Demon Lord (11 page)

Mirra followed their gaze, and
snatched her hands back with a gasp. Green and black streaked the
flames. She sat frozen, staring at the sickly fire.

"Mirra! Get away from it!"
Benton rasped from the shadows where he hid.

Mirra could not tear her eyes
away; the awful fascination held her spellbound as the flames leapt
higher, streaked with foul colours. A circle of black crept
outwards from the fire, and the grass shrivelled to ash. At her
feet, it stopped and crept around her.

With a dull thud, the flames
leapt upward in a column, green and yellow, streaked with purple,
black and orange. The column writhed, seven feet tall, and sprouted
arms and a head, vaguely man-like, only it had six arms that
dripped fire. Mirra was rooted to the ground, the intense evil that
the form emanated dazing her.

Three molten yellow eyes
appeared in the head, blazing like beacons. Their light fell on
her, and she flung up her arms with a cry as it burnt her, her
power rushing to heal the burns and block the pain. The fire
demon's eyes brightened, and a black slit appeared below them as it
laughed.

"You cannot defy me for long,
slut! Your powers are no match for mine." It spoke in a grating
hiss, like the sound of wood burning.

Mirra experienced the same
sickness that Bane's power had caused, but the demon's fire burnt
as his had not. The stink of charring flesh assailed her, and her
ears rang with the demon's grating laughter. Regaining the ability
to move, she crawled away, but it formed legs and stepped out of
the fire.

"You cannot run from me,
human!"

Her strength waned, and she
slumped onto the charred grass as her healing power drained
away.

A shadow fell on her, bringing
blessed relief, and she looked up. Bane stood over her, facing the
demon.

"Mealle," he murmured, and the
demon's eyes dimmed. "How nice of you to visit. I did not think you
would be able to yet, with only two wards broken."

The demon stepped back,
shrinking slightly. "The Black Lord sent me. My powers are weak
still. He ordered her death, and you have failed to obey him."

Bane stepped aside and turned to
look down at Mirra. "Is he so worried about a puny human female? I
wonder why? She is my toy, Mealle, not my father's. I will decide
what happens to her. She affords me a little amusement at the
moment. When I tire of her, I will kill her."

"You dare to defy the Black
Lord?" Mealle's eyes brightened, but their baleful glare did not
appear to worry Bane.

"I do not deny my father. I will
obey him, when I am ready."

"He ordered you to kill her
now."

Bane shook his head. "I have
done everything he has asked of me, but in this trivial matter I
choose to please myself. He wants the people who stand against him
to suffer, and she does, all the time. Why should I grant her the
release of death? She will not go to his kingdom; she is a healer.
I will corrupt her, then he will be able to torment her too."

The fire demon seemed mollified.
"I understand. Your thinking is sound. I do not know why your
father craves her death so much, but I will tell him what you said.
Perhaps he will understand too."

Bane smiled coldly, his eyes
bright in the elemental's lurid light. "Good. Now, begone!"

Mealle's black mouth rounded in
surprise as he vanished in an implosion of air, leaving a
sulphurous smell.

Bane looked down at Mirra. "Get
up."

Shakily she stood, offering a
timid smile. "Thank you, Bane."

He scowled. "For what? Denying
you an end to your suffering? Are you too stupid to see that the
demon was the one who did you a favour?"

"No. I do not want to die."

Bane leant closer. "That is
good, witch, because you will not until I kill you, and by then you
will be begging me for it. But even then it will not be a favour.
You will become my father's toy after me." His slow, cruel smile
made her shiver. "No healer has ever descended to the Underworld.
You will be the first, and my father will enjoy having you. It will
be an achievement for me, to send a healer down."

Bane dragged her back to his
tent and flung her down, fastening her rope to a peg. She knew the
futility of trying to escape; it would only cause one or more of
the men to suffer. She looked up at him as he sat on the bed.

"Why did you dismiss the
demon?"

Bane's eyes narrowed. "What
makes you think I did not have to?"

"It looked so surprised. It
would have left on its own, would it not?"

