Demon Lord (18 page)

"Lady!"

A sob closed her throat as his
entreaty echoed around the crater, and, as it faded, his magic
turned pure white. A blinding incandescence of sparkling lines tore
aside the darkness and made Bane stagger. The horrible illusion in
which he had clad himself warped and twisted into something so vile
that it was beyond her wildest imagination. The beast's flesh was
stripped away to reveal its misshapen bones, and its grinning,
cadaverous skull was filled with its eyes' red glow. Skeletal wings
arched over it like great bony hands clawing at the sky.

The demon steed roared and
reared as Bane made a vicious, cutting gesture with a mighty clawed
arm. A blast of black fire erupted from him and shredded the mage's
pure magic. The old man became radiant with white fire. His form
was engulfed, and he stood like a shining statue, arms
outstretched, then he transformed to a point of brilliant light. It
shot upwards like a comet, trailing sparkles of white fire, and
vanished into the night sky. A thunderclap rolled across the
crater, and the staff fell to the ground with a clatter. A deathly
hush fell as the echoes faded.

Bane staggered and sank to his
knees, his head bowed and his hands curled before him as if burnt.
The monstrous illusion that mantled him writhed and lashed for a
moment longer, then dissipated, leaving behind the bowed form of
the Demon Lord. Mirra rose to her feet and hobbled over to him.

"Bane? Are you all right?"

Afraid to touch him, she knelt
before him and tried to see what was wrong. His pain burnt through
her, and she fought the urge to run away as she had from the dying
dragon. He gasped harshly, sweat streaming down his face, his eyes
screwed shut. Mirra's hands fluttered helplessly, unable to aid
him. Her mind was still filled with the terrible memory of the
creature he had become. His hands shot out to grip her wrists, and
she screamed as his pain flooded into her.

"Suffer, healer. Share my
pain."

Mirra stared in horror at his
eyes. The black had drained from them, but the whites were blood
red, and Mirra fought to break free of him. His touch brought her
exquisite agony, and she cried out as his frigid fingers bit into
her skin.

"What did he mean? Only the
healer can what? Finish the sentence, witch!"

"I do not know!" she wailed,
writhing. "I do not know, I swear!"

"Only the healer can stop you.
That is it, is it not?"

"No! Please let me go!" Mirra
sagged as the agony overwhelmed her, threatening to rob her of her
senses.

Bane hurled her aside with a
snarl of disgust, and she curled into a ball, whimpering and
pressing her arms to her belly to warm them, for his touch seemed
to have frozen them. He rose a little clumsily and stood over her,
bristling with rage.

"Why did his magic turn white?
Answer me!" He kicked her, and she groaned.

"He - he called upon the
Lady."

"What Lady? Who is she?"

"She is the goddess. She is
good, as the Black Lord is evil."

Bane grunted. "You worship
her?"

"Yes."

"Can you call upon her?"

Mirra sat up, gasping. "I do not
think so."

"As you saw, even your goddess
cannot defeat me, so do not try."

"What if the wizard spoke the
truth about you?"

"It is lies." His hands
clenched. "My father would never betray me. I am his son. He is
proud of me. It is all vicious lies, just like yours, meant to turn
me against him. Do you mistake me for a fool?"

She shook her head. "No, of
course not."

"Where did he go?"

She looked across at the spot
where the mage had fought. Nothing remained but his staff. "The
Lady took him."

"Physically?"

"No, he is ash. She took his
soul."

Bane snorted and walked down to
the lakeshore to stare out across the water. Mirra watched him,
numbed by the shock of his transformation and the pain he had
inflicted upon her. The demonic illusion had undoubtedly struck
terror into the old mage's heart, thereby weakening his magic. Yet
such a beast did not come from imagination. Bane must have seen one
in the Underworld. She shivered at the thought of the monsters that
dwelt below, perhaps even worse than the one Bane had conjured from
his memory.

