Angela of Troy

by SJB Gilmour

  I had always thought being a soldier and a necromancer was a combination of two of the messiest jobs possible. The former has often seen my armour drenched in blood and gore; the latter, my naked body smeared with evil grime. Then I went and fell in love. Oh what a silly girl I was for doing that.

  To think I, Angela of Troy (Angelina to my nearest and dearest), the Lentekhi record-holder for highest number of kills in a single battle, could ever be made to feel as helpless as a kitten by one unarmed man… well that’s just ludicrous. I had reached into the deepest pits of the most horrid hells imaginable. I had resurrected souls from the grasps of monsters that make Chimera look tame - all while I was stark naked without even the protective arm of Apollo about me.

  Yet there I was, weak at the knees. I should have sucked it up like the trained soldier I was. I should have run for my life, changed my name and moved to another planet. Vendor would have been nice. Or Jilde. The goblins had always had a soft spot for me.

  His name was Marzdane. Marzdane Hardingleflass. Marzdane Euripides Hardingleflass. His very initials spelled “MEH”. What an absolute twit I was.

  I’d been sent to Conundrum Gate, the headquarters of The Sorcerers’ Guild on Earth. All other attempts to mollify McConnell had failed. The standard soldiers sent to arrest him had been massacred. They needed someone tougher, more highly trained. Someone deadlier. They needed me.

  This werewolf was killing sorcerers. That alone indicated he was probably more than a mere lycanthrope, yet his behaviour was not typical of normal rogue full-blood werewolves. He was what the other werewolves in The Guild referred to as a Silver Shroud – not one of the traditional werewolf orders. Those orders, Black, Grey, Brown, White and Red were loosely ruled, well, as much as any werewolves can truly be ruled by anyone but their pack leader, by the rare and immensely powerful order of Golden Manes.

  Golden Manes were so rare it was unheard of for there ever to be more than a few of them alive at any one time and none of them had ever been female. At that moment, one of those Golden Manes, a wise and just healer called Rufus, was the chairman of The Guild.

  I had asked Rufus why The Guild or the werewolves themselves had not made a more concerted effort to contain McConnell. His reply was surprising.

  ‘The werewolves on this world and those on our home-world of Wolfenvald recognise Silver Shroud McConnell’s right to do as he sees fit,’ Rufus growled at me. ‘Were it up to me, he’d be left alone. But, The Guild has voted and the decision must be carried out. McConnell must be captured.’

  ‘And if he can’t be captured?’

  Now Rufus looked very sad indeed. ‘In that case Amazon, perhaps your death will persuade The Guild to drop the matter.’

  After that, I paid little attention to Rufus. I dismissed his views as those of a man in his decrepitude – old, frightened, and unrealistic. If he thought I could be beaten by a werewolf, no matter how powerful, he was sure to be mistaken.

  I spent the next hour being briefed my Marzdane on the particulars of McConnell’s private war. Were it not for the discipline drilled into me by centuries of military service, I’d have been mooning over him like a goat in heat.

  Marzdane was powerful. I could sense that, just as I knew he was sensing for signs of my own power. I felt his mind brush against mine like a lover’s finger tracing my face in post-coital bliss.

  As I stood there, stone-faced and terrified, I made sure to maintain the mental protection that could keep my mind from the touch of curious sorcerers or malevolent demons alike. He could have tickled my consciousness all he liked. He would never have seen more than a black, impenetrable wall. My mind would remain unread; the extent of my power unknown.

  He made his suit quite clear. After I left the main hall where I’d received my orders, he sought me out. Unlike many of his fellows, to Marzdane, being clean was quite important. He smelled as though he bathed frequently, he kept his fingernails short and clean and he even chewed a minty gum of gnomish invention that left his teeth sparklingly white and his breath sweet and fresh. Being close enough to gauge his cleanliness, I realised I’d have desired him even if he were as ugly as a troll.

  ‘Lieutenant Troy,’ he said when he caught up with me. He stood closer to me than any man ever had and lived since I’d joined the ranks. Had he not been the heir-apparent to the job of chairman, I could have gutted him then and there and not a soul would have chastised me for it.

