Written 2006

Posted 08-22-22
Revised 08-23-22
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THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, CHAPTER 3

A story of Necromantra

By Aladdin

Edited by Christopher Leeson

The Den of Vipers

King Q’zon grasped my hair and threw me against the granite wall.

“Deceitful witch!” He bunched his fist for a killing blow, but then opened it again at the last moment and gave me the hardest face-slap I’d ever felt. When I slid to the floor, he stood back, taking in the sight of me sprawling at his feet. I was not so far gone that I didn’t realize that my punishment had been a restrained one, at least by Darkuran standards. Though very capable of giving him back worse than he’d dished out, any rebellion on my part could be enough to trigger the Tradesmen into carrying out their threat against Airelle.

“I beg your pardon, Majesty,” I feigned to plead, “my magic is mighty but my body is weak. If I am beaten to death, I cannot serve you!”

His large nostrils flared. “You’ve served me poorly enough so far, human cow! And now I catch you intriguing!”

“Not so!” I declared. “I went seeking news of my daughter, the Princess Arielle!”

“Silence! You have no life, you have no family. You’re existence has no purpose outside of seeking to achieve perfect slavery.”

“I did no harm. When they told me what I wished to know, I withdrew!”

“Vigon saw fit to come to us seeking alliance,” the king said, “but now he wants more. He petitions me to send you with him to Ulik, there to be put to use by his master Viscount Armand. I would slay you for effrontery except that this new turn may serve my greater plans down the road. Ulik is a ripe plum ready to fall. Their new interest in you may become the bait I need to effect its subjugation.”

“I live to obey,” I told him.

He grabbed my hair again. “That is exactly why you are permitted to live,” he reminded me. “Now, get out! Your bleeding befouls my rug. Await your next summoning without making any more trouble!”

“As my lord wills,” I muttered. Now Q’zon shoved me out the door and while doing so my shoulder was skinned against a fluted pilaster. All told, I had to rate this interview with the Darkuran king as a success. My ploy I had managed to veer the schemes of both Q’zon and Vigon into new directions, and one of these might provide me with a better chance to achieve my own aims. So far, so good.

Good, yes, except that I now felt like I had some broken bones.

#

Fortunately, I heal with preternatural swiftness and I did not have to languish in my chamber for long before receiving a summons to attend a conference. Already in the room were King Q’zon, his aides, and most of the human emissaries from Ulik. The Darkurans pointedly ignored me, but the humans rose and bowed, as if to a queen. This was empty theater, of course. They saw me as a political tool and nothing more. How many of them would have cared if they had know about my ordeal so far in the kingdom of Darkur? And why, really, should they care about my wellbeing? In Ulik I had been a despot. I had toadies and hangers-on, but no friends. And it had never occurred to me that making friends might be a good idea.

“Marinna,” Q’zon rumbled. This struck me as a gallant acknowledgment – for him. The king’s usual terms of address were whore, slut, slave, or bitch. “These are my commands. You will accompany these emissaries in to the war Ulikan war camp of Viscount Armand. Upon your arrival there, you will do as commanded, save that you are forbidden to take any action that tends to undermine my personal interests. Short of that, your magic is at the human’s disposal.”

Taking in what he said, I continued to stand facing him attentively.

“Say something!” the king shouted. “If you have no use for your tongue, why should I let you keep it?” This, I knew, was a Darkuran joke. It was about the funniest thing I had ever heard him say to me.

“I am content and ready to serve,” I avowed with my head humbly lowered.

#

I’d been residing on the Godwheel for months only and had already grown jaded to its visual wonders. Sky-gazing there is a thing indescribable. The artificial solar system was a disk with a large hole at its center. In this hole hung a pair of binary dwarf stars and the light they shed on the world amounted to a perpetual sunset.

Because of this relationship between the suns and the Godwheel, the inhabitants should not have experienced nightfall. But an artificial night had been created, probably because living in perpetual daylight would have been very detrimental to the normal biological rhythm of many species. A night effect was produced by having orbiting plates in space. These periodically blocked the sunlight, thereby creating occluding the suns for close to ten hours at any location. Standing at my tent flap, I was at gazing the siege lines during a dense “night.” Oh, there were stars, but these were only lights installed on the plates.

For as long as any book remembered, this artificial world had been called the Godwheel because men assumed that only the gods could have constructed it. The builders – whoever they were – had installed a long-lived race on a satellite above the Godwheel to be its caretakers. These effective gods, the Vahdalans, had eventually fallen into factions and destroyed one another. Their story was not dissimilar from the myths of Earth’s Viking gods. These could be killed by violence, and also they required a rare magic application so as to remain young and alive. Legend held that the Asgardians had fallen in battle long ago, when their stronghold was attacked by demonic super-beings.

But if these myths of the Godwheel were based on truth, the builders had had the wherewithal to appoint actual gods to protect and manage their artificial world. If the mysterious ones were able to treat a race of gods as servants to be commanded, how much mightier than the guardian gods must the builders have been?

But pondering imponderables was a waste of time. For the most part, I accepted the Godwheel’s strange history on faith and concentrated upon righting the current situation.

During my weeks at Viscount Armand’s war camp, I’d watched the latter deploy his full forces against Erhan’s fortress – the walled city of Roch. He had ensconced himself there because this stronghold was more defensible than was Ulik City, the formal seat of High Prince of Ulik.

What I found more interesting than the military technology arrayed at Roch was the ebb and flow of the factions’ divers intrigues. The viscount drew his main support from the kingdom’s landed magnates, while Erhran was backed by the bureaucracy, the standing army, and the courtly party. At its core, Ulik was divided by a country vs city conflict. High Prince Tavon’s daughter having fallen into his hands, Erhan had announced to the realm his intention to marry her.

That move would allow him to legally rule as a regent in the queen’s name, up until the maturity of any child that they might have. This political coup had motivated Armand to strengthen his own faction by making overtures to an outside power, the Darkurans. But my sudden availability had tweaked the overall plan. Being the former regent, I had status under the laws of Ulik. To take advantage of that status, the Viscount had spread the news that he and I were betrothed. In this affair, I was a game piece, pure and simple. My "point-value" was not so great as Arielle’s in the eyes of the power-mongers, but it was better than nothing.

Armand’s maneuvers were having their intended effect. Spies came in reporting that some of Erhan’s adherents – already overawed by Armand’s military strength – were showing signs of uncertainty. Furthermore, a number of other independent factions, who had so far been standing aloof, now increased their flow of gifts to the Viscount. More importantly, some of them had started making overtures seeking serious negotiations. The consolidation of the power blocks had turned the quest for Ulik's throne into a two-team game. Events were moving toward a test of strength – such as a mass assault on Roch that would decide the issue.

The Darkuran troop contingency, incidentally, stood encamped several miles away from Roch, awaiting Armand’s call to battle. Because the Darkurans were so feared and disliked by all the Ulikans, Armand deemed it prudent to underplay his alliance with them. While these wheels within wheels were turning, I was largely left to my own devices.

Arman had set me to work as a diplomatic pawn. I was placed in the role of a glorified hostess to shore up, and even expand, Armand’s alliances. I had entertained many delegations, but a good share of these still pretended to think that I was an impostor – in deference to Erhan’s propaganda. The less blatant partisans accepted me as Queen-Regent Marinna and these were the people I thought I could deal with.

But my personal hand was not a strong one. Alone and without allies, I had little room for maneuver. I was keeping my antennae up to detect factions unhappy with both Erhan and Armand. I wanted to assume the stature of a third force, but I’d been making no real progress in that direction. After all, how many troops could I bring to the table?

Because of that, I was feeling quite boxed in, until a certain young captain of Ulik made an unexpected call at my pavilion.

#

I welcomed the new delegation routinely, but I couldn’t help but notice a fair-eyed young captain amid the graybeards and senior warriors. When the youth’s glance meeting mine, I froze. I was looking at no princely boy! I recognized the features my own teenage stepdaughter! What was especially baffling was that Arielle had seemingly grown into vigorous young womanhood over the few months since I had last seen her.

“A-Arielle!” I stammered bemusedly.

She raised her head and regarded me. “We have not met as yet, Madame. I am surprised that her ladyship should know my name.”

The young woman’s voice was melodic, but it was not the voice of Arielle. But if this lady in armor was not my Arielle, why did she not only have her features, but also her name?

Then I guessed the truth. When I’d first come to Ulik, Arielle had mentioned that she'd been christened Winola at birth but had, by the prevailing custom, chosen an adult name upon coming of age. She had taken for her own the appellation of the warrior whom she most admired. That meant that this female knight before me had to be Arielle’s heroine. Because they so strongly resembled one another, I could safely assume that they were blood relatives.

“I am sorry, Madame Knight,” I said. “I was misled by your close resemble to my stepdaughter. Am I right to assume that the princess Arielle is your namesake?”

“That is so, Lady Marinna,” my visitor affirmed.

From Captain Arielle’s cordial attitude, I surmised that Princess Arielle had not informed her that I had murdered her father. Why? Was she trying to protect her father’s reputation, embarrassed that her sire had married an unvetted stranger who had turned out to be his assassin?

