8.0

As the sun rose over Castle Tronin, Dirk Blackpool adjusted the tension on his crossbow, alone in his tent. He had slept only a few hours. His excitement over conquering his first southern province was such that sleep was almost impossible.

His troops had surrounded the castle late last night. He had immediately demanded an audience with the young king in order to lay out the terms of surrender. The king was a fool. The inexperienced dolt had rejected Blackpool's terms, and had thus turned away his only chance to escape this confrontation alive. Tronin's meager assortment of palace guards now stared into the eyes of the entire northern army.

In theory, it was possible to defend such a castle successfully with relatively few men - but only for a short time. And time was precisely the weapon against which the Tronin king had no defense. Whether Blackpool eventually broke through the walls or starved the castle's occupants out, a northern victory was assured. There were no Camarandian reinforcements on the way. Blackpool's troops already decimated those reinforcements in Mora Valley.

The prince had been disappointed that Zyrdicia had not been available to accompany him when he spoke with the besieged king. Given the tales the escaped soldiers had undoubtedly told of the battle, her unholy presence would have underscored the hopelessness of Tronin's situation. He enjoyed the effect of having such an entity at his disposal. Since her arrival, his power had never been greater. With such a diabolical weapon, nothing stood between him and his ultimate conquest of Camarand.

Using her, a conflict years in the making would be resolved in a matter of weeks. Beyond the specific impact of her magic, the prince was certain that her presence had an ascendent effect on his power generally. The northern financial crisis, the rebellion and the southern defenses seemed to fade into oblivion under her influence. Troop morale had never been higher, now that the soldiers believed a goddess fought alongside them on behalf of the Karteian Crown.

Since she had apparently lost interest in irritating him, her services had no cost to him whatsoever. She had no political agenda in Aparans - the fact that she had quickly notified him of Baron Erowyn's betrayal made that abundantly clear. She appeared to be motivated only be a lust for death and personal amusement. The seeming absence of any manipulative scheming behind his back was disconcerting, given the deceptive behavior to which he was accustomed from Bethel and Vector.

He smiled to himself as he tightened the crossbow's spring. The past days had been among the most glorious of his life. He had no intention of permitting Zyrdicia to depart until all of Camarand belonged to him. In light of her recent demeanor, he suspected that finding a way to keep her destructive force under his command would be less difficult than he had first imagined. Her body language made her attraction to him obvious, he reasoned. It had been a pleasant surprise when she had leaned against him and allowed him to wrap his arms around her on the wall after the battle. That had, in fact, turned out to be the first of several pleasant surprises. Seeing her terror during the nightmare had been another. Such terror was as inspiring as it was beautiful. She did have weaknesses, it seemed, and her fear of being trapped in Hell was one of them. The devil who tormented her would drive her directly into the prince's clutches. The situation would be remarkably simple to exploit. He was certain that he had been correct in supposing that she would prefer his dominion to Hell's.

Zyrdicia's melodious laughter interrupted his contemplation. At first he wondered whether he might have imagined it. She had not laughed like that since they departed from Castle Blackpool. It was not the short, amused laughter that was so common with her. Instead, it was the long, eerily musical laugh he had heard the night when he first met her. She had laughed that way when she delivered the net of corpses to his throne room and in the torture chamber when she destroyed Henry.

He heard it again. This time it was punctuated by a soft thud somewhere in the vicinity of the castle. The song-like laughter seemed to resonate through the air.

His curiosity aroused, he cocked a quarrel into the crossbow and went in search of her. He found her facing the castle's main wall, a short distance from the outer edge of the wide, water-filled moat which surrounded it. Despite the early hour, her laughter had already attracted a considerable crowd of admiring on-lookers. Most of the soldiers immediately dispersed upon the prince's arrival. A half-dozen elite torture troopers, however, stood around some kind of machine with their backs to the prince, oblivious to his silent observation of their activity. They surrounded the device and prevented him from clearly discerning what she was doing. Zyrdicia sat next to it in a large chair, her feet propped up comfortably on its base.

"Good morning, darlings!" she called out merrily to the residents in the castle, still laughing. She snapped her fingers at a trooper standing next to her. He bent down and pulled a lever on the little machine. The device immediately launched a live southern prisoner hurtling through the air. The captive screamed briefly before splattering against the castle wall. The assisting soldiers joined her in laughter.

The troopers moved to hoist another body out of a nearby pit to load the next prisoner onto the machine. As they moved, Dirk realized with no small measure of amusement that she was using what must be the world's smallest catapult.

The men working the catapult stood at attention when he approached. "By all means, continue!" he ordered congenially. He leaned over the back of the chair, and looked down at Zyrdicia. "Hi. I wasn't aware that you had taken prisoners."

She looked up and smiled in greeting. "I didn't. I merely saved a few to play with." She thought it better not to tell him that she had claimed them as a sacrifice after the battle.

He saw her eyes roam over his armor. He had abandoned his customary, heavier vestments in favor of an alternative better suited to the hot summer weather in the South. The molded-leather of this garment left his arms bare, accentuating his well-formed biceps. The chest of the armor bore his family's snake sigil above an ornate image of a sword.

