In the hall, Tallis turned to
her. "I told Mirra. She will not see him."
Ellese's brows shot up. "Why
not?"
"Her arm..."
"Of course. That will change
when she has been healed."
"That is what I said. But I do
not think she wants him to know about it."
Ellese nodded. "Understandable.
We will not tell him then."
"We lie?"
"No, we do not tell him."
The rain drummed on the temple
roof, overflowing the gutters and seeping in through cracks and
crannies, running down the walls to pool on the floor. The damage
to the roof allowed still more to pour in, and rivers of mud crept
in through the doors. The eternal flame grew dimmer, and the people
waited, whispering in the halls, wrapped in blankets to ward off
the increasing cold.
When Tallis went to check on
Bane, she found him asleep, and settled on the chair to wait. The
dim light outside faded as the sun sank behind the clouds, and more
lamps were lighted. The healers eked out their meagre rations in a
frugal supper, and those that could, slept. The rest waited, and
some prayed.
Mirra lay curled in the
darkness. Tears ran down her face, and her sorrow was a black void
within her. She could not let Bane see what the Black Lord had done
to her. The prospect was too horrific to bear contemplation. She
was an abomination, beyond help, for she knew with a deep certainty
that her arm could not be healed. It was not an injury or a
disease, it was part of her, her own flesh, changed into a
monstrosity.
It would disgust him, being, as
it was, a part of the world that had raised him, which he hated
now. Everything she had hoped for, all her dreams of a future with
Bane in it were gone, shattered by Arkonen's casual cruelty. She
wanted to scream, to tear the monstrous flesh from her arm, find a
kitchen knife and hack it off. Instead she listened to the endless
drumming of the rain, and wept.
Tallis jerked awake and raised
her head, wincing as her stiff neck protested. Her eyes fell upon
the bed, where Bane sat, regarding her with a mixture of annoyance
and amusement.
"You snore."
She gulped, wide-awake now, and
nervous. "I am sorry."
He smiled and
looked away, apparently aware of his
effect on her. "Why is it always you I find sitting here
when I wake?"
"I - the others are tired... I
volunteered. I am Mirra's friend. She would want me to look after
you and I helped to bring you here and I volunteered..." Realising
that she was gabbling, she shut her mouth.
"You are still afraid of
me."
"No - yes. Only when you are
awake."
"Well, that makes sense." He
attempted to stand, and sank down again.
Tallis jumped up. "I will call
Ellese."
"No." Bane glanced out of the
window, where a slight lightening of the clouds indicated that dawn
had broken beyond them. "I would rather not have an audience."
"Of course." She wrung her
hands.
Bane tried to stand again, but
his knees buckled and he winced as his bare hand came into contact
with the bed.
Tallis started forward in
concern. "I should bandage that hand again, before you hurt
it."
He looked up, making her step
back. "No. In fact, you may unbandage the other one."
"But..."
He held it out. "Now."
Not daring to disobey, she
unwound the cloth. He studied it, then stretched out his hands
towards her, making her catch her breath in irrational fear.
"Help me up."
Tallis hesitated, her eyes
riveted to his mutilated hands, and Bane sighed, lowering them.
"When I require breakfast, I
will ask for some of that sludge you people call porridge. I have
no taste for humans, no matter what my reputation says."
Not wanting to appear any more
foolish than she already did, she took hold of his wrists when he
raised his hands again, providing support for him to pull himself
up. His legs wobbled, and he leant on her, so close that she was
almost nose-to-nose with him, and his hair brushed her brow. Then
he straightened, swaying. As soon as he stopped leaning on her, she
released him and stepped back, her eyes sliding away from his bare
chest.
Turning to the table, she picked
up his shirt, which had been cleaned and pressed, as had his cloak.
She held it out, then realised that he could not dress himself
without hands, and he had not even been able to don his boots. He
turned to the window, took a couple of careful steps towards it and
gazed out at the rain, which had ceased to be caustic two days
ago.
Plucking up her courage, she
said, "I will help you to dress, but it would be easier if you sat
down."
