"What do you want?"
"Just to see if you are all
right. I have finished in the bathroom. Are you going to
bathe?"
"No. I have no liking for
water."
"But you will feel better. It is
nice to be clean."
"I am clean," he retorted.
"I know," she admitted, looking
puzzled. "How do you do it?"
Mirra thought that he would
rebuke her for questioning him, as he usually did, but he said,
"The dark power burns all dirt from my body."
"I see." She perched on the end
of the bed. "Why do you dislike water?"
"All Overworld fluids repulse
me. There is not much water in the Underworld, and that is confined
to the caverns where the water demons dwell. Even so, it is not
like the water up here. It boils constantly, and is filled with
sulphur."
"But you have to drink it," she
pointed out.
"I have never drunk water." He
looked scornful, then added, "Except for your potion."
"What do you drink then?"
"The wine my fa... the Black
Lord sends me."
"What is it made from?"
He sighed and leant back against
the headboard. "You ask too many questions. I dislike answering
them."
"I have noticed. Do you not
know?"
He frowned. "You are becoming
impertinent. Do not think that because I am going along with your
plans for the moment, for the sake of revenge, that I will allow
this sort of rudeness from you."
Mirra shrugged and rose. "Very
well, keep your secrets." She turned to leave, pausing in the
doorway. "But have a bath. I recommend it. I think you will find it
as enjoyable as the food."
Leaving him to make up his mind,
she returned to her room, eager to enjoy a good night's sleep. For
the first time in months, she slept on a soft bed, clean and well
fed.
In the morning, Bane ate a
gargantuan meal of bacon, eggs and toast, and Mirra smiled at his
appetite. He was regaining his strength rapidly, and the good food
would speed his recovery, as well as reduce the Underworld's
influence.
They left the
village and rode on through a gloomy countryside under a dark sky.
The people looked sullen, depressed by the constant darkness and
the
adverse effects it was
having on their crops. Their new troubles preoccupied them, and
they seemed to have forgotten the Demon Lord's march across their
land and the slaughter that had accompanied it. They came upon
several villages still repairing the damage Bane's rampage had
caused, but the people appeared to be more concerned about the
strange weather. Perhaps they thought that the other trouble was
over, and the Demon Lord had made his home in the Old Kingdom,
Mirra reflected.
That had to be
why no one recognised Bane, even in his distinctive garb. They
could not believe that the Demon Lord would be riding through the
New Kingdom on an ordinary
looking horse, accompanied by a ragged healer. Most people
did not know that the Black Lord had risen, since he remained in
the Old Kingdom, enjoying his new domain. They did not understand
the significance of the dark, lightning-shot clouds. Lightning
strikes had started many fires, and the lack of rain allowed a cold
wind to fan the flames and spread the fires over broad swathes of
land. Many farmers had lost entire crops to the wildfires, while
others had had their herds scattered and decimated.
Two days after they left the
inn, ash began to fall, blanketing the land in a grey shroud. It
puzzled Mirra, and Bane's silence became palpably pregnant behind
her, which told her that he knew what was causing it. When they
dismounted at the end of the day, she turned to him. His eyes slid
away from her curious gaze as he bent to unpack the tent.
"Bane, what is causing
this?"
He scowled at the tent. "The
Black Lord is causing the fire to rise from the Underworld."
"How? Why?"
"The dark power is making a
mountain spout ash and fire somewhere. It is part of the
transformation."
She looked up at the falling
ash. "This is going to make life very unpleasant."
"That is his intention."
"Does he know you still
live?"
He straightened and turned to
frown at her. "Of course."
"Then why does he not try to
stop you?"
"He does not know what I plan to
do."
"You mean he does not think you
will fight him."
A slight smile curled his lips.
"No."
"Because he knows you will die
if you try."
"He probably believes that, as
you do."
"But you do not."
Bane swung away and shook out
the tent with a savage jerk. "I do not particularly care."
"But I do. You want revenge, do
you not? I know you do not care what happens to the Overworld, but
surely you want to defeat him, punish him for what he did to
you?"