He couldn't help but notice she had shed layers of clothing as well. Her athletic midriff was bare between the patent leather of her pants, cut to fit low over her hips, and the abbreviated halter-like garment covering her chest. Looking down on her as he did, it was difficult not to notice the display of cleavage. He preferred not to imagine the effect her immodest attire would have on his troops. It was no wonder they were at her beck and call.

The fact of the matter was that Zyrdicia was totally oblivious to the effect her clothing had this morning. She hadn't bothered to consider it. She had been out all night in Lyr, and the night had been hot. After disposing of the slaves, she had gone to the Red Zone with Magnus and Kaz to socialize and laugh. It was purely a coincidence that she wasn't dressed in a short skirt cut up to mid-thigh. In summer in Lyr, particularly at the Cauldron, displays of flesh failed to raise eyebrows. It was expected. The Lyrians had no social construct of shame regarding bare bodies. As long as one was beautiful, modesty was considered neurotic.

She had returned to Aparans in a much better mood than she had left it last night. The trouble with Azriok was far away, for now. Once Magnus had managed to get her laughing, her dark mood quickly receded. She had finally had a chance to witness the goblin devastation in Tiny Town first-hand, and it thrilled her. Her time in Lyr had been the sort of decadent, pointless night that made life bearable. Its effect was largely illusory, but it was an illusion she was content to embrace.

"I wondered when you would finally wake up and join me," Zyrdicia said gaily to the prince, failing to notice his stare. Mirth filled her eyes. "This is hilarious to observe. Watch the faces of the southern soldiers up on the battlements!"

She gestured to one of the soldiers now serving her to bring the prince a chair. Her effortless command of his soldiers did not escape his notice, though he said nothing.

"The point of a siege engine is to knock walls down, not decorate them with blood, my dear." Dirk smirked and glanced at the tiny device. "Not that one could really call such a toy a siege engine."

Zyrdicia rolled her eyes in feigned exasperation. "Why is it that men are always so preoccupied with the size of a weapon? Size doesn't matter, if you know how to wield the weapon properly." She snapped her fingers at her assistants, and another screaming victim crashed into the castle wall.

The prince's lips curled. "Though the virtues of proper skill are undeniable, your contention sounds like a rumor started to vindicate those with inadequate weaponry."

Zyrdicia was surprised enough by the comment that she was momentarily at a loss for a clever reply. She burst out laughing. She noticed the crossbow in his hand and her eyes widened. "As long as we're on the subject of wielding weaponry...will you loan me yours?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. She held out her hand for the crossbow.

Dirk arched an eyebrow, "That depends on whether you know how to use it."

Zyrdicia met his gaze unflinchingly. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

Dirk started to say something more but stopped, apparently thinking the exchange had about as far as propriety permitted. He handed her the weapon and took the seat next to her which soon appeared.

"Launch!" she ordered to soldiers manning the catapult. The victim burst toward the wall. Zyrdicia followed him with the bow, then fired. Her target's body stiffened as the quarrel pierced his spinal column seconds before he smashed into the wall.

"Shit!" she whispered, disgusted. A sharp glare from the prince reminded her of his view of such language. Her eyes widened innocently and she held her hand over her lips in feigned contrition.

"You shouldn't be cursing. That was a fine shot."

"Are you blind? He was paralyzed by the time he hit the wall. He didn't even feel it when he died. His screams stopped mid-air. What's the fun in that?" She frowned and handed the weapon back to the prince, who made no attempt to hide his amusement. "The bow has too much torque. It kicks up. The spring is set too tightly."

"I prefer it that way. The torque propels missiles harder and faster." He loaded another quarrel into the bow. "Tell me where you want it to hit him."

Her pouty frown transformed into a smile at the offer. "Hmm...the liver!"

"Very painful. Not immediately fatal. A commendable choice," he nodded. "Launch!" he commanded. His shot met her specification exactly. They were rewarded by a pained groan from the airborne victim as the missile pierced the vital organ. Dirk glanced at Zyrdicia smugly, "It's simply a matter of anticipating the 'kick', as you call it."

"Right lung," she grinned. Zyrdicia giggled in delight as he repeated the feat of marksmanship. The game entertained her. The missiles dramatically magnified the prisoners' pain and terror during the ordeal.

And so the morning progressed. Dirk could not resist laughing with her at the tremendous suffering of those executed.

Geoffrey stood far behind them, watching the spectacle from a comfortable distance. Portia joined him. She had insisted on returning with Zyrdicia in order to assure that she would not fall asleep alone again. Azriok's effort to capture her mistress worried her. The goblin invasion of Tiny Town had been a tremendous success, so there was little reason to stay behind. Portia was needed here more.

"This is very strange," Geoff observed, scowling. "Dirk is having fun. I don't get it."

"She has that effect on some people."

Geoff shook his head. "Since the battle my brother has been almost...happy. I don't know what to make of it."

