8.9

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!" Dirk Blackpool's angry voice boomed through the air from somewhere behind Zyrdicia when she arrived back in the northern camp.

It startled her. It was already evening. She had been gone all day. She turned to face him. He glared hard at her. He was annoyed for reasons she couldn't begin to understand.

"What are you so upset about?" she wondered, genuinely perplexed.

"You simply disappeared. No one could reach you. You were out after sunrise..."

"I wasn't aware I had a curfew," Zyrdicia answered coldly.

"We were concerned harm might have befallen you." His voice continued to betray his anger.

She rolled her eyes. "First, I am harm. I cause harm. Harm does not befall me. Second, you've obviously been listening to Portia. She projects some misplaced maternal instinct toward me and worries obsessively out of habit. Never, never, never pay attention to her when she's in that mode. Tell her to go away and bother someone who's interested." In fact, Zyrdicia could have suggested a list of names in Lyr to whom Portia should be sent when she started worrying needlessly.

"You shouldn't simply disappear."

"I do as I please. Always. If disappearing amuses me, I'll disappear," she countered icily. In fact, she would be doing just that, possibly as soon as tomorrow, she hoped.

"You didn't answer my question. Where were you?"

"In Castle Tronin, in Castle Greystone, in the underworld and a few places in between. I was busy." She yawned. "And I'm tired. We can talk about it after I nap. We can argue all you want then."

"You will tell me exactly what you were doing in those places now!"

"Why does it matter?"

"Why are you evading it?" he hissed menacingly.

His anger made little sense to Zyrdicia. She began to suspect that he was simply frustrated at her resistance to overt control over her actions. Did he really expect her to confer with him every time she went out wandering? The bizarreness of it was incomprehensible to her. He chose the wrong day for an argument.

"If it's that important to you, pay attention." She rattled off the list quickly and with disinterest, "In Castle Tronin, I assisted the spread of the disease. Then I kidnapped the king and locked him in a magic cell in a nether space. Then I went to Castle Greystone and ferreted out Philonius' tomb in their catacombs. Then I went to the underworld and destroyed Philonius' spirit. Then I returned to the catacombs and blew up them up, along with part of the adjacent castle. Then I came back here. I made a few stops along the way. Satisfied?"

"No. You should not have done any of those things without speaking to me first!"

"I'm not here for idle conversations, Prince Blackpool. In the time it takes you to scheme and plot an acceptable strategy to ensure your victory, I can finish Zyr's business and be on my way." Her tone was cutting. She had not used his formal title in a private conversation in quite some time. She saw his jaw tense at her words. "That will hopefully be soon. I'm certain the king will surrender to you later tonight and sign over the lands while his troops are dying inside the castle. Now I'm going to sleep. And you are going to leave me alone. Whatever else you want to know can wait."

She vanished before he could utter an angry retort. He was consumed by curiosity about what she had done to Castle Greystone, and what she had done with King Tronin. He had no intention of letting the matter rest. He needed to know these things in order to effectively deal with them.

His annoyance went far beyond the fact that she acted without his authorization. From his perspective, her erratic behavior always seemed to exhibit a complete disregard for consequences. Military strategy was useless in the face of such chaos. He had the distinct sensation that control over his war had fallen out of his hands, and it infuriated him. He went to her tent immediately and stormed in without knocking.

Portia pointed to the violet portal at the top of a glowing staircase inside the tent, saying nothing. They were fighting. That much was obvious to her. She wasn't about to get in the middle of it. He ascended the stairs and found the door locked. Without hesitating, he aimed the monocle at the portal. A green blast of magical energy eliminated the barrier.

"I've killed people for more minor intrusions into my space," Zyrdicia whispered from her seat upon a chaise lounge in the far corner of an opulent sitting room within the magical quarters. Her tone was icy and menacing in the dimly lit room.

"And I've killed them for being less irritating! How dare you simply disappear before I'm finished speaking to you!"

"I answered your prying questions about my whereabouts. I don't understand what the hell you are so angry about."

"You are supposed to be following my command to ensure Tronin's demise not disappearing on personal amusement!"

"What the fuck do you think I was doing if not ensuring Tronin's demise?!" she stared at him exasperated. "I sealed the castle defenders' doom, captured their leader, and blew up part of your arch-enemy's home. All without compromising the military integrity of the besieged structure for your own future use or costing you a single soldier. You've already won and are too stupid to see it. I did in a few days what you couldn't accomplish in your entire lifetime. It's no wonder your population is rebelling!"

It was fortunate that they were separated by at least fifteen feet. He was furious enough that had she been near him, he might have struck her. He had never known such rage toward a woman. "Your infantile impulses cloud any dubious capacity for reason that you might otherwise have. I tolerated your disobedience at the battle in Mora Valley only because it had a fortunate result. Since then, however, your excesses have only served to undermine my military objectives. Your decision to unleash a plague into a direct path of invasion into Baaldorf was idiotic. Your insistence on plunging into the most absurd course of action possible is intolerable. Rather than furthering conquest you simply further chaos!"

"Your primitive inability to grasp the nature of my destruction makes the interaction with you akin to throwing pearls before swine!"

