2.2

A week later, in the great hall of Castle Blackpool Dirk stood discussing his castle's security with Sir Cai, his senechal. The young knight's keen mind and brutal attention to detail made him an invaluable servant to the prince.

There had been no word yet from the spies Dirk sent into Camarand. He should have heard something back by now. His contacts in the Greystone court assured him the men had not been captured, but it was certainly odd to receive no word. Vector had thus far been unable to properly pinpoint her location, or so he claimed. The attacks had become sporadic now, making the job more difficult.

Suddenly a loud creaking emanated from the castle's stone walls. The groaning of the stone persisted for a moment, then stopped. The prince looked around uncomfortably, examining the walls carefully. He had lived in this place all his life, and he had never heard such sounds.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something drop from the rafters. A loud thud followed the movement. The object was a net full of limp human bodies. He drew his sword quickly. His warrior instincts kicked in as he realized there was an intruder. He craned his neck upward, peering into the rafters to find the source of the mysterious package.

"Cai! Get me a crossbow!" he whispered.

Guards scrambled about the room, unnerved by the situation.

Whoever is up there is destined to die today, he thought.

His attention was called back to bodies by soft clearing of the throat. To his surprise, the mysterious woman stood next to the net now. One foot rested triumphantly upon the top of the pile of bound bodies. The prince could not help but admire the wicked-looking black boot on that foot, with its elegant metal adornment giving the effect of a spiked claw. The prince's azure eyes traveled from the boot up her body. She certainly made a vicious impression, for a woman. Close-fitting leather covered her from shoulder to foot. The thick fabric hugged the curves of her long legs and hips before disappearing into the top of the knee-high boots. The high neck of her shirt did little to disguise her ample bosom, which echoed the perfect curve of her hips. Long, sharp silver spikes shaped like dragon's fangs adorned her shoulders. The motif repeated itself in smaller spikes along the length of her gauntlets and across the center of her hands. As she moved her fingers, more metal glittered in the torchlight. Each leather-clad fingertip was graced with a silver ring effecting a knife-like, curving claw.

At her breast, she wore a large pendant shaped like an unusual dagger with a waved-edge along its blade. It was inverted from the usual position of such pendants, with the chain piercing the tip of the blade. It bore an enormous sapphire set in its hilt. Her ebony hair was again bound high atop her head with the glittering serpent. It was not braided on this occasion, but instead cascaded from the hairpiece down her back.

He had to admit that she certainly had flair. His eyes locked on hers for a long moment of silence. There was something deadly about her gaze. "Zyrdicia," he said finally, "Hi."

He cursed inwardly at the premature arrival. He still needed to slay the damned dragon. She was not supposed to simply show up in his castle.

"I believe these toys belong to you, Dirk Blackpool, Crown Prince of the North." She pointed to the limp bodies in the net. "I'm afraid I may have played a bit carelessly with them. There is not much life left."

Dirk's eyes fell to the corpses beneath her boot. He recognized them as his men. They were the spies sent to search for news of her.

A small groan escaped from inside the bundle beneath her boot. She frowned, and moved one hand from behind her back to reveal an enormous sword. Dirk thought it looked far too heavy for her slim frame, though she lifted it effortlessly. He remembered her surprising strength as she had hit his arm away a few nights ago. The sword's metal was as black as her hair, etched with violet carvings that matched the hue of her eyes flawlessly. She placed both hands atop the sword's hilt, and pushed it vertically into the middle of the net of bodies. A moan of pain told her she had found the living one.

Her eyes again locked on Dirk's. Without wavering her gaze, her gloved hands wrapped around sword's pommel, and twisted it 180 degrees. The noise of bone crunching beneath the blade filled the silence.

"Mm, I love that sound," she crooned, smiling to herself. The carvings on the blade seemed to emit a menacing glow as she pulled it out.

He found the merciless elegance of the gesture perversely alluring.

She remarked cattily, "I warned you not to interfere. I do hope you have more of these to play with. These were such fun."

Dirk smirked. She was mocking him. He replied dryly, "Infinitely more as you may soon discover. My dear, you seem to be unfamiliar with our country's social graces. I have never tortured a woman, but I think a visit to my dungeon would teach you proper respect for royalty and cure you of your insolence."

She laughed.

The laugh annoyed the prince. She showed not the slightest trace of fear. If she were human, she must have mortal weaknesses. He had never met a woman who did not wilt at the threat of a trip to his dungeon, much less his torture chamber. Then again, he had never quite seen any woman like this one. He had certainly never seen a woman kill a defenseless, injured man as this one had a moment ago -- much less do it while staring into his eyes.

"A torture chamber? Oh, stop, my beating heart!" she mocked. "It seems we have a man who plays rough like I do." Mirth filled her countenance.

Before he could reply, Dirk's younger brother, Geoffrey, burst into the room. The young man was breathless. He had been running as fast as his legs could carry him.