"I am not strong enough yet." He
continued to gaze out of the window, frowning. "What foul stuff
your world is made of."
"You mean water? Without it we
would die. Surely you have to drink it, just as we do?"
"No. Once I got wet in a storm
like this though, and again when I broke the sixth ward. Very
unpleasant."
"You have never drunk water, or
had a bath?"
He turned to face her. "No. I
drink only wine, and the dark power keeps me clean."
She studied her hands. "Would
you like some breakfast now?"
"Yes. Then you will take me to
see Mirra."
Her breath caught. "I
cannot."
"Why not?"
"I... I have told her that you
are awake, and she has asked that you not see her until after she
is healed." She raised her eyes, biting her lip. Bane's frown
deepened, and his piercing eyes made her shiver.
"What is wrong with her?"
"She does not want you to know.
That is why she will not see you now, so I cannot tell you."
"She does not want to see
me?"
"No."
Bane turned and sank down on the
bed, his expression shuttered. Tallis wanted to blurt the truth,
but bit her tongue, put down the shirt, and fled.
Bane stared at the floor, his
heart turning to stone. The last time he had seen Mirra, she had
not appeared to be injured, apart from a bruised throat, but he
could not understand why a few bruises would make her refuse to see
him. Her arm had been wrapped in a cloth, he recalled, but even if
it was broken or burnt, that still did not seem like a good reason.
A far better explanation was that now his purpose was served, the
Black Lord was cast down, and she no longer needed to pretend to
care for him.
Who could possibly care for him
anyway? She had certainly put on a good act, and he had fallen for
it. Now he was being cast aside, yet who could blame her? After all
he had done to her, she probably hated him. He raised his blackened
hands and stared at them, wishing he could cover his face to hide
his despair. She had betrayed him, just as Arkonen had done, only
hers was far worse, yet he could not hate her. It was fitting
punishment for his cruelty, and he accepted it, even though it
filled him with a dark, nameless emotion that sapped his strength
and weighed heavily on his heart, filling his chest with a dull
pain.
When Tallis returned with his
breakfast he had no appetite, but forced himself to eat half of it
for strength. Even so, when Ellese came to see him an hour later he
was barely able to walk unaided, but he agreed that it was time to
close the Sources and drive the dark power from the Overworld.
Tallis was spared the onerous
chore of helping him dress. Her blatant aversion to him made him
wish that she would just go away and leave him alone. Yet she hung
around, to his annoyance, watching him with a mixture of dread and
fascination that he found repellent. He tolerated her because she
was Mirra's special friend, and wondered why he continued to do so
now. Ellese helped him dress, smiling but looking concerned. When
he was clad once more in his rich black clothes, he made two
abortive attempts to stand before he allowed her to help him to his
feet, and stood swaying.
"Help me outside."
She looked scandalised. "You
cannot go out there. You are too weak. Surely you can do it in
here?"
"No. You would not want that, I
assure you."
"Then wait a little longer."
"No."
"Bane..."
He scowled. "Do as I say."
She sighed, her expression one
of gentle reproach. "The courtyard?"
"No. Beyond the hallowed
ground."
Ellese turned to Tallis. "Go and
tell Martal to get the cart ready." The girl left, and Ellese
beckoned to the healers who stood in the doorway. "You two, help
him."
They went to him and took his
arms, careful not to touch his hands. He leant on them as he walked
down the corridor to the inner courtyard, where Martal waited with
the cart and a few men. Bane climbed aboard with Ellese, Tallis,
Martal and the two healers, all of them drenched to the skin within
a few moments. The driver whipped up the horses, and the cart
sloshed through axle-deep water, the horses slipping and sliding in
the mud. Bane's exhaustion was so profound that he was not inclined
to use the dark power to Move or keep the rain off. He needed what
little energy he had to command the shadows below.
Just beyond the hallowed ground,
the driver guided the horses to a hillock that stood above the
water, where they stopped. The healers helped Bane up the slight
rise, and, at the top, he shook them off and turned to Ellese.
"Go away."
