4.6

Dirk ordered Geoffrey to the front at Donner Pass to lead the offensive, claiming he intended to join his younger brother there shortly after taking care of some pressing affairs of state. Geoffrey seemed thrilled with the responsibility.

Shortly before the younger Blackpool's departure, Zyrdicia walked into the busy war room unexpectedly. She greeted each of the Karteian generals by name. How she knew them, Dirk could only speculate.

News of the mysterious guest had spread through the castle like a virus, but that did little to dispel the shock most people experienced when confronted with her for the first time. Each of the generals gazed at the beautiful stranger as though she were the first woman he had ever seen.

She wore a short patent leather dress, which flared slightly at mid-thigh. Thick, black straps crossed behind her bare, white shoulders. Thigh-high boots and long gloves in the same shiny patent material completed the ensemble. Her hair was gathered on each side of the top of her head in two tight bundles resembling small horns bound with purple and black ribbons. From the small horns flowed two looped braids.

Dirk stifled a smile at the sight. She noticed. "Prince Blackpool, if these gentlemen can spare you for a moment, may I have a word?"

"Of course," he answered, following her to the room's antechamber.

Closing the door, he could no longer hide his amusement. Touching her hair, he laughed, "Your sense of humor really is quite perverse. You looked like a life-sized doll which devils might play with."

"There are those who would argue I am precisely that," she responded dryly. "Your court is so stuffy. It's really sickening. Everyone here is hopelessly convinced I'm a demon, so I thought I'd give the people what they want. Growing a tail is more problematic, though."

"And the bat-like wings?" he asked, still amused.

"Bat-like? Ugh. No. The filthy little fiends with leathery wings are hell's worker bees. I couldn't demean myself to such a degree. The Tenaebran lords have long, graceful wings of black feathered shadow." Her purple eyes twinkled. She looked away, remembering something. Her smile drifted away at the thought.

"There was something you wanted?"

She nodded, returning from her mind's journey. "I need to see the valley soon. I have to go there before I open the gates. It's important to visit the exact locations you have in mind for each of them. Otherwise we run the risk I'll transport your troops into the earth, killing them as they cross over."

"Fine, I'll have Vector transport us there this afternoon," he suggested amicably.

She shook her head. "No, he can't know what we're up to. I don't trust him."

"Nor should you," he commented, thinking. "I can handle him. And it's unfortunately our only alternative at the moment. Getting there on horseback through the mountains would take a few days, given the state of war in the pass."

"Why don't we just fly there? By air it took less than three-quarters of an hour from Greystone's lands to your castle. Tronin looks as though it isn't even that far. I'll summon the dragon," she suggested, brightening at the prospect.

"And you imagine that will be inconspicuous? Shall we trail a banner behind the dragon warning them of an impending attack, or should we simply drop leaflets?" he asked sarcastically. "It's enough that rumor of your presence here is on everyone's lips."

"Lucky rumor," she mocked.

"Have you no shame?" he asked, playfully.

"I don't even know the meaning of the word. It falls into the category of language that never properly registered in my vocabulary: shame, guilt, regret, humility, modesty..."

"And chastity?"

"...Is totally unrelated to that category," she replied, ambiguously.

A blue flash interrupted the pair's exchange. Vector appeared. Even his eyes widened at the sight of her shiny, black attire. He nodded to her wordlessly in greeting before bowing to the Prince.

"My lord, a patrol intercepted a spy on his way from Grogan to Camarand, a rather high-ranking spy. One of Greystone's knights, apparently. It would appear he was there to gather information about the troops garrisoned in the vicinity. He's in the dungeon. Shall we interrogate him?"

"Naturally," the prince replied, delighted at the prospect of torture. "Let me take my leave of the generals, and I'll meet you there. Feel free to begin without me."

The Wizard smiled thinly and bowed before turning to leave. Dirk looked at Zyrdicia, saying apologetically, "Duty calls, I'm afraid. I'll send for you when we're ready to go to the valley. We can continue this conversation then." He took one of her gloved hands in his own and kissed it lightly. "Bye." With that, he walked back into the war room, closing the door.

"Pardon if I don't wait for you to call," she muttered to herself smiling. She walked the direction Vector had gone, listening in the hallway for the Wizard's ungainly shuffle. Detecting it, she cloaked herself in shadow and followed at a distance.

4.7

Vector motioned to an assistant to begin flogging the prisoner. The small, elfin creature responded by viciously swinging the whip in his hand. Metal barbs cut into the man's back, shredding his flesh.

Long chains dropped from the ceiling held the man's arms above his head. His feet dangled inches above the ground. His body swung out violently with each blow from the whip. "Give it up, tadmon lips," the man croaked. "I don't have anything to tell you."

"How unfortunate," Dirk replied as he entered the room. "I believe you, of course. Which is why we can safely relieve you of your tongue."

