The Dreamqueen was back on her throne, slumped and pouting, when the waters of her gazing pool began to stir. She immediately straightened at the sound of the swirling fluid, leaning over the arm of her throne and peering eagerly into the pool’s midnight-blue depths.
She was not disappointed to see the Green One appear, walking in what looked like a never-ending prairie of brittle yellow grass.
Or, rather, parts of her appeared. A booted foot, a green-knuckled hand grasping the shaft of a staff, the golden curl of a horn with some wisps of dark green hair. Enough so that the Dreamqueen could both identify her and determine that she was traveling in some sort of cloaking field, but had gotten too close to its edge and stepped out for the briefest of moments.
Brief, but still too long, alas.
For the dreamseeds she had planted while the Green One and her companions were in Liveworld had germinated, and what had been a powerful but as yet unripe hallucination in Limbo was now ready to sprout into a full-fledged horror.
It was a pity that the sorceress wasn’t out of her invisible shell long enough for the Dreamqueen to get a fix on her location, the undulating grasslands in that part of the Dark Dimension being indistinguishable from those in a thousand other places. And she had no idea how fast the group might be traveling under the cover of their concealment.
But she didn’t need that information for what she had planned, at least not yet. And even if she’d had it, she wouldn’t have been foolish enough to share it. Not until she was certain she was getting what she wanted out of the bargain.
The deadworlders liked to call pacts like the one she was about to propose “deals with the devil”. She supposed that was fitting enough, though she was only a demoness and the other party was… whatever she was. Worse than any devil, surely.
But that didn’t dissuade the Dreamqueen. On the contrary, it was the first thing that had truly excited her in decades, and the rush of anticipation was as sweet as night terrors on her tongue.
She licked her lips at the thought of that toothsome flavor, her smile reflecting back to her in the now-still waters of her gazing pool.
Then she reached out a finger and stirred them to tumult once again, and when the whirlpool thus created settled, it was no longer her visage staring back at her in imperious annoyance.
It was the flame-wreathed face of Umar the Unrelenting.
•••
Umar stood in the Grand Throne Room before the Azure Throne, hands on her shapely hips as she observed her prisoner, the golden woman Ardina. Ardina stood beside the throne like a sculpted statue. She was tightly bound by the Rings of Raggadorr, seven circles of power that hummed and crackled with mystical energy, the gray Mists of Morpheus twining in and about them like living vines. The rings’ color oscillated from indigo to black and back again, the constant shifting patterns threatening to mesmerize any who looked upon them too long.
The spells needed to be periodically refreshed, because they were confining the embodiment of the Power Cosmic and even the mighty duo of Raggadorr and Morpheus might find themselves in frequent need of the boost invocation brought while constraining such great energy.
“As the Seven Rings of Raggadorr
Bind you now from brow to heel,
Let the Mist of Morpheus
Keep your thoughts likewise still.”
It was not an elegant spell, to be sure, but rhyming added power even when the scansion was somewhat problematic. The golden woman would stay put until Umar needed her again. When that time came, Umar would invoke the Sphere of Cyttorak, which would keep Ardina trapped but allow access to her power.
Satisfied, the ruler of the Dark Dimension turned away from her throne and surveyed the cavernous room. Peopled by statues of ex-lovers and works of art by renowned artists from a hundred different worlds, it was empty of anything living aside from her and Ardina.
Still, she’d felt a prickling at the base of her neck, as if she were being watched. She strode over to her dimensional window, the heels of her sandals clicking smartly against the cold stone floor, echoing repeatedly off the throne room’s stark, bare walls.
Her thoughts went immediately to Stephen Strange. Her unfortunate son-in-law, the man was Sorcerer Supreme of Earth and a constant thorn in her side. He was one of the few people who might be strong enough to break through her dimensional barrier, though it would surprise her to find he’d been so obvious about it. Announcing himself with a frontal assault against an enemy of Umar’s caliber was not Doctor Strange’s wont, most probably because the man had no desire to die a long and torturous death.
Neither would her brother Dormammu be so conspicuous in any attempt to overthrow her, though she would not have to worry about that for quite some time after the defeat she’d handed her bumbling sibling. Perhaps, with Ardina’s power at her disposal, Umar would never have to concern herself with the Dread One again. She could not help but smile with cruel pleasure at the thought.
The only other person who might be able to breach Umar’s blockade around the Archipelago of Anguish and Redemption was her daughter, Clea. She’d claimed the title of Sorceress Supreme of the Dark Dimension, and Umar was content to let her have it. What was a sorceress in the face of a goddess?
But, like her estranged husband, Clea would not be foolish enough to let her presence be known if she were trying to enter – or leave – the Dark Dimension. Indeed, Clea had made a career of hiding from her mother as she and her rebels harried Umar’s forces at every opportunity.
No, it wasn’t Clea, either.
So, who would be so foolish as to try to enter her domain without her permission? Umar was equal parts annoyed and intrigued.
She waved a well-manicured hand in front of the dimensional window and her own trim human form, with its long dark hair and tight green dress, disappeared. A white-faced hag with a matted nest of green hair and primitive red horns replaced it.
Umar remembered her. Nightmare’s daughter, the Dreamqueen. She didn’t bother to hide her look of contempt. “You have five seconds to explain why you’ve dared to disturb me before I reach through this window and rip your heart out through your mouth.”
The Dreamqueen laughed. “Oh, I don’t think you’ll want to do that. Not when you hear the information I have about how your daughter intends to thwart your plans to take over the Archipelago. Or the rescue operation she’s put together to free that pretty little statue you’ve got on display over there,” the demoness said, indicating the golden woman visible over Umar’s shoulder with a quick jerk of her pointed chin and a squinch of her nose.
“I’m listening,” Umar said, cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms in front of her chest. The idea that this inconsequential spawn of Nightmare’s would dare come to her, the Unrelenting One, with a lie was… preposterous. Even imprisoned alone in a forsaken pocket dimension, the Dreamqueen still valued her miserable life. And freeing Ardina was exactly the sort of misguided stunt Umar would expect the oh-so-noble Clea to attempt.
“You’ll listen after we agree on a price,” the Dreamqueen countered, smiling, showing her sharp teeth.
Umar frowned. She could just pull the little chit through the window and strip the information from her mind, but that would take both time and energy. Time she might not have depending on what Clea’s plans were, and energy she would need to keep Ardina under control.
“Fine. What do you want?”
“My father’s realm, after you conquer it.”
Umar shrugged. Nightmare’s domain was a gloomy, miserable hellhole that held nothing of value to her. Having a governor oversee it in her stead was not a bad idea.
“Done.”
The Dreamqueen’s smile widened.
“I wasn’t. I meant I want my father’s realm… for starters.”