Demon Lord (15 page)

The belligerence drained from
the captain's expression, and he nodded. "I'll not argue that. But
the crew's gone."

Bane said, "I have plenty of
men."

"Landlubbers." The captain spat
over the side.

The Demon Lord shrugged. "If a
few fall overboard, what of it? I will bring some spares." He
signalled to Mord, who hovered within earshot, and the troll
trotted off to select men. Many fled, and Mirra knew they dreaded
being aboard the same ship as Bane. He turned back to the captain,
and his manner grew menacing.

"One more thing, Captain. If you
ever call me 'sonny' again, I will kill you, understand?" He
touched the captain's huge red beard, and it burst into flames.

The captain roared, beating at
it as he staggered back. Mirra gave a cry and ran to touch him. Her
power flowed, but so weakly that it did little more than stop the
pain. As the last of it drained from her, she crumpled, and
darkness slammed down.

The girl's collapse took Bane a
little by surprise, and he frowned as the captain fell to his knees
beside her. Bane kicked him aside.

"Leave her! Touch her and you
die."

The captain moved away, eyeing
Bane, whose crimson-lined cloak billowed in the sea breeze,
spreading around him like evil wings. He smirked and strolled along
the deck, surveying his new ship. The captain leant against the
helm and fingered his burnt cheeks, his eyes flicking to the
healer's crumpled form, filled with concern.

Bane stationed himself in the
bows as his men filed aboard, casting furtive looks at him. Last,
the demon steed boarded at his command, and the deck smoked under
its hooves. It joined its master, leaving the men to work
unimpeded. Mord delivered Bane's soothing potion, and the Demon
Lord settled on a coil of rope. The inexperienced men fumbled in
the rigging as they followed the captain's shouted instructions,
and the ship moved out of the harbour.

Water trickling into her mouth
woke Mirra, and she coughed. Opening her eyes, she found Benton
regarding her with deep concern, her head pillowed on his arm. He
put down the flask, and she gazed around as he helped her to stand
on the swaying deck. The captain, who stood at the helm, jerked his
chin at a hatchway.

"Take her to my cabin, she'll be
comfortable there."

Following the captain's
directions, Benton took Mirra to a cosy cabin in the stern of the
ship and helped her to a bunk under the windows that overlooked the
sea. Cupboards and lockers made from polished, fine-grained wood
lined the cabin, for no space was wasted on a ship. A cheap grey
carpet covered the floor, and the faint aroma of bilges wafted from
the corridor. Exhaustion numbed Mirra, and her head seemed to be
stuffed with cotton wool. For the first time in her life she was
utterly without power, and its lack left her weak and trembling.
The soft bed soothed her aches, and she was hardly aware of Benton
leaving the cabin.

Mirra opened her eyes to find
Bane standing over her, burnished by lamplight. She smiled, and was
rewarded with a scowl.

"Get off my bed."

As she slid off the bunk, a roll
of the ship made her stagger and grab a table for support.

Bane sat on the bed, studying
her. "Now you have no more power, do you, witch?"

"No."

"Come here."

Mirra stood before him, her head
bowed. He drew his dagger and gripped her arm, using the weapon to
slice her skin. Mirra gasped and bit her lip as blood welled from
the wound, trying to tug her arm away. Bane grinned, revealing even
white teeth.

"So, now I can really have
fun."

Mirra gazed at him, her eyes
liquid with tears.

He laughed. "You think that you
can melt my heart with your puppy dog looks? Think again,
dolt!"

His palm cracked across her
cheek, and she staggered back with a cry. Bane came after her,
grabbed her robe and yanked her towards him like a rag doll. He
slapped her again, making her yelp and raise her arms to ward off
the next blow. This only made him hit her harder, and he smacked
her until she crumpled, her robe ripping in his grip. Bane jerked
her to her feet and sent her staggering with another slap. Her head
hit the bulkhead, and everything went black.

Bane lifted her, then dropped
her with a grunt of disgust. He flung himself onto the bed and
stared at the ceiling, his nostrils flared with thwarted rage.
Beating her was not as much fun as he had thought it would be. She
was too helpless, too weak. It was like stepping on a bug, hardly
satisfying at all. It had been much more fun setting the captain's
beard alight; the man had guts.

