As the dim red glow behind the
clouds heralded another dark dawn, two vast drums that had been
placed just out of bowshot of the temple boomed out a dull,
resounding beat, hammered by brawny trolls. Rock howlers shrieked
and gibbered, filling the air with blood-curdling howls of feral
glee and bloodlust. The dark horde roared, surging back and forth
as it prepared to attack; then the army stormed the temple. A hail
of arrows hissed from the lines of archers that stood atop the
earthen wall, and the leaders fell in droves under the deadly rain,
their screams filling the air with the chilling sounds of death and
agony.
Hundreds of attackers vanished
into the murder holes to die on the stakes within, but that hardly
caused a dent in the numbers that charged up to the stockade and
climbed over it, only to be met by a wall of spears, lances and
swords as they dropped down inside. The archers quit their
positions atop the earthworks and retreated to the temple walls,
where they shot the invaders as they climbed over the barricade.
The trebuchet let fly their deadly cargo of burning rocks with dull
booms of wood on iron, and soldiers scrambled to reload them.
The horde came
howling from the wooded hills, blackening the land for miles
around. Martal's
men hacked
down the dark people who swarmed over them in a shrieking, growling
frenzy, driven by the insane bloodlust the Black Lord had forced
upon them. Soldiers screamed as claws and teeth tore them, some
were dragged from the battlements to be ripped apart by the
rabble.
Soon blood
soaked the soil, and mounds of dead grew on the embankment's slope,
forcing the attackers to climb over the bodies. The sharpened
stakes impaled dozens of
dark
folk as those behind thrust them onto the deadly points. The
earthworks protected Martal's men, who killed three or four for
every soldier who fell, but the black tide did not ebb.
Their training
and discipline gave the soldiers another advantage, for the mob had
no idea of how to fight a battle, other than to fling themselves
upon the enemy in their droves. The soldiers locked their shields
together in a wall and jabbed through it with swords and lances,
and a reserve troop patrolled behind the trench, ready to plug any
bre
ach. They would dive into
the melee whenever a section of the wall was overwhelmed, driving
back the monsters that boiled into the trench with a storm of
armoured brawn and sharp blades.
When it seemed that the horde
would overcome the defenders, archers fired burning arrows into the
oil-soaked trench. A wall of flame sprang up around the temple,
killing any who stood atop it and driving back those behind. Thick
black smoke rolled up, filling the temple with stinging, acrid
fumes. The fire trench bought precious time as it held back the
horde; those inside it cut off from reinforcements and retreat.
The battleground stench invaded
the temple, and young healers moaned and sobbed as they shared the
soldiers' pain. More experienced healers stood behind the men,
carrying away the wounded for those who still had a little power to
heal.
Bane paused on
his way t
o the chapel to
listen to the battle. He did not have to imagine the carnage that
was going on outside; he had seen its like before. Ellese looked
back at him, her eyes filled with the suffering she shared with the
dying men.
At the
purging, blue fire still
glowed around Bane, and the burning in his flesh grew
unbearable again, even though he tried to endure it for longer. The
battle sounds came clearly through the chapel's shattered windows,
forcing the healers to concentrate harder on their task. When the
purge was over, two healers helped him back to his room, where he
collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. The dark power was almost gone,
and for the first time in four years he lacked the ability to
defend himself.
Mirra woke him with his dinner,
a thick vegetable stew full of beans and lentils, followed by bread
and cheese. She sat on the chair and studied him while he ate,
pleased that his eyes were no longer bloodshot and his lips had
lost the unnatural red hue. His skin had taken on a healthy glow,
and no shadows lurked around his eyes.
"Tomorrow they will heal
you."
Bane looked up. "Ellese said
that the last purge will be tomorrow."
"Yes, both. We have no time. The
day after tomorrow, you must fight the Black Lord. The battle goes
badly. Martal lost a third of his men today in spite of the healers
who stood behind them, healing those who fell. Without sunlight,
our power will soon fail, and then the injured will die too."
