Now that the Fiend’s plan was in motion, Its lust returned. It thought of the dark haired beauty, the one called Cinder: she smelled of the elves. The Fiend liked it. It liked how they protected her. “If I took that one, and spoiled it, took it away from them forever, then they would be overcome; afraid. They would give up, save themselves, fall apart and no longer work together against him.” Then the Fiend thought again; that was not likely, not for such humans who had dared to search It out. “Even if they did come for precious revenge, their pride and rage would undo them, make them easy. “This, I will do,” It decided.
“But the others, the fierce one. I stabbed her before and she came back; so strong, so soon. She fought well. That one I would like to keep. I will spoil their Cinder, but when all the others are gone, I will take and keep the strong one. She will last longer than any other I have had. She will not break and die so easily.” The Fiend laughed, or what was a laugh to the Fiend, and turned to the nearest house. The thoughts of depravity fueled Its lust and It was out of control.
It shattered the door and found a woman in her bed, not as pretty as some, but just as soft and feminine. It killed her mate, her husband, then took her and raped her as she screamed in fear. It let her, no longer afraid of anyone. It raped her and killed her as It finished, butchered her, then walked out of the house, leaving the door open as the Watch approached somewhere off in the distance. It laughed at the ease of Its life and walked into the dying snowfall.
“What’s the matter?” Alanna asked, her brows raised in sincere concern. She sipped her wine and gently set it down on the lace tablecloth, her eyes locked on him, eyebrows raised questioningly and a gentle smile on her pretty face.
“Huh?” Selric asked, ending his daydream and looking up at her.
“I said...what’s the matter?” she repeated, head cocked as she waited sweetly.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t be silly.” He smiled. She smiled back. To Selric, Alanna was certainly beautiful, but he had enjoyed it so much less that week. He thought of those women; the young girl no more than fourteen, her ankle swollen from the chain. He thought of three of his girl ‘friends’ who had disappeared or been murdered, now he knew by whom: the Fiend. “You are beautiful,” he said, shaking his mind from the monstrous sights to his lovely companion. Alanna blushed, a reaction she was not used to performing in her time on the streets. “How are you and Mendric getting along?”
“Oh, better,” she said, though it wasn’t true. Mendric still would not look at her, and the few words he said were never kind. In fantasies, he made love to her, and she liked it, but not in the real world of daylight. Here, her heart belonged to Selric, and it was he she truly loved. Alanna knew fantasies were just that, and Selric gave her everything she ever wanted and more than she deserved.
And she was truly happy. Her fantasies for Mendric were of a one-time affair, where-after he would leave her be and disappear from her life, no longer a threat to her love for Selric. The only reason she thought about Mendric was because she could never have him. He was handsome and strong, certainly, but if she had never met Selric, she would not have even acknowledged Mendric’s presence. He and his ways, his mannerisms and likes, were totally alien to the street thug, but then again, maybe that was her attraction, as if she were the noble matron dreaming of the stable-hand. Selric was as perfect a mate as she could ever wish for...and there she was, right before him, fate kind to her. “Life is strange,” she thought as she sighed. Then another thought of Mendric forced her to laugh aloud, fully recognizing the frivolity of fantasy.
“What?” Selric asked, smiling at her mirth.
“Oh, nothing. Just your brother. I don’t know why he hates me.” She laughed harder, knowing that Mendric wanted her for the exact reasons that she wanted him, and hated her just to push her out of his mind. She pictured him loving her again and she giggled. “I’m sorry,” Alanna said. “I can’t help it. I’m in a silly mood.” And she was. By Selric’s reputation, he was one of the very greatest lovers in the city, yet she wanted his brother for no reason clear to her, no serious reason, no true reason. It was simply a desire for the forbidden.
“You are being strange today,” he confirmed, laughing nervously and shaking his head briefly.
“Let’s go make love,” she proposed passionately, knowing that that was the only way to get the strange ideas out of her head. Two patrons obviously of aristocratic extract sitting at the next table looked over, insulted, and Alanna stuck her tongue out insolently. Selric laughed.
