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Post By The Hooded Hood warns readers that this issue contains gratutious kittens in peril Sat Oct 21, 2006 at 08:31:22 am EDT |
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#294: Untold Fairy Tales of the Parodyverse: The White Gate, and Other Fortresses | |
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| #294: Untold Fairy Tales of the Parodyverse: The White Gate, and Other Fortresses Previously: Earth remains under siege as the Parody Master tries to find ways through or round the Celestian barrier that excludes him. His forces in Faerie seek to find ways to attack by conquering the Many Coloured Land. Swept up in the chaos of war in Faerie, Miiri of Caph has been taken to the castle of Elfguard Commander of the defending host Baron Brass, who intends to make her his bride. Ruby Waver vanished while investigating the Baron’s Forbidden Tower. Asil Ashling, George Gedney, and Con Johnstantine are travelling to try and rescue her. Celtic werewolf Tanner is also unaccounted for. Meanwhile, word has reached the Lair Legion of the danger from Faerie via a summons from elf messenger Zebulon, and a team of heroes seeks a way to return with him to reinforce the beleaguered defenders of the White Gate of Aayesgarth. Xander the Improbable is also in Faerie with his reluctant companion Marion Nightshade, a woman bearing a remarkable resemble to Donar’s lost love Queen Annj. Untold Tales #274: Dreams and Fantasies Untold Tales #277: The Faerie Fayre Untold Tales #282: Beyond the Fields We Know, or Through the Looking Glass Untold Tales #288: Mything, Presumed Dead, or George and the Dragon The Hooded Hood's Homepage of Doom Who's Who in the Parodyverse Where's Where in the Parodyverse   The Brass Baron of Perfectgaard wedded Miiri of Earth on a warm summer’s afternoon before all the people of the land, as the satyrs played their nuptial tunes and the sylphs danced around the maypole. The Baron’s armies stood in shining ranks, each division gleaming in their blue and gold livery. The crowds cheered as the Justiciar proclaimed the alliance, sending the ravens wheeling up high into the azure sky. So the former Caphan pleasure-slave became the eighth Barona. The Baron had been unfortunate in his former choice of wives.Then there was feasting and dancing, great celebration amongst the villagers and peasants for this wedding meant a remission of tithes and taxes for a full week. For courtier and carl alike the occasion was a chance to forget the grim rumours from the east about the growing threat of war and to surrender to the joys and pleasures of this happy day. “You have made me the happiest of all men,” Baron Brass told his bride as they sat at the high table and watched the salamanders perform the sacred fire rite. “Or you shall do,” he added, with a glance at the ample green flesh of his newest wife. “And I am much pleased that you have shown proper obedience and ceased to ask about those former friends of yours who so cruelly deserted you.” Miiri bowed a jewel-cascaded head. “My lord has assured me that they are safe and well,” she replied. “There is no more to ask.” Brass nodded and smiled affectionately. “Mortals of Earth are not constant, Miiri. They are mired in the venal mud of a material world, and cannot love as real people do. They are weighed down with base matter that fouls their souls. We should not despise them for it, but rather pity them.” “My lord recalls that I too am from the world of matter?” “Ah, but my beauty, you are not from Earth. You descended from the stars.” The Baron would have gone on and composed a spontaneous poem to praise his love but just then he was interrupted by one of his captains. The portly man was sweating in his heavy braid tunic and clutching a travel-soiled scroll. “Um, sir,” he began with an unhappy salute, “there is a message…” “Gods of Tara, man!” the Brass Baron exploded, turning on the unfortunate soldier. “Did I not give explicit instructions that I was not to be disturbed with this nonsense on my wedding day?” “Sir, yes sir, but we have new intelligence from the scouts above Aayesgarth, and a new missive from Captain Arkenweald at the White Gate. A dire report, sire.” Brass hissed and snatched the parchment from his aide. He browsed the contents with an annoyed frown. “Rubbish!” he spat at it, then crumpled the paper and tossed it aside. “My lord, Sir Arkenweald has been holding the Gate without reinforcement against heavy odds for the waxing and waning of a moon now,” the captain ventured. “All reports agree that there is a great build-up of enemy forces to besiege the pass. Should the White Gate fail then there is no other natural defensible barrier between S’Chen the Empty and the defenceless plains of the Realm. We have soldiers idle here…” “We have soldiers here because they are needed here!” shouted the Baron, slamming his hand down on the feasting trestle, spilling his wine goblet so the crimson fluid stained the white cloth. “Would you have your Baron wed without an honour guard, captain? Would you? What do you know of high policy and strategy anyhow? Perfectgaard must be defended. In these vales there are many noble houses and their lords value the protection these knights offer them. There are no forces to spare to attend to Arkenweald’s timid vapourings.” The captain opened his mouth to reply then thought better of it. He saluted instead. “Send word to Arkenweald,” Brass hissed, “that if he cannot endure the challenges of command he may turn his leadership to some better man who does not fright at shadows. Tell him that others make do with the resources they have. So must he. No soldiers can be spared. Make sure he gets that message” “Sir,” acknowledged the captain. The Brass Baron looked down at his shirt. Splashes of wine marred the cloth of gold. “And now I must change my doublet,” he frowned. “Disturb me again at your peril, captain.” He turned to Miiri. “You must excuse me for a while, beloved. But I shall not be parted from you for long.” “Of course, my lord,” the Caphan replied. The captain watched his commander vanish from the great hall but stayed himself, uncertain now how to proceed. “Are soldiers needed very badly at this White Gate?” Miiri asked him. The captain was startled that the Barona would speak to such as him. “Yes, milady. Arkenweald faces disaster, and if he fails then all Faerie may be doomed. But the Baron…” “Is your commander, Sir Knight,” Miiri reminded him. “And he has given you orders.” “I am to send word that no reinforcements will go to Aayesgarth. I am to be certain that Captain Arkenwelad gets the message.” The officer looked disappointed and miserable. “Then obey my husband and send the messenger,” Miiri