An elfin fiend forced the prisoner's lips apart and jaw open with an iron device. A second assistant reached a filthy, blood-caked hand into the man's mouth to drag out his tongue. The prisoner writhed helplessly. His eyes were wide with terror as the prince approached him holding his trademark twin-bladed dagger.

The prisoner clenched his eyes shut and shivered. He waited silently for the blade to slice through his tongue. Instead, Dirk's fist crushed into his face, smashing a cheekbone.

"Why were you in Grogan, Henry?" the dark prince demanded harshly. He was well-acquainted with Henry Stefford of Dunfirm. They had grown up in the same circles.

"To visit a tanner there."

Dirk motioned to Vector's assistant to let the whip fall again.

Zyrdicia materialized, seated upon the table of a torture rack, watching. She drummed the tips of her silver-clawed fingertips upon the wood impatiently. "He was there to count troops so that he could report the numbers back to Prince Greystone," she said evenly, staring hard at the man. "The report was due back a day and a half ago, and was needed to help them allocate reinforcements to Donner Pass. Greystone fears you plan to attack on a second front soon, using Grogan as a jumping off point. This man would gladly die to protect Greystone's secrets. Such loyalty is heart-warming."

Dirk turned around to face her, trying to hide his surprise. "How long have you been sitting there?"

"I've been here the whole time. I followed Vector," she replied without looking away from the prisoner. She jumped down from her perch and walked toward the confused man. Her violet eyes fixated upon the man's face. She stroked his shattered cheek gently with the razor tip of a glittering claw affixed to her glove. He winced. The wince transformed into a cry of pain as the claw sliced open his cheek with a subtle movement of her wrist. She touched the blade on her fingertip first to her lips, the her tongue. She delighted in the taste of the blood from the man's cheek. "And there's so much more hiding in your head. Your terror is delicious."

She turned away from him and met Dirk's eyes. "It was unforgivably rude of you not to invite me to play."

"When did you ever need an invitation? What else did you read in his mind?"

She laughed and approached him. She leaned near his ear and whispered, "None of your business." She saw the irritation in his face and seemed to find it tremendously entertaining. She continued, "If I tell you, then you have to give him to me to play with. I have to make up for the painless manner in which information was extracted."

"You shouldn't even be here," Dirk growled, his irritation growing. "I've never had a woman in my torture chamber."

"Your loss," she mocked. "If this is a prelude to another conversation about your gender issues, let's save time and jump ahead to the part where you give in and I win."

"I think not," he answered, his eyes narrowing at the challenge.

Her eyes widened innocently as she peered at him. She rested her gloved hand on the leather scales of armor covering his chest and spread her fingers. The silver claws clinked against the metal studs of the armor. "I need this," she whispered, looking deep into the midnight blue of his eyes. "I haven't killed in days. I'm hungry for pain." She saw his expression softening. "Please?" she purred, her lips mere inches from his.

Dirk wrapped his hand around the slim wrist of the hand at his chest, squeezing it painfully. Her expression did not change. "Try not to kill him," he said after an interminable pause.

She smiled smugly, pulling her hand away. He still held her wrist as she turned back toward the man hanging from the ceiling. She stopped, looking back at the prince. She looked puzzled. "Dirk," she said, using his first name for the first time, "do you always leave your captives clothed when you torture them?"

"The idea is to torture them, not to torture us with the sight of them," he answered, trying to figure out if that was what she was really asking.

"Nakedness is essential to break down psychological resistance," she remarked, as though reciting a mathematical axiom. He arched an eyebrow at her comment, still uncertain whether she was talking about prisoners. He let go of her wrist then, baffled. He caught Vector's eye and motioned the Wizard to his side so that she could work. The two men stood slightly behind Sir Stefford, out of his field of vision.

"Disrobe him!" she ordered the two scurrying assistants. They looked at Vector, perplexed. The Wizard nodded his assent, gesturing for them to get on with it.

One of the assistants offered her the whip. She waved it away impatiently. She regarded the naked, blood-streaked man carefully. He looked away and wriggled uncomfortably. He was embarrassed, ashamed of his exposure to this strange woman.

She whispered a demon's name and a long, elegant dagger appeared in her left hand. The weapon appeared almost identical in workmanship to the black sword Dirk had seen her wield once before. The violet runes along the blade glowed as she traced it lightly from the base of the man's throat to his navel. A faint trail of blood marked the blade's path down his torso.

She pulled the blade away, looking at his face. "You're afraid of dying without seeing your wife," she realized as she explored his thoughts. "The image you have of her in your mind is quite lovely. What's her name?"

"Helen," he sighed. The thought of his bride seemed to buoy his spirits.

"How long have you been married?" Zyrdicia asked tenderly.