“Stop that,” he said. He took her hand and rushed out, happy to be with someone he loved so much, and oddly enough, someone as audacious as himself. He wanted to make love to her. It was the only way to get the horror off of his own mind. And so they did, each because they felt a love growing for only the other—as well as to separate themselves from troubling thoughts. They went to the city’s finest inn and Selric brazenly asked for the room “with the nicest bed. We only need it for a few hours.” The proprietor, though shocked, had no choice but to lead them to it.
Alanna held Selric’s hand as she was led into the room and she waited patiently as he closed the door and took her in his arms. Though she was full of self doubt, Alanna had a lifetime’s share of street smarts and intuition, and the look she saw in Selric’s face was more than lust. He leaned her back against the door with a gentle smile and pressed his body gently but fully against hers, holding her hands in each of his, their arms fully extended. He kissed her deeply and warmly and Alanna’s fire was stoked as he pressed his body against hers heavily, pinning her to the wall.
“Oh Selric,” she sighed when the young Stormweather broke their oral embrace. Selric chuckled lightly as he kissed down her neck, pulling her forward off the door. His touch was so deft only cool air blowing across her back let her know he had unlaced her dress and corset and she giggled as he pulled his chest slightly from hers so her top was barely held upon her shoulders.
After sucking passionately on her neck Selric leaned back an arms-length from her and studied Alanna up and down. “For someone who’s worn breeches and linen shirts her entire life, you carry a silk gown with grace.” She blushed and could barely feel his hands stroke her shoulders, like he was grasping a chum. When he pulled his hands slid down her arms, she laughed, feeling her gown, now unlaced and given a nudge, slide down her torso. At the last moment she bent her arms to stop its fall just below her breasts. He now caressed her bare arms and shoulders and again wrapped his arms about her and kissed her deeply. As she took a deep breath and sighed, then let out the resultant exultation, the loosened corset followed the gown and she was now half naked, but unashamed.
“Why are you not with Angelique?” she whispered between kisses.
“Who?” he asked, pausing, not as unsure of the topic as he was the timing.
“Your childhood friend. The one the city—the kingdom—thinks you should marry.” Her face smiled, but uncertainty was showing in her eyes.
“Because I would rather be here…with you…doing this…than anything I could be doing right now, anywhere, with her.” He looked at her, engaging her stare, not avoiding it. He did not press her as they stood there, the world silent outside their door. He looked on her, his gaze so plain and clear that she had no answer for him. “If I wanted to be with her, would I not be? Alanna nodded and smiled weakly. Selric pulled her close and held her, swaying gently, as if a soft and slow song was playing in his head. She dropped her arms, and thus her garments and stepped forward out of them, Selric retreating at her behest. That continued until Selric reached the bed and Alanna climbed atop him, her long hair then falling over her shoulders as she straddled him, hiding her nude chest from view.
They made love for hours, poring over each others dazzling forms with the fire of passion and the desire of love. They laughed and never took their actions so seriously that it became dull or responsible. Neither needed to please the other; it happened naturally. They made love on t
he bed, they made love before the roaring fire, they made love in the bath as they looked out the huge glass window—which cost more than the average worker made in five years—refined, clear glass that was suitable for a window still a rarity and thus the room priced extravagantly.
With several bouts of lovemaking behind them, the couple lay in the warm bath, she in his arms, as the snow fell and the day died away bringing on night again, and both forgot the troubles that had so bothered them over lunch. They did not realize that the island of peace they shared that day would be the last refuge from pain they would feel for many months.
“I missed you those weeks you were staying away,” Cinder said, her eyes flashing like twinkling stars. Night had just come and the falling snow grew heavier. Snowflakes stuck on the beard Dirk had grown, and Cinder pulled him to a stop, picking the glistening flakes off his chin with her lips. They stood nose to nose—or forehead to chin, for even in her high heeled boots Dirk stood above Cinder—two dark silhouettes in the falling white; the snow piled about them in great drifts here and there. The wind was nonexistent and the snow fell slowly, steadily, seeming to hover in midair; the world was as quiet as a tomb. Only Cinder’s giggling at the tickle of Dirk’s hair on her nose broke the silence.