"At least among swine you would be similarly matched in wits and strategy!" he countered angrily.

Their voices were loud enough that Portia could easily hear them yelling from the tent, well beyond the magical space where they were arguing. The guards outside the tent could probably hear it too. Outside the tent, she discretely coaxed the guards away, inventing an important errand for them pursue for her. Even away from the tent, she could still hear the sound of the raised voices trading insults and venom, though the words were indiscernible.

"What's going on in there?" a voice whispered.

Portia turned to see Geoffrey standing behind her, listening. "They're arguing," she answered.

"About what?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"Why?"

"They're fighting just to fight, I think." She was positive the argument had nothing at all to do with anything that was actually being said.

"Dirk doesn't yell very often. He usually keeps his emotions in check. When he's really mad he actually whispers. She must have really gotten under his skin for him to have lost control of himself like this."

"Hope that isn't mutual. If she loses control she'll incinerate him," Portia smiled thinly.

"It reminds me of school, when I was very young," Geoffrey explained. "When boys and girls were interested in each other, they would call each other names and throw rocks."

Portia burst out laughing. She hugged the young prince affectionately, "No matter what people tell you, Geoff, your insight into the world is priceless." He positively glowed at the compliment. "I have to go to Lyr to pick up some things. Want to come along and keep me company?"

"Sure," Geoff shrugged.

Dirk and Zyrdicia stared at each other in an emotionally charged silence. They had been spewing vitriol and insults at one another for the better part of the last hour.

The sitting room seemed unbearably warm to Zyrdicia, though its neutral temperature was theoretically regulated by magic. She resisted the urge to shiver despite the room's oppressive warmth. She was tired and wished fervently that the prince would just go away. She had the worst headache she could ever remember. Were it not for Zyr's errand, the prince would already be a pile of ash.

When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. Her rage was spent. It had been a bad day. A very bad day. "Have whatever surrender documents you intend for the king to sign drawn up now. He'll sign them as soon as they're ready. Then I'm done."

Dirk scowled. "What do you mean you're done?"

"The errand is finished. If the plague wipes out the whole continent, including your army, I don't care. None of this is my problem. I've done all Zyr required. His game has been played out. I'll be gone by sunrise, if not sooner." As she made the pronouncement, she felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Should you find yourself unable to read a calendar, may I remind you that there is still a week until midsummer."

"Once the errand is done, I'm released of my duty to stay a single minute longer."

"You are consigned to stay here until I decide otherwise."

"Dirk, just go have the damned papers drawn up! The sooner I'm gone, the better. If you insist on pissing me off, I may destroy the whole fucking continent and everyone living upon it as I leave."

"You would do well to remember that until you are released from your errand, you are still under my command. I give orders. I do not take them."

No end to the argument was in sight. Zyrdicia pulled off her gauntlets and gloves, tossing them angrily aside. She stared in shock at a deep gash on her right forearm. "Unbelievable," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. It only compounded her disgust at the day's events.

Dirk's tone changed when he saw the wound. "You lied. You were harmed. You don't look well."

"I'm fine."

"Shall I summon a healer?"

"It's a scratch. If it were worth healing, I could do it myself," she answered defensively.

"Tell me what happened."

Zyrdicia sighed in exasperation. He clearly had no intention of relenting and letting the matter rest, or of going away. She stood up and went to the cabinet where her wine was kept. "I need a drink. Or several." She looked at him questioningly, holding up a bejeweled goblet.

He nodded, watching her intently.

As she uncorked the bottle, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. The colors of the room seemed to bleed together as the entire space swirled around her. She sensed it intuitively that it was Baphim's poison slowly making its way through her system. She cursed him under her breath as she closed her eyes and steadied herself by holding the edge of the table, waiting for it to pass.

Dirk's hand touched her bare shoulder, "You look as though you are about to faint." His arms encircled her.

"Sephiroth venom," she muttered. She willed herself to remain conscious, willed the venom out of her system. The wave subsided for the moment. She had no magic to combat such a poison. The venom was of the same stuff as her magic. Until she could find time for the ritual which would allow her to absorb the magic from Baphim's wings, her body would simply have to digest the poison. "I'll be fine. But I think this has been the longest day of my life."

His arms still gripped her firmly. She made no move to pull away. At the moment she was content to be held. Physical touch grounded her in consciousness.

"You have to trust me in the Tronin matter," she whispered finally.

"You make that very difficult when it's almost impossible to discern your actions, much less your motives."

"Everything I've done sets up not just Tronin's destruction, but all of Camarand. I told you I wouldn't help you conquer the rest of the South, but I already have. The decisions I made were the same ones you would have made if you had been there and known what I know."

"Since you are so confident of that, you can begin by telling me what you know. Then you can fill me in on what you've done. I'll then judge for myself." He leaned closer to her ear and whispered, "And you are not leaving tomorrow. "

Zyrdicia's words began in a slow trickle. They gradually turned into a seemingly endless stream of information, about the besieged castle, the disease, the beauty of the plague. She censored none of it. The story of her activity below Castle Greystone wrapped around her trip to the underworld and demonic visits. He listened intently to all of it, filtering out bits of strategically useful data and filing the rest in his memory for possible future value.