instructed. “Make sure Arkenweald gets the message, exactly as the Baron said. Send ten messengers. Send a hundred.” She leaned forward and stared into the captain’s eyes. “Send a thousand.” The soldier took a moment to understand what he was being told to do. “A… a thousand?” “Make sure the message arrives,” the Caphan told him. “Whatever it takes, however many men it needs to deliver it. A thousand men, if needs be. Two thousand.” She laid a perfect finger on the captain’s chest. “My husband has commanded it.” “Y-yes, milady. Thank you, milady. At once, milady.” Miiri nodded. “You may go.” In the darkness of the forbidden tower, the dead wives of the Brass Baron whispered to each other. Their threnodies recalled their past lives, before they had been claimed by the Lord of Perfectgaard, before their human nature had got the better of them and each in turn had dared probe the secrets of the locked room in the highest turret of the Baron’s castle. Sometimes the Baron still came to visit them in the dark. “Good afternoon, my darlings,” he bade them as he let himself through the complex traps that protected his secrets. “This is a happy day for all of us. Soon you will have a new sister.” The corpses chained around the walls shifted in their shackles, rotted meat and exposed bone rattling as they moved. “Of course,” the Brass Baron went on, “Miiri is from the stars. She has been trained to obedience to her lord. She may be free of the wilfulness that has marred our own relationships, my dears. She may not betray her vows of trust and seek to know my secrets.” “Secrets?” came a caustic voice from the shadows. “Your standard Bluebeard scenario? That one’s a no-brainer.” The Brass Baron turned to where Ruby Waver hung in chains like his brides. “You still live?” he asked with mild interest. “I had expected the enchantments of your gyves to have already leached the life-strength from you to feed my immortality.” Ruby shrugged. “Maybe you can try and get your money back under warranty? I’m nobody’s free lunch, buster.” The Brass Baron nodded in acknowledgement that the interloper who had somehow penetrated so far into his tower before the guardians had caught her was no ordinary thief. “Your mind-witcheries can only protect you for so long,” he noted. “And I have all the time in the world to wait.” Ruby had an unpleasant feeling that the Brass Baron was speaking the truth. “So what’s the deal, Brassy?” she asked, role-playing the brave undaunted heroine; if only it was true. “You take the wives, you wait for them to check your spooky tower of horrors, then you strap them up to your magic chains and steal their lives to prolong yours?” Brass snorted. “Mortals. You always try to debase the sacred truths with your prosaic moral judgements.” “Who are you calling moral, Norman Bates?” The Baron walked past Ruby to the heavy covered mirror on the far side of the tower chamber. “You wanted my secrets, witch?” he challenged Ruby. “You want to know truths too terrible for mortal minds to bear? Very well then. I shall show you the Luck of Perfectgaard. I shall give you to the Luck of Perfectgaard. And then you shall know.” “I know how these stories end,” Ruby retorted. “And it’s never good for the smug villain.” “You know nothing,” Brass promised her. “But you shall do.” He drew aside the curtain until his own reflection appeared in the dusty glass. Ruby tried again to slip her wrists through the metal shackles, but despite the slick coating of blood where she’d torn her flesh there was no way to escape. “This isn’t good,” she admitted to herself as the reflection within the mirror began to move although the Baron stood still. The image changed. The handsome nobleman became a twisted, deformed beast. All the evil thoughts and ignoble deeds of the Brass Baron bubbled in its twisting flesh. A long, pustuled tongue drooled almost to the floor. “Dorian Grey,” Ruby babbled, trying to stay in control. “Dr Jeckyll and Mr Hyde.” “I do not merely remain young and handsome forever,” the Brass Baron told her. “I remain perfect, without any stain or fault. All my imperfections remain in here.” The thing in the glass noticed Ruby and began to drool. “Yes, you may have her,” the Baron told his other self. “Only do not kill her. She may as well serve some purpose in her otherwise futile and useless life.” “What?” Ruby gasped. “Hey, wait…” “I cannot stay to watch,” Brass apologised. “My brides will bear you company through your ordeal. I have a wedding to attend, and a wedding night to enjoy. Goodbye.” Much as Ruby had hated the Baron’s presence, she almost screamed as he closed the tower door and plunged it into darkness but for a single candle he had left behind. The reflection leered and gibbered and pushed one gnarled hand through the glass to begin climbing through it towards its bright new toy. “Ah,” said Xander the Improbable. “A miscalculation.” The sorcerer supreme of the Parodyverse and his companion Marion Nightshade had slipped past the guards around Lord Slithis’ captured tiend gate. They had used the ancient gateway to escape from hell, where Slithis and the force he commanded by the Parody Master were facing a much more potent and eternal evil. They had travelled back to Faerie through the passage used to pay the tithe due every seven years to keep the Many Coloured Land independent from the grip of the Abyss. They just hadn’t expected Lord Slithis’ troops to have been on the Faerie side as well, or to have been keeping a watch. “Stand to attention!” snapped Xander as the orcs of Miserablegitheim pointed their halberds at the interlopers. “You! Get that blade polished, soldier! You call that a weapon? I’ve seen elven grannies with sharper knitting needles. And don’t slouch!” It might even have worked if Lord Slithis hadn’t also chosen that moment to retreat through the Tiend Gate. “Ah,” said Xander again. “Well well well,” frowned the Tyrant of Miserablegitheim. “The master of the mystic crafts. I wondered who had untied my wardings so very ably.” “It wasn’t hard,” Xander shrugged. “They were very sloppy.” Slithis leaned forward and smiled at Marion. “And I see that you have brought me my bride.” The setting sun painted the ancient stones of Rath Askrigg with evening colours under a wide dappled sky. The faerie fort blended seamlessly with the bleak haunted Bavarian mountain that had once been its home in a bygone age when men were closer to the hidden worlds. Now it had come again, and with it the surprised and battered company of Elfguard defenders who had been besieged there by the armies of the Dark Host. “It’s remarkable,” Captain Erundeus confessed to Sydney St Sylvain, the Fashion Fairy. “I never thought in all my life to see the mortal realm.” “Just don’t