"Have they become friends?" Portia wondered.

"Dirk doesn't have any friends."

"Zyrdicia has them in every flavor. She has to be constantly entertained, and it looks like she's picked him to fill that role here."

"From what I've heard, when they're awake, they are around each other almost all the time. He doesn't even tolerate Vector's company that much. People annoy him."

"What about Bethel?"

"Lately she annoys him most of all."

"Imagine that."

Geoffrey found Portia easy to talk to. There were very few people in the Blackpool court who would listen to him. "A lot of people think my brother's insane. When Zyrdicia's around, it's as though she makes madness seem normal. From her such behavior is almost...sweet. It's very strange."

"Destruction is her nature, Geoff. I really believe isn't evil when it comes from her. There's an innocence to it that makes it sacred. It's very pure. Like a hurricane or an earthquake. That's one of the reasons people worship her in Lyr, I think. When she kills someone, it's an act of natural beauty." Portia was amazed that the young prince had picked up on it. Despite his apparent mental deficiency, the young man was surprisingly intuitive.

"This is a wonderful form of recreation," Dirk observed contentedly. It was easily the most enjoyable mode of target practice he had ever experienced. He made a mental note to have Vector conjure him such a device. He had a dungeon full of potential targets. He cast Zyrdicia a side-long glance and noticed she was frowning again. "Now what's wrong?"

"They're all gone."

"So soon? Well, then we'll just have to gather more," Dirk said affably. Her mind's cruelty delighted him. Other than Vector, he had never known anyone else who found such unrestrained pleasure in tormenting others. He imagined how upsetting the spectacle must have been for the castle's residents to watch. The idea of using a siege engine in such a creative manner seemed ingenious to him.

"Wherever did you find a toy catapult?" he wondered.

"It isn't really a catapult. Technically it's called a 'goop-lobber'. The spring mechanism is a third the size of a standard catapult's and has roughly five times the force. These things are used in Lyr during civil disturbances fairly regularly."

"To smash bodies into walls?"

"No, that's my personal sport," she smiled. "Usually they are used to hurl every form of nastiness upon the residents in an opposing quarter - disease-infested corpses, garbage, rats, anything imaginable."

"How vile. With such infantile strategy, it is no wonder the southern knights invaded your city so easily."

"Yes, clearly that invasion was a fine example of your continent's military success," she mocked, "As the invaders' heads on the city wall surely attest." Her hand lightly touched his bare forearm as she spoke. "Let's hope Tronin isn't as 'unsuccessful' as Lyr was in expelling an invading force."

It was one of the rare occasions when she wasn't wearing gloves. Dirk glanced at her graceful fingers on his skin and observed they were perfectly manicured. He put his own hand over hers. Their fingers intertwined playfully as they conversed.

"Tronin will be annihilated. There will be nothing of it left to stage a defense," he announced with absolute conviction.

"Speaking of which, I'm in a bit of a quandary as to how to eliminate those in the castle. Deciding among the possibilities is going to be difficult."

"I'm certain I can help you solve that quandary," he said, his voice silken.

"The options are almost limitless. Starting with non-magical ones, I could fill the air they breathe with poison gas. Alternately, I could poison the water supply. I found a wonderful nerve toxin in another world - it wipes out entire population centers in a matter of hours. Then there is pestilence. A fast-burning plague would eliminate everyone inside in a few days. Moving on to magical possibilities, I could cause an earthquake and level the structure and crush the castle's residents in the rubble. I suppose Zyr would be amenable to sending a horde of Fosfor demons to rip the building apart stone-by-stone and devour those inside..."

"No demons!" the prince interrupted. The last experience he had with Vulkar at Castle Baaldorf had permanently soured him on their usefulness, present company excepted. "What else?"

He was surprised at how soft her hand was. Despite her remarkable skill with the sword, she had not a single callus on her palm or fingers. Had he not known how deadly she was, he could have easily believed that it was the hand of a noblewoman. Her fingers hardly paused in their incessant playful motion as she thought about the castle's destruction. She seemed possessed by an inexplicable manic energy. She was nothing at all like the somber, thoughtful creature he had glimpsed on the wall after the battle.

In sending such a creature, Zyr might as well have provided the prince with a magical genie capable of granting his every destructive wish. Dirk understood why she thought it would be difficult to decide. He wanted all of it. Immediately. He was enthralled as he imagined each form of destruction eliminating those who stood in his way.

"Have you actually used any of those methods?" he asked, intrigued.

"Constantly. I destroy to entertain myself. Mass-destruction is what I do for fun. I fully intended to obliterate the entire population of Aparans, before you side-tracked me with Zyr's errand."

"Don't think of it as being side-tracked. Think of it instead as being provided an appropriate focus for the destruction you intended," he crooned in his most charming tone.

"By concentrating it on your enemies?" she smirked.

"Not just my enemies. They are your enemies as well. They did invade your world and execute your mother, after all."

"At least I'm not the only one who is transparent."

"You know that what I say is true. You've searched the entire world for them."