She related details of Castle Tronin's architecture he had never noticed. The method of masonry left gaps in the stones which left it drafty, limiting the effectiveness of poison gas. The tunnel leading to Baaldorf was of elfin origin. If there was one tunnel, there would certainly be an entire network of them. The tunnels' presence eliminated earthquakes as a weapon. She had seen the effects of major tremors on territory laced with subterranean passages - in the right soil conditions, it caused massive fissures and sink holes to open up in the ground. In its present position, the Northern army might have been swallowed up by the ground.

As he listened to her, he had to concede that he could never have used the tunnel to Baaldorf as an invasion route, even in the best of circumstances. The vulnerability to his troops would have been too great. His opponents could have trapped his army below the earth and filled the passages with water. She described elfin tunnels as notoriously easy to trap, by design. There was a reason not a single regiment of Crusaders sent below the earth to hunt the dark elves in Lyr ever returned, and it had nothing to do with the elves skill in combat. She explained that similar ancient tunnels existed under Castles Greystone and Blackpool.

At some point during the conversation they had moved to a plush, velvet couch littered with silken cushions. She was relieved to sit. The poison continued to affect her intermittently, though she refused to acknowledge the symptoms had any significance. She was not truly mortal any more than she was truly Sephiroth. It could not kill her, so it was merely a nuisance.

She turned to face him in the couch. He sat near enough that when she turned, her knees brushed his thigh in a soft scraping of black leather.

"Elves are a myth," he mused, thinking about her claim about the tunnels' origin.

"If you go far enough down in the earth, the dark elves there think humans are a myth."

"This firecon you set off in the Greystone family catacombs..."

"Firecon?" she interrupted impatiently, confused.

"Explosive device."

"A concussion grenade."

"How does it work?"

"How should I know? I don't make them. They aren't magical. I buy them from an arms dealer off-world. I tossed one in Philonius' burial vault. I only intended to defile his tomb. I had no idea the entire section of tunnel would collapse and take part of the east wing of the castle with it. That was admittedly a more chaotic effect than I anticipated."

"Tell me about this device."

"It looks like a large egg. There's a pin in it. You pull the pin out, toss it and teleport away. Then it blows up a few seconds later. Wonderful toys."

"Indeed. Do you have more?"

"A few."

"Hmm." His mind considered the many potential targets for such a device. "In any case, I'm glad you didn't use it to destroy Castle Tronin."

"I know. There are obviously still troops in Baaldorf. If they move against you, you'll need a fortified structure to defend your new position in the South."

He looked astonished. "That is correct. You surprise me."

"Your strategic interests were never far from my mind," she sighed. She looked down at his hands as his fingers intertwined in hers. "Are you still angry that I didn't tell you about any of this before doing it?"

His eyes told her he couldn't be. He found her convoluted web of annihilation as beguiling as it was frustrating. "I warn you - do not do such a thing again," he said, evading the question.

"Working with me is a lot like unleashing the Death Spores, Dirk. If you understand the nature of the plague, the way it kills, you can benefit from its destructive force. You can learn to use its lethal power for your ends, but it will never accede to any command. Killing is what it does and the only order it understands. But once unleashed, it cannot be constrained."

"Let's hope that you don't burn out into oblivion as you described your plague will."

Zyrdicia's gaze became thoughtful. "I've thought about what it would be like if I killed every human, in every world. It would be like the plague's self-annihilation. I would die of misery if there were no one left to prey upon. The loneliness would be unbearable. I think that's what happens to the Death Spores. They die of loneliness when there is no one left to kill." The certainty with which she made the pronouncement was utterly ingenuous.

The side of her head rested against the back of the couch as she looked at him pensively. "Have you wondered whether you could tolerate life if you indeed conquered the entire world and killed all of your enemies?"

"I can't think of a better way to live out my life, actually," he smiled, imagining it.

"I'm serious! If it were all yours, no more wars to fight, no palace intrigue, no more Graystones, nothing but a static peace - forever. Could you stand the boredom?"

"Stand it? I would revel in it."

"I don't believe you."

Dirk never indulged women in such idle musing. He usually lacked the patience or the interest. His conversations with Bethel were pragmatic and brief. She understood how easily irritated he was and went to great lengths to avoid taxing his nerves. That he allowed Zyrdicia to coax him into it was purely a function of his fascination. The guileless purity with which she contemplated the grimmest subjects amused him.

In the short time she had been in Aparans, he felt as though he knew her better than he had ever known any woman, and yet she was no less perplexing or exhausting than she had been when they first spoke. She was an exceedingly difficult weapon to wield. But his skill was growing.

"You don't look well. You are even paler than usual," he noted, concerned.

"Baphim's poison is a pest. It will pass. I'll sleep when Portia gets back from Lyr. That's all I need."

"Then you'll rest in my tent now, while the surrender terms are drawn up for King Tronin to sign."

"He's been locked up since 4 o'clock this morning without food or water, alone in total darkness."

"Sensory deprivation will do wonders for his suggestibility. That's perfect. Now, come!" He stood up and offered her his hand. She didn't hesitate to take it.