stray far from the Rath,” Sydney advised. “My ex-hubby Leo’s calculations suggest that the electromagnetic fields blanketing our world now would erase you in seconds. I’m sorry.” “Earth was beautiful once,” the Elfguard commanded replied sadly. “Maybe it still is; but not for us.” Over in the main courtyard of the carved rock fortress the champions that were to return to Faerie with the elves were making final preparation. “You know what’s going to happen, then,” Al B. checked with the team again. “As best we can tell, the Celestian barrier that’s keeping the Parody Master out is also blocking the regular routes to Faerie and the Mythlands. Dr Day-Vincent was able to provoke the ancient nature of this Rath to shift it most of the way here, and then Liu Xi Xian used her elemental gifts to empower the land to bring it the rest of the way. But going back will be pushing uphill. It’ll be much harder.” “If we kin jump from Faerie ta Earth then so could the P.M.,” Trickshot pointed out. “So we gotta get over there and stop him stealin’ more of these fortresses that he could use ta invade us.” Liu Xi Xian was a young Chinese woman with a worried expression. “I have never attempted to awaken the deep forces of earth and water in this way before,” she warned them. “I will effectively become the gateway. But it will not be easy or without danger.” “Just do your best,” Hatman encouraged her. “That’s all anyone can do. I have faith in you.” Liu Xi shot him a grateful smile and went back to looking at the diagrams Al B. Harper had drawn for her. If she could only conceptualise what the archscientist had tried to explain in terms that spoke to her heart as well as her head she stood a chance. “We’re good to go, Hatty,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! called, saluting his glorious leader. “I’ve packed my dice, my character sheets, and both first and third edition rulebooks because who knows what they’ll be playing over there in Faerie?” “It should be very interesting,” agreed Dancer. “Didn’t you say it was very interesting in Faerie, Vizh?” “Interesting wasn’t the first adjective I used,” muttered the possibly fake man. Visionary was still using one of Hallie’s hologram emitter drone to project a physical body for himself. “At least on the other side I’ll likely get a proper body back.” “I just hope you don’t get Hallie’s pixie outfit,” snickered Flapjack, the Legion’s disgusting butler. Faerie tended to translate clothes, gear, and even people into fey equivalents. “Mind you, now the idea’s in your head…” “The sun is setting,” Sydney St Sylvain pointed out. “This is your time.” “Yes. Fame and glory awaits,” Zebulon, elf messenger proclaimed. “And also, um, the possibility of horrible gory death. But famous and glorious horrible gory death.” Donar Oldmanson picked up the reins to his goat chariot and gestured for his party to climb aboard. “Let the gore begin for the nonce,” he called out happily. It was quite a crush getting Dancer, Visionary, Trickshot, Flapjack and Zebulon aboard the open-platformed carriage around him. CrazySugarFreakBoy! just perched on a war-goat. “Okay big guy,” the wired wonder called. “Let’s go totally Walt Simonson!” “Take care while we’re gone, Hatty,” Dancer called out. “Be sure to look after G-Eyed and Beth.” “And stomp some Avawarrior butt,” Trickshot added by way of encouragement. “Don’t worry about us,” Citizen Z assured them. “I’ll be standing right behind Hatman at all times. To take care of him.” The Shoggoth shifted in his bandages, as if smelling the wind. “The dimensional tides are high,” he noted. “The Celestian barrier is weak in this place for now.” “Are you ready, Liu Xi?” Al B. asked. “It’s going to be hard but this is the best moment for…” “I can sense it is,” the elementalist interrupted him. her voice sounded distant now as she moved far from the world of ordinary perceptions into a place only her mind could see where matter and energy danced. “Let’s go…” The ground trembled. The world seemed to ripple. Rath Askrigg moved. “Yeeeeeeee-haaaaaaahhhhhhh!” came Donar's dopplered voice as his goat chariot surged through the boundaries between dimensions. The vehicle appeared a hundred miles south-east of where Captain Erundeus and Rath Askrigg returned, diverted by being the fulcrum round which Liu Xi had bent the forces she commanded. One chariot wheel bounced on the ground, flipped over, and ploughed the vehicle into a stand of withered trees reducing them to matchwood. “So we’ve arrived then,” Trickshot noted, picking himself out of a hawthorne hedge and shaking the splinters of wood from his clothing. “Ouch,” complained Zebulon, dropping head first from an ash tree. “Don’t you Ausgardians understand the basic concept of the brake?” “Any landing that one canst walk away from…” Donar noted happily, dragging his goats out of the turf channel they had carved. “That was great!” CSFB! enthused, bouncing happily as he controlled the kinetic energies of the crash. “Definitely an A-ticket attraction.” “We’re here,” Dancer admitted, pulling herself up. “Oh. And we’ve changed.” She demonstrated the pink tutu and strap-on fairy wings she was now wearing. “I’m back to being a godmother.” “And wow,” CSFB! beamed, displaying his green and orange Peter Pan outfit, “Now I need to find a crocodile.” Trickshot was in Lincoln green, wearing a hood. “But where’s Vizh and Flapjack?” he puzzled, looking round the landing site. “How far did they bounce?” Donar was in a hairier and hornier version of his regular garb. “I know not,” he admitted. He held up a yellow overcoat. “But here art their clothes.” “Okay,” Sydney St Sylvain conceded, back on the hill that had hosted the faerie rath. “I think we’ve established that the Faerie Queene has taken measures to keep Vizh and Flapjack out of her kingdom. Now somebody pass them something to wear.” Visionary desperately cycled through the menus on his holographic emitter device to try and find a clothing generator. “Don’t worry,” Citizen Z told him. “You have very little to worry about.” “Still, it worked for everybody else,” Al B. enthused. “And if that conduit works then I have a few important clues about how to bypass the barrier so I can get to Yo and to Miss F. You did it, Liu Xi!” But the young elementalist sprawled out on the ground didn’t move. “Oh dear,” the Manga Shoggoth gurgled, looking down at her. “I thought that humans were supposed to respire?” The teeming celebrating throng milled outside Perfectgaard castle, happy at the free ale. George Gedney and Asil Ashling struggled against the flow to get to the gatehouse. “That must be the nasty Forbidden Tower, then,” Con Johnstantine noted, weaving between the crowds with his hands in his trenchcoat pockets. “Very eldrich.” “It’s