7.0

The light of a full moon bathed the field near the Citadel where Prince Blackpool gathered his troops to stage the secret invasion of Tronin. Zyrdicia surveyed the precisely organized force from a nearby hilltop. The vantage point gave her a better overview of each battalion's position.

A cool evening breeze stirred. Despite the activity on the field below, the night was very quiet where she stood. It was almost time. She felt the familiar stirring of bloodlust inside her. Tonight she would fully sate her hunger.

She had spent most of the afternoon and evening arguing gently with the prince about final details. The issues of which magical gates to open first and the order of troop dispersal once they crossed into Tronin had taken hours to hammer out. It was true that the devil was in the details of the plan, and to Blackpool's frustration, she insisted on being that devil. Their argument had eventually yielded a solution that suited both of them, and was probably better than either of them had initially hoped for.

The only point which had yet to be agreed upon was her personal role in the slaughter. For reasons she couldn't comprehend, he insisted that the cavalry and infantry would do all the bloodletting. He foolishly believed she would stay near him in case he needed her to deal with problems with the gates. She finally let the matter drop. There was nothing more to be gained by arguing, so she let him walk away convinced it was settled. He failed to comprehend the futility of challenging her on the issue. She would do as she pleased when the time came.

The fact of the matter was she needed to kill tonight - not dozens, but hundreds. The unholy element of her being made the craving inescapable. Mass destruction soothed her as few things did. The prince had yet to fully grasp the demonic element of what Zyr had sent him. She was nothing like his land's Wizards and Witches, no convenient purveyor of dark magic. She was first and foremost a killer. Opening magical gates to transport his army was only the tiniest facet of what she would accomplish on this fateful night. In her mind's eye, she saw the carnage that lay before her and smiled in delight.

"Zyrdicia!" Somewhere down on the field, she heard the prince yell her name.

She answered by telepathy rather than call back to him. "I'm up on the hill."

"Then get down here! Everything is ready."

"Finally." She looked carefully within the teeming mass of bodies until she discerned a small command group at the rear of the activity. He was there. She mounted her horse and joined him there a few moments later.

His eyes blazed with anticipation. "Go open the gates at the front of the field. Then come back here immediately. The field commanders will lead the troops through and we'll follow."

"See you later," she smiled slyly. He would follow. She would already be knee deep in blood by that time, she hoped.

The horse carried her down the middle of the troops, along a break between regiments. She felt the eyes of the soldiers upon her. She composed her calm facial expression carefully, her eyes reflecting pure innocence as she passed them.

Without dismounting, she invoked the magic to open the first gate. It would transport the archers to the high ground at the end of the valley, in order to prevent the southerners from fleeing into Donner Pass. The instant the massive, violet portal appeared the archers' commander led them through without hesitation. Zyrdicia then opened the remaining five gates for the main invasion force.

As she opened the last one, she slipped through it before the field commander could even bark his order. She rode toward the southern encampment and then abandoned the horse. She summoned her sword. There was no intimacy in killing from a mounted position. Tonight she wanted to be very near to those she massacred.

Somewhere in the darkness, she heard a northern commander preparing the first charge, on the other side of camp. As she neared the perimeter on foot, she sent an explosive volley of purple fire tearing through the southern soldiers' tents. Canvas shelters ignited. Here and there men ran out from the structures, hair and sleeping clothes aflame. The few soldiers who had been awake scurried to dowse the fires raging everywhere. The stage was set for her entrance.

The perimeter guards had the honor of being her first victims. They hesitated to attack the woman for a brief instant. She cut down eight of them without pausing in her stride. As she drew the first blood of the evening, her consciousness folded in upon itself until only her appetite for mayhem remained. She was unaware of the rest of the battle that soon raged around her. Nothing existed but her prey and her need to destroy. She indulged the craving with a violent passion.

As the troops moved through the magical gates, Dirk Blackpool scanned the field for Zyrdicia. He quickly realized she had deceived him. She was already on the other side. He cursed her under his breath as he moved through one of the gates with a few of his generals.

His troops had already moved into the camp. He saw a horse wandering nearby and recognized Zyrdicia's saddle. With her, it was less a cause for concern than outrage. No trained warrior would voluntarily give up the advantage and height offered by a mount, but she was sufficiently senseless that he couldn't put it past her.

