by R A Oakes
But deep in Zorya’s heart, she wasn’t sure if even that would be possible.
Chapter 14
Dominion Castle, inside the great hall.
Balzekior collapsed onto the floor gasping for breath, and it wasn’t an act. She and Swarenth had been talking about their future when the beautiful demon woman, who’d recently undergone a transformation from a decrepit old hag, suddenly felt as if her insides were being sucked right out of her. Like water plunging over a waterfall, her life energy was being drained from her, cascading down into a deep, dark abyss. But what happened next was worse as a strong undertow developed sucking a bone-wearying exhaustion deeply into every muscle and fiber of her body. Rolling onto her back, Balzekior groaned as she felt the debilitating chronic fatigue swamping her and working its way into every pore.
Even when imprisoned at Firecrest Castle, I didn’t feel this bad, she thought, becoming greatly alarmed. Then as fear swept through her, eroding her confidence and creating a sensation of dramatically increased vulnerability, the attractive demon woman felt overwhelmed and cried out, “Help me! Help me, please!”
Swarenth, oblivious to her needs as usual, was seemingly unconcerned. If anything, he was more annoyed than worried. “What’s wrong with you this time, huh? Come on, get up off the floor and stop your foolishness.”
But Balzekior’s head was reeling and her body was so weak she could barely lift her head. The demon woman was on the verge of fainting and appeared to be totally helpless.
However, watching her as she lay sprawled out on the marble floor, Swarenth’s mood changed. Suspecting that Balzekior was attempting to entice him with submissive behavior, the warlord even began smiling. Ever since returning from Firecrest Castle, the demon woman and the sadistic warlord had been role-playing in various deviant fantasies. But nothing seemed to satisfy him for long. He always ended up wanting her to participate in situations that were more and more degrading and humiliating.
Hoping she was recreating his favorite fantasy, that of a helpless maiden, Swarenth quickly became aroused. He enjoyed it when women allowed him to take what he wanted and do what he wanted as they writhed in agony. Unfeeling and uncaring, Swarenth took off his tunic and looked down at Balzekior with savage glee. “Need it again, do you?”
“No, that’s not it at all. Something’s wrong. Very wrong.”
“If you think you’re feeling bad now, wait until I’ve worked on you for a while.” Then, smiling broadly, he walked over and picked up a thick, wooden cane. “Is this what you want? Another beating?”
“Stop it and listen to me,” she pleaded.
“I do like listening to you when you scream. So I’ll be listening to you very closely, very soon. Ready for a little more domestic abuse?”
“If you’re going to do that to me again, why don’t you call it what it actually is?”
“What do you mean?” he smiled wickedly, swinging the heavy cane through the air, warming to the task at hand.
“Why not refer to it as incremental murder?”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, although having to admit to himself that he liked the sound of it.
“Beating a woman repeatedly is like killing her a little at a time. I know what gargoyle men are like, and they beat their women a lot. It ends up taking years off their life expectancy. Later, when they die, even if there are no bruises or broken bones at the time of death, it was the prolonged abuse that robbed the women of a longer life.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting theory,” Swarenth said as he swung his cane, catching Balzekior squarely on the side of the head and sending shockwaves of pain throughout her body. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but you’re right. Beating a woman is a form of incremental murder.”
“If you agree, then why did you hit me?”
“The idea of taking a woman’s life from her a little at a time is exciting.”
“You’re sick.”
“You’re probably right, but beating a woman makes me feel powerful. It makes me feel good about myself.”
“You feel good about ruining a woman’s life?”
“Why not? You love ruining people’s lives. Who cares whether it’s women or men who get hurt? What’s the difference?”
None, I suppose, Balzekior thought. Anyway, people here in the physical world know nothing about real pain, whether they’re female or male. All the suffering, hopelessness and boredom I’ve experienced after death are far worse than anything humans or gargoyles can imagine.
Knowing that others had a chance of avoiding an eternity of desolation filled Balzekior with hatred and rage. I’ll tear them down, she thought. I’ll pull them under and destroy them all.
Though already feeling nauseated at the thought of anyone having hope, Balzekior’s mood worsened when she saw Swarenth lifting his heavy wooden cane once more. The gargoyle warlord stood over her and hesitated, savoring her fear. But right before swinging the cane down upon her, he got an unpleasant surprise.
Balzekior began aging rapidly, shrinking and shriveling up, her face a mass of deep wrinkles, her eyes bloodshot and piercing, her teeth blackened with rot. Her skin took on a ghastly pallor and the beautiful gown she’d been wearing was reduced to nothing but rags.
Feeling no sympathy for her, only revulsion, the gargoyle warlord took a step back, a look of disgust on his face.
“What are you doing?” he snarled. “Why are you changing from a beautiful woman back into a sickly old hag? What game are you playing? Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”
“I’m not playing games,” Balzekior said.
“Well, I’m not going to live with some insufferable old hag again. You change back into a young woman, or you’ll regret it.”
“Shut up,” Balzekior said.