If the girl only had an ounce of
defiance, he would have enjoyed it. He had given up feeding her
meat for the same reason. She simply ate it without protest, then
was sick afterwards. Torturing her with another's pain was equally
boring. All she did was whimper and wail, beg him to stop, and weep
sickeningly. If she had tried to stop him, put up some sort of
physical or verbal fight, it would have been far more fun. The only
reason he kept her alive now was because she was supposed to be a
threat to him, and he enjoyed a challenge. Closing his eyes, he
drifted into an untroubled sleep.

When Mirra woke, daylight
streamed through the windows at the back of the empty cabin. She
climbed onto the rumpled bed and gazed out at a grey, heaving sea.
Her head ached and her swollen face throbbed. The cut on her arm
had almost healed, but she knew that bruises bloomed in her cheeks,
and she fingered the scab in her hair. She had thought Bane would
kill her, but he had only slapped her. The blows were almost gentle
compared with the ferocity with which he had beaten her before. It
seemed he did not wish to kill her yet. Now she could not even help
herself. Bane's suffering saddened her more, now that she had only
her skills with herbs to fall back on, a puny resource compared to
her power. Perhaps she could not have healed him while the dark
magic filled him, but she could have eased his suffering.

The door opened, and she turned
with a smile. Benton stood there, looking furtive. He closed the
door and came over to cup her bruised cheek in his rough hand.

"Why did he do this?"

She sighed. "He has so much
anger..."

"He's a damned monster!"

"No. He needs help, but now I
can do little for him."

Benton groaned, looking
exasperated. "You're such a gentle, forgiving girl. You can't see
that he's bad to the core."

She put her hand on his. "No one
is bad to the core."

"I wish I could help you."

"Do not try; you will only
suffer. Where is he?"

"Up in the bow, with that...
thing of his." He took something from his pocket. "Here, I brought
you something to eat. I doubt that he's bothered to feed you." He
handed her a paper packet.

Mirra tore it open and wolfed
the sweetbread and apple inside.

He glanced around. "I must go.
If he finds me here, he'll kill me."

Mirra nodded, her mouth full,
and he left with a smile of gentle reassurance. After she had
eaten, she returned to her perusal of the cold sea.

When Bane returned at dusk, he
ignored her timid smile as she got off the bed. He grasped her chin
and turned her face this way and that to study it in the lamplight,
his fingers digging into her with unfeeling brutality.

"Most impressive. As soon as
they heal, I will give you some more."

Mirra stepped back when he
released her, tears stinging her eyes. He chuckled nastily and
stretched out on the bed with a sigh, ignoring her again. She
curled up on the floor, and the ship's motion rocked her to
sleep.

The ship's drunken lurching and
the howling of the wind, mingled with the distant sound of banging
doors and breaking glass, dragged Mirra from her exhausted slumber.
Pale, watery light came through the windows, and Bane lay on the
bunk, clad only in his trousers. The captain's distant bellow of,
‘Landlubbers!’ mixed with the snapping of loose canvas and the
thuds and cries of men as they struggled with the sails. The wind
keened in the rigging, and the hull boomed as it crashed through
deep troughs. The ship shuddered, creaking and groaning as if the
storm was tearing it apart. Bane gazed out of the window,
apparently enjoying the tempest. He looked around when she sat
up.

"It seems I overdid the bad
weather," he commented.

"Can you stop it?"

He shrugged. "Naturally. But it
will give me a headache."

"People could be hurt."

"So?"

"The ship might sink."

"I will not let it," he assured
her, scowling.

Mirra nodded and huddled against
a cupboard. Bane stretched, yawned and rubbed his eyes, all such
normal human actions that she smiled. The rune scars on his chest
were still an angry red after his last ritual. He rose and pulled
on his boots, tunic and cloak before leaving the cabin. Mirra
climbed onto the still-warm bed and gazed out at the wild sea,
fascinated by its power. After a while she decided to venture on
deck for some fresh air, and to experience the storm's fury. She
found a warm cloak in the wardrobe and wrapped herself in it, then
climbed the steep stairs to the deck.