no laughing matter, Johnstantine,” Asil told the irritating occultist. “Ruby and I were scouting it to learn what Baron Brass was hiding there. She went up ahead of me and a grating came down to trap her. Before I could get help I was kidnapped and carried off. I heard her scream. And that was days ago now.” “I could have helped us get here faster if you’d let me use the Chronometer of Infinity,” George argued with Johnstantine. “I can mask its signature, and even with the additional power cost of operating now that Celestian barrier is repressing time travel I could have…” “No point rushing, squire,” Con told him. “Either Ruby was dead ten minutes after Asil got kidnapped or she wasn’t. Better we just take our time and work out what the plot is and not get killed as well, eh? Save your magic watch, er sword, for later on.” “We need to get through those gates,” Asil noted. “I could alter my age to look like a little girl and you two could disguise yourselves as…” Johnstantine walked up to the nearest guard and knocked on his helmet. “Watcha, mate. The Lady Asil’s back from her walkabout and we’ve all turned up to kiss the bride. Take us to your leader.” The guards pointed their weapons. “Do you have any plans that aren’t insanely stupid?” demanded George testily. “The Baron’s been expecting these traitors,” the captain of the guard announced. “Chain them up and take them to the tower.” “Okay, first thing. I’m not Princess Annj of Ausgard or whoever you all think I am. I’m Marion Nightshade, pissed Earthling Celtic jewellery-maker. Second thing, if you don’t get your hand off my leg I’m going to break your fingers.” “Such passion!” admired Lord Slithis. “Such fire! With every word you betray your godly origins, my dear. Whatever enchantments might be clouding your mind I can assure you that… Aaagh!” “Warned you about the hand. Want to go for a thumb as well?” Lord Slithis, sorcerer-king of Miserablegitheim, snapped his fingers back into place with a perverse enjoyment. “Clearly there are great magics at work to change you into mortal guise, to create a history for you out of whole cloth. When I possess you I shall possess them too, and find ways of bending them to my will.” Marion shook her head. “I told Donar and I’m telling you. There will be no possession. I don’t do possession. No possessing.” Lord Slithis’ pale face twisted with hate. “You dare name that… that Ausgardian in my presence? After he stole you from me and took you as his own? After he imprisoned me for all eternity so he could rut with you in his lascivious bed in his fleapit of a kingdom?” “Okay, again. No rutting. Just a couple of dates and a kiss or two. That beard itches. But frankly he got to bases you’ll never see.” Slithis chuckled and drank his dark red wine; at least Marion hoped it was wine. “You will change your mind, my dear,” he promised. “I have many ways of… persuading.” Marion tried to hide her nervous swallow. “It’s not going to happen, Slithis. You’re not my type. I don’t date slugs.” “Oh, there are potions in my collection that would have you rutting with donkeys if I used them on you,” the master of the dark host assured her. “But for a true soul-binding I’ll need to prepare something a little bit more potent. Something to make you love me forever with every fibre of your being, no matter what I do to you.” He sipped from his goblet again, musing. “Yes, that’s what I’ll do. And all I need is the crushed heart of Donar Oldmanson.” Marion felt her own heart skip a beat. “Donar? What about him? He’s not here.” “He will be,” Slithis promised with an evil leer. “I’m looking forward to it.” Marion searched her feelings and came to an admission. “Me too.” “Did you imagine anything could happen here in Perfectgaard – anything at all – that I would not be aware of?” the Brass Baron demanded. “I sensed you days ago when you first entered my lands and spilled blood.” Tanner shrugged. “Maybe I just didn’t care that you knew I was coming to kill you.” The Baron had descending the main staircase to return to the celebration when he’d found the slaughtered guards. “A werewolf, kill me? Do you know who I am?” Tanner suggested a few possibilities. None of them were polite. “I am a Faerie Knight of the First Order. An Ancient of the Sylvanatii. A Kindly One.” “So you’re a big fairy. Right.” The Brass Baron looked over at the huge hairy monster crouched in the windowframe. “I am the land. Nothing happens here save by my leave. All this realm exists only for my pleasure.” Tanner moved forward. “I hope it’s your pleasure to have your head ripped off and have someone spit down your neck then,” he replied. Brass shook his head. “It is not. I know why you’ve come here, lycanthrope. You’re looking for the grubby peasant witch who attended my Lady Miiri. You have plans for her. But you’re too late.” Tanner growled. Across the castle people looked around nervously but couldn’t say why. “If I’m too late then I won’t just tear out your heart, I’ll tear out your soul as well.” The Baron looked mildly impressed. “Oh, one of those werewolves. I thought you were all extinct.” “Imagine what an honour you’re about to receive then,” said Tanner, flexing his claws. The Baron pulled his sword. Before it was out of its sheath Tanner had raked him from neck to groin. And then the Baron healed up. “I’ve just changed this tunic once!” he snapped angrily. He moved faster and hit harder than he had any right to do, smashing Tanner into the thick stone castle buttress with enough force to crack it. Tanner growled and blurred forward, foaming at the jaws. Brass gestured and silver chains grew out of the floor to entangle the werewolf. Tanner struggled but was gradually pulled lower and lower until at last he was pressed onto the floor. The Baron pulled out a silver dagger. “You’ll make Miiri a lovely cloak,” he promised before he sawed off Tanner’s head. Liu Xi had pushed harder and dug deeper than ever before. She’d felt the realms bend around her as she’d harnessed the elements to empower the ancient magics of Faerie; felt the glory of the Many Coloured Land wash through her. Then nothing. She awoke on the floor of a grey cube. She couldn’t sense the walls. She couldn’t sense elements anywhere around her. It was like being suddenly stricken blind and deaf. “It’s a psychic plane,” the Parody Master explained to her. “I specially constructed it as a place we could meet despite the Celestian barrier. Unfortunately there are no elements here for you to manipulate even if I allowed it, not even void.” Liu Xi jerked round in horror to find the red and black armoured dimensional conqueror standing over her: the man who intended to make her his unwilling bride. She tried to frame a whole range of responses in