8.2

Something brushed against Dirk Blackpool's boot in the darkness as he walked back to the command tent. He started to kick it away but paused when it meowed. Cats were the only house pets he could tolerate. Their aloof arrogance earned his admiration.

"What have we here?" he muttered. The small, sleek, black feline brushed against him again. He glanced at it, amused by its egotistical sensuality. It wore a glossy black leather collar with a large amethyst dangling from it. This was no abandoned stray.

The fearless creature turned and stared at him questioningly, its eyes glittering in the darkness. Dirk bent down and scooped the animal up in one hand. It neither scratched nor struggled. It seemed to expect nothing less of him. Holding it up near his face to get a better look, the young cat stared straight into his eyes and meowed again.

Even in the dark, he could see that the cat's irises were tinged in violet. He was suddenly quite certain that it was no cat at all. He ran his fingers along its silken fur. The animal purred. "The collar is a lovely touch. Pity I don't have a leash."

The cat looked as though it were about to meow again. A panther's snarl came out of its mouth instead.

"Such nastiness is unbecoming," he chided, stroking its back again as he walked to his quarters. The guards stationed outside the command tent saluted him. Two followed him in and maintained a customary vigil just inside the door. He had increased security since the assassination attempt.

The prince settled into a comfortable chair, still holding the cat firmly. "I'd heard you chose to be a butterfly in your wanderings tonight. I find this form more suitable."

The animal stared at him relentlessly, swishing its tail in quick whipping motions. "I suspected you would fail to see the humor in it if I took the form of a spider."

"I would have crushed you beneath my boot," he responded grimly. The little feline responded by playfully batting at the monocle hanging by a long, golden chain at his chest. Dirk' hand moved to the creature's tiny neck and closed around it. He hissed, "If you touch that again, I will snap your neck."

The cat responded by angrily turning away from him. It still sat on his lap, but faced away. The tail swished more violently from side to side. "You make it ever less likely that I'll teach you any more magic."

"And you dare to accuse me of not having a sense of humor?" he smiled. "It would seems yours is even more deficient." He pulled off his heavy leather gloves and caressed the animal's coal-colored fur from the nape of its neck slowly along its spine. The tail-swishing slowed, then stopped altogether. After a moment, the creature purred contentedly as he pet it.

The guards at the doorway glanced at one another nervously. Their monarch was having a conversation with a kitten. It was apparent to both men that he had come completely unhinged. He had a reputation as being quite mad, but this was bizarre, even for him.

The feline now fully reclined in his lap. Its eyes drooped as it purred. As Dirk continued to move his fingers through its soft fur, he asked, "What did you see inside the castle?"

"They have a tunnel leading somewhere to the west. They are using it to transport food supplies and a few troops. Everything coming out of the tunnel was marked with a symbol of a hand on a shovel."

"The tunnel must go under the Forest of Doom all the way to Baaldorf. Amazing. I'll use it to invade that kingdom, then."

"Not anytime soon, you won't."

"What did you do?" he asked suspiciously.

"I released a cloud of Death Spores in the tunnel."

"Of what?"

"A very deadly tropical disease. Tronin's messengers will take it with them into the place where the tunnel leads. They will bring it back out into the castle with them. It is highly contagious.."

"That was unwise. Those tunnels would have been extremely useful." Anger seeped into his voice.

"The plague will kill your enemies long before your troops arrive. It will burn out in a few weeks, after obliterating the southern population."

"And how shall I keep it from infecting my army?"

"Cleanse infected areas thoroughly with fire when you invade and prohibit travelers from the south from entering your lands."

"Is the disease treatable?" he asked.

"Yes. There is a single elixir known to treat it, if administered in the early stages. But it doesn't exist in your world; only one man in Lyr has it, and he would never sell it without my explicit authorization. You might find it's a useful tool to negotiate surrender--after the various southern royal families contract the disease."

"I don't negotiate. But you will, of course, provide me with a supply of the elixir for any unexpected contingency."

"Probably."

The prince wondered what it might be conditioned upon but decided not to ask. She would provide it to him. Of that he was certain. "You'll also have to contain Traquil to prevent him from using white magic to save them."

"Traquil will meddle no more."

"I'm glad to hear it. Did you kill him?"

"Better. I trapped his soul. He's inside the gem at my neck." The prince lifted the relaxed cat up to hold it up so that he could examine the object hanging from its collar. As the gemstone caught the light of a nearby lantern, he could vaguely discern the miniature form of the Wizard sleeping inside it. Traquil's monocle was missing.

