Ellese said, "He is still weak.
He has lost a lot of blood. As soon as he wakes we must feed him a
strengthening tonic. Go and prepare one. Make it strong."
Some healers left to prepare the
tonic, and three helped Ellese to lift Bane onto a stretcher and
carry him to his room, where they laid him on the bed. As the women
filed out, Ellese looked at Tallis, who hovered at his bedside.
"I will stay with him," the
young healer said.
Ellese nodded. "Good. Do not try
to wake him. He needs to rest. I must speak to Martal."
Tallis settled on the hard
chair, and Elder Mother left her to her vigil.
Ellese found
Martal in the inner courtyard, trying to rally his few remaining
men into some semblance of fighting readiness. Most were too weary
to do more than
gape at him,
unable to absorb the terrible news that they might have to fight
the horde of monsters again. Exhausted archers walked amongst the
dead, pulling arrows from the bodies to fill their quivers.
Soldiers sharpened their battered weapons with slow
doggedness.
Martal had
changed into a clean tunic, but the death he had seen and the loss
of most of his army
haunted
his eyes. For a man whose greatest pride was his fighting force,
its loss was a heavy blow. Injured men lay next to the walls,
bloody bandages binding their wounds, their expressions hard but
resigned. Even they would rise to fight at the end.
Martal turned as she approached.
"How is he?"
"Asleep. The healing is done,
now we just have to wait."
"I thought your healers had no
more power. What about my wounded men?"
"We do not. In our desperation
to save Bane, we called upon the power of the True Fire, and the
Lady granted us a miracle."
His face twisted in disgust.
"Why would she help to save that damned -"
"Because only he can save
us."
"Why does she not do it
herself?"
"She has given us the means to
fight the Black Lord in Bane. That is how she will defeat him."
"And what will happen if he
fails? Will she intercede?"
Ellese shook her head, gazing
across the trampled garden. "She cannot. Arkonen would slay
her."
Martal eyed her with an
incredulous expression, then shook his head and turned to survey
his men once more. "Then how about another miracle for my men? Use
the flame on them."
"It cannot be done. The Lady
will not allow it to be used to save them."
He snorted, glancing up at the
sky. "How much time do we have before the monsters return?"
"That depends on how far they
fled when Bane chased them away."
"A few hours then."
"Probably."
Martal sighed. "A hot meal would
help to strengthen my men."
"Of course. I will arrange
it."
Mirra woke to the familiar
sensation of nausea knotting her abused stomach, and the dark
power's foul touch chilled her skin. Opening her eyes, she glanced
around. She lay on the floor of a temple, and she recognised it as
the one she had visited with Bane in the Old Kingdom. The expanse
of black marble stretched away to the pillars that upheld the stone
roof, and red-robed priests stood like statues between them.
Rolling onto her stomach, she raised herself, turning to face the
altar and the golden throne behind it. A man sat there, a faint
smile curling his sensuous lips. He was easily the most beautiful
creature she had ever seen, even surpassing Bane's dark allure, but
only just. Yet while Bane retained a certain wholesomeness that
stemmed from the fact that he was flesh and blood, this creature
was clearly not.
Shimmering
golden hair framed a flawless face constructed on classical lines,
its every curve perfect, from the sweep of his dark brows to
symmetry of his impeccable lips.
Eyes the colour of a summer sky glowed between thick dark lashes,
and the rest of him was just as perfect, tall and muscular. His
silken scarlet shirt had wide sleeves and an ornate,
gold-embroidered collar that seemed strangely old fashioned. Black
breeches clung to his slender hips, revealing rather too much for
her liking. Narrow black boots and a broad, gold-ornamented belt
completed his outfit. Some of his accoutrements reminded her of
Bane, who wore the same silken shirts and form-hugging trousers,
only his were not revealing.
The man rose and strolled
towards her, and, from the evil that radiated from him, she knew he
was the Black Lord. He stopped before her, and his smile widened as
he basked in her scrutiny.
"You like it?" He gestured to
himself. She sat up, unable to tear her eyes from him, and he
laughed. "Of course you do. How could a mere mortal woman resist
me? I have lain with a goddess and known the wonders of her realm
and her favours. I have walked with angels and supped from
fountains of ambrosia." He held out a hand. "Come, get up. I wish
to show you many things, not least of which are the pleasures of
the flesh, as Bane did not."