her fear-numbed brain, but she couldn’t find one that would escape her lips. “There’s no escape for you, Liu Xi Xian,” the Parody Master explained. “You reached too far beyond that little Celestial wall of yours. And now you will be mine.” “Alone, at last,” smirked Baron Brass as he carried his bride into their mirrored bedchamber. “I thought those tedious people would never stop singing my praises and allow us some time together.” Mirri was tumbled down onto the bed, where she performed a lithe roll that finished with her kneeling at the other end. “And now that we have fulfilled all the rituals that your culture demands before mating,” she told him, “I would very much like to show you the best of those from mine.” Brass caught the seductive undertones of her offer, and paused in the act of doffing his tunic. “And those would be?” Mirri blushed. “On my world it is considered to be an omen of the relationship to come how lovers perform on their first night together. Will their love be short and abrupt, or long and fulfilling? Will they return to each other again and again, drinking the heady delights of passion until their souls are delirious for bliss, or will they merely exchange brief minor pleasures and find the other wanting?” She leaned spectacularly forward. “On Caph there are means by which a woman can prolong the joys she provides. Sacred techniques that restore manhood again and again and again, for days on end, until neither she nor her master can continue without dying of ecstasy.” “Are there?” the Baron replied in a choked voice. “There are.” Miiri produced a small glass elixir. “First we drink together of the g’zidran oil, that our strength be multiplied to shake the heavens with our love. And then I shall perform for you the Dance of the Nine Deliriums.” She smoother her hands over her lush body. “May I deliver the Dance of the Nine Deleriums?” “Yes,” agreed the Baron, flushing heavily. “Yes, I believe you can.” “Then,” smiled Miiri, “let us sup together of the g’zidran, and I shall show you what I can do.” The newlyweds drank the thick green fluid together. Miiri stood before him, struck a pose, and began to dance. When he fell into a drugged sleep five minutes later she took the Forbidden Tower key from his belt and went to find her friends. Xander was in chains in Lord Slithis’ laboratory, carefully shackled away from anything he might use to escape. When Marion was bundled into join him he was playing with a basketful of kittens reserved for the necromancer’s experiments later. “Are you alright?” he asked as the woman was chained up beside him. “Creeped out to the maximum,” Marion confessed. “Slithis is heading towards a major sexual harassment suit. You?” Xander handed her a black and white kitten. “So far I’m not having much luck at teaching these animals to pick locks with their claws,” he admitted. “They do seem to have mastered getting tangled up in balls of wool pretty adequately however.” “Slithis was the one that sent those monsters after me at the monorail station, right?” Marion checked. “Yes. Apparently Princess Annj was going to wed him to save her kingdom until Donar stumbled onto the plot and undertook three impossible quests to win the lady instead.” “How impossible?” Marion asked in spite of herself. “Not as impossible as Slithis had hoped,” the little mage admitted. “Anyhow, in the end Donar and Slithis faced off against each other and Donar won Annj. There’s only one thing that puzzles me.” “Only one?” “Yes,” Xander frowned. “There was just a moment, from what I can tell, a mere fraction of a second, when Slithis could have cheated and used his full power to annihilate the wounded helpless hemigod of thunder. But his power failed. Then it was back to their previous grapplings, and nobody grapples better than Donar.” “I’ll remember that if we date again,” Marion promised. “Donar married Annj and was by all accounts blissfully happy. Slithis was imprisoned – everyone thought forever but then Ausgard vanished when the Parody Master attacked.” “And then people got their weird obsession about me being Annj,” Marion supplied. “So now Slithis wants to dissect Donar so he can create some passion-juice to make me his faithful little love-puppy and I get dragged through hell and whatever-this-place-is because I happen to be a goddess lookalike.” “That’s one way of looking at it,” agreed Xander, stroking the purring kitten on his lap. “But I’m still missing something.” “There’s probably a reason why the tower’s called Forbidden. It’s dangerous to look wherein a villain’s secret’s hidden. There’s traps and snares and horrors here to catch us out, I fear. Are we entirely certain this is such a good idea?” “Asil and Ruby came up here. Some evil befell them,” Miiri, Barona of Perfectgaard told the little glass phial of rhyming wishing well water hanging between her breasts. “I intend to find out what.” “You’ve drugged you new-wed husband and you’re breached his haunted tower. He’ll waken hurt and angry and you’re trapped here in his power.” “I am not his slave. He is not my master. It is my duty to escape him.” The Wishing Well sloshed unhappily as Miiri used the Baron’s key to open the door into the base of the tower. “That may be Caphan custom on your own so-distant star. But here you’re on another world different from lands afar. Here in Fey you made a vow to be the Baron’s bride. He is your husband now by law – no, do not go inside!” Miiri slipped through the forbidding portal and looked around the dusty cluttered room. She could find no footprints, although she was leaving them herself. She padded to the staircase and began to climb. “All I’m saying, Miiri, is the Baron’s not forgiving. You’ve fooled and disobeyed him and he might not keep you living. Poor Asil and poor Ruby might already have been slaughtered. I don’t think I could stand to watch as you were hung and quartered.” “Wishing Well,” the Caphan said testily, “could you shut up? Please? You’re not helping.” “Humph! I’m only trying to deliver good advice. I’m worried sick about you and I’m trying to be nice. I can’t do aught to help you else upon your quest I fear. My wishing powers only work for one time every year. “ Miiri turned the keys in the lock to the upper room. She yelped as a heavy iron needle jerked out and stabbed her hand. “Ouch!” She cupped her bleeding hand her lips. “I warned you!” the Wishing Well cried. “Oh I warned you to beware this awful gate. That wound will not stop bleeding and will cause your cruel fate. That proof of disobedience is all the Baron needs. He’ll know of your intrusion and he’ll see your body bleeds.” “I don’t care,” Miiri hissed, pressing forward. As she stepped on the ninth step the portcullis rattled down behind her to trap