Cinder’s eyes were as bright and innocent as a child’s as she looked up into Dirk’s, feeling the flakes by the touch of her lips alone and not needing to search them out with her sight. Cinder seemed so bright and happy to Dirk all that week, all the vileness of the Fiend and his house seemed years ago. Dirk was happy: he and his friends were back together, Cinder stopped dating as often, Melissa and he were closer than they had ever been, and he had Tallow to brighten his life as well. “Only if Selric didn’t seem so preoccupied,” he thought, Selric’s worry was enough to stanch Dirk’s complete bliss and make him realize that things were not as pleasant as he wanted to believe. Something was amiss, but he refused to let it bother him that evening; not yet.
Dirk began to hum, feigning boredom. Cinder’s twinkling laugh rose and fell like sweet music. Her face was wrapped in the dark ring of her hair that protruded from her hood. The snow lit on her locks, looking like fiery stars in the darkest sky, and her cheeks and lips were red and full of life. Dirk would remember this night, always. She kept hold of his cloak, keeping him pulled forward, bent at the waist so she could attack his face, though he could have easily stood up, pulling her helplessly along. Then Cinder kissed him, slipping her tongue between his tightly closed lips. Her tongue was cold from the frosty snow; his was warm and the sensation thrilled them both. Then, Cinder shoved her hands down his pants.
“That’s cold!” he screamed, seizing her wrists.
“No. It’s warm,” she giggled.
“Not to me. Let’s get going. I’m cold.” Dirk made his teeth chatter purposely.
“You big baby,” Cinder teased. “Kiss me.” A door opened down the alley, and a little round man began to haul crates out into the snow-filled alleyway. He smiled and waved briefly, shook his head and laughed to himself at the thought of young love. Dirk bent forward and kissed Cinder ever-so-softly, causing her to smile, close her eyes, and sigh contentedly. When she opened them, they burned with her typical, playful desire. “I want to go home,” she said impatiently, smiling and pulling on his arm. “I want to go to your place. I want to go anywhere. I want it. I want you!” she called loudly and lovingly, her playfulness and lack of ability to take anything serious enamored her even more to Dirk. He teasingly refused to move, yawning and turning away, ignoring her. “I want you to take me and...” Her voice was cut off when they heard a sound like far off drum beats; a rumbling. Then it became clearer.
Behind Cinder came a deep growling sound from more than one throat. Dirk saw the terror return to Cinder’s eyes, the terror he had been so glad to see gone, and she broke from his startled grasp, bolting off in the direction opposite the terrifying sounds, not even seeking protection from Dirk or trying to see what it was.
“No!” Dirk yelled. “Don’t run, it only makes them...” Dirk turned back to the sound. Creeping slowly into view, came the two largest wolves Dirk had ever seen, or even heard of, and he stepped uncontrollably back in horror. They were the size of large ponies, and their black bristly fur gleamed with a covering of light snow. They looked at him and seemed to grin, their snouts twisted with an evil delight. Dirk drew his sword and the beasts paused. The most he could do was hold one off; the other would run Cinder down for sure. They sensed his uncertainty and crouched. Dirk fled just as they leapt in the air. He soon overtook Cinder, her steps short and choppy in her high-heeled boots as she slipped and slid on every step through the snow. He scooped her up like a child under his arm and in his great strides covered the ground quickly to the little round man’s door.
He, too, apparently saw what loped after the couple and fled inside, trying to close the door, but Dirk held it open long enough to step through. He dropped the sword, still holding Cinder tightly in his other arm, and pulled the door shut, just as the beasts hurled their great bulk against the oaken buttress with a crash heavy enough to shake the wall itself. Repeatedly they leapt and the room shook, but the door held.
Dirk bolted the door and held Cinder: she trembled fiercely, maybe from the cold, maybe from the fear, or both, Dirk did not know. She did not relax for over an hour as all three sat in the tiny storage room, not speaking, unable to even go in to the house proper. The little round man had piled crates in front of that door too, when they heard the shutters there battered in, followed by heavy growling. Then it sounded like the beasts tore the place to bits, something very odd for any normal wolves to do.