When she explored Castle Tronin, Zyrdicia had, in fact, been hunting Traquil. She was certain the Wizard was there. After seeing Greystone and Marco wandering around, there had been no question. It would have taken too massive a burst of magic for the Wizard to save both of them and then teleport anywhere. She knew he would be hovering nearby, recuperating. Eventually she found him in a secret chamber, sound asleep in his chair. She crept up on him, fettered him with magic, took his monocle and trapped his soul so quickly that he never even realized what had occurred. Her hunting skills were unparalleled in this world. In his exhausted state, the Wizard had slept through it all.

"Vector will be terribly envious. What did you do with the Wizard's monocle?"

"Out of Vector's reach."

"Where?"

"Off-world in a place he doesn't know exists."

"Theft of a Wizard's monocle is utterly reprehensible. As Royalty, I cannot condone such an action."

The cat fell back into his lap and stretched, ignoring his sarcasm. "Greystone is still alive. Weakened, but alive."

"He will eventually come looking for the Wizard, then. Assuming, of course, that the fool can figure out what happened. I should put the stone somewhere safe."

"No. I shall stow it on another plane, a place the hero can't even get to without magic--.which will be rather difficult without the aid of a Wizard. My hiding places are infinite. Not even a god could find some of them."

"That might lead one to believe that you needed to hide from gods occasionally."

"Sometimes." The cat yawned.. "It's better that you not know where I put it. It will be safe. Retrieving it will cost him his life."

Dirk didn't particularly care what she did with Traquil. It would distract Greystone. While his enemy searched for the White Wizard, his army could devastate Camarand unimpeded. "You've been quite productive. You certainly deserve a saucer of milk."

"I hate milk. If you send for some, I swear I'll turn myself into a calf here on your lap."

"I adore veal," the prince teased.

"Blood. The cat demands blood. Fresh. Human. Not milk."

Before he could respond, a bright flash of light distracted him. Bethel emerged from it, smiling seductively.

"Hi, Dirk."

The cat tried to get up and jump off his lap. He wrapped his hands around it and held it firmly. He did not rise from the chair to greet the Witch. His voice betrayed his irritation at her arrival, "Ah, Bethel. What a surprise."

The Witch ran her fingers along the contours of the armor covering his chest. "I wanted to come congratulate you on your victory. Soon all of Camarand will be ours."

He arched an eyebrow, "Ours?"

"I'm sure you won't forget our bargain. I know you will keep your promise to marry me when the South is yours and Greystone is dead."

"You do know me better than anyone," he said in a flattering tone. "I certainly won't forget your loyalty to me in accomplishing my goal."

Bethel looked at him, considering his choice of words. Her hand rested on his bare shoulder. She noticed that he didn't move to take it and draw her near. His hands remained on the black cat in his lap. Bethel fingered her monocle thoughtfully. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded the kitten. "If I thought you weren't going to make me your queen, I would become very hazardous to you."

"The role you played in my victory will be justly rewarded, I assure you, Bethel," Dirk smiled. "Now, I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me. I have to plan the next stage of Camarand's destruction. Bye."

When Bethel departed, the prince's smile transformed into a sneer. She actually expected that he would marry her after she had betrayed him. She had knowingly permitted Greystone to escape from him. That she had done it under threat from Vector made no difference. Disloyalty was unforgivable.

The cat stared at him curiously. His sneer faded. "Now, where were we? I think you were pretending to be a vampire we were interrupted."

"Some cultures say blood carries the soul. Drinking it symbolically transfers the energy of the vanquished into the one who imbibes it."

"As though you need anyone else's energy."

"Need has nothing to do with it. Want. The cat demands blood."

His fingers gently moved along the animal's neck, eliciting another purr. He considered the perverse request. He had no doubt she would really drink it. The cannibalistic behavior would have disgusted him from anyone else. From her it seemed merely amusing.

The prince beckoned to one of the guards stationed at the door. He turned over a small silver bowl of fruit and set the empty bowl on a table next to his chair. The guard approached, then stood rigidly at attention. The man was thoroughly perplexed as to why the madman had summoned him. The cat's tail flipped from side to side expectantly.

"Hold out your left hand!" Dirk ordered calmly. The man complied without hesitation. The prince slashed the proffered wrist open with his two-pronged dagger. The prince smiled congenially, "If you move your hand, I will cut it off!"

Scarlet drops flowed from the wound into the silver bowl. The cat's tail swished faster as it watched. Dirk dismissed the injured soldier after a small pool of blood had gathered in the bowl.