"I tire of your impudent
questions."
Mirra sighed and turned away to
do her chores. His reluctance to speak about the Black Lord, or
himself, frustrated her. At least he had diversified his refusal
from the simple command he had used before.
The next day
they continued their journey through an ash-blackened land, with
more still falling. What was happening to her world saddened Mirra.
Already it looked to her like something from the Underworld.
The
demon steed galloped
tirelessly, but was forced to slow for natural hazards, such as
forests.
They were
trotting through a thicket of snake wood saplings when a band of
dirty, ragged men emerged from the trees. They bore signs of harsh
living and hard fighting, brutality etched on their scarred faces.
They carried rusty swords and daggers, chipped axes and clubs. Some
wore torn chain mail or dented armour probably scavenged from
battlefields, and streaks of rust reddened their filthy clothes. An
older man with greying hair and a broken nose stepped forward as
Bane stopped the
demon steed,
glaring up at them.
"Hand over your valuables!" he
cried, brandishing a rusty sword.
Mirra glanced back at Bane,
laying a hand on his arm in an attempt to forestall any use of his
power. He jerked away, shooting her a brief glare before glowering
at the bandit again.
Deducing that Bane was not about
to do anything rash, Mirra turned to the bandit leader. "We have
none."
The greying
bandit stepped forward, showing brown, rotting teeth in a foul
leer. "Now then,
healer, we
mean you no harm, but his lordship looks like he's got
coin."
"He does not."
"We'll just see about that. Get
down."
Mirra slid off, and Bane
dismounted when she tugged on his leg. His face was set in a mask
of disdain, the sneer that curled his lips reaching his eyes.
Although he towered over the bandits, his youth was obvious amongst
so many seasoned warriors.
Mirra whispered, "Do nothing.
Let them take what they want."
"Why should I?" he growled.
"Because we do not want to fight
them. It is not worth it."
"They disgust me."
"Do not use your power."
"Stop telling me what to
do."
The bandits pulled the pack off
Orriss and went through it, finding little of value. They recoiled
from Bane's potions and ointments, wrinkling their noses in
disgust. Having established that the pack was worthless, they
advanced on Bane. Mirra did not interest them, since healers never
carried valuables, but Bane, with his well-cut clothes and air of
superiority, did. The Demon Lord watched their approach with deep
contempt, his arms folded.
Mirra stepped into the bandit
leader's path. "He has nothing. I will show you."
Mirra turned and lifted Bane's
cloak, revealing his snug-fitting tunic and trousers, with no money
pouch in sight. He glared at her, and she knew that her impudent
liberties with his person infuriated him. The bandit scowled,
unwilling to admit defeat.
"He's got a money belt under his
clothes then."
She shook her head.
"Nothing."
"I'll see for
myself,
healer."
Bane tensed as the man
approached, and Mirra was forced to step aside, praying that Bane
would heed her advice. He unfolded his arms, and the brigand took
the dagger that hung on Bane’s belt, then pulled open his tunic,
exposing the rune scars. The bandit stepped back with an oath.
"Lady Mother! Who did that to
you, lad?"
Bane smiled. "My father."
"He should be whipped. Was it
some sort of ritual?"
"No, he just liked to inflict
pain."
The man shuddered, retreating.
"You've got nothing I want. Go on your way, but we'll take the
horse."
The Demon Lord shrugged. "Take
him."
Orriss stood docilely while the
bandits tied a rope around its neck and led it away, melting back
into the trees. Mirra gathered up their scattered belongings while
Bane refastened his tunic, then he helped her to stuff equipment
back into the bag.
The
demon steed returned half an hour
later, with no rope on its neck and no sign of the bandits. As Bane
went to mount it, Mirra noticed, with a start of surprise, that his
dagger was back in its sheath on his belt. She wondered how that
was possible, but there were a great many things about Bane that
remained a mystery, and she shrugged it off as unimportant. They
rode until dusk, then set up camp for the night. Bane pitched the
tent, and Mirra cooked a thick stew of briar lentils and lune beans
for supper. As soon as it was ready they retired to the tent to
escape the ash. Mirra sat on the floor as usual, and Bane lounged
on the bed, spooning the vegetable stew with a bland expression. He
did not seem to care what he ate, so long as it did not poison
him.
