Tin Man:

Through a Glass Darkly.

Askadillia’s Story.

Prologue: These Shifting Sands of Time.

“Two little princesses standing in a row, spinning…”

Kieran Weft-Gorse, Azkadellia the Sorceress’s former Adviser on Matters Historical, Philosophical, Ethical, and Political, sang quietly to himself as he looked over the balcony, across the plains at the Central City, gleaming under the soft light of the double eclipse. He mused over the recent events. Things had changed, but whether they would be for the better or worse, well, that depended on…

His thoughts were interrupted as a quiet whisper reached his ears. “It’s dancing in a row, dear Kieran, not standing.” He felt two arms wrap themselves around him, and a very familiar face nuzzle his neck. “But I suppose you’ve earned the right to butcher my song any way it pleases you.” She raised her head enough to place her lips even with his ears, and breathily whispered, “My hero.”

“Ah,” he said, slipping easily back into his old role as Tutor and Devil’s Advocate, “Can it really be heroism if it’s motivated by selfishness? I wanted you free of the old witch as much for my sake as yours. After all, we couldn’t share our great victory with that, could we?”

“Or a…” Her voiced grew low(er) and sensual (er, more so) as she breathed the final word, “bed?”

“Tha-that too,” he stuttered. “I’ve always… ah… held that…ummm… all people- however good- are, at heart, selfish…”

His voice trailed off as Azkadellia stopped kissing his neck and started on his lips. The two remained locked that way for a time, illuminated only by the faint light that trickled down from behind the two moons, until they separated with a sound that brought to mind images of pumpkins and the osculation thereof by octopi.

Then, in the tradition of lovers in every dimension (every dimension, that is, where the locals have hands), they held hands and gazed at the dark sky together.

The silence was broken by Kieran’s quiet question. “Azkadellia?”

“Mmm?”

“I know where it ended. I was there. I know what was in the middle. But, while I was physically there at the start, I’m still not clear on everything.”

Azkadellia sighed. “Ah, yes. Where did my path to power start, where did it end,” she paused, and continued, “and what parts of it were concerned with something other than power. Where to begin?”

“Start at the beginning,” he advised, deadpan. “Go on to the end, then stop.”

A small smile crept across her face. Large smiles, it should be noted, were never seen on the visage of the Sorceress of the O.Z. “Very well.”

Chapter One: The Beginnings of All Things…

The problem, as I’ve discovered, is not whether or not to start at the beginning. That much is obvious. The real problem is, which beginning do you choose? My story has several. It could start with the day I was born, or the day I first saw my baby sister, or with the cave. But I think I’ll start…right here.

o0o

Azkadellia was scared.

Scared? Hah!

Terrified.

Her little sister seemed to have simultaneously inherited all her father’s taste for adventure and all her mother’s luck. All she wanted was to stick her nose in A Short History of the de’Papae-Valheris Conflict and moon over her new History tutor. Instead, here she was, a young girl on her fourteenth birthday, and she was being grabbed by the collar and shaken all about by an old witch!

“Would you care, Azkadellia, to explain this?” her Governess hissed angrily. “You smashed some of the best china in the Palace, you dropped your birthday cake on the Earl de’Papae’s lap, and your History tutor still has no idea where his cat is!”

It wasn’t her fault that she’d been clumsy all day. She’d not meant to drop anything, much less the slice of cake she had courteously cut for the Earl (she had hoped that, if she made a good impression, he’d be willing to comment on his ancestor’s actions in the time she was reading about) and the china plate it had been on. It was just… well, her History tutor was very attractive in a pale, scholarly way, especially in a formal black tunic; and she was a young girl who was easily distracted; and it wasn’t really her fault that she wasn’t looking as she handed the Earl the plate. As for the cat, well, she was always under foot. A plate had to be dropped on her sooner or later.

Try getting the Governess to understand that, though. Especially the bit about her infatuation with her History tutor. A mere seven annuals older than she he might be, but it was beneath her dignity as a Princess of the Blood Royal of the Outer Zone to be mooning after a scholar of common blood, and one born on the weft side (as they said in his homeland of Feari) at that! Or, so her Governess would say.

The governess was not, strictly speaking, hers. She had long outgrown the need for a Governess. It was technically her sister, D.G., that the Governess was supposed to look after; but she tended to ignore such trifling things such as her charges’ age and boss them around pretty much equally.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Azkadellia.” The Governess’ voice broke in on her thoughts. “But, since this is your birthday, I will let you get off easily.” Azkadellia sighed mentally, expecting to be forced to trot back into the Dining Hall to apologize to the Earl, after which she would be condemned to endless speeches and toasts and back-end numbing ceremony. These gloomy expectations were happily shattered by the next words of the iron fist of authority. “And, as punishment, I want you to spend the rest of this day studying the history of the Royal Family. Maybe that will teach you how to behave properly. Ask the History tutor to help you; he seems as uncomfortable with parties as you are.”

“Truly?” Azkadellia squealed happily.

“No,” came the tart reply, “I’m simply raising you hopes only to cruelly dash them the next moment. Of course, ‘truly.’ Off with you.”

Azkadellia nervously shifted her heavy copy of A Short History of the de’Papae-Valheris Conflict from one hand to the other, trying to gather enough courage to knock on the door.

o0o

The door was typical of those found in the Royal Palace, all silvery metal and ornate engravings. The only clue as to it’s identity as the door leading to the quarters of the notoriously eccentric new History Tutor to the Princess’s was the doorknocker that was haphazardly hung at eye level. It was formed in the shape of a snarling, demonic head, clutching a ring of silvery-black metal in its jaw. While the face seemed to be carved from basalt, the eyes were glass; a startlingly vivid and life-like blue.

Then the eyes blinked.

Azkadellia let out a mouse-like squeal, clasped her hand over her mouth, and jumped back.

Oh, get a hold or yourself, Az, she scolded herself. It’s just a doorknocker. Probably programmed to blink every once in a while.

This theory held water until the demons’ eyes focused on her, and it spoke.

“Fwell,” it said, it’s voice muffled due to the ring in its mouth. “Hware you goin’ to nop… pho… thwot… er, fingy?”

“Knock, sir?” Azkadellia asked.

“Ya, fat.”

Once she realized that it was not, in fact, commenting on her weight, but- rather- agreeing with her, she said, “I had thought about it, but now I think it might be somewhat disrespectful.”

“Foo hapf to be gidding be!” the door-ornament moaned. “Foo wake me oop, an’ fa no weesan?”

“I suppose that that could seem disrespectful,” she acknowledged, “but you could be more respectful, also.”

“Oh, weely,” it drawled. “I swould be more respec’ful, swould I?”

“Well, yes,” she replied, her voice chilling. “I am a princess, after all.”

“Oh, ho,” it sniped. “A pwincess!”

Its sardonic diatribe was cut off as the History Tutor’s voice came through the door. “Is the door-knocker giving you lip, Highness?”

She smiled, even though he couldn’t possibly see.

“Not really. And you needn’t call me highness. Azkadellia will do.”

The doorknocker drawled “Oh, ‘Afkadellia will doo’! Ah do gedding a girlfwiend?”

The tutor’s voice turned even colder than Azkadellia’s had a moment ago. “Telzhazz, shut up.”

The door opened and Kieran stepped out. “Apologies for it’s behavior,” he said looking both embarrassed and infuriated. “Bloody thing never shuts up. Let me guess,” he added. “Questions about the book?”

She nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

“And on your birthday, too. I’m impressed at your dedication to learning. Come in; we’ll talk.”

o0o

And there you have it: a day in the life of the girl who became the tyrant-Sorceress of the entire O.Z. A girl who read enormous history books and lusted after her youngest tutor.

Not very intimidating, was I?

My life at that time was… pleasant. I had a sister who was my best friend, all the riches a girl could want… and someone to look up to.

Most people would ask why I would choose to throw something like that away. Well, It was hardly my choice, was it? I may not have been, strictly speaking, possessed, but I was certainly influenced by the witch. My will was my own, but I’m not sure that I was entirely still me.

The next logical part of this story would be the incident with the cave. I’m sure you’ll understand if I don’t want to talk about it. It was a horrible experience, a violation of mind and spirit.