The southerners had rallied what they could of their sleeping forces, but they had been woefully unprepared for such an attack. He watched the conflict carefully from a short distance. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips. His victory would be total.

Eventually he discerned Zyrdicia's lean form in the light of the flames still flickering amid the torched tents. She moved from target to target with an incredible quickness born of fluid grace. It was a strange, almost godlike spectacle to behold. She never missed when she attacked, even if she struck out blindly. Every blow she struck was fatal. Her strength with the sword was such that if an opponent tried to parry or block with a shield, her hell-forged blade simply sliced right through the metal of the defender. Incredibly, she often cut through two or three fully armored warriors with a single, effortless stroke, severing their bodies completely in half.

There was no element of defense to her fighting style. She simply ignored any blows directed toward her. As a would-be attacker's blade neared her, the mysterious mail coat she wore emitted a violet glow. A magical energy field seemed to dissipate the opposing force and quite literally repel the offending weapon. Her method was as effective as it was unorthodox.

Zyrdicia's face was disturbingly serene as she produced a growing mass of corpses, though something utterly demonic stirred within the depths of her eyes. Camarand's most valiant knights fell before her just as easily as less able foot soldiers. The death she brought was indiscriminate and egalitarian. No man who lived to witness the unholy presence that night would easily forget its chilling effect. A few would have nightmares about it for decades.

As the battle raged on, she cut down body after body, never relenting in the terror she brought. Her endurance was inhuman. Blackpool's troops stayed far away from her. No one dared engage the southern soldiers in her vicinity for fear of becoming her next victim. In time, it became clear that she would personally slaughter more men than entire squadrons of Torture Troopers. When she approached, many frightened enemy soldiers fell to their knees before her and begged for mercy, surrendering for capture according to the realm's rules of engagement. Their pleas fell always on deaf ears, cut off mid-sentence as their heads rolled away from their bodies.

Somewhere trumpets called for the remnants of the southern forces to retreat, or more properly, flee. They scurried like insects to find a way out of the butchery. Reality resembled an abattoir far more than a battlefield for them.

Blackpool heard his power echo in the cry of every vanquished southern soldier. The very air seemed to resonate with it on this night. The sensation was beyond magnificent. This time there would be no snatching victory from his jaws - there was no cannon or fire-con to be destroyed, no plan of Vector's to unravel. On this occasion, the prince's diabolical weapon appeared indestructible, and her magic inescapable.

As he surveyed the splendid annihilation, his eyes sought his mortal enemy, Erick Greystone. He could sense Greystone's presence somewhere in the chaos. He very much wanted to see his enemy's face right now as the fool experienced the obliteration of Camarand's forces. Greystone's personal defeat would make this night's monumental victory even sweeter.

When he finally located the famous blonde head, it was slowly making its way through the havoc toward Zyrdicia. Dirk spurred his horse to intercept his enemy. He wanted to kill Erick personally tonight. Furthermore, the thought that Erick's enchanted sword might have the ability to cut through Zyrdicia's magical defenses annoyed him. He still needed her destructive skills for the impending siege of Castle Tronin. It was impossible to cover the distance quickly enough.

Zyrdicia sensed the approach of an adversary long before the good prince was within striking range. She eventually paused in her slaughter long enough to sniff the air. She immediately detected the irritating scent of virtue. She once hunted good angels, the Seraphim, by following such a trail. She slowly turned her head, looking for the soul that dared to pollute the air she breathed with the stench of purity.

Her eyes quickly found the source. The violet pools regarded the good prince with the ruthlessness of a predator perceiving a fat meal. She sifted through his thoughts and determined his identity as he approached. He was trailed by a large, oafish man whose dexterity resembled that of a lumbering troll. She turned her black blade in the air; its purple runes glowed in response. The demon inside it would savor this kill.

She smiled softly as she saw the rose crest adorning Greystone's gloves. The image brought back a century-old memory of gloved Crusaders' hands tossing her into a cage as a child. While he walked toward her, she filled his mind with a horrific barrage of images from Lyr. She sent him mental pictures of every brutal killing of a Crusader, of the mounting of their freshly severed heads and rose-crested shields upon the city wall, of their corpses' defilement upon the Temple's ebony steps.

