The Kingdoms of Evil (6 page)

"Naobel protect us," said Kendrick, and Freetrick winced at a sudden heat on his face. "You're the Ultimate Fiend of the Kingdoms of Evil, Freetrick."

"Don't be stupid," said Madene at the same time Istain said, "No kidding?"

"Naobel," Kendrick swore again, and Freetrick jerked away as his friend's talisman flashed blistering fire at him. "You've got the moonlight hair, and the night sky eyes, and everything. This is right out of the Covenant between Good and Evil." He looked at Freetrick strangely. "What am I supposed to do with you?"

"Help me," said Freetrick, but Kendrick only shook his head and backed away, staring at a point right behind Freetrick's head.

"Don't get too close to him," said Kendrick, hand closing around his wheel-stone on its chain, "he's the embodiment of pure evil."

"
N
o," Freetrick gasped, but Kendrick spoke on, implacable.

"You are a thing of evil. The Despot of Skrea. Look down, Freetrick." Kendrick pointed at the Freetrick's feet, and the black film that slid from them like oil over the surface of a lake. Behind Freetrick, shriveled grass and weeds marked clear footprints leading back to the dormitory.

"Yuck!" Zathara walked over and peered around Freetrick to inspect the ground, clearly careful not to touch him.

"No," Freetrick backed away from his friends.

"The letter was real," Kendrick held his talisman out in front of him, spinning and glowing on the end of its chain. "You are the ruler of the Kingdoms of Evil, the Eye of the Storm. The embodiment of Evil."

"No I'm not," Freetrick said. "How does this even make sense?

"It makes all the sense in the world," said Kendrick. "Evil is the opposite of Good, like it says in the Covenant: '
anguish; that is the prerogative of the Shadow.'
"
He looked less confused now, more assured. He took a step toward Freetrick.

"You're on the wrong side of the mountains," Kendrick told Freetrick, "and it's the duty of all good people to destroy that evil when it infests my homeland."

"Hey," Istain stepped in front of him, "don't you get all Naobelite on Freetrick. This isn't three hundred years ago and we're not in the Bulwark Mountains."

"That was a monster I saw flapping across the parking lot, Istain!" Kendrick gestured with one hand.

Istain dismissed the observation with a flick of his wrist. "Clearly there's been some sort of mistake. Some weird alien magic incursion, but we're going to fix it."

"We should let the Proctors deal with this," said Madene to Kendrick. "This
isn't
your fight."

"Don't worry, we'll talk to them," Zathara made patting motions at Freetrick without actually touching him.

"What are the Proctors doing, just looking at us?" Madene wondered.

"I'm not going to be deported," Freetrick glared back at the blurry enforcers. "You hear that?" He shouted at the Proctor, "If I'm so scary and powerful, you can't make me go anywhere!"

The Proctors did not respond.

"You hear me?" Freetrick demanded. As he drew closer, the large dark lump behind the two men resolved into a strangely-shaped carriage, boxy and horseless.

"Freetrick, don't talk that way to Proctors!"

Freetrick looked around to see the others walking nervously behind him.

"Don't even start Madene," said Istain. "You didn't see one of these idiots leveling a gun at Free's head. What the hell is going on?"

"We have been advised," said one of the Proctors, "to withdraw from this situation, and allow the foreign incursion to be corrected by its own government."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Istain asked as Freetrick noticed something move within the dark confines of the carriage.

"It means," said Zathara, "that they have chosen a bigger gun to level at him."

***

She emerged from the carriage, a black-and-white blur against the redness inside.

"Oh." Freetrick stopped, stunned, his eyes closed and his shoulders slumped. "Oh, strike me out."

Istain stared, round-eyed. "Wow." Then, looking closer, "is that a metal squid eating her head?"

"It does this obsequious chiropteran the most unspeakable pleasure to present the Dark Lady her Vileness Bloodbyrn DeMacabre," intoned Mr. Skree from his perch on the carriage roof, "the only child of the Duke DeMacabre, the dominatrix of lower Joublournie and Carnivé, heir to the Clot of Torture, and the betrothed of the Despot of Skrea.

Bloodbyrn slid through the mist toward Freetrick, her feet barely seeming to move under the cloud of black lace that curved down from her hips. It hissed softly against the ground. Coils of silver-chased jet swirled up from the lace, constricting her waist, then fluting upward and outward. Somewhere in that general area gleamed spiked shoulder pads and a bat-winged metal skull the size of a fist, but Freetrick found his powers of observation and critical thought weaken as his gaze traversed the space between them.

"I'm almost impressed," said Madene.

"I
am
impressed," said Zathara.

"I like the silver studs" said Istain.

"Oh, gross!" Madene's voice was all shock and disgust. "Blink before your stinking eyes fall out."

"She's just wearing a lot of really uncomfortable underwear," Zathara pointed out.

"I did
not
know underwear could do that."

Kendrick's voice had become a growl. "Another one."

"Guys!" Hissed Freetrick, eyes still filled with lush and deadly curves. Death by corsetry. Or maybe by silver stud punctures. "Help me!"

"Help you? How exactly?" Came Istain's voice from behind him, "You want to take down the vampire, the storm troopers, or the dominatrix?"

She was almost within touching distance now, her eyes wide-set and bizarrely pale within rings of heavy black powder. Silver barbs gleamed in her ears and nose

"Please…" squeaked Freetrick. Oh truth help him, soon he would be able to
smell
her…

"Let me handle this. Hey there," Istain stepped toward the woman. "I'm Istain, Free's taller and more attractive friend. How are you doing? Might I compliment you on the lovely bat wings you have there on your…uh."

Bloodbyrn was smiling at him. Her teeth shone silver and sharp.

Istain made a sort of wheezing noise. Then he stepped behind Zathara.

And now the girl's eyes were fixed on Freetrick. She closed the distance between them. Then there was a rustle of fabric and a creak of leather, and Freetrick felt firm flesh squeeze against his leg as Bloodbyrn deliberately planted her right foot behind his left. She pressed into him, the hard points of her bodice pushing against his chest. Bloodbyrn's face turned upward and Freetrick tried hard to concentrate on it and not on the burgeoning vistas below. Rationalist girls just didn't
dress
like that.

She smiled up at him and crooked a finger, then cupped a hand around her slippery lips as if preparing to whisper a secret to him. Freetrick's eyes flicked to his friends, but he was already lowering his head so that his ear was on level with her mouth.

Bloodbyrn's lips brushed his ear. Warm breath washed across his face as her hand slid across his shoulder.

He felt the tip of her tongue flick against his skin as her mouth opened.

"
Kneel
."

The hand on his shoulder twitched. Freetrick felt something jab through his decomposing clothing and puncture his new skin.

Dizziness rolled over him.

"There," said the woman, Bloodbyrn. "It is done." Her pale face faded as Freetrick slumped onto the ground. "He does not seem to have defended himself in any way. How disappointing."

Freetrick tried to move. He couldn't.

"You two." He heard Bloodbyrn's voice, echoing and strongly slow now, "pick His Malevolence up and deposit him in the carriage. Mind the ogre."

Freetrick couldn't cry out. He could barely breathe.

"And you four…persons," said Bloodbyrn, "leave us now, before I slaughter you."

Dimly, Freetrick someone kneel beside him, a hard metallic claw caressed his cheek.

"For the Ultimate Fiend," crooned Bloodbyrn, "is mine now."

Chapter the Third

In which The Ultimate Fiend cannot deny his Heritage

The carriage was dark and hot. It rocked gently from side to side. And each time is rocked, it screamed.

"Eeeeh…eeeh…eeeh"

Freetrick squeezed his eyelids together, but he could still smell the leather, thick incense, and sweat of the carriage. The Skreans' carriage. He felt himself tilted backward, in time with that thin and rhythmic shrieking. The sound was just at the upper limit of hearing, but still recognizable: a human scream, gasping in unison with the carriage's rocking movement.

"Eeeeh…eeeh…eeeh" went the shrieking. Freetrick did not want to open his eyes and see who was making the noises. Probably not himself—but it was best not to take chances.

Someone sighed and shifted in the confined space. Lace rustled. Metal tinkled. A wave of bitter perfume enveloped Freetrick.

"
Hmm
-m! Why isn't he talking?" asked a voice as soft as milkweed flax. There was another rustle, and something around Freetrick's knees squeezed. His eyes popped open.

A cage of spiked iron clutched a glass sphere that glowed the color of fresh blood. It cast crimson-edged shadows over the face, bare shoulders, and pale, up-thrust décolletage of Bloodbyrn DeMacabre. Freetrick's poisoned and kidnapper sat on the seat opposite him, and given the carriage's uncomfortable tilt, above him. Her knees bracketed his in the tiny space, as she looked down at him from over her bat-winged bustier.

Freetrick tried to sink further into the cushions.

She smiled, and squeezed her legs around his again. "Aha, my lord awakens." In the tiny interior of the carriage, Bloodbyrn was close enough that even Freetrick's poor eyes could make out the gleaming crescent of her sharp silver teeth. She had at least removed her squid like hat.

"Eeeeh…eeeh…eeeh"

"Well, have you no greeting for your first concubine-to-be?" she demanded. "You are the Despot of Skrea! Sit
up
, my lord, and address me as I expect you to! And
cease
squinting! I
do
not know what life in the Do-Gooder Nations has led you to expect as regards proper behavior, my lord." Taut cleavage descended through the shadows. Her smirk flashed silver in the red darkness. "Hmm. But you will soon learn."

Freetrick could think of no adequate response to that, but the crazy woman's monologue had at least given him time to collate and organize his scattered thoughts.

He was kidnapped. Trapped. He needed to escape. He needed to…find a door! A door! Where?

Freetrick sucked in a breath of incense-laden air as he squinted into the blurry crimson shadows of the carriage. It was cube-shaped, with cushioned benches projecting from the fore and aft walls. That meant there should be doors on the other two sides. As Bloodbyrn continued to talk at him, Freetrick's hands swept madly across cushions, curtains, and gnarled ornamentation. He would find the door, open it, and be out of this nightmare before the horrible woman across from him could poison him again.