13.6

Dirk awoke in his bed. The taste of Zyrdicia lingered in his mouth. He reached next to him out of habit, half expecting to find her next to him. His bed was quite empty. That fact disappointed him unexpectedly.

He opened his eyes and found he was lying atop the bed covers, still fully clothed. His first thought was that it had all been a series of dreams within dreams. He wondered how long he had been asleep.

Remembering the vivid dream, he reached to his chest. Feeling the monocle, he sighed in relief. He had not lost it. His sword and dagger hung from their scabbard on a bedpost. He never left his weapons there. No matter how tired he was, he always put them in their proper place. He stared at them for a moment, then sat up. The unusual placement of his weapons left him unnerved.

He stood to look at himself in the mirror. He gasped at the sight. He looked awful. His face looked pale and gaunt. It was covered with several days worth of beard growth. His eyes looked as though they had aged years. The image in the mirror jarred him. He sniffed the air and realized he smelled wretched. He smelled as though he had spent several days upon a battlefield without bathing. His heedless pursuit of conquest had taken an incredible toll upon his body. No mere dream could have done this to him, could have reduced him to such a dismal state.

Something drew his eyes to the floor near his bed. His gaze fixed upon a long, black feather. He bent down to retrieve it. It seemed to ooze and reform between his fingers, much as the angelic, silver feather had which he had found on Grand Kirilia after Zyrdicia's departure. He knew where this one had come from. Astaroth had left a calling card, a reminder that it had been real.

It unsettled the usually stoic prince. His last memory of the surreal adventure was a passionate kiss, the sort of kiss that should have led to more. Somehow it did not this time. He remembered no ending, no resolution to it. It had seemed to intensify into a craving for power translated into carnal desire - and then nothing. It ended when he woke up in his bed alone. He wondered where she was now. He closed his eyes, focussing his anxious, confused mind. He needed certainty that it had not been some demonic illusion designed to torment him.

He reached out for her telepathically, hoping this time she would hear. "Where are you?"

"Home."

"Are you still trapped there?" Dirk wondered.

"No. Astaroth deposited me in bed when he released us. His timing could have been better, though."

Dirk was instantly relieved that she confirmed the encounter. He found the certainty that it had actually taken place reassuring. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"My shoulder is still a mess and I'm exhausted. I'll live. You?"

"Sleep and food deprivation are easily cured." He paused, dissatisfied with the sense of distance within the silent exchange. "Come here!"

"Not yet. In a few days." There was a long silence, though the telepathic connection lingered. "Dirk?"

"What?"

"If I don't come back from the Astral Plane, it won't be because I don't want to." She broke off the communication between them abruptly.

Her final remark left the prince with a grim since of foreboding. She had already lost to Baal once.