"Dirk! There is a dragon on the roof! On the east tower! It's the same one that we've heard about in Camarand, I know it! It's going to melt us! Come on, we have got to kill it before it gets up in the air again!"

Seeing the visitor, the younger prince's jaw dropped.

Dirk's eyes never moved away from the intruder as he listened to Geoffrey.

"That would be my dragon, I believe," Zyrdicia laughed, "unless you have other's adorning your towers? No, probably not. Ignore him and he will not bite--unless I ask him to. He actually considers humans to be far too stupid for direct confrontation. And he says their flesh tastes bitter. You should be far more concerned about the danger I pose to you right now. Wouldn't you agree?"

Geoffrey stared back at her as though she were even stranger than the dragon. "Um, Dirk, who's she and why are their corpses on the floor?"

"Go away, Geoffrey. We'll discuss it later," the elder brother snarled. He was sure she had been flirting a moment ago with the comment about the torture chamber and Geoff's interruption was ill timed, as usual. Dirk considered the situation for a moment, regarding her. His aggravation at her previous insolence subsided as the mirth in her eyes registered. She was playing a game.

She continued, her face a mask of faux-innocence, "As for my manners, I believe it is you who always seem to wish to greet me at sword point. I had expected this land to be primitive, but must confess that I am surprised that it seems fashionable here to draw weapons on the weaker sex." She seemed to find her the situation very funny.

Dirk glanced at the net and noticed a large pool of blood oozing out from it into the carpet. "If I'm not mistaken, you just forced your way into my home foisting a messy heap of corpses upon my floor," he responded. "And, should your powers of observation not extend past the tip of your very lovely nose, may I remind you, you still carry a sword in your own hand!"

He sounded far more annoyed than he actually was; in fact, it was obvious to him that the jibes were definitely some sort of game.

His feigned annoyance only seemed to amuse her more. He felt the peculiar connection again as she regarded him now. He felt the same certainty that he had the night before that she did not intend to harm him. In fact, he knew it with every fiber of his being.

A cold smile graced his handsome features, in his most charming tone he declared, "I'm not known as a forgiving person, but given my considerable appreciation for the havoc you've caused my enemies, I am willing to overlook your intrusion and your unpleasant...gift," gesturing to the netted corpses. "In fact, as a gesture of goodwill, I'll put aside my weapon, in hopes that you'll do the same," he offered. It was a calculated risk, but only a small one. He sheathed his sword. If his belief in her harmlessness turned out to be incorrect, he still had the monocle. Besides, the gesture was not unlike her own last night in turning her back to him.

The tactic seemed to surprise her. As he expected, she returned the gesture. Rather than sheathing the black sword, however, she whispered a strange syllable, which caused it to simply vanish.

"I apologize if my men were any bother to you. They were only supposed to be gathering news of your exploits," the prince continued, his voice friendly and casual.

Geoffrey still had not left the room. "Holy cow!" he blurted out, "She's the demon from Camarand!"

She frowned for a moment and cocked her head to the side. "Demon? So many people in this world use that word. Such an ugly term. You would think I had grown horns and a tail. How tiresome I am finding this land's ignorance. Your minions seem woefully ill informed, Prince Blackpool. I thought I explained myself when we last met, but I fear then your eyes were overpowering your ears." She watched Dirk bristle. "It makes sense that this continent is barbaric and ignorant, but the depth of stupidity here frankly confounds me."

"I assure you that the stupidity of my brother, Geoffrey, is not an indicator of the intelligence of our land," Dirk countered. "Run along, Geoffrey, we don't want you bothering our visitors."

Geoffrey seemed befuddled. "Err, what's a minion? She called me your minion, Dirk. What's that supposed to mean?"

"Geoffrey if you don't leave this room at once, my fist will teach you what a minion is. GET OUT!" the elder prince snapped nastily. "In fact, all of you, out! And take the bodies with you." She stepped back from the net to allow the guards to remove it. She watched the men filing out of the room carefully.

Once he was satisfied that they were alone, Dirk addressed her again. "I'm sure that returning the bodies of my men for proper burial was not what brought you here. I'm also sure that my men did nothing to interfere with your killing of peasants in Camarand, so I do not believe you are here to chastise me for sending them. You want something." His piercing eyes fixed on her own. His voice dropped almost to a whisper, "Tell me why you are here."

Her smile faded and she answered, "I only came to bring you the meat as a warning. I may yet change my mind about letting you live the longest. In fact, my attention may be wandering from the rose-crested family to your own lands now. I do not particularly care whom I kill--you, them, or all of you at once. The game is mine alone. Points are scored when people die. I hold all the pieces, and all the moves are mine. The object is destruction, and I always win. Stay out of my way or there will not be enough of you left for even hell's residents to feast upon. You are alive only because I admire might and power and recognize you as a fellow predator. That courtesy is limited. There will not be a third warning."

He cursed her silently. Oh, not all the moves are yours, my dear, he thought. How lovely it will be to control you, you insolent little vixen.