The healers lifted their sodden
robes and climbed back into the cart. The driver clucked to the
horses and they moved away, but stopped within sight of Bane, on
the hallowed ground. He cursed their curiosity, then dismissed them
and opened himself to his senses. The three new Sources were within
his range, although it would have been easier if he had been closer
to them. The one in the Old Kingdom was too far away for his
commands to affect.
With some difficulty, he tugged
open his shirt with the heels of his hands and traced the seven
rune scars, igniting them. Turning in the direction of the Sources,
he lifted his arms and spread his hands, describing a series of
runic symbols in the air with the shadows that trickled from his
fingers. When they hung before him in an unreadable dark sentence,
he spoke their guttural names. They sank down, losing their form
until they were wisps of shadow that vanished into the ground. All
around him, so slowly that its movement was barely noticeable, the
dark power began to fall. He repeated the runic sequence, speaking
their names again, and they drifted down.
The dark power fell from the sky
in a cascade of shadow, slowly at first, then faster as he
completed the sequence a third time. The runes on his chest
brightened, and sweat mingled with the rain that ran down his face.
It looked deceptively easy, but was not. To command so much dark
power took all of his will, and the power within him burnt as it
fought against him, yet he needed it to fuel his commands. The
world grew darker as the shadows parted from the clouds and filled
the air on their slow journey to the earth. The rain beat down,
chilling him to the bone and making his teeth chatter. How he hated
water.
The hallowed ground began to
glow with a soft, muted silvery light that shone up through the
soil as if a lamp had been lighted beneath it. The falling shadows
drifted away from it, thickening on the edge of it before sinking
into the earth. Bane completed the sequence a fourth time, and the
shadows drifted down through the rain, gathering on the water like
a foul mist. Thunder rumbled in the clouds again, and lightning
flickered.
Bane turned his attention to the
Sources, stretching out his hands towards them. Their closure
required finger movements, and his hands hurt. This, he told
himself, he did so he could be healed, but the ache in his heart
mocked him. He described the flowing gestures of command, his
fingers burning when he bent them, then made a vicious downward
motion and shouted, "Bre'nyth argarath!"
A grinding shudder ran through
the earth, as if a huge, long-unused gate rumbled shut, and the
nearest Source closed, cutting off the flow of dark power from it.
Again he described the flowing gestures, his hands graceful despite
their mutilation, as the darkness continued to fall all around him.
The gestures had to be exact; any deviation and the command would
fail, for it was amongst the highest and most privileged of
commands, available only to a god. His hands were stiff, defying
his use of them, and, although he did not need to expend power
through them, they burnt.
The runes burnt too, fighting
him even as he used their power, for the dark power did not want to
be banished below. He made the final, vicious gesture and shouted
the command again.
The second Source rumbled shut
with a hollow, echoing boom. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon him,
bowing his shoulders, and he switched back to the free power,
describing a fifth set of runes. The shadow fall continued at the
same pace, but that which had gathered upon the ground and water
vanished into it, sucked down into the Underworld.
It would replenish the exhausted
demons below, brighten the inner fire and fill the mighty caverns
with shadows. It would not help Arkonen, however, for he was
trapped in the Land of the Dead, where dark power was scarce. Bane
described the runes a sixth time, muttering their names. The rain
ran from his hair, spiked his lashes and stung his eyes. It soaked
through his cloak and trickled down his back in icy streams. He
turned towards the last Source, raising his aching hands to begin
the painful gestures a final time, his burnt skin cracking and
starting to bleed.
His fingers would barely move,
and he almost made a mistake, catching himself as the command
slithered in his grasp like an eel, seeking to defy him. His hands
jerked, losing their fluidity, and the ground shivered in protest,
then he regained control and completed the sequence, making the
final gesture and shouting the words. The rumbling lasted a long
time as the gate dragged slowly closed, almost failing. Then the
boom of closure came through the hissing rain, and Bane fought to
remain on his feet, shivers racking him. He described the seventh
and final set of runes with shaking hands, almost whispering their
names, and the remaining dark magic rushed to the earth, vanishing
into it.