All I’ll say was that it occurred during a very pleasant trip to the summer retreat, Phinaqua. The Last Waters, it meant in the tongue of the ancients. It was one of my favorite places to be.

After the cave, I felt stronger than ever before; powerful, driven, I had a purpose and wasn’t afraid to do whatever I needed to to see it fulfilled.

Please, don’t make me go there. I killed my sister. I truly do not wish to remember that.

After I had…well, best come right out and say it: after I had killed DG, I felt that it was time to take something for myself that I had always wanted…

o0o

Kieran Weft-Gorse tossed and turned on his narrow bed, moaning slightly, caught in the throes of some horrible nightmare.

Azkadellia watch impassively, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for him to sense her presence and wake up.

Soon she grew tired of waiting, and crossed over to his bed, laying a cool hand on his brow. He quieted immediately, seeming to come out of his nightmare, and opened his eyes.

“Azkadellia,” he murmured. “You’re in my room.”

“Yes,” she agreed blandly, amused by his blank expression and dull voice. She idly wondered is this was the first time had ever awakened to find a woman in his room. The memories of a thousand year old witch gave her knowledge about such things that she had not known before. Not that she intended to put that knowledge into use. At least, not yet. Maybe in a few years.

His voice jolted her from her thoughts. “There are Mobat tattoos on your clavicle.”

“More or less,” she agreed, chuckling mentally at his prudish description of the area directly above her chest.

“Is this a nightmare?”

“No.”

“I thought not,” he sighed. “If it was, there’d be screaming.”

Just then, a scream of heart-rending sorrow and loss echoed throughout the Royal Palace.

“The night is young,” she pointed out mildly.

Kieran looked stricken. “Oh, Az, what have you done?”

“How cliched,” she hissed. “I’ll tell you what I’ve done. I went to the cave.”

He groaned in horrified comprehension.

“My little brat of a sister let go of me, left me to the witch. So I killed her.”

“The witch,” he gasped, then frowned as a thought came to him. “Are you still… you?”

“Oh, yes. I’m more Azkadellia than I ever was.” She sat on the side of his bed, idly stroking his cheek with one hand. “You don’t need to be afraid, dear tutor,” she purred, a predatory glint in her eyes. “I’m certainly not going to hurt you. Quite the contrary.”

He gulped nervously. “What are you doing, Az? You… you’re fourteen, for the gods sake!”

“Which is why I’m not seducing you- yet. At the moment, all I want is your service, which I mine by right; your knowledge, which you’ve been trying to teach me; and your heart, which I think I’ve had all along.”

She smirked. Were all men truly this foolish? She was offering him a chance to become the right hand man of the next queen of the O.Z.! Maybe he just didn’t realize that, yet. “You see, dear,” she explained, “with my sister out of the way, and the powers of the Witch of the Dark at my command, I can conquer the O.Z. I’ll need an adviser.”

“We’ll have to flee first, I presume?”

She laughed inside. Ah, now he was coming around. Quite sensible, actually. But, then, he had always had good sense. “Certainly,” she agreed.

“I live to serve, Highness.”

He rolled out of bed and kneeled before her.

“I am your to command, my Queen. I always was.”

o0o

Even to a murderous, witch-possessed sorceress-in-training, this was quite touching. The man I had worshipped from afar was kneeling before me, swearing eternal loyalty.

Being a young girl, I think that my next actions were comprehensible. I leapt off the bed, grabbed one of the ornamental swords off of his wall, and, well… watch.

o0o

Azkadellia touched the blade to both his shoulders in turn. Acting on impulse, she bent down and planted a kiss on the top of his head before saying, “Rise, sir Weft-Gorse. There is much to be done.”

Chapter Two: Regina Sedet in Vertice; Caveat Ruinam!

Kieran once said that a great work of literature from the Outside said ‘It is better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven.’

I gave up the chance to rule heaven, for the right to be ruled by a witch who was very close to the Devil.

There was, however, light even in that darkness. I had my faithful adviser, Kieran, and my new Mobat, Xora. I wasn’t alone.

Evil, possessed, and slightly mad; but I wasn’t alone.