her in the tower. “I’m going to find my sisters.” Somewhere a deep bell tolled; an alarm bell that could wake the Baron whatsoever his condition. Miiri hurried upwards, knowing her time was short. The Doomherald looked up from reading The Taming of the Shrew. “Sir Mumphrey Wilton,” he recognised as the eccentric Englishman was let into his cell. “This should be interesting.” Mumphrey sat down opposite the captured emissary of the Parody Master and regarded the prisoner. “Hmph,” he said. “I know so much about you, of course,” Exu went on. “As the former god of murder I know all my worshippers. And you have racked up your fair share of offerings for me, haven’t you, Sir Mumphrey? More than your friends who think so highly of you currently suspect.” “If you know what I’ve done,” the old man responded, “then you know how dangerous it can be to cross me. You know what I can accomplish, even against gods.” The Doomherald considered this. “Point taken,” he conceded. “Is this a social chat?” “Don’t make a habit of socialising with feckless bounders,” Mumphrey replied. “Playin’ games with young women is a reprehensible thing. Servin’ a mad tyrant like the Parody Master is inexcusable.” “Don’t be ashamed to say what you really think.” Sir Mumphrey snorted. “I think,” he replied, “that you are so confused and so bored that you don’t know what the hell to do now. I think you really don’t know who you are – somebody’s done a royal job on you and I’m not so sure it’s Hero Feeders – and you’re flounderin’ for identity and purpose. I think you have lived so long that everything seems old and jaded. And I think I don’t give a damn for your problems since you’re proud of bein’ a murder-god and since you’ve aided and abetted your Parody Master to slaughter and conquest that deserves you to be damned in hell.” The Doomherald blinked and stared in amazement at his visitor. “Well I asked,” he admitted. “However,” Mumphrey went on, “Dancer says you gave her some useful material about what the Parody Master’s doin’, and about that Infinity Forge thingie of his on the Conceptual Plane. So for now I’m overlooking the fact you’re a blasted goitre not fit to be chopped up and fed to the pigs and I’ve come to ask you some more about how we can bring down your boss.” “Have you been trained in people skills?” Exu wondered. “Because you’d make a wonderful human resources manager.” “Are you going to do the right thing for once, Doomherald, or will you continue being a useless blot playing pointless games for your eternal miserable existence?” “Ooh, tough love,” grinned Exu. “I love it. I’m getting…” And then his face changed. He turned his head as if listening. He went pale. “Sir Mumphrey,” he announced. “I have to go.” “To go?” Sir Mumphrey ejaculated. “How, sirrah? And where?” The Doomherald’s expression was bleak and frightened. “To do the right thing,” he said. And he vanished. Con Johnstantine awoke with a tongue in his mouth. He didn’t really bother to worry about why, he just let his fingers do the walking. Miiri’s mithril dagger gently pressed below his belt. “You’re awake now,” she pointed out. “Yeah,” agreed the irritating Englishman. “And definitely getting mixed messages.” “We found you in the Tower,” the Wishing Well piped up, “under foul enchantments deep. Enchanted here with others in a fell eternal sleep. Fettered by these evil chains that seep away your soul. Tradition says a kiss will wake you up and make you whole.” Johnstantine blinked and looked around. He saw George Gedney blinking back at him, looking flushed and a little dishevelled. Across the room Asil still hung from her chains in magical slumber. Next to her Ruby Waver was also shackled, trying to stay as far away as possible from a free-standing mirror covered with a purple cloth. “The gang’s all here, then,” Johnstantine noted. “Any sign of Hallie? That was a wonderful pixie outfit.” “Can you get these chains off us?” Ruby asked. “Only I’ve been here long enough to really need a bathroom break. And you do not want to see the evil reflection of the Brass Baron that lives in that mirror. He is not a fun date.” “Have you been harmed?” Miiri asked her anxiously. “You care? ” Ruby asked, betraying her surprise. “Well things weren’t looking too good, I admit, when your beloved Baron strapped me to his wall of death to gradually get soul-sucked to oblivion to feed his eternal perfection. And then he introduced to me his sleazy mirror-double who shows all the vices and sins that the Baron covers up with his Forbidden Tower magics. But before the thing could come out of his glass to play doctor I managed to flip the cover back over the mirror to keep him inside.” George was puzzled. “How could you reach the curtain from where you are chained?” “Oh, I reckon Ruby-girl’s got a trick or two she isn’t telling about,” Con noted. Ruby deliberately ignored him. She didn’t want anyone knowing about her wild telekinetic gift. “So Miiri-luv, any chance those keys you’re sporting could unlock these handcuffs. Only after that wake-up kiss I really need my hands free for a moment.” “Asil still sleeps,” George worried. “I could awaken her as I did you two,” Miiri assured him, “but I thought that perhaps it would be better if you roused her.” “Me?” George stammered. “Like you’ve not rehearsed it,” Ruby scoffed. “Just snog the girl and let’s get on. Maybe Asil can do that age-changing trick to slip out of her shackles?” As George undertook his duties blushing furiously, Miiri looked around at the seven women’s corpses dangling from chains around the circular tower room. “Are these Brass’ other wives?” she shuddered. “Is this my fate too?” “He’s not big on divorce settlements, is he?” Johnstantine admitted. “Before the Baron brought you others up here,” confessed Ruby, “I think they were whispering to me. Telling their sad stories.” Miiri looked in anguish at the manacled corpses. “We have to find a way to free them as well.” “George! What are you doing?” squeaked Asil. “He’s arousing you,” Ruby explained. “Rousing her. I was waking her up,” George corrected. Ruby and Johnstantine smirked. “Can you escape your bonds?” Miiri asked her. Asil tried but found the enchantments of the chains prevented it. The Wishing Well suddenly called out in warning. “I don’t wish to alarm you but I think I’d better say I’ve got a nasty feeling that your husband comes this way. He’s passing through the locks and bars and coming to this room. He’s very very angry and he’s got here to bring you doom!” “Uh oh,” frowned George. “If only he’d not taken my Chrono-sword.” He glared at Johnstantine. “Or was all of this part of your plan?” “Well, we found out what the bastard’s up to, didn’t we? And we know how to stop him, what with the magic mirror evil double and all that. Now we just need to kick the crap out of him when he gets here. Let’s just hope he’s as predictable as I think.” The final tower door burst open. The Brass Baron stepped in, glittering blade in one hand, draped in Tanner’s bloody pelt. “Go on then, Johnstantine,” Asil challenged. “Stop him!” Ruby realised what the Baron was wearing and screamed. The curtain over the mirror was ripped away revealing the monster inside. The wrathful Baron reached out to seize Miiri. “Now for our wedding night,” he spat at her.  