“What?”
“I said shut up. Don’t you understand the trouble we’re in? Maybe I should be clearer. I’ve lost most of my powers. They’ve left me.”
“How? Why?” Swarenth asked, genuinely concerned.
“Look out a window. Has anything happened to the rivers of lava surrounding the castle?”
“Why should anything be wrong with them?”
“Just look,” Balzekior said as Swarenth’s incessant selfishness began grating on her nerves, the mere sound of his voice an irritant.
However, as Swarenth leaned out the window, Balzekior began getting a second wind. A little of her strength was returning. Not much, but enough for her to get up and shove this miscreant out the window if she wanted to do so.
“What do you see?” Balzekior asked struggling to keep her temper under control.
“They’re down to a trickle,” Swarenth replied in a stunned tone of voice. “The rivers of lava have all been reduced to tiny streams, if you can even call them that. A good warhorse or charnuk could jump over any one of them.” Then, spinning around, Swarenth pointed an accusatory finger at the evil old crone and shouted, “This is your fault.”
“No, I’m afraid it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” Swarenth insisted.
“I wish it were.”
“Why?”
“Because if it’s not my fault, whose do you think it is?”
“Not mine,” Swarenth said defensively.
“Only one person could’ve pulled off something like this.”
“Who?”
“Aerylln.”
“That’s impossible. I’ve had gargoyle warriors patrolling the roads day and night, and no one’s reported anything unusual.”
“Aerylln wasn’t working above ground, she was under it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think I’d better go down and inspect the lake of lava, at least what might be left of it, if anything.”
“You said that lake has been growing gradually for centuries. Why should something happen to it now?”
Ignoring him, Balzekior started walking over to the great hall entrance, but then she sto
pped, turned around and said, “I’d put your forces on high alert, if I were you.”
“How many warriors?”
“All of them.”
“You want me to place 10,000 gargoyle warriors on alert, to have them take battle stations? But nobody was outside the window when I looked just now.”
“There will be,” Balzekior said as she left. “There will be.”
Chapter 15
Far below Dominion Castle, at the base of the mountain.
Chen, Gwendylln, Andrina and Corson were walking in the middle of 200 village women, half of whom were really the black leather panther’s warriors in disguise. Crossing the sole bridge leading to a mountain trail that would take them to their destination, the women were heading towards more than just the castle gates. They were walking into either an era where Dominion Castle would be under Kardimont rule once more, or they were walking into death. There was no middle ground, no turning back.
Corson, Chen’s longtime friend, had known the black leather panther since their mid-teens. She was an expert swordswoman and archer but was even more dangerous when engaged in hand-to-hand combat. In close quarters, a knife in each fist was all Corson had ever wanted or needed. Her ferocity in battle was legendary, and only Chen was her equal.
Andrina was their mentor. That is, if such battle- hardened women listened to anyone at all. The older warrior woman had been responsible for recruiting 100 athletically- gifted teenage girls who she’d proceeded to mold into Chen’s own personal fighting force. Once, when still in their mid-teens, they’d been confronted by a roving band of renegades who’d been pillaging a village far from their home castle. As the men advanced on them, the young women had unsheathed their swords, each prepared to die rather than yield. Whether it was the steel in their eyes or in their weapons, no one knew, but the brigands had backed down.
From then on, Chen and her warriors had been known as the Steel Curtain and were reputed to be hard, impenetrable, relentless and fearless. And the girls had been as fanatically loyal to the black leather panther as she was to them. So, divide-and-conquer was a trick that had never worked against these spirited females. Attempts to split their sisterhood had always ended in failure with those behind it securing permanent lodging in the nearest graveyard.
Their code of ethics had been simple, consisting primarily of one thing, a devotion to achieving excellence in warfare. Having grown up in a castle dominated by Chen’s cruel uncle, Lord Daegal, and his bloodthirsty warriors, the young women’s inner strength had been forged in a fiery crucible where weakness of any kind was subject to ruthless exploitation. As a result, Chen, Corson, Gwendylln and the other teenage girls had practiced the arts of war incessantly.
One day, they’d all dressed neck to toe in black leather and had issued a challenge to the warriors in Lord Daegal’s domain. A date was set, and those males so inclined to test their fighting skill against the young women had been given a chance to do so.
The event had turned into a festival with vendors and entertainers abounding, but Chen’s teenage warriors had been the main attraction. Over 1,000 spectators had shown up for the event, and 40 male warriors had declared their intention of participating in the melee. By the end of the day, with almost half of her uncle’s warriors seriously wounded, Chen and her young women had won the respect of all. Amazingly, none of the teenage girls had sustained a major injury.
Those male warriors lucky enough to have come away with only minor wounds had later shown off their scars with pride telling of their grand adventure with great enthusiasm. It was quite a tale to tell because Chen and her women had later developed a legendary reputation for reckless violence.