Above, bedlam reigned. The wind
shrieked through the rigging with unbridled glee, ripping at the
tough storm sails. Lashing rain, mixed with spray, drummed on the
wallowing ship's deck. The captain roared orders at the scurrying
men, who slipped on the wet deck as they tripped over ropes snaking
about like live things. Sheets of spray flew over the ship,
drenching the men who struggled with soaked rigging and slippery
fittings. Torn canvass littered the deck amid snapped spars and
broken rigging.

The inexperienced crew lashed
themselves to the masts and railings as they staggered to and fro.
The ship heeled and listed, rearing over huge waves and plunging
into deep troughs amid cascades of spray. The Sea Bird ran from the
wind, spilling most of the gale from her ragged canvas. Walls of
water reared over the stern, threatening to engulf the ship, but it
rose up the swells like a cork, making Mirra's knees buckle with
the added gravity. As it crested the swells, her weight became
normal, then she seemed apt to float off the deck as the ship slid
down into the next trough. Waves boomed against the hull, whipped
up by the veering wind to drench the deck and crew.

Bane stood in the bows, riding
the plunging ship like a mettlesome steed. His clothes were dry,
for little spray came over the bows, and he was in the lee of the
jib, which protected him from any that did. The demon steed stood
nearby, as steady as if nailed to the deck. She crept out further
and spied the captain, who clung to the wheel, lashed to it, his
burnt face rimed with salt. A wave smashed against the ship,
stinging her cheek with spray, and she revelled in its cool
wetness. Clinging to handholds, Mirra ventured onto the deck and
darted over to the railing, where the panorama of stormy sea and
heaving ship lay before her. The wind tore at her with amazing
power. Black clouds raced overhead, and distant thunder
rumbled.

Holding onto the railing, she
watched the men run about, lashing rigging, raising fresh storm
sails and clearing away debris. A wave splashed her, making her
gasp at its iciness. Deciding it was too cold and wet on deck, she
started back to the cabin. As she released the railing, a massive
wave broke over the gunwales and swept her feet from under her. She
was washed across the deck, desperately trying to grab something,
but the water dragged her to the far railing. Another wave swept
over the ship, foaming with white spume. It carried her through the
railings, and she flailed wildly as she tried to grab a rope or
stanchion. Nothing came to hand, and, as the grey water rushed up
at her, she screamed.

The Demon Lord's head jerked
around at the faint scream that mingled with the howling wind. He
knew at once that the healer had been swept overboard, his
magically enhanced senses told him so. With a distasteful look at
the grey ocean, he loped back to the men amidships. They fled, all
but one, who slipped and fell. Bane grabbed him and shouted over
his gibbering shrieks.

"The healer fell in, go get
her!"

Bane tossed him overboard, and
the raging sea closed over him. A smirk tugged at Bane's lips. "Not
able to swim, huh? I will wager that stupid girl cannot, either."
The smirk vanished, and he frowned. "So be it. Good riddance."

Still he felt no satisfaction at
her death, and, as he stood at the railing and stared down, a
strange sense of loss came over him. Bane fought it. He did not
need her. She was just a toy, one with which he was growing tired
of playing. Her pain brought little satisfaction anymore, and her
death would please his father. His father. Of course, the Black
Lord was behind this, not a freak wave. Bane smiled. This was a
challenge.

The cold water engulfed Mirra,
and she fought to rise to the air above. Salt stung her eyes and
nose as she struggled, her heart hammering. She could swim, but not
well enough to survive a sea like this. She prayed that someone had
heard her scream, and would throw a rope. Her head broke the
surface, and she gasped sweet air, then choked as a wave leapt into
her open mouth, making her cough and wheeze as the salt closed her
airway. Something cold gripped her ankle and dragged her under,
thrashing. She called out in the language of the sea, joining her
voice to the great Song of the sea.

The Song wafted around her,
drifting on currents, calm beneath the raging surface. If not for
her burning lungs, it would have been pleasant, but cold. Her chest
convulsed, trying to suck air, but she kept her mouth closed. Her
stomach clenched, and no matter how hard she swam, she continued to
sink. No current flowed down so strongly.