Mirra rose without accepting his
hand, fighting a strong urge to flee. Everything about him repelled
her, but especially the dull red glow in the depths of his eyes.
His hand flashed out and gripped her wrist, making her stomach
twist as he dragged her closer.
"I am so disappointed in that
boy. You are quite pretty, yet he neglected you terribly. I shall
not be so remiss. I gave him so much, and yet he betrayed me. How
typically human. Still, it provided some sport. By now he should be
dead, and if that wound did not kill him, my army will finish him
off."
Mirra's
eyes
stung, and she stifled a
sob. Arkonen chuckled and led her across the temple, heading for
the steps at the far end. The priests who lined it remained
immobile, and she wondered if they were alive. Her bare feet
pattered on the stone, hurrying beside his long, leisurely strides.
She expected something terrible to be revealed at the end of the
short journey, but was not prepared for the awful vista that
greeted her when they reached the steps.
Demons in true form stood
around, most along the edge of the steps, which were red with
blood. A massacre had taken place here, and, although no corpses
were in evidence, from the amount of blood it must have been many
hundreds of people. The charnel house stench made her light-headed,
and the horror of it dazed her.
Roaring fires burnt at the
bottom of the steps, and a fire demon manifested in one and stepped
forth. Tubs of water also stood nearby, and a water demon in true
form lounged near one, translucent blue, his eyes flashing like
sunlight on water. A huddle of silent children cowered at the edge
of the steps, clinging to each other, their eyes wide.
Arkonen gestured, and a group of
about a dozen people was herded into sight, weeping and clinging to
each other much like the children. The muscular men who herded them
were either demons in human form or droges, she could not tell
which. The people were all tattooed in the manner of the Black
Lord's worshippers.
Arkonen indicated them with a
sweep of his hand. "See how they worship me, with ugliness. I hate
ugliness. I enjoy beauty. My droges are beautiful, as are all who
serve me. These, if they wish to be ugly, may be more so."
The Black Lord pointed, and
shadows streamed from his hand to engulf the people, who screamed
in terror and pain. Mirra's stomach was already too knotted to do
anything further, and she watched with horror, frozen by the
abhorrence of it. The screaming people transformed, their clinging
hands sinking into each other’s flesh, becoming a large, struggling
creature with many heads and limbs. Scales appeared on their skin,
arms became bat wings and faces turned into tooth-filled snouts.
Black hair sprouted over other parts of them, and horns and spines
erupted from their writhing bodies, which twisted into each other,
forming a grotesque, many-legged monster that writhed and
howled.
Arkonen laughed and let the
power die. The monster that had been twelve people whimpered and
cowered, released from the pain. The Black Lord gestured, and the
droges herded it away, prodding it with spiked lances. Another
group was forced to the bottom of the steps, some of its members
holding out their hands in supplication and crying out for mercy.
The Black Lord smiled and lifted his arm again. Mirra turned her
head away, unwilling to watch, but his grip on her arm tightened
until she gasped.
"You will watch, or join them,"
he said.
Mirra obeyed, the tears that ran
down her face blurring her vision. Silently she prayed, her heart
overflowing with pity. Even death would not release these people
from his torment, for their souls belonged to him. Arkonen
transformed four more groups, then had two children brought from
the silent group and slaughtered upon the steps. Compared to him,
Bane's atrocities paled to insignificance. At last he seemed to
tire of his sport, and turned to her.
"You
disappoint me,
healer. I fail
to see what Bane found so interesting about you. You do not even
scream or beg me to show them mercy." She stared at his chest, and
he sighed. "Of course, it would do no good. Perhaps you simply have
more sense. But I think you will be livelier when I start to play
with you."
The Black Lord led her back to
the throne, where he released her to clap his hands. A bevy of
droge women emerged from the rooms behind the altar, clad in
shimmering, gossamer clothes that did little to hide their lithe
bodies. Jewels dripped from their hair, necks and wrists, winking
in the dull light. All had an exotic look about them, their eyes
slanted and skins dusky, with pouting red lips and eyes darkened by
what appeared to be kohl. All had prefect features, flawless skin
and milk-white teeth, yet an unmistakeable glint of malice shone in
their eyes. They gathered about him, fawning upon him with stroking
hands and eager smiles. He pushed Mirra into their midst.