The dark elves arrived in the middle of the night to take the kittens for slaughter. The purple-skinned creatures giggled as they confiscated the little furry bundles and dropped them in a sack.“Leave them alone!” Marion shouted furiously, but the elves just giggled again and showed her their skinning knives. “Don’t excite them any more,” Xander advised her. “They’re just enjoying your reactions. They think that we’re chained up over here unable to reach any laboratory apparatus to use to escape. They’re tormenting us.” “But they’re going to hurt those kittens,” cried Marion. “They’re going to… to chop them up for experiments or something.” Then she paused and turned back to the sorcerer supreme. “They think we can’t reach any apparatus to escape? But we can’t!”  Xander smiled gently. “We can’t reach any of the lab stock, no,” he agreed. “But we’ve managed to get some over here and played with them all evening anyway.”“The kittens? But how can kittens help us escape? Those horrible elf-things are about to slice the poor beasts to bits!” Xander leaned back. “Be ready to leave,” he advised. The dark elves pulled out the first mewling bundle and held it up so Marion could see what they were about to do to it. Another feline nudged a curious nose through the laboratory tent flap, attracted by the wailing of the kittens. The dark elves spotted it and went to add it to the slaughter. Lisa’s cat didn’t like being grabbed by the scruff of the neck by greasy dark elves. Lisa’s cat didn’t like it al all. Lisa’s cat didn’t like anybody but him tormenting kittens either. Lisa’s cat felt the need to express strong views on the subject. Lisa’s cat unsheathed his claws.  When the nearest lab trestle was overturned by the screaming dark elves as they tried to escape Xander selected the appropriate acid bottle to dissolve his chains and led Marion away from the chaos before the cat had run out of victims.“Greetings, foul troll-lings. I art Donar Oldmanson, Captain of the High Host of the White Gate, on a mighty quest to slay most grievously the Doomwraith of the Parody Master which art besetting these fair lands for the nonce. If you wouldst be so good as to direct us there ere I strike off they heads with mine enchanted baseball bat I wouldst be most grateful.” “I’ve gotta admit,” Trickshot commented as the troll closed in to pound on the hemigod of thunder, “that’s his best attempt at diplomacy yet.” “But those trolls aren’t smart enough to pull off this whole folding bridge crevasse trap,” CrazySugarFreakBoy! argued, checking his Monster Manual for form’s sake even though he knew all the stats off by heart. “There’s got to be somebody else around here who’s the secret mastermind.” “Maybe the big yellow chubby one-horned fellow with the glowing staff?” Dancer suggested, backflipping round and hooking the stave from the monster’s fingers. “Yay! Ogre mage!” CrazySugarFreakBoy! enthused. “5+2 hit dice, 650 experience points!” “Do sneezing arrows affect them?” Trickshot wondered. “Never mind. I’ll find out.” “Nobody here wilt give simple directions,” complained Donar as he picked up the trolls heads and hurled them down the chasm. “Tis plain bad manners.” “You stay away from her!” George Gedney shouted, struggling in his chains as the Brass Baron approached his bride. “I mean it! Leave her alone! You won’t touch her while I live!” “George!” Asil cried, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop the museum curator’s desperate attempt to save Miiri. “Yeah, let the babe alone,” Johnstantine agreed. “Nobody lays a finger on her while George lives.” “If only I could grant a wish I’d try to save the day.” the Wishing Well mourned, “But when my yearly wish returns is still so long away!” Miiri pulled a pair of wicked needle-thin daggers from her jewelled girdle and halter and dived for the Baron. Everybody was surprised how fast she was, but Brass was faster. He slapped her away, sending her sprawling on the floor before the boiling mirror. “Let her go,” George shouted. “You swine! You ignoramus! You coward!” “Coward?” The Brass Baron turned angrily to George. “I am the Baron of Perfectgaard, Elfknight Commander, War Chief of the Fey!” “Too busy protecting yourself and enriching your lands to go fight the war,” Ruby accused venomously. “Whoever you are, you hit women, you coward!” George snarled. “Traitor! Murderer!” With a bellow of rage the Baron plunged the sword he was carrying through George’s belly. “You know what to do, right?” Con asked the Keeper of the Chronometer of Infinity anxiously. “Yes,” gasped George, in contact again with the chrono-blade that he had shaped the temporal pocketwatch into, the trophy that Brass had claimed from him. He activated its powers and made time race forward for one tiny section of the room. “Done.” “Ruby,” called Johnstantine, “Make a wish.” “Oh my!” the Wishing Well gurgled, suddenly finding that time had run forward in its crystal container. “I’m now quite baffled and a little bit confused. A whole year hasn’t passed since last my wishing spell was used. But now I find my power’s back as if a year was done. So make a wish, my lady, and then let us have some fun!” A really powerful wish has to come from the soul, a wish of desperate need and urgent conviction. That’s how faerie magic works. Ruby strained forward in her chains and cried out: “I wish Tanner was back able to kick the Baron ass!” “Granted” echoed the well in tones deeper and older than its usual squeaky voice. And suddenly the Brass Baron had an angry werewolf wrapped around his neck and shoulders, a werewolf empowered by magic to be able to overcome the enchantments of Perfectgaard. “Ruby,” snarled Tanner as he raked his claws across the Baron, “I owe you dinner.” “It had better be somewhere nice,” the proto-witch replied. The Baron tried to pull his sword out of George but it was gone. Its unwounded Keeper had shifted it into the near future. Tanner swelled more, all tooth and claw and red ancient rage from a time before humans dared come out from their caves into the darkness; and he fell upon Brass. “Help me!” screamed the Baron as he face was torn away again. He reached towards the mirror. The wounds passed from him to the distorted