  ‘When you return to report your success, I would be deeply,’ and he gazed into my eyes and inched forward, ‘honoured if we may take the opportunity to talk…’

  I did not let him finish. ‘About the weather?’ I asked him archly. I knew exactly what he wanted and my own reaction to him or not, he wasn’t about to get it. ‘Lord Hardingleflass, surely you have better opening lines?’

  He hardly missed a beat. ‘Humble lines often begin the most dramatic of operas,’ he purred.

  Ick. I still feel the sting of shame when I remember how I fell for such drivel. I should have laughed at him and dismissed him as the sleaze he was instead of wilting like a flower plucked from the field and left in the sun.

  ‘And like all classic operas, my dear, you know how this one ends.’

  This brought me up short. Did I know how things would play out between him and me? I had powers of seeing certainly. No necromancer could resist using the same powers that let them reach through the barriers between our plane and those beyond it to see their own future. I had not seen him in mine.

  Maybe it was his eyes. Maybe it was his smell. Maybe it was just that I’d not enjoyed such ardent pursuit from a man in ages. Like a dolt, I encouraged him.

  ‘And how does this one end, my lord?

  He reached out to touch my shoulder: an act strictly forbidden. Had another Amazon been present, she would have killed him then reported me for gross misconduct. I would have been stripped of my rank and held to ridicule.

  I tensed and backed away slightly. He withdrew his touch, but the damage was done. I had allowed it once and despite all attempts I had made at keeping him from knowing my thoughts, my actions, or lack thereof, had betrayed me.

  ‘The end is simple, my dear Lieutenant. You, a decorated and powerful Amazon warrior, and a necromancer of immaculate blood, agree to wed me, the soon-to-be highest-ranking sorcerer within the entire Sorcerers’ Guild. Together we shall make a truly formidable force.’ He smiled then and nodded at the scroll of orders I held in my hand. ‘For now,’ and then he bowed, all the while looking at me with that cursed charming smile and beautiful eyes, ‘I shall but await your speedy resolution to this rogue werewolf problem.’

  When he left, within me my emotions were in tumult. I very seriously considered finding some secluded spot to assuage the carnal urges he stirred within me all by myself. Unfortunately, Conundrum is such a web of enchantments no place is truly private. Distracted like that, it took me three tries to erect a simple portal to take me to Normandy.

  Luckily for me, the cold and damp climate that greeted me immediately banished my lust. Right then, finding shelter was more important than any sexual gratification, solo or accompanied.

  The kit I carried was simple. I had my weapons, soap, one change of clothes, a bedroll and bolt of tough hemp cloth for a humpy and a smaller cloth of the same course weave for a towel. I camped rough for two days before I tracked McConnell to the village.

  McConnell had made himself a den of sorts in one of the huts. I had seen him hunting, both in his human form and that of the wolf. Why he chose human dwellings at all mystified me. As a man, he was tall and fit and had I not been all aflutter over Marzdane, I might well have found him attractive enough to bed, despite his smell.

  As a wolf, he was breathtaking. He was roughly twice the size of a normal mortal wolf. His coat was glossy black, streaked with silver at his muzzle and paws. His eyes were a steely grey that glowed with terrible purpose. I had encountered enough enchanted creatures in my time to recognise raw power when I saw
it. This werewolf was more powerful than Marzdane. He was even more powerful than me, I guessed.

  Not that it would have been an issue. I had killed many individuals more powerful than myself. McConnell didn’t have my skill. Nor did he have the great god Apollo watching over him with lustful eyes.

  Apollo had bedded my mother aeons before my arrival. Like many males are prone to do, He became bored and eventually cast her aside. He did however keep a watchful eye on her line, believing stock bred from her to have superior sensual talents.

  Granted, I had taken my own fair share of lovers. However, I made no vows or declarations of exclusivity to them. Apollo took this as a sign I may yet accept His offer of marriage. God or no, I had no wish to share a bed with anyone who had shared that of my mother. Still, Apollo watched over me and in times of battle when I was hopelessly outnumbered or facing a foe of far greater prowess, I found myself fighting with the speed of a quickling and the strength of a titan.