Considering the foul concoction
he had been raised on, that did not surprise her. Only the scrape
of spoons broke the silence. Bane remained taciturn, either from a
complete lack of social graces or an utter paucity of interest in
speaking to her. Probably a bit of both, she mused. If anything, he
had grown more silent since the Black Lord had risen, and she
wondered if that had something to do with it.
"Bane, what is it like in the
Underworld?"
"I already told you. Hot, dry
and dark."
"Did the Black Lord really cut
those runes?"
He nodded. "Yes."
"Why?"
"So I could use the power."
"What else did they do to
you?"
A short silence fell, then he
muttered, "Many things."
"Like what?"
Bane sighed, glancing at her.
"Like making me drink things that made me sick, taunting and
tormenting me, chasing me when I was too young to fight back. They
made me break rocks and dig tunnels."
"But they thought you were the
Black Lord's son. How could they do that?"
"He said that it was to make me
strong, but I will hazard that he did not really mind."
"No, I suppose not."
Bane continued to eat, his dour
expression discouraging further enquiries.
The next day
was predictably dark, with thick black clouds hurrying overhead and
ash falling in a steady rain. The
demon steed galloped over ash-covered meadows, then slowed
to enter another forest. Mirra clung to the stallion's mane,
leaning forward to avoid unnecessary contact with Bane, more for
his sake than hers, since he was the one who disliked being
touched.
Unfortunately
for him, she was almost sitting in his lap, so some contact was
unavoidable. She liked being so close to him, even though his touch
made her shiver, but had no doubt that he did not enjoy the
situation. She wondered why he made her sit in front of him, when
Dorel had sat behind. Perhaps it was because of the packs that took
up most of the stallion's rump, or because he did not want her
clinging to his waist, as the droge had. Another possibility was
that he did not want her to suffer the
effects of the dark power, and after some
consideration, she decided that must be the reason. She shivered
when she recalled how he had killed Agden, and tried not to dwell
on it.
To distract herself from the
deadly power of the man who sat so close behind her, she thought
about the robbers they had encountered the previous day, pitying
them. They could have been men who had once followed Bane, and were
now outcasts from their communities, forced to live in the forests
and steal for a living. The fact that they had not recognised him,
even after seeing the rune scars, made that unlikely, however. From
the gossip in the towns they had passed through, she had learnt
that since Bane's march through the New Kingdom, outlaw bands had
become rife. They were men with no homes or families, deserters
from defeated armies, and his own men, footloose and
bloodthirsty.
As if to
confirm her thoughts, the
demon steed dug in its hooves and stopped. It reared and
whinnied a warning as dozens of ragged, mounted men boiled from the
trees and closed in from all sides. A man with a club hit Bane from
behind. He fell, rolling several times in the ash, and Mirra slid
from the stallion's back as he knocked her sideways. He tried rise
to his feet, but his attacker was already beside him, and a kick
sent him sprawling. Dirty hands grabbed Mirra, and the demon steed
lashed out with teeth and hooves. The men attacked it with swords
and knives, not noticing the tiny flames that licked from the
wounds in the stallion's glossy red hide before it galloped
away.
Bane clasped his ribs, while
Mirra struggled in the grip of a stocky, bearded brigand. The
leader, a gaunt man with a long white scar down his cheek and a
patch over one eye, swaggered over to Bane. As with the previous
band, the men wore soiled finery and battered armour, their weapons
rusted and worn. Bane tried to rise, but the bandit pushed him down
with his foot. Bane's eyes glinted with fury, and Mirra prayed that
he would keep his temper and his power leashed. The bandit squatted
down and searched him, coming away empty handed. The men searched
the pack again too, with identical results.