The animal immediately moved out of his lap toward the container. He lifted the bowl up and held it out of the creature's reach. "No," he admonished. "Patience." He dipped two fingers in the warm liquid and held them out to the cat.

As the animal's rough tongue touched the blood, Zyrdicia transformed herself back into human form. Sitting in his lap, she seemed to weigh scarcely more in this form than she had as a cat. She held his hand to her lips. Dirk's eyes widened slightly as she took his fingers into her mouth, sensuously sucking the blood from them.

"It's only enjoyable if it's still warm," she whispered, reaching for the silver bowl he still held in the other hand. She gulped its contents greedily. The thick fluid stained her lips a dark crimson. When she was finished, she regarded him with her strange purple eyes. Her eyes reflected the innocence of child indulging in a sweet treat, in bizarre contrast to the monstrousness of the gesture. The nexus of purity and viciousness was as unholy as it was captivating.

Dirk stared at her bloodstained lips for a moment before touching his thumb to them. His thumb moved slowly along her lower lip, wiping the blood from it. He suddenly wanted to taste the violence that was her essence.

As he was about to act on that impulse, she smiled sweetly and whispered, "Thank you for the blood." She leaned toward him and touched her lips gently to his cheek. He turned his head to catch her lips upon his own. She moved too quickly for him, however. His kiss met only her pale cheek as she turned away. She let his lips linger on her skin for a moment. When he tried to turn her chin toward him to kiss her, she pulled away with familiar supernatural strength. Trying to hold her then was as effective as trying to grasp a gust of the wind.

She looked genuinely surprised by the turn of events. She shook her head slowly and whispered, "That isn't part of the game."

"You may discover that it's a very dangerous game you play."

"Not if you know its rules and its limits," she smiled coyly, walking out of his tent.

There had been no anger or offense in the exchange. The tone of the brief conversation had been playful, almost sportive. They both knew a peculiar chemistry between them had been palpable briefly, flaring powerfully and then receding to simmer beneath the surface again.

Dirk found her apparent coquetry humorous. In his mind, she was already his.

8.3

"You have to tell him!" Portia exclaimed, exasperated. As soon as Portia had returned from Castle Blackpool, Zyrdicia immediately related about the befuddling encounter with Prince Blackpool earlier in the evening.

"I most certainly do not," Zyrdicia answered matter-of-factly. "The Edict is none of his business."

Portia sighed. "You get away with acting the way you do with Magnus because he understands the ground rules. There is no question that it won't go anywhere. He's fine with it. He expects it. In the real world, men aren't that understanding."

"I always act like this with my friends. You know that. I've decided I like him. He's very entertaining."

"But you already started down the other road - teasing him, playing mindgames with him. You can't expect him to know where one game ends and another begins, Zyrdicia. Besides, when you are physically affectionate with people who know you, it's different. He has no clue that you act like this with everyone in your inner circle. In a patriarchal, socially repressed world such as this, they think behavior like that advertises availability. You are going to piss him off."

"I'm not going to tell him about the Edict."

"Then don't be surprised when he thinks your general fondness translates into something else. You already set him up for it with the mindgames when we first got here. You can't expect him to appreciate any sort of limits if you don't tell him."

"Why not?"

"Because he's human."

Zyrdicia frowned. "I know," she muttered, sounding disappointed.

Portia advised gently, "If you really do want him as a friend, you have to tell him before things go any farther. This could get ugly if you don't."

"No."

"The Edict is no secret. Everybody else knows about it. Why not just tell him?"

"No."

Portia stared at Zyrdicia in frustration. She knew that Zyrdicia loved the attention. Still, she had a sense of impending doom about this. Portia's brow furrowed, "Is there any chance..." Her eyes widened suddenly as the reason for the absurd stubbornness suddenly became clear to her. "Oh, shit. I can't believe I didn't see this sooner. This can't be happening."

"Of course not. It can't happen. That's the point of the Edict."

"How long?"

Zyrdicia shrugged. "Really just tonight. It has to be a temporary after-effect from seeing Azriok."

"There's been a weird tension between you since we got here."

"Yeah, but that's just part of the game. Intrigue. Fascination. Teasing. Purely mental elements. This was actual physical attraction. Totally different. I've always kept that element isolated, locked away. It usually sleeps docilely in its cage. Azriok woke it up, and tonight it tried to escape."

"I pray it's just a fleeting effect of Azriok's return, for your sake. Are you still planning to stay 'til Midsummer?"

"Hell no! I can be done here very quickly. I'll get rid of the castle as fast as I can. I can't wait to get away from here."