Now these same girls, having matured into womanhood, were approaching a bridge that would take them across a deep ravine to a mountain trail leading upward to Dominion Castle. All had faced death many times since that fateful day during the festival. Now in their 20s, and having been hardened by battle, none were expecting a particularly long life. Living free but dying young was the best that most felt they could hope for.
Chen’s warrior women were in the middle of the group surrounded by 100 village women, and all were wearing long cloaks against the early morning chill, which also served to conceal the warrior women’s black leather outfits and swords. Tenacity, the newest member of their sisterhood, had lived her entire life at Coldstream Village and was eager for revenge. Of the other village women, some had been coming to Dominion Castle to clean for years and knew their way around the castle. The village women were also concealing swords underneath long cloaks and had knives in sheaths strapped to their legs. Each village woman had participated in a vigorous training program and was eager for a chance to strike back at their gargoyle oppressors.
The real village women were encircling Chen’s warriors hoping to keep them from being discovered. On most days, the villagers had passed the initial checkpoint in front of the bridge without question, but now there were three times the usual number of gargoyles present. Some of the women almost panicked, thinking that their plot had somehow been discovered. They fully expected to be stopped and searched but, to their relief, had been allowed to pass by freely and unhindered.
When halfway across the bridge, all of them got a good look at a large wall with a guard tower on the far side which served as the first-line of defense against an enemy attack. By Chen’s count, at least 500 winged apes were stationed there, and she could see hundreds more stationed at various defensive fortifications along the mountain trail. And those were only the ones she could see from the bridge. More would be waiting around the bend as the trail wound its way upward.
There have never been this many gargoyles guarding the bridge before, Chen thought to herself. That means Balzekior isn’t taking any chances. We must have hurt her badly. Why else would she be depending so heavily upon conventional forces?
As it turned out, Swarenth had followed Balzekior’s advice and put his entire army of 10,000 gargoyle warriors on high alert. The grotesque winged apes were all at their battle stations prepared to repel an invading army, should the demon woman prove to be right once again. Swarenth had grudgingly admitted to himself that in the past her advice frequently proved sound, at least from the standpoint of an evil old crone and a sadistic warlord, as if anything they did or said could appear sane.
After passing through the first fortification and rounding a bend, Chen was able to see farther up the trail estimating that another 1,000 winged warriors were stationed at defensive positions along this stretch. The black leather panther also noticed that the fortifications were becoming bigger and stronger the closer they got to Dominion Castle. Undeterred, the women continued onward making progress that was neither too fast nor too slow. Chen allowed the true village women to set the pace, wanting no deviations from routine that might arouse suspicion.
As they neared the top of the mountain and approached the main gates, the sight before them awed even Chen, Gwendylln, Corson and Andrina. At least 1,500 of the hairy apes were stationed behind a series of interlocking moats and a maze of lower outer walls that would have to be negotiated by any attacking army. Behind these forward defenses were Dominion Castle’s massive outer walls, the most imposing edifice any of them had ever seen.
“Swarenth could never have conquered this castle without Balzekior’s help,” Andrina said quietly to those around her. The older warrior woman began wondering if things might have been different had King Tarlen’s father, Ulray, known about Balzekior and her pact with Swarenth and about the underground lake of demon lava.
But she remembered hearing how Baelfire, Zorya and Aerylln’s grandmother, Lyssa, who was the heir to the magic sword in those days, had been unable to help King Ulray. Having suffered nearly fatal injuries from a freak accident only a week before, Lyssa had been fighting for her own life at the same time Dominion Castle was being overrun.
Unknown to Andrina, however, yet another important factor had worked against King Ulray. As cunning a
s she was evil, Balzekior had understood the importance of patience. The demon woman had kept a low profile for almost two centuries, patiently waiting for the lake of demon lava to build up. Once the monstrous lake of fire had reached its peak, giving Balzekior power beyond reckoning, the demon woman had acted. It was a day that had changed the course of history. In one day, 500 years of Kardimont rule had come to an end.
And now, as Chen’s warriors and Tenacity’s villagers were approaching Dominion Castle, it appeared wholly unassailable. Not a man could have gotten within a mile of it. Fortunately, the invaders were women.
After passing under the huge gateway leading into the castle, they saw several thousand more of the grotesque, hairy gargoyles stationed in every defensive position imaginable.
“It looks like Swarenth’s entire army is deployed and ready for war,” Andrina observed.
“What will we do now?” Tenacity fretted.
“No, it’s okay. This is the best possible situation for us,” Chen said speaking quietly.
“Why?” Tenacity asked, amazed that her new master would make such a statement.
“If Andrina’s right, much of the castle could be empty,” Chen said trying not to laugh, but unable to resist a smile. “The hallways might be vacant. We could end up with virtually unrestricted access to the entire castle.”
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up until we see what we’re up against once we go inside,” Andrina cautioned.
“Yes, of course,” Chen said, alarmed that she had felt hopeful twice in the last few days. Prior to destroying the lake of fire, the black leather panther hadn’t felt positive or optimistic about anything in years. After her father had been kidnapped and imprisoned when she was 14-years-old, nothing had gone right.