She called out coldly, "Erick Greystone, I'm so pleased to make your acquaintance. So many of your peasants screamed out your name as my dragon dissolved their flesh." She smiled innocently, "In the agony of their death throws, they cried, 'Why has our prince failed to protect us?'"

"Who are you?" he whispered, his voice filled with rage. She could see him tighten his grip on his blade as he prepared to attack.

"The Angel of Death." She punctuated the statement by swinging her black sword powerfully at him. When he parried, a shrill screeching noise accompanied the meeting of their weapons. He blocked her blade but the supernatural force of the blow sent him stumbling hard backward. He had a difficult time maintaining his footing. Zyrdicia's eyes widened and she laughed, "You carry a magic toy, little prince."

"Try playing with it, demon!" He lunged at her.

She took no chances with the magicked steel and blocked him easily, looking bored.

"You'll need more sorcery than your sword's enchantment to escape Hell's embrace tonight." She moved almost faster than the eye could see when she attacked him. Her speed defied rebuttal. She was everywhere around him. "Playtime is over, little one!" she mocked. He could do nothing but assume a defensive posture to block the endless succession of crushing attacks. The inhuman strength of her relentless blows exhausted his arms and sent him scurrying. She let him retreat just out of her sword's reach, toying with him as a cat would a mouse. She followed him with her pitiless gaze.

Before she could re-engage him to finish him off, Dirk Blackpool's voice boomed, "Losing to girls now, Erick? You always were a pathetic swordsman!"

Greystone looked visibly relieved at the appearance of a familiar opponent. "Well, at least I don't need to hide behind them and let them fight for me, coward!"

Zyrdicia hissed menacingly at Dirk, "Don't you dare try to get in the middle of this, you arrogant twit. He's mine!" .

"I'm afraid not," he answered without taking his eyes off of the man he hated most in the world.

She heard Greystone yell to the ugly oaf, "Marco, keep the demon busy until I can dispose of this northern trash."

"How?" the blob of a man answered.

"Think of something!"

The two princes clashed swords to Zyrdicia's annoyance. She was furious at Blackpool for interfering. Greystone was as good as dead, his soul almost consigned to Hell. She summoned her dagger from the ether and aimed at the good prince's moving throat. If she missed, she would probably kill Blackpool. Not that she particularly cared at the moment.

She was distracted by the drawing of a sword to her left. She turned her head irritably to see the good prince's rotund vassal reluctantly preparing to attack her. The absurdity of the action only intensified her annoyance.

She was at least a head taller, and made a point of looking down at him as she scowled, "If we put an apple in your mouth and roast you on a spit, Piggy, would your flesh taste sweet?"

"I hope you'd choke on it," Marco answered. He swung at her and met only thin air. She appeared behind him and sent the strongest man in the kingdom sprawling upon the ground with a vicious kick to his back. Her black boot then came down hard upon his spine, pinning him and knocking the wind out of him. He gasped for air and groaned as he felt multiple ribs breaking under the tremendous pressure. He tried to swing his sword around behind him at her. She moved her foot up slightly and brought it down quickly upon his sword arm's shoulder blade. The shoulder blade shattered with a grizzly popping noise under the diabolical force she exerted. The man gasped in pain. His sword clattered to the ground, and she pushed it out of reach with a telekinetic shove. He felt the point of her blade in the back of his neck and froze.

She watched the princes fight, keeping the immobilized vassal beneath her foot. His skeletal injuries left him in agony; every breath was an excruciating exercise in torture. She wanted to let him suffer a while before he died, as punishment for being a nuisance.

The princes' sword fight interested her for academic reasons. That Erick survived as long as he did against was a telling testament to his skill. Very few men could last more than a few moments with her. Those who endured interested her, though one way or another, she almost always killed them anyway. Dirk, however, she saw engaged for the first time. He was stronger and arguably technically superior to the good prince. They both fought admirably. There was no question that both men's skills were far superior to the countless soldiers whom she had slain tonight.

Erick was already tired from his gruelling encounter with her. As the fight dragged on, it seemed clear to her that he couldn't last. He was slowing by imperceptible increments. Eventually Dirk's sword would catch him. That much was certain. It wouldn't be long.

Erick fell to one knee as their swords locked. Out of the corner of her eye, Zyrdicia saw a white flash of light. An ancient-looking man appeared, seated upon a throne-like chair. His snow-white beard almost touched the ground. He raised a hand and shot a burst of light toward the duelling princes. Dirk's sword and two-pronged dagger both flew from his grasp as the light enveloped him. The magic prevented the dark prince from killing the exhausted Greystone.

"The citizens of Lyr send greetings, Wizard," Zyrdicia muttered as she sent a bolt of magic toward the intruder. The Wizard Traquil was busy concentrating upon the princes when her spell hit him. It immobilized him, preventing further meddling. She tossed Dirk the black blade she still carried and snarled, "You dared to intervene. Now finish him!"

He caught the sword and felt the metal ooze momentarily as he gripped it. The pommel seemed to widen to accommodate his larger grip. The weight of the blade readjusted itself immediately to become ideally balanced to his body. In the space of a heartbeat, it transformed itself into the most perfect sword he had ever wielded. He felt a powerful, profoundly evil sentience within the weapon bow to his will and demand blood in return. He lunged furiously at Erick.

Erick rolled to the side to avoid the blow. As the target moved, Dirk felt the sword redirect the momentum of the attack. It had a mind of its own, and it sensed its victim. He understood now why she never missed. The blade followed its prey and bit into Erick's flesh, despite the attempted evasion. It plunged deep into the good prince's chest, narrowly missing his heart. Erick's eyes widened in disbelief. He pulled away, falling backwards into the dust. Dirk advanced to kill his foe, at long last.

Zyrdicia smiled, looking down at the toy beneath her boot. "How rude of me. Do you want to see it too, Piggy?" She bent down and grabbed Marco's hair with her free hand, pulling his head back with a sharp jerk which nearly broke the vassal's neck. A look of horror filled his eyes as he saw his master wounded.

She reached around his neck and inserted her dagger just below his ear. She pulled the long knife slowly across his throat, feeling him shiver in terror. She had completed perhaps a third of the fatal crescent when a second burst of white light from the Wizard caused her victim to vanish from her grasp.

"Damn it!" she hissed. The Wizard had managed to free himself from her magical fetter. He promptly sent another burst of light toward the wounded Greystone, magically delivering him from Blackpool's deathblow. The Wizard then teleported himself away to tend to the severe injuries of those he rescued.

Dirk's expression was hard to read. He stared at his enemy's blood on the sword. The crimson fluid seemed to soak slowly into the metal. It was as though the creature inside were feeding. He had never wounded Erick before. That this wound was a severe one provided a thrill which made his foe's narrow escape easier to bear.

Zyrdicia remarked, "They didn't escape cleanly. Both men's wounds will fester. My weapons' metal is toxic to mortals. Minute traces of Hell-matter now circulate in their bloodstreams. Without a massive infusion of white magic, they will suffer horribly, then die."

Dirk smiled darkly. As she spoke, he was certain she was the most enthralling creature in the cosmos. "Oh, but you do know how to please me."

She thought a moment, then added, "If the Wizard can summon enough power to save them, it will leave him severely weakened and less able provide assistance. Either way, he'll die with them when I hunt him." She looked off in the distance, already looking forward to the chase. She appreciated the irony. The minions of light who once hunted her now became the hunted. Pity that Philonius died without knowing what a dramatic consequence his effort would have in his homeland. "The death of white magic in your world will be the price of the Crusader's meddling in Lyr.  His soul will be mine."

"Tonight, I would believe you are, indeed, capable of such a feat. Your effectiveness truly makes the efforts of my Witch and Wizard look inept."

She smiled wryly. "Are you still convinced that women don't belong in battle?"

"Absolutely." The prince took her blood-stained, gauntlet-clad hand. His eyes burned with the thrill of conquest. "You, however, are no mere woman. After such a victory, I assure you, there is no creature I would rather have fight with me. This was the greatest triumph in history. It will be talked about for generations."

She pulled her hand away. "My sword?"

"Ah. Yes. Of course." He felt the sword pull itself from his grasp to fly into her waiting hand. He regretted having to relinquish it. "Thank you for loaning it to me. It's an amazing weapon."

"I wasn't sure whether it would permit you to wield it. It has turned on every other mortal who has tried. The creature inside sensed weakness in their hearts and killed them for it. I'm pleased that it co-operated with you." Dirk smiled at the complement.