Bane put down the empty bowl.
"Why have they not given you any power?"
"I do not need it, and there is
precious little."
"So now we are both ordinary
mortals, powerless."
"Do you miss it?"
He shrugged. "Of course. I am
used to being invincible."
"Do you still intend to go to
the Underworld when you have defeated the Black Lord?"
He regarded her with flat,
expressionless eyes, and she held her breath, dreading his answer.
"No."
Joy swelled her heart, and she
looked away. "Any particular reason for your change of heart?"
His expression became even more
shuttered. "I doubt I would be welcome there. Even if I cast
Arkonen down and strip him of his power, he will regain it unless I
destroy him."
"Can you do that?"
"I do not
know. His spirit is very powerful, and, unless I can hold him here
long enough to destroy his soul, he will retreat to the Land of the
Dead, where I cannot go
while
I am mortal."
"I see." She strived to hide her
disappointment. "But you will give up the dark power when it is
over?"
"I do not know. Why should I?
Without it I will be defenceless."
"You must. It makes you ill. It
will, even after you are healed, and it will corrupt your
soul."
He looked away. "I think it has
already done that."
"No." She left the chair and
went to sit beside him on the bed, longing to take his hand but
lacking the courage. "Your soul is still pure. You would not be
helping us if you were evil."
"This is revenge. It has nothing
to do with helping you."
"The Lady would not have
appeared to you if you were corrupted."
"She had no choice. I threatened
to destroy her precious Overworld."
She stared at him, horrified.
"Why?"
He
stood up and moved away. "Enough
questions now."
"How could you destroy the
Overworld?"
He hesitated.
"I could do what Arkonen is doing, quite easily. Block out the sun,
and the Overworld dies. Even more than that, I could..." He trailed
off
, shaking his
head.
"But you would not."
"No." He ran a hand through his
hair, combing it into shining wings. "I will undo what Arkonen has
done. After that, it is up to your goddess."
Recalling her conversation with
Elder Mother the previous night, she decided to see if she could
find out whether or not he knew what he was. "But if you tried,
surely the Lady could stop you?"
"If she could, she would stop
Arkonen, so I do not think she can."
"How can you be more powerful
than a goddess?"
Bane shrugged, staring out of
the window. "I do not know. It would seem that Arkonen is more
powerful than her."
"Arkonen is a god."
"And I am just a mortal
man."
She
bit her lip, unable to agree with
that. She was not sure if his ignorance was a good thing, or
bad.
The Demon Lord turned to her,
his mouth twisted in a bitter line. "And yet, I am Arkonen's equal.
So, if he is more powerful than the Lady, so am I."
Bane’
s intention to
keep the dark power dismayed her. That, she had not expected. Yet,
on reflection, she realised that as much as Bane hated Arkonen and
all he had done to him, he was accustomed to having the power. He
had paid dearly for it, and clearly could see no advantage in
giving it up, hated as he was by the people and marked forever by
the rune scars.
"What will you do?" she
asked.
Bane
gaze
d out of the window
again. "Find somewhere where I will be left alone."
"Will you be happy?"
"Probably not."
"Then why choose it?"
"What other choice is
there?"
She looked down at her twisting
hands. "If you gave up the power, in time, people might learn to
accept you. You could make some friends and live an almost normal
life."
"Do black mages have normal
lives?"
"I do not know. They worship the
Black Lord, so they are not generally accepted. They ally
themselves with powerful rulers, using their magic to aid their
patrons. But you could not do that. Your power is absolute."
"I will not serve some primping
king."
Mirra shook her head. "If you do
not give up the power, people will always fear you. You would be an
outcast."
"As I am now."
Bane
glanced around at her, and his
sorrow showed briefly before he hid it. Her heart ached for him,
torn by his solitude, outcast from humanity by the terrible power
he wielded, yet afraid to set it aside.
Mirra rose and
went to gaze up into his eyes, her heart filled with love for this
lonely man. How would he react when he was told that he was a god,
and who would tell him? How was it possible for a mortal to love a
god in the way she did, not as a worshipper, but in that special,
unique way in which a woman loved a man, and what future did it
hold? She touched his cheek, his skin like silk beneath her
fingers.
This time he did not
shun her touch, but regarded her with a mixture of confusion and
something she longed to think was tenderness.
"I will never leave you. No
matter what."
A slight, warm smile curled his
lips. "You are like a moth drawn to a flame. I do not know why you
have any wish to be with me, after all I have done to you."
"It does not matter -"
He placed his
fingers on her lips. "Do not try to share my fate." Stepping around
her, he
went to sit on the
bed. "I must rest."
"Yes, of
course." She picked up his empty supper bowl and
headed for the door, where she
glanced back. He was already stretched out on the bed, his eyes
closed.
As she made her way to the
kitchens, Mirra marvelled at the change that had come over him as
the dark power dwindled. Every day, he became more relaxed and
approachable, his manner friendlier. His violent mood swings and
savage temper had given way to bitter introspection and deep
melancholy tempered by unexpected moments of kindness.
On occasion, she had glimpsed a
warmth in his eyes when they rested upon her, and nursed a slight
hope that he might return a little of the feelings she bore for
him, although it seemed a forlorn wish. Was it possible for a god,
even a mortal one, to love an ordinary mortal? Was her love for him
a betrayal of her goddess? He was, after all, a dark god, but he
was also a mortal, as human as she was, and therein lay her
hope.
The next day,
the last glimmer of blue light faded from Bane's skin, and Ellese
smiled. The humming healers fell silent as she turned
to open a wooden chest, taking out a
silk-wrapped sphere. She peeled the silk aside, and he glimpsed the
golden pearl that soaked into her palm.
Bane scowled
when she approached him, uncomfortable in the chains, although he
was fairly sure he could break them if he tried hard enough. The
healers did not realise the kind of strength he possessed, even
without the dark magic, and he was content to let them remain
ignorant. He did not trust them, and he had no intention of
enduring any further humiliation at their hands. Now that the purge
was over, there remained only the healing, and he would not allow
them to do anything else. He had
undergone too many painful and apparently pointless rituals
in the Underworld to go through any more now. Ellese tried to
stroke his cheek, but he turned his head aside. Her expression
became sedate.
"At last, I can restore you to
health."
"I feel well enough."
"You will feel
better." Ellese studied his face, which he was certain was etched
with lines of exhaustion, for
the purge had left him weak and tired.
First, she
knelt and cradled his crushed foot, which was still mottled with
faint green and yellow bruises. He sensed her power working within
his flesh, a tingling sensation, cool and soothing. The bruises
vanished as the bones knitted, and
, when she released it, his foot was healed. The pain that
had plagued him since the standing stone had fallen on his foot at
Torlock Keep faded away with the bruises, to his relief. It had
been hard to walk without a limp since then, and only his ability
to withstand pain had allowed him to hide the injury.
Elder Mother
stood,
meeting Bane's hostile
eyes. His expression told her that he hated to be tampered with,
even for a good cause. Laying her hands on his chest, she healed
his heart, closing the small hole that had weakened it for so long
- a defect that the dark power had worsened. Her healing light
flowed into his blood, undoing the genetic flaw that made him a
bleeder.
Ellese climbed the steps beside
the altar and laid her hands upon his hair. She healed the scars in
his brain that the Black Lord had inflicted - the weakened blood
vessels that should have ruptured and killed him when he broke the
seventh ward. When she released him, he jerked up his head,
frowning at her. She knew that the healing of his brain had caused
some strange sensations, a few of them unpleasant. He flexed his
arms, making the shackles creak and reminding her of what he was.
Ellese gestured to the healers as she descended the steps, and two
hurried over to unshackle him. He straightened, rubbing his
wrists.