"Take her away and see if you
can make her a little more... interesting."
The droges pushed her from the
temple, and Mirra was glad to quit the Black Lord's presence. The
women jabbed and poked her, sniggering. Mirra glanced down at her
arm, which burnt where Arkonen had held it, and found that her skin
was discoloured.
The Black Lord wandered over to
the throne, looking thoughtful. He knew that Bane still lived, and
had just recently entered into a vulnerable state, one that
promised sport, perhaps even victory. The Demon Lord was asleep.
Arkonen settled on the throne and closed his eyes, sending himself
into Bane's dreams.
Tallis jerked from her reverie
as Bane gasped, and his brow furrowed in a fierce frown. His hands
clenched and his lips drew back in a snarl, then his back arched as
if in a seizure. Tallis jumped up and rushed to his side, her heart
hammering with dread. Not knowing how to help him, she ran to
summon aid.
Ellese burst into Bane's room,
the panting young healer and several older ones hard on her heels.
She strode to the bed and stared down at his twisted face. He
writhed, his eyes closed, his teeth gritted.
"What is it, Mother? What is
wrong with him?" Tallis cried.
Ellese shook her head, wondering
if it was the sleeping draught. That seemed unlikely, and she cast
about for a better explanation. Then it dawned on her. "It must be
the Black Lord. He is attacking Bane in his dreams."
"What can we do?"
"Nothing, except stop him from
hurting himself. He is trapped in the dream until the draught wears
off."
Bane clawed at his chest,
raising red welts, and Ellese turned to the healers who crowded the
doorway. "Fetch ropes and cloths, hurry!"
Ellese sat on the bed and
gripped Bane's wrists, pulling his hands away from his chest.
Despite his weakness, it took all of her strength to hold him down,
and Tallis joined her, sitting on his legs. He strained at some
invisible enemy, his muscles writhing and sweat dewing his
skin.
"This will exhaust him further,"
Ellese muttered. "Which is the Black Lord's intention."
"How can he be attacked in a
dream?"
"I do not know. The ways of gods
are mysterious, and when they fight each other, horrific."
"Can he be killed like
this?"
"I do not know that either. I
certainly hope not."
Ellese looked around as the
healers returned with ropes and cloths, gesturing at them to hurry.
They wrapped the cloths around his wrists, two women clinging to
each of his arms to hold them still, and bound them to the bed
frame. His legs were similarly fastened, and Ellese, alarmed by the
way he ground his teeth, forced a gag into his mouth. When he was
safely trussed, she sat back with a sigh, her face grave.
"That is all we can do."
Bane turned,
seeking the Black Lord in the seething inferno into which he had
been plunged moments before. It had taken him by surprise, and the
first wave of fire to engulf him had raised ugly, painful blisters.
Now his power protected him, but Arkonen hid amongst the flames,
waiting to leap out and strike him. The dream belonged to the Black
Lord, and Bane exerted his will on it, trying to overcome Arkonen's
control. He had encountered the Black Lord many times in this
tenuous, unreal world, but had not considered fighting him in it.
He had no experience to draw upon; only logic guided him, as well
as a deep knowledge of the dark power and what it could do. At
first he had tried to break free by waking, but
Ellese’s sleeping potion denied him that option,
he found.
Angrily he swung around again,
seeking the shadowy form that menaced him. A blow on his back sent
him hurtling forward, flying through the fire. He regained control
and stopped his plunge, spinning to face his elusive enemy. A black
shape loomed, then he was hurled into darkness, tumbling over and
over. He tried to grasp something to stop his descent, striving to
regain a solid footing. His fall continued, his hands found nothing
to grip, and the endless void mocked his attempts. Stretching forth
his will, he took hold of his surroundings and slowed his fall,
righting himself. Laughter hissed in his ears, and he turned to
search for its source. Arkonen appeared, a hulking, formless
blackness that grasped Bane with shadows and fear. Bane gripped the
shadows and twisted them, but they slipped from his hands, writhing
away.