The humans and half-elf slept restlessly and did not wake until daylight. More snow had fallen, and when Dirk opened the door, no prints could be seen outside. Cinder had the resilience of innocence, and though terribly shaken one moment always seemed to recover as she did that morning. She had nearly forgotten the entire ordeal and went outside, strengthened by the clear morning sky.
Selric stirred from sleep. “What time is it?”
“Just past eight bells,” Alanna said. “Get up sleepy head, there’s a man here to see you.” Selric rolled out of bed and slid his pants on; Alanna tickled him playfully as he tried to hurry. She was completely dressed, having been sleeping in her own quarters: Brandon’s room above. Alanna was up at dawn and had been in the hearth room, alone, when Elgorn admitted the guest to the foyer. Then, she went to wake Selric, sending Elgorn to fetch Mendric who was out in the stable seeing to the grooming and exercise of the horses.
Selric splashed water over his face before slipping his shirt on. He brushed his hair and, taking her hand, went to greet his guest. “Who is it?” he asked Alanna as they crossed the foyer, pausing outside the hearth room door.
“He didn’t say, and I didn’t want to pry. I am just a guest myself.”
“For now,” Selric said, grasping her chin with his fingers and kissing her soft lips. She wanted to believe him, but thought such too good to be true. Selric tucked in his shirt, threw both doors open wide and with a deep breath and exuberantly charismatic voice said, “Good morning. And what can Selric Arnesson Stormweather do for you, Sir...? I’m sorry, I wasn’t given your name.”
“Faldir. Faldir is my name, Master Stormweather.” Selric looked hard at the man. He seemed haggard, dressed in an old, heavy cloak, as much a disguise as a shield from the weather. His face was heavy with beard, and weary, as if sleep were a battle to be fought by him each night.
Selric remembered the array of clothing at the Fiend’s house; Selric remembered the Fiend constantly. He could not get him out of his mind and wondered if Olaf had come in a disguise. And though this ‘man’ felt nothing like the taint Selric had felt in that horrible place, dreams and nightmares had him on edge constantly for the ‘fiend.’ Selric felt naked there with that stranger, realizing he did not have his Eastern sword. He turned to Alanna and whispered, “Will you fetch my sword Darling. I seem t
o have forgotten it.” He smiled at her and she nodded, going away and suspecting nothing.
“Yes, Faldir. And what is it I can do for you?”
“I will wait for your brother, if you’ll forgive me.” He bowed slightly. Selric poured Faldir a drink of brandy, as requested, though odd for such an early hour, and he led him to the guest seat in front of the hearth which was aglow, burning constantly from late autumn to early spring.
Directly, Mendric came in and hung his cloak in the foyer, meeting Alanna as she returned, carrying the blade in both hands before her, as if it were a delicate artifact. He looked at her and finally spoke.
“What are you doing with that?”
“Taking it to Selric.” She smiled kindly at him, as she did every time, no hostility evident. It was more manners than any other thug might show, and actually more than Mendric ever expected from her. He nodded and grunted, allowing Alanna to enter the room first. He closed the doors after he was inside and Faldir rose as the two walked forward, eyeing Alanna suspiciously. She walked to Selric, and gently handed him the weapon, then went and sat away from the men. Faldir shook Mendric’s hand.
“Which one, or was it both of you, that Alistair Duncan tried to contact?” he asked brusquely. Selric went to speak, but was cut short by his brother.
“First, Faldir, I wish to know your business,” Mendric said, obviously knowing the man. “May I remind you, you are on Stormweather ground, not that owned by His Majesty.”
“I know where I am. And as you know Mendric, I am Chief Constable of the Watch,” he said. Selric quickly glanced at his brother.
“Duncan was my friend,” Mendric said. “I’m sure he was here to see me. I was, after all, the one he called out for.”
“Did he tell you anything? Anything at all?”
“He didn’t have a chance. He was unnecessarily beaten and hauled away by the palace guards,” Selric said. Faldir turned to him.
By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) Page 37