He smiled. "Yes, he was about
to." His smile vanished. "I do not want the likes of Mealle up
here. This is my war, and until three more wards are broken, I do
not expect to have them bothering me. By banishing him, I ensured
that he cannot return for seven days." A satisfied look settled on
his features. "It is also unpleasant, humiliating for him."

Mirra nodded, her eyelids
drooping from the exhaustion of her ordeal. She lay down with a
sigh, longing for sleep, but Bane gripped her arm and jerked her
upright, his pain pulsing through her.

"I have not finished with you,
witch. Why does my father want you dead?"

She shook her head, bewildered.
"I do not know."

"Why can I not hurt you
physically?"

"You can!"

"No. I could kill you, break
your neck, throttle you, drown you, but you do not bleed, or
bruise, and your bones do not break."

"I am a healer."

Bane snarled, "I have killed
witches, and they bled, bruised and died like any other. My power
burnt them, but you did not feel it, and even Mealle had trouble.
Do you not know that the eyes of a fire demon should reduce a human
to ash, instantly? One eye should cook you very quickly, and he had
three on you."

"I do not know. He did burn me.
He would have killed me. Elder Mother says I am exceptional; that
is why she sent me out early."

He pushed her away. "Really. So
you are just a very powerful witch. That had better be all you
are."

Mirra nodded timid assurance,
and he seemed to lose interest and unclipped his cloak. She waited
while he removed his boots and lay down, pulling the blanket over
himself, then she curled up on the cold floor.

The Black Lord
visited Bane's dreams again that night.
His anger manifested in dark tongues of fire that lashed out
like whips. Blackness, spotted with tiny red sparks, spun in
dizzying patterns around him. Bane's mind reeled under the
onslaught of the Black Lord's fury, and he struggled to listen to
his father's words.

"You still defy me, son?" he
boomed.

"No, Father. I will kill the
girl. I just wish to experiment with her first. Already I have
found how to make her suffer, and her pain brings me joy. Mealle
told you?"

The Black Lord nodded, sparks
hissing from him. The spinning blackness cooled to grey. "Find
another healer to play with. Kill her now."

"Very well, I will, as soon as
I have a replacement."

The Black Lord seemed to swell
with rage, but controlled himself. "There is an abbey fifty miles
from you. Go there tomorrow."

"Yes, Father."

The following day, the Demon
Lord rode ahead on the dragon, leading sullen, footsore troops. No
one knew where they were going, they just followed Bane. He set a
fast pace, and by mid-afternoon Mirra stumbled in an exhausted
daze, stubbing her toes on roots and stones despite Benton's arm
around her waist. A ripple of excitement went through the horde as
it rounded the edge of a forest, rousing her from her stupor. She
looked up at Benton, who could see over the heads of those in
front. He paled and shot her a guilty look.

"It's an abbey. I'm sorry."

She patted his hand. "It is all
right. Healers do not suffer, and they go to a better place."

Her sorrow belied her words, for
she recognised the countryside now. It was her abbey. Benton's next
words made her cold with dread.

"But he knows how to make them
suffer; we told him."

Mirra stumbled as her knees
turned to jelly, and Benton stopped to help her. Horror made her
weep, and she could not force herself to take another step. Benton
picked her up, his expression grim. As they drew closer, Mirra
caught her first glimpse of the abbey, dreading the pain the
healers would soon endure. Flowering trees and shrubs surrounded
the grey and white building that nestled in a verdant vale, and the
fountain in front twinkled in the sun. There was no sign of any
healers, but the vegetable garden was at the back, and the shrubs
in front rarely needed tending.

Benton stopped and put her down.
"I won't take you any closer. Perhaps he'll spare you that."

As the dark horde poured through
the manicured gardens and entered the chapel's open door, Mirra
wondered what her sisters would be doing when they were attacked.
Praying to the Lady? Had they seen the approaching army? Would they
still be weeding and cleaning, cooking and sewing? Or were they
prepared, assembled in the chapel, awaiting death? One thing they
would not expect, and that was to suffer. She had betrayed
them.

Mord ran up and glared at
Benton. "What are you playing at, soldier? The Demon Lord wants the
girl with him."