  Four days after leaving Conundrum, and perhaps overconfident and certainly foolishly ignoring not one, but two demon’s references to McConnell’s curse, (as well as Rufus’ warning) I set out for Moira Cromwell’s hut. It was perhaps a few hours before dusk and so I had some advantage, but I knew this would soon be eroded. As fast as a trained Amazon can run through forest, wolves are much faster. Still, I hoped I would beat him to his prey.

  I did not. McConnell had passed me. I arrived at the hut, or what was left of it just as the sun was setting; McConnell just before. The vengeful werewolf and his intended victim had only just begun their martial engagement.

  McConnell was in his black and silver werewolf form. His hackles were raised and his tail low. He was crouching, perhaps forty paces from me, easily within range of my longbow.

  Moira Cromwell was facing him from across the yard in front of the smoking remnants of her hut. Her hair was singed and she was bloodied and filthy. Her clothes were but tatters. She was holding a small pail of some potion that gave off an ominous yellow vapour.

  Cromwell was an alchemist by trade and as such not very powerful in her own right. Still, she had been Angus’ colleague and no doubt knew more about other branches of sorcery than just her chosen path. Whatever was in that pail was sure to be a combination of some alchemy and other enchanted potent, and she was ready to hurl it at McConnell the moment he got close enough.

  I had no time to come between the two. As McConnell made to pounce, I readied my bow and drew a shaft. My arrow of choice was the kind we reserve only for battle against creatures of an enchanted nature. These bolts are long and tipped with heavy silver heads similar to those we use for hunting large prey. If the damage by the bolt alone isn’t enough, the silver poisoning that follows is usually enough to kill the victim.

  He leaped. I fired.

  Then some invisible force hit me as though I’d been struck by Cyclops himself. I felt a stabbing blow strike into me just to the side of my left breast, knocking me to the ground. It was as if I had been shot with the very arrow I had just fired at McConnell.

  The pain was beyond anything I had experienced. Oh, I had taken the odd arrow or two in my time. Sword blades had ripped my flesh and fires branded my skin, but I had never experienced the pain of silver poisoning my veins.

  The pain came in waves. Somehow, my blood had been infected with silver, the very poisonous metal with which I’d tipped my arrow. For mortals, silver remains inert. The lucky devils can even wear the stuff as jewellery in their ears and noses. Enchanted folk, especially human sorcerers like myself, aren’t so fortunate. It dissolves into our blood. Our organs burn and suffocate from lack of oxygen and every nerve in our bodies shrieks out at once.

  And if the pain was not enough, then came the horrors. My ears filled with the all-too familiar sounds of the battlefield. Howls and screams, the ringing of swords against swords and the duller, more wretched sounds of them rending flesh from bone. It may sound poetic, but such noises are always horrid, even to seasoned veterans such as me.

  Next came the hallucinations. Visions of every demon or foul spirit I had ever faced lunged at me unfettered. There were no wards or nonagrams to contain these nightmares. Demons, devils and every foe I had slain screamed at me in vengeful rage.

  All the while, there in a tiny pocket of my mind where He always kept His presence, Apollo did nothing.

  I was barely aware of my surroundings or the actions of the people in them. I have no idea what happened to Moira Cromwell. I can only assume she fled the moment I fired at McConnell. One thing I do remember is being lifted in strong male arms and carried through a portal.

  In my mind, I was in the grasp of demons far worse than the lecherous one I’d dealt with that morning. The pain and torment seemed so very real. I could feel them abusing my body and hear them screaming horrors at my soul.

  When these horrid visions faded, other nightmares came. They began innocently enough. They were even pleasant for a while. In them, Marzdane and I were enjoying each other’s embrace. Then at some stage while I was reaching the exquisite joys such activities can bring, he would begin to change.

  First, his touch would turn from hot to ice-cold. Then his body would feel different somehow. It would begin to feel foreign. Then monstrous. Just the touch of his skin sent spasms of pain through me. When it happened during the act of lovemaking, that pain was even worse. It was inside me, ripping my organs to bloody ribbons.

