3.1.0
Vector and Prince Blackpool waited in the cover of a wooded area not far from Castle Greystone. The prince clutched the dragon bow and scanned the sky.
"You are certain she will strike tonight, Vector? This is the third night we've been here and my patience is wearing dangerously thin!" the prince warned.
"I cannot be sure. I cannot locate her in the viewscope. The usual sources are not very co-operative at the moment. If I had my monocle, it would be a simple thing to predict the exact moment of her arrival," the Wizard answered. "Shall I proceed with our disguise?"
"Oh, get on with it. I detest this more than you can possibly imagine," Dirk growled. The Wizard transformed himself into Marko then touched his ill-tempered master on the shoulder to transform him into Erick Greystone.
Glancing down at his newly corpulent figure, Vector replied with a sneer, "As do I, I assure you. May I remind you it was your idea that we convince Zyrdicia that Prince Greystone is a dragon slayer?"
Shaking his head in disgust, the Wizard muttered, "The sacrifices I make in the name of serving royalty..."
They waited quietly in the dark for nearly two hours. Nothing happened. No dragon cry pierced the silence. A light drizzle made the wait damp and uncomfortable. Finally, they gave up. The prince was incensed. Vector returned them to their normal appearances and grabbed his master's wrist in order to transport them back to Castle Blackpool.
They materialized in the castle's library. Though usually deserted at this hour of night, a large fire blazed in the room's fireplace.
"Vector, your worth to me has completely exhausted itself," the prince fumed. "Your inability to even locate the dragon convinces me that I have vastly overvalued your skill. I have always wondered if Wizard blood is the color of mortals'. Perhaps it is time to test my hypothesis--" He stopped. They were not alone in the room.
Zyrdicia sat in a velvet-covered chair near the fire watching them, obviously amused by the tirade. A pile of books surrounded her on the floor. She snapped the book in her lap closed.
"Please do not stop on my account," she said, smiling. "I'm eager to hear what your hypothesis was--is it or isn't it? Blood is one of my favorite things."
Dirk and Vector stared for a moment in stunned silence. The prince was positive that no one had been on the couch a moment ago when they arrived. Her talent for appearing in the castle to make surprise visits bothered him. It was too much like Vector and Bethel.
"Hi," he said finally, trying to disguise his surprise. "How did you get in here?"
"Nice to see you again, too," she laughed. "I came in the same way you did. Failure to block magical entry into a castle is really an unforgivable security risk."
"I'm pleased that you've made yourself at home in my library," Dirk said sarcastically. "Find everything you were looking for?" He noted the spines of the books all related to the history of heraldry on the continent.
"Maybe. I had a few hours to kill while I was waiting for you to return."
Her eyes fell on the massive weapon in his hands and the smile faded. "Lovely dragon bow. Hunting dragons tonight or was I to be the quarry?"
"You were the one who threatened my holdings last time we spoke. I am merely ensuring the safety of my citizens. That is, after all, my royal duty," Dirk lied.
"Is that why you were standing for hours in the rain in King Greystone's woods, disguised as unattractive, third-rate adventurers in ugly clothes?"
Dirk struggled to maintain his facial expression. Her description of Erick Greystone and Marko, however, was undeniably astute.
She continued, "I found your plan very entertaining. In time you will learn that petty conspiracies against me are futile. As for the dragon, you are too late. The dragon will not be troubling the farmers, at least for a while. He is safe at home, which is fortunate for you. If you had succeeded in harming him I would have ripped you limb from limb. For now, my death game has been put on hold indefinitely by the powers that be."
"And what powers would those be?" the prince asked.
"Surely you know. You must have sacrificed something very dear in order to earn a favor like this. It is exceedingly rare for the Dark One to offer assistance like this to a mortal. The price is too high for most men."
"Vector, what is she talking about?" the prince whispered, annoyed that Vector had apparently been working on the matter without keeping him properly informed.
"I've no idea. I certainly didn't sacrifice anyone recently."
She listened, her own irritation growing. It dawned on her that neither man had any inkling as to her father's errand. Nothing about this endeavor made any sense. Damn Zyr and his games!
"If you are not aware of the situation, then you are a pawn in a game being played in Tenaebra, Prince Dirk Blackpool. I cannot imagine what interest he might have in you and your little world, but his motives are rarely transparent. If you've yet to pay the price, he will exact it from you later. Of that you can be certain."
"I am no one's pawn."
"In this case, you may very well be. Zyr sent a messenger a few nights ago informing me that he has a minor errand. Apparently, the Dark One believes that it is important for me to assist you in sacking a place called 'Tronin' by mid-summer. Beings like this are not altruistic patrons. He wants something from you, probably your soul, and I am here to facilitate it."
The Wizard cleared his throat and interjected expectantly, "Are you certain Sammael's messenger did not mention assisting the Wizard Vector?"
She thought for a moment. "Actually, the messenger did mention the Wizard Vector. I do not think you will care for the message. Something about tomes and spectacles..."
"The Book and the monocle! Tell me!" Vector cried, clenching his fists and tensing his body.
"If you insist, but don't say I didn't warn you. The messenger said: 'Tell Vector that Sammael wishes to inform him that now that the Wizard is without a monocle, if the sniveling fool continues to pester every minor entity in Tenaebra with his incessant prying and meddlesome questions, the Dark One promises that clawed fingers will shove the Wizard's beloved Book, in its entirety, up his ass, page by page.'" She looked away for an instant, then seemed to remember something more. "Actually, to be accurate, I think it said, 'up his pathetic, reeking ass.'"
Dirk made no effort to hide his amusement at the message. "Why Vector, it seems hell's residents find your Wizard-games even less palatable than I do."
Vector seethed. "When my monocle returns to me, we'll see who has the last laugh!" he whispered to himself before disappearing in an angry puff of smoke.
"I warned him," she commented, shrugging. "I hope I didn't scare him off permanently."
"He'll be back. He hasn't any choice. He is duty-bound to serve royalty." The prince's smile was icy. "Apparently you are now, too. This will save us so much time. Good. I've never had much use for any gods, but how thoughtful that they sent you to serve me and deliver the kingdom of Tronin to me by mid-summer."
Her purple eyes flashed angrily. "First: not 'gods'. Zyr is a Sephiroth, predating most gods. He has nothing to do with any attention-starved local deities. Second: there was nothing in the message about serving anyone or delivering anything. The message only calls for sacking the place. I can do that efficiently without any contact at all with you, leaving you to march your troops into a graveyard, a wasteland hardly worth possessing at all. In fact, technically, placing the deed to the decimated lands in the stiff hand of your rotting corpse would more than fulfill the request. If you insist on behaving like a pompous ass, that is precisely the method I'll use. I'm already profoundly aggravated by this errand."
"How dare you call me a pompous ass! I assure you, my dear, that if there is to be a rotting corpse as a result of our encounter, it will be yours," he responded, furious. His hand moved to the sword at his side.
She compounded his rage by rolling her beautiful eyes and looking bored. "Are you done or do you feel compelled to continue to illustrate my point?"
He stared at her in disbelief, outraged beyond words that anyone could possibly dare to speak to him so. She continued, "You cannot kill me, so the threats fail to impress. You would lose. I could kill you with a single word before you even had your weapon drawn. Besides, any attempt to harm me would revoke Zyr's favor and earn his wrath. I may seem like trouble, but I promise, a pissed off Sephiroth king is even worse." She watched him stiffen at her choice of language. Arrogant, handsome twit, she thought. "Play nice, and working together you could have the lands in a few weeks time." She smiled sweetly then added, "Or don't, and if I let you live, I'll at least have the pleasure of tormenting you until mid-summer. Your choice."
The prince closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He visualized his fist smashing her exquisite face. That image soothed his rage for the moment. It was true that conquering Tronin meant far more than avenging the beautiful harpy's insolence at the moment. He could always wait until after the lands were his to kill her. Killing women usually struck him as an act of cowardice, but not in this case. He would see to it that her death would be slow and painful. He would like to start by cutting out her tongue.
When he opened his eyes, he was not surprised to see her watching him silently. He was, however, quite surprised to realize again how vividly gorgeous the violet eyes were. He was baffled how something so beautiful could be so hideously irritating at the same time.
When she spoke, the mocking harshness was gone from her voice. It was soft, as it had been when they first met. "Your temper makes you vulnerable, prince. Goading you is too easy. You rob me of the sport of it. There is no fun in verbal sparring if you immediately give up in a fit of childish rage. Is your ego so fragile?"
"Hardly," he responded dryly. "Tell me, was the cost the demon lord placed upon my acquisition of Tronin the loss of my sanity to your incessant prattling?"
She laughed. "Something like that. Or perhaps the forced acquisition of a sense of humor. That is between you and Zyr, though."
She stood up from the couch and faced him. "With luck, Tronin will be yours well before the solstice and I'll then be on my way. For now, I have to return home to gather a few tools. I will return in two days. Since I'll be in this world for awhile, I shall make my base of operations here. It is too time-consuming to constantly gate in and out of this place. I will be bringing a small staff with me. You will make available a suite of rooms in an out-of-the way portion of the castle where I will not be disturbed. When I return, be prepared to brief me on the troops you will be dedicating to this errand and provide me with all the information on-hand about the area's defenses." She disappeared before he could register his offense at the command and the invasion of his home.
"Damn her!" he whispered to himself, alone in the room. Her habit of grasping the last word by teleporting out mid-conversation infuriated him.
3.2
The next forty-eight hours passed quickly. Prince Blackpool hastily sent orders to his troops stationed along the western perimeter near the Kingdom of Baaldorf to move eastward. His planned offensive on Baaldorf would have to wait until later in the summer. He wanted to concentrate as many forces as possible on Tronin. They were to gather at Grogan and wait for his orders.