reflection struggling with the transferred injuries half in and half out of the oval mirror. “Give me more power!” The reflection shivered. The captives in the chains felt a great lassitude as their life forces were cannibalised to empower the Baron. The dead brides’ bones began to rattle. Miiri rose up and cast her red cloak over the emerging mirror-monster. It tangled in the Hooded Hood’s gift and almost fell. Mirri lunged with her two enchanted mithril daggers and sliced them into the Baron’s distorted reflection. “You are not my master,” she breathed. “Die!” The Brass Baron screamed again as his reflection-self toppled back into the mirror. “Smash it!” Asil called to Miiri. The Caphan spun around and plunged her blades into the glass. It fractured into thousands of pieces that boiled away as their enchantment was destroyed. The Brass Baron suddenly found that he could no longer transfer his wounds to his double. Tanner howled in triumph, ripped his enemy’s head off, and spat down his neck. “You s-stay away from me,” Liu Xi warned the most powerful creature in the Parodyverse. “Or what?” gloated the Parody Master. “Nowhere to run. No way to protect yourself. No-one to help you.” “Yeah,” gulped the Doomherald, appearing beside Liu Xi, following her murderous thoughts. “About that.” “The darkness is gathering,” Captain Arkenweald declared, watching the last glimmers of sun vanish over the western hills. “Will we ever see another dawn?” “We do what we have to,” Derek Forman told him, binding the long gash in his forearm. “We hold the line. That’s the job.” “So few of us now though,” Arkenweald mourned. “And no sign of aid. If we survive tonight we will not survive tomorrow.” Rick Foreman, Exile, looked away to the south. A storm was coming, and with it a new wind. It fluttered the tattered banners on the broken parapets of the White Gate and stirred the man from their exhausted slumbers. Lightning flashed far away with the promise of tempest to come. “We do what we have to,” Exile repeated. “And we hope.” “Are they at peace?” Ruby demanded as Johnstantine finally emerged from the tower the next morning. “Can the Baron’s brides finally rest?” Con Johnstantine looked absolutely exhausted, but there was something about his rakish smirk and crooked tie that provoked suspicion. “Yeah,” he reported to his travelling companions. “It took all night but I finally laid their ghosts. They’re satisfied now.” He grinned brightly. “Anyone got a cigarette?” “What happens now?” George worried. He’d transformed the chrono-sword back into a pocket watch again. He felt it was more him. “It’s morning. People are going to start noticing that their Baron isn’t around.” “Do you think anyone’s really going to mind?” Ruby asked. She was still clinging to Tanner. She’d hardly let go of him since he’d torn her chains off last night. “If they mind, send ‘em to me,” the lycanthrope suggested. “I’m still stinging from being skinned. I could use some relief.” Con’s remark will not be reported. Asil didn’t understand it anyhow. “Miiri is still the Barona of Perfectgaard,” she pointed out. “She’s down there now, talking to the troops. It’s going to be alright.” “And the Wishing Well is absolutely delighted with his new gig as the town fountain,” Ruby added. “He says he always wanted to be sparkling.” George sidled nervously up to the young Lisa-clone. “Listen, Asil, about last night. I had to wake you up, you see, from that enchanted sleep. I didn’t mean… well…” Asil swept him a look of amazement. “Mr Gedney, thank you for waking me up. I hope that the next time you decide to kiss a girl you do it when she’s awake. And that you mean it.” “I… that is… wait, I… um…” “This could be a long courtship,” noted Tanner. Barona Miiri of Perfectgaard stood before the Elfknights and concluded her tale. “That is what became of your Baron,” she explained. “He was unworthy of the honours he had been given, and unworthy to command you in your duties. Now he is slain, and you must decide what to do.” The generals looked at one another with consternation. “What shall we do?” an ancient centaur commander asked worriedly. “That is for each man to decide in counsel with his soul,” Miiri replied to them. The dawn was coming up, and the gold chain mesh of her brief Caphan costume glinted in the sunlight. Her raven hair flicked wildly in the breeze as she strode before the ranks of the Faerie army. “But I’ll tell you what I am going to do.” She reached out and drew the sword from the nearest of the troops. “I am taking this blade,” she announced, “and I am marching to Aayesgarth. I am going to defend the White Gate. I gave my oath to be Barona of Perfectgaard, and if my husband would not and now can not do his duty then it falls to me to carry it instead. I am marching out today, to the aid of Captain Arkenweald and to save all of Faerie, or to die in the attempt.” There was a whispering in the ranks, a shock that became wonder and a wonder that became awe. “If any will come with me then they may step forward and make their own oath on this sword,” the Caphan declared. “but whether a take twenty thousand men or go alone, I shall go. Will you follow me?” The cheer was slow to start, but when it began it gained in volume then became overwhelming. Somebody began to chant “Miiri! Miiri!” and then the name was caught up by a hundred voices, then a thousand. “Damn, but that girl knows how to work a crowd,” admired Ruby from the balcony. “I take it there’s going to be a detour on the way home then,” Tanner observed. “As if we could let Miiri do this by herself,” Asil scorned. “We know Vizh and Naari are alright now so we’ve done what we came for. While we’re here we might as well save the world.” “We were in the wrong story,” George realised. “We thought it was Bluebeard. But it’s Joan of Arc!” “Because that one turned out so well,” muttered Johnstantine. And one by one at first, and then by their thousands, the armies of Perfectgaard knelt before their mistress and living banner and swore to follow Miiri of Caph to the White Gates, even unto death. Next time: The Doomherald vs the Parody Master – briefly. Miiri’s army. Marion’s secret. AG and Cody’s mysterious discovery. Donar vs the Singularity Rider. Dancer, CSFB! and Tricky play D&D with real dragons. And the charge of the [spoilers], of course. Lots of them. That’s in Untold Tales #295: the Charge of the [Spoilers], or the Return of [Other Spoiler], coming soon to a Parodyverse near you. Thanks to Rhiannon for creating the kitten pictures. Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2006 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2006 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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