The enormous power he wielded
stunned her. Even what she had witnessed tonight was probably only
a fraction of it. The agony that accompanied it was horrific. It
seemed impossible that anyone could withstand such torture and
remain sane. Her mouth dry, she hobbled to his side and scooped up
the warm, sulphur-scented water to drink. A glimmer in the lake
caught her eye, and she focussed on it. A pale blue pentagram
shimmered deep under the water.

Bane frowned at it. "The third
ward."

Chapter Eight

The Third Ward

Bane rested for an hour beside
the lake. He watched the girl bathe in it, cleaning the cuts on her
feet. Her slender nakedness repelled him, and he looked away when
she waded out to don her robe again. Gazing across the placid
water, he almost smiled at the memory of the old wizard's terrified
expression when he had conjured the demonic aspect. It was a mere
trick, for he had been toying with the old man then, making him pay
for his pathetic attempt to fight him. No blue mage, no matter how
powerful, could stand against the Demon Lord. The greybeard's
poisonous words had enraged him, and he had made him suffer for
them, but the white fire had hurt. His hands still burnt, and the
power he had been forced to unleash had also taken its toll.

The headache pounded his brain
with mighty strokes, making his teeth ache and his eyes burn. It
did not diminish, and he stood up and stripped off his cloak, boots
and tunic, wading into the warm water. He found that the lakebed
sloped rapidly downwards, forcing him to use a little power in
order to move through the water. Filled with revulsion at its hated
touch, he moved out over the ward. When he dived down to it, the
lines of force looked as frail as the old man who had cast
them.

Summoning the black fire, he
hammered the ward, and it shattered like brittle glass. Bane
smiled, then frowned as the ward reappeared, the lines drawn back
together as if he had struck an illusion. He shattered it again,
but once more it reformed, like a reflection in a still pool.
Angered, he kept hammering it, but as soon as he stopped, it
reappeared.

Mirra stared at the spot where
Bane had vanished, waiting for him to resurface, his evil task
done. A flare of blue light on the shore made her turn in alarm.
The wizard's staff was alight, and Mirra watched it, but it just
lay there, glowing. The demon steed roared, making her jerk around
with a gasp. It pranced, tossing its head, its fiery mane swirling
about its glowing neck, and trotted over to the staff. Breathing
fire, it reared up and smashed its hooves down upon the shining
staff. Again and again it hammered the staff, pounding it with
frenzied zeal.

The staff shattered with a
brilliant flash of blue incandescence and a hissing crack, and the
demon steed vanished. The staff lay dull and broken, mere splinters
of grey wood.

Moments later, Bane surfaced and
moved towards the shore, noticing the demon steed's absence.

"Where is Drallis?"

"He - it - the staff was
glowing, and it attacked it, then there was a big flash and it
vanished."

Bane wrung water from his hair.
"Well, well. A canny mage, this one. He linked the ward to the
staff; that is why it kept returning. Had it not been for Drallis,
I would not have been able to break it without first destroying the
staff. He did not know I would have a demon steed with me."

"Is it dead?"

"Drallis?" He chuckled. "No,
stupid, you cannot kill something that is not alive. He has been
banished, gone below. An inconvenience. I do not feel like
summoning another now." He smiled with cold venom. "You will have
to walk back."

The thought of the sharp rocks
made her toes curl. "I cannot Bane, please do not make me."

"You idiot, how else will you
get down?"

She glanced over at the mage's
humble abode. "I could look for some shoes, or something to wrap my
feet in."

Bane sat down to pull on his
boots. "Go on then, otherwise you will bleed to death before we
reach the ship, for I will not carry you. And hurry up, I will not
wait, either."

Mirra hobbled to the house,
pushing open the creaking door. The interior was poorly furnished,
but every bit of wood was carved, and many wooden statues decorated
the tables and shelves. Most were of a smiling woman with a gentle
face, her hands outstretched before her. Mirra recognised the
Lady's image in her most popular pose of blessing the
multitudes.

This was how the mage had wiled
away three hundred years, waiting for Bane. She walked through the
cluttered lounge into the bedroