Dirk waited a few hours before sending the message for the guards to fetch her. It was almost midnight. It took that long to regain his composure after the chaos in his throne room. At least he had succeeded in expelling the most repulsive of the vermin, he thought. He would find a way to rid the castle of the others. Thinking of their presence here, their constant, perverse pawing of her, was intolerable.

"Vector, can you place those wretches in a nether room where she couldn't find them?" he asked as they waited.

"Of course. Though I don't think she'd care for it. We'll be leaving soon for the front anyway, won't we? Surely she won't bring them along." Vector stared at the prince momentarily. "You look as though your nerves are rather frayed, my lord."

"You have no idea..." Dirk stopped when he heard her melodious laughter in the hallway. She entered on the arm of the knight he'd sent to fetch her. Both appeared to have been laughing at some private joke on the way from her chambers. The amusement drained from the vassal's face when he saw the prince's disapproving glare.

She looked stunning. Her hair hung freely, the ends falling into loose curls near her waist. The purple of her eyes sparkled in the torchlight. She wore a long, sleeveless sheath of heavy black silk. Its slim design clung to the curves of her body elegantly. A long slit cascaded down the front, revealing perfect white thighs as she walked. It was belted with the intricate metal chain. The effect was remarkably feminine.

"Thank you, Sir Donovain. Run along before the ogre gets grumpy. I would not want to get you in trouble, dear," she said to the knight escorting her.

Donovain cringed at her choice of words. He bowed quickly to her, "My lady." He then turned to the prince, still bowing. "By your leave, my lord," he said nervously, waiting for the inevitable blow-up.

"OUT!" Dirk whispered, his tone lethal. He would deal with the man's lack of discipline later.

"It's no wonder none of your men likes you, Prince Blackpool. You're so unpleasant."

"Hello, Vector," she added, smiling sweetly. The mage ignored her, still angry about her insulting "message."

"Hi. I'm not interested in them liking me," Dirk replied with a sneer. "It's enough that they fear me."

"You'd be amazed how much more you can get out of people when they worship the ground you walk on," she smiled. "Alas, we can't all be so blessed."

"I'm not interested in your addle-brained critique of my style of rule. I want to discuss how you are going to give me Tronin!"

"I'm not giving you anything. But I'll gladly discuss how I'll help you get it if you wouldn't mind explaining why the province matters."

He gestured to a chair opposite him at a massive cherry table covered by a map of the land. Dozens of red and black miniature soldiers dotted the map. "Sit. I'll humor your question only because it's relevant to the battle plan."

"Tronin is here. As you can see, it is the northeastern frontier of Camarand, the land I am invading. It has formidable natural defenses in that we are separated by the Mountains of Madness. There are only three navigable passes through those mountains, and all are heavily contested. Once Tronin falls, it is an easy march around the Forest of Gloom to Castle Greystone and the southern capital. When Tronin falls, the south will be mine in a matter of weeks," he explained.

"Then what?" she asked.

He looked as though he did not understand the question. "What do you mean, 'then what?' Then I rule the continent as emperor, fulfilling my destiny."

"And to do what?" she prodded, interested.

"Rule it, of course. Power is its own end!"

"I don't get it."

"You wouldn't. You're a woman."

"No, I'm serious. The game has no point," she responded.

"It's not a game."

"Of course it's a game, dear prince! Everything is a game. This one just has no point."

"And killing peasants from the air does?" he asked dryly.

"It's totally different," she explained, her face very serious now. "Look: my game is about numbers. I keep track of every killing, and my score increases infinitely. The challenge is to see how quickly I can increase it--ideally by the thousands, rather than one body at a time. In the process I purge humanity of waste. Your game, however, is finite. You grab all the land, and it's done. Once it's over, there is nothing left. Your reward is to sit and decide which peasant owns which pig. It is only the acquisition that is interesting. Possession is a waste of time."

"Possession is the only purpose of acquisition. Why bother acquiring if you do not intend to hold on to something. What other point could there be?" he responded, exasperated.

"When I was a girl, I conquered the entire Lyrian peninsula in two weeks, killing thousands and forcing great warlords to bow to a child. After it was over, I disappeared, leaving them to rip each other apart in the vacuum. I couldn't stand the thought of being trapped there by the conquest."

"Are you still plagued by such episodes of insanity?" Dirk wondered.

"Sanity is a prison for little minds. You fail to understand. Obsession with possession leads to an ugly paradox. The conquest conquers the conqueror, entrapping him in the land. Ultimately great men become enslaved by the notion of pigs and peasants. Power is only useful if it is portable."

"Then let's consider the issue of porting my power to Tronin."

She sighed. "Fine. Does anyone ever actually have a conversation with you?"

"That question presumes a conversational partner capable of conversing at a level above that of a infant."

She focussed on the map finally, and began asking questions about Tronin's defenses, the weapons in use locally and past unsuccessful battles. They talked for the next two hours about troop movements. At some point Vector excused himself, bored. She whittled away at every point in agonizing detail. She took nothing for granted, from the state of metallurgy in the region to the type of soil in Tronin. She was totally unfamiliar with the continent. It was a situation akin planning a war with a child filled with relentless, persistent questions.

She stopped finally. She looked concerned, "You look tired, Prince Blackpool. I have to be reminded sometimes that most humans are not nocturnal. Do we need to pause?"

"Let's finish. I hadn't expected to be providing instruction in every aspect of Aperansian geography, science and custom at this hour. It's maddening," he said quietly. He stood up from the table and walked to a small cabinet, pulling out a crystal decanter. "Brandy?"

"Please," she answered, still looking at the map. "What's maddening is trying to figure out a way to kill only one side when my focus for years has been indiscriminate. It would be so simple if the issue were simple to slaughter everyone. A natural disaster would accomplish that very efficiently. Constrained violence requires so much more effort."

He set a snifter of amber liquid in front of her.

"Thank you." She glanced at him. He really did look tired. "One more question, and I think I'll have enough."

"I'm so relieved."

"Why hasn't Vector been transporting your troops and supplies?"

"He can't. I have his monocle, the source of his magic. Without it, he hasn't the power to move more than a few people. And the movement only works when he's touching those whom he transports. Why?"

"That's absurd!" Zyrdicia exclaimed, obviously disgusted. "I've never known a world in which magic had so many inane restrictions. Touching has its pleasant side, but for teleportation? It's preposterous. Serving royalty? No killing? Power dependent on a piece of glass? It's no wonder you never win. Who made up such worthless rules?"

"You said one more question. Besides, you didn't answer the one I posed. Why are you asking about teleporting troops?"

"Because it's so damned obvious I can't imagine you haven't figured out a way to do it all along. You lost last time because they brought in reinforcements, and you couldn't get your own over the mountains fast enough. You explained the year before there were supply issues." She smiled mischievously, "Your Wizard may have to play by local rules to cast local magic, but I don't. This is going to be fun."

"You can transport a whole army?" he asked, incredulous.

"Of course. Once I open a gate, as long as it stays open, it does not matter whether one person goes through or a thousand or ten thousand. I've kept some open for years. As long as one of the land's Wizards doesn't meddle, the gate could stay open indefinitely. The only limiting factors are the number of planes crossed and quantity of additional subsequent gates opened. And familiarity with the destination. That presents special problems, which we can deal with later."

"Then forget Tronin. We'll strike at the heart of Camarand at Castle Greystone itself!" the prince declared, striking a fist on the table. His excitement at the prospect filled him with fresh energy.

"No, my errand involves Tronin. Camarand is your problem."

He glared at her. She added gently, "I'm not here to help you win your war. I have a very clearly defined target." She pointed back at the map. "I have no more questions. Now listen.

"The obvious advantage to gating your troops into battle there is surprise. The speed of deployment is, of course, also valuable, but not as much as the surprise. They cannot defend against an enemy who appears unpredictably out of thin air. If you listen to me, warfare in this place will never be the same. You must safeguard the secret though. Your Wizard's eyes cast unseen daggers at your back. Your advisors are fearful and vulnerable. I have yet to meet a general whose loyalty can't be purchased. Until the moment we execute this, the secret of the gate must remain only between us."

"Of course," he responded impatiently.

"Given your troop positions, you must attack Donner Pass as soon as possible," she continued, refusing to pause for him to voice an objection. "They'll expect it, and you must convince them that you are throwing everything you have at taking the pass. Don't attack on any other front. Convince them this is an all or nothing effort to punch through. Draw out all their reinforcements from the surrounding provinces into the valley at the southern end of the pass. Wait for them to gather in a heroic multitude to defend the pass. Allow them set up their command structure for the defense there. Then..."

"We teleport the bulk of my forces in and trap them in a slaughter the likes of which the land has never seen," Dirk whispered, finishing her thought and smiling. "We'll attack at night while they're sleeping. I want archers here and here along the high ground to cut the reinforcements off from the pass. Then you will open gates surrounding their camp. We'll storm them before they can even grasp the nature of the situation." A fierce fire raged in his eyes. "This is perfect," he whispered. "I will arrange for a guard of torture troopers for you at the gates so that you can ensure that they remain open."

She blinked in confusion. "Gates? Forget it! I plan to personally slay at least a few hundred. The game may be on hold, but that does not mean I can't continue to score points."

"No."

"I'm not asking," she said coldly.

"Good, because it's out of the question. You will be needed to oversee the gates. Besides, I would be regarded as a barbarian to send a woman into battle."

"And attacking your enemies while they sleep is evidence of your civility?" she argued.

"It's a different matter entirely."

She shot back angrily, "I'm not here to watch a fight. I'm here to kill. If you try to prevent me from playing, I'll send your army straight to the underworld. I promise at the end of the day, there won't be a man left on the field who doesn't worship me."

"Our battlefields are brutal. You can't underestimate the southern warriors. Fighting them isn't like spraying poison on farmers from a distance," Dirk scolded.

"Prince Blackpool, you still have no idea who I really am. You'll learn soon enough."