The war-maid turned to face her retinue. “Hanno, Japet, do you recognize this lady as the former queen-regent?”

I recognized these men as officers from the kingdom’s cavalry. They greeted me correctly but without effusion. I accepted that. Many of Ulik’s subjects would hold my regency in ill odor.

“She is the very image of the queen-regent,” one of them said, and the other nodded in agreement.

“Ask her the prepared questions,” Arielle instructed them. “Appearances may be deceiving.”

They did as instructed, putting blunt interrogatives to me. I answered as truthfully as I dared and the warriors, at length, affirmed to Arielle that my answers had been proper. I then asked a question of my own. “Which power faction do you most favor, Madame Knight?”

The young woman frowned slightly, as if she disliked my term of address. Nonetheless, she answered evenly: “To be frank, we favor Princess Arielle.”

“You are for Erhan then?” I probed.

“No,” the amazon replied laconically.

There was something I liked about this untypical warrior and something told me that she and I should speak privately as soon as possible. Such was not feasible now, not while I was being closely watched by my attendants, all of whom answered to Armand.

“Where have you pitched your camp, my lady?” I asked. “Or is your barracks within the fortress?”

The term “lady” didn't go over with her any better than had "madame." I thought I understood why. When I had reigned in Ulik, I had never heard of a female warrior in my service, so her rank must have been unique. I could only assume that she wished to downplay her sex lest it diminish her in the eyes of her military peers.

“We’re encamped on the north side of the pond,” she replied, “under the banner of the slithor.”

“I don’t like slithors,” I responded lightly and with good reason. One of that species had come close to killing me upon my arrival in Ulik.

“Hopefully, you will like this one,” the warrior-maid replied. The glint in her eyes suggested a sense of humor.

Now that the necessary business had been addressed, Captain Arielle requested permission for her delegation to withdraw.

#

Under the dark of the night, I put my maids asleep magically and shifted to phantom density. This allowed me to exit the pavilion by way of the underground, thereby avoiding the guards posted outside. After having traveled in darkness for some distance, I levitated above ground level and solidified.

The effort had left me weak. The exhaustion of my bio-energy was always a serious matter. Though a vital world surrounded me, I could not revitalize myself by siphoning off its energy. It was my curse that I could only draw upon the expiring energies of the dying. I was like the gods of old, needing animal sacrifice – and sometimes human sacrifice – to feed upon. Without having frequent immolation conducted in my presence, I would become magically non-functional.

Killing was something that Necromantra enjoys, of course, but now -- thinking for myself -- I didn’t like it at all. But neither did I dare to accept disempowerment; the world was a dangerous place and having magic for self-defense was vital. In Darkur, when there were no battles for me to fight, King Q’zon had whipped chained enemies out into open arenas for me to execute. But here, in Ulik, I had to select my own victims.

Going airborne with levitation and a gush of wind, I began to feel weaker. Urgently, I searched for Captain Arielle’s slithor banner. Finally, having espied it amid a cluster of tents, I drifted down closer looking for confirmation that she was actually there. The sight of feminine garments hanging from clothes lines would have been a help, but I saw nothing like that.

I had another option. There exists a slight difference between the aura of a man and the aura of a woman, one that my senses can detect. I descended to earth at the rear of a large tent in order to conduct my search on foot.

In no great length of time I was able to detect traces of a female aura inside one of the pavilions and brazenly walked through its canvas in phantom form. It was very dark inside, so I summoned up a light of moonglow-intensity. I at once saw the knightly Arielle – wide awake, sitting up on a cot and staring at me as if I were a ghost. Also, she was holding a broadsword.

I stepped back and dimmed my light so as to appear less threatening. “Captain, it’s Marinna,” I whispered. “I’m sorry to barge in, but I wanted to speak to you in private.”

“What --?” the woman muttered, still groggy. “Why? What about?”

Before I could start to explain, my magical sensors started to tingle. That sword of hers, I realized, was no ordinary blade but an artifact imbued with an aura of dark magic.

The lady warrior threw off her quilt and stood up, letting me see that she was dressed in a night tunic and hose. She continued to look at me doubtfully even while warily lowering her sword.

“When I ruled in Ulik,” I said, “magic swords were not so common. Where did you get yours?”

“It’s a long story,” she replied.

I didn’t press it. Tales involving magic can be convoluted. But judging from Captain Arielle's expression, I suspected that the story that she was holding inside might be a nasty one.

TO BE CONTINUED Chapter 4