  “Don’t hurt us,” they cried, falling to all fours and slinking near the Fiend, not like humans, but different than their bipedal form: now almost indistinguishable from large wolf-like dogs.

  It had drawn Itself up to Its full height and raised Its scimitar, now glowing fluorescent blue, over Its head. The Fiend’s eyes flared like green torches and Its darkness grew to an impenetrable black, the evil overflowing from It. Barely able to control Its rage, the Fiend struggled to spare them but It needed their help.

  “Remember who spared who,” It growled. “I need you to kill a man called Dirk. He lives at Bessemer’s.”

  “Yess, we know wheer it iss,” one said. They smelled something in the sack, and both sniffed it eagerly.

  “Good,” It said calmly. “Get him, but not there. Track him and kill him in the streets. It mustn’t look planned. Devour the evidence, and if there are any with him, kill them as well. When you have done this, there will be others for us to kill.” He emptied the sack: two bodies slumped out, that of a man and a woman, clothed against the cold, but bloody and clearly slashed to death by terribly heavy strokes.

  The beasts teetered up and down and from side to side, afraid to touch the meat. “We understand,” one said, eyeing the bodies but wary as long as the Fiend hovered near. The Fiend nodded and walked out to the sounds of growling and ripping flesh. The noises excited It.