The troll's deep, commanding
voice and excellent human speech surprised Mirra. When Bane was not
around, Mord became truer to his trollish nature, gruff and
domineering. Benton stepped aside as Mord dragged Mirra to her feet
and forced her to stumble after him. She tried to prepare herself
for the ordeal, steeling herself for the coming pain. The chapel
doorway loomed strangely dark, unlighted by the candles that always
brightened the goddess' houses on dull days like today. Bane's men
wandered around the dim interior and exited through the rear door
into the inner courtyard.

Bane stood at the altar, the
huddled form of a healer at his feet. As Mord dragged Mirra to him,
he kicked the corpse, his face flushed with rage and his eyes
icy.

"Where are they, witch?"

She stared at him blankly. "They
are not here?"

"Only this still-warm corpse. I
have never heard of healers abandoning an abbey. I have always
found them waiting to be slaughtered. Did you tell them you had
betrayed their little secret?"

"No."

"Are they hiding somewhere?"

"No, there is nowhere to
hide."

Bane stepped forward to grip her
shoulders and shake her, ignoring Mord, who scuttled away. "You had
better not be lying."

"I am not. I do not know why
they have left."

Bane shoved her aside and
stepped over the body to follow the soldiers out of the chapel.
Mord hovered nearby as she knelt beside the dead healer. She turned
the woman over and revealed a familiar face. Balia, the oldest
healer at the abbey, a sweet, harmless lady. The wooden handle of a
kitchen knife protruded from her breast. Mirra's gaze flew to the
altar, and fresh tears stung her eyes.

The altar flame had been blown
out, signifying the abbey's abandonment. Undoubtedly Balia had
volunteered to stay until the final moment before performing this
last terrible act. As the men had entered the abbey, so the light
of its holy fire had been extinguished, removing the Lady's
presence and leaving it an empty shell. Then Balia had extinguished
her own dim flame, plunging the knife into her heart and flying to
the Lady.

Mirra closed the corpse's
staring eyes and touched her chest in benediction. "Fly swift and
safe, Balia, the Lady bless you."

Mirra began to lay out the body,
straightening the frail limbs. As she folded the withered hands on
Balia's chest, she found something clutched in one of them. Opening
the stiff fingers, she discovered a tiny silken pouch. She
unwrapped it, and a glowing golden pearl fell into her palm. As it
touched her skin, the power soaked into her and filled her with
well-being and strength. The pearl vanished, and Mirra bowed her
head over the old healer.

"Thank you, Balia, Elder
Mother."

The pearl had been left for her,
concealed where only she would find it, for Bane was not interested
in corpses. Ellese knew Mirra was with him, and would lay out
Balia's body. They knew! The seeress knew Bane had discovered the
secret of harming healers, and that Mirra desperately needed the
power she could no longer glean from the sun. Since the day Bane
had found her basking, he had made sure the weather stayed
overcast.

That was why they had left, and
desecrated the chapel by extinguishing the eternal flame. That was
why Balia had committed suicide, a sin, so Mirra would not be made
to suffer. Silently she prayed to the Lady to forgive Balia. No
doubt the healers carried the Lady's white flame with them, and one
day would set it in an abbey again. Mirra smiled at this small
triumph. How wise Elder Mother was. Alerted by soft footfalls, she
looked up to find Bane looming over her, his face livid with
rage.

"They are gone, all of them. You
warned them, witch, I know you did."

Mirra opened her mouth to
protest, but Bane smashed her backwards, sending her sprawling on
the smooth white floor. Her broken jaw healed as she fell. Bane
stalked after her and kicked her, breaking two ribs, which knitted
in a warm flash. He kicked her again, breaking her arm. By the time
she stopped sliding across the floor, it had healed. The power
within her, aroused by her injuries, coursed through her in a warm
glow, and her skin glimmered with her magic's pale radiance.

Bane stood over her, his
nostrils flared and his eyes ablaze. He tore his gaze from her and
addressed one of his captains who stood in the chapel's
shadows.

"This place has a cesspit, does
it not?"

"Yes, Lord."