"Less than a year," he whispered. She reached inside his mind and caressed it tenderly. He did not understand why speaking to this otherworldly creature put him so completely at ease. Perhaps speaking to a woman sparked a trace of hope in his psyche. "She...needs me. Please let me go."

"Love is so touching. The depth of your bond moves me. Truly, it does. I think I will send you to her this very night. I'm not at all like the barbarian who ruined your face," Zyrdicia replied gently, looking over the man's shoulder squarely at Dirk. Their eyes locked for an instant before she turned back to her toy.

The spark of hope in Sir Stefford's eyes exploded into a burst of joy at the prospect. "Thank the gods," he sighed gratefully. His smile quickly turned to horror as he felt her right hand slip between his legs and grasp his scrotum between the barbs of metal adorning her fingertips. He screamed as the metal pierced the tender flesh.

"Shh," Zyrdicia admonished. "It will be over soon." He screamed again as her hand jerked forward, pulling him toward the dagger in her left hand. "If you thrash about, I may cut off more than I intend to. Be still!" she commanded. He froze as her dagger severed the soft sack from his body. A cacophony of screams accompanied the blade's motion. She tossed the bloody mass of flesh disinterestedly on a table near Dirk and Vector. Neither man looked at it.

Zyrdicia then took the castrated man's chin in her blood-smeared hand, pulling it up so that she could see his eyes. "You wife will loathe the sight of you now."

He whimpered quietly.

"Your pretty face is ruined. Your manhood is shredded. She will find you revolting. You are a disgusting, wretched excuse for a husband." Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Her revulsion for you will be echoed by that of your comrades at arms. You will be banished as a traitor when they realize you betrayed them, revealing their most guarded secrets to me."

He sobbed, "I haven't..."

She corrected sternly, "Yes, you have. The weakness of your mind shames them. You let me know they are sending five hundred men to Donner Pass as we speak. You let me know there are three hundred more waiting for orders in Baaldorf, fearing an attack on the Western Perimeter. You betrayed Prince Erick Greystone by revealing his plan to defend the pass and his location in Mora Valley. He will hate you for that. Your family will curse your existence for shaming them so." Her words found their target mercilessly. As she spoke telepathic waves from her mind crushed his ego. She felt powerful wave of guilt wash over his mind, drowning what was left of his will to fight. He had lost.

He hung limply. His spirit was broken. He knew she was right. His service to Greystone was over. He was a disgrace.

In the shadow of the corner in which they stood, Vector looked at Dirk. "Her methods are unorthodox, but she's very good," the Wizard whispered matter-of-factly. The dark prince ignored him. The Wizard saw the fire burning in his master's cheeks and stifled a laugh. "Ah, but it seems you are already aware of that."

Dirk glared at Vector menacingly, "Say nothing!" in a hushed whisper. The prince leaned against a wall, receding as far into the darkness as he could. He was overwhelmed by a sensation that was equal parts revulsion and arousal. It was something akin to an uncontrollable hunger to consume poisoned carrion.

Breaking the spirit of a knight of Stefford's rank required special skill. The man was a hardened warrior. He had benefited from the best training the southern aristocracy could provide a mind and body. Psychologically destroying such a man normally took days of relentless torture and brainwashing. Even then it was more likely the man would die before surrendering his psyche. She had accomplished the feat in a matter of minutes. Dirk found it as breathtaking as it was revolting at the hand of a woman.

She tucked the dagger into the metal belt at her waist. The hand that had wiped his tears now forced back his head. With the other hand, she carefully inserted two clawed fingertips into the cavity of his left eye, surrounding his eyeball in a horrific pinching motion. The tears flowing down his face turned crimson and fell upon the stone floor in huge drops. She ripped the eyeball from its socket with a graceful jerk of her hand. She turned the bloody object in the palm of her glove to better view it. Her expression mimicked the idle curiosity of a child looking at a bug. It was strangely devoid of malice.

"Look, Henry. You have such pretty eyes." She held the object in her hand up for the terrified prisoner to view with his remaining good eye. His body went limp as he collapsed into the shelter of unconsciousness. Her lips pursed in a perfect pout as he slipped away.

Zyrdicia walked to the table on which she had tossed the other bit of anatomy a moment ago and dumped the visual organ upon it. She noticed Dirk staring at her and smiled. "His soul is so pure. Are you sure I can't convince you to let me kill him?" she asked.

The prince closed his eyes. Refusing her anything at this moment was difficult. The whimpering lump that used to be Sir Stefford was far too valuable a pawn to relinquish, however. "Leave him for now," he said gently. "Later, perhaps."

Zyrdicia delicately pulled each of the rings from her fingertips, wiping the gore on the claws upon clean cloth Vector handed to her.

"I feel so much better," she sighed contentedly.

"Shall I arrange for delivery of the gifts, my lady?" Vector asked through a dark grin.

"Eventually. Not yet. Just see that they don't get lost," she answered disinterestedly.