  What had begun as a pleasurable dream of me enjoying all the pleasures such intimate physical exertion with a man can bring, soon turned into the nightmare of demonic rape. As each terrifying dream came to the climax (either that of the demon or my death within the dream) I would wake screaming.

  Eventually, perhaps after days of this horror, I became aware of my surroundings. McConnell was in his human form, crouching over me and bathing my head and face with a damp cloth. Underneath me was some kind of cold rough stone. Had my body been able to move, I would have been struggling. Instead, I was feverish and weak. Just the act of calling out in my terror as I woke exhausted me.

  ‘You’re in The Reaches,’ McConnell told me. ‘The moon’s not full enough on Earth right now.’

  I lay back and shut my eyes. Moonlight is the only known cure for silver poisoning. Once the wretched stuff touches the blood of an enchanted being, thus coming alive and dissolving into the vital stream, it remains until it comes into contact with a powerful source of reflected light. Smiths and alchemists understand it better, but from what I gather, awakened silver will flow back up the source of that light to the object reflecting it.

  Mirrors and other such objects do not work for this. The source of the light reflected and the reflector itself need to be huge. That means moons and moonlight, and The Reaches on the elf planet of Vendor has the best supply when their moon is full. The Earth’s moon’s orbit takes about twenty-eight days. The moon of Vendor has a much slower astral journey. The lunar month on Vendor takes one hundred and ninety days. The full moon on Vendor lasts about two weeks, and its ability to heal those poisoned with silver about a month longer than that.

  I had been to The Reaches before. The huge mountain ranges reach high up past the clouds. That realm, far too craggy for the elves who prefer to remain down where the land is flatter, is home to dragons and phoenixes. While I was relieved to have been taken to where moonlight was strong, I was afraid. Very few climbed The Reaches without becoming dragon food. If McConnell had taken the risk of bringing me there, he was certainly determined to see me well.

  ‘Why?’ I croaked, trying to rise.

  ‘Never mind that for now,’ McConnell replied, pushing me back down. ‘When you’re stronger, any questions you have, I’ll answer.’

  He held a cup of liquid to my lips. Most spilled down my face, but I managed to swallow some of it. I couldn’t taste it for the glug and blood in my mouth. It could have been poison for all I knew. In my agony, I’d have welcomed it.

  I drifted in and out of consciousness a few
more times. The hours became one endless night. McConnell would pick me up and move me every so often, following the moon around Vendor. Some times, we were in valleys, once I think we were on a ship of some sort. More often however, it seemed he kept me to The Reaches where the moonlight was strongest and pulled more of the silver from my veins.

  Gradually, the voices in my head faded and the images appeared less frequently. The wound to my chest began to heal and breathing became easier. When I was able to sit up, the Silver Shroud gave me more food and drink. He also gave me information.

  ‘It’s the curse I carry, Amazon,’ he told me, sitting down on a rock. ‘Silver Shrouds are not like other werewolves.’ He looked about. We were in a small nook on a jagged mountainside. We were protected from the worst of the wind, but open to the sky above. Had it been a bigger place, it may have been used as a roost for a phoenix or worse, a lair for a dragon. I wasn’t capable of worrying much about such matters however. It was all I could do to follow McConnell’s conversation.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I was injured once,’ he replied. ‘Wounded and possessed by a demon. A werewolf saved me.’

  ‘She was a necromancer? She must have been powerful.’ I had exorcised my own share of demons from the bodies they had inhabited. Sadly, the demons had survived long enough to be returned to their hells, but their victims had not.

  McConnell shook his head. ‘Werewolves have a talent unique to their species. Every one of them can sacrifice the entirety of their own power - all their-life force to one goal. Hers was to rid me of the demon within me and keep me alive.’

  I blinked at him.

  He nodded sadly. ‘The demon was destroyed, as I would have been if not for her sacrifice. She lost her immortality, remaining an ordinary mortal wolf.

  ‘She died?’

  McConnell nodded. ‘I believe so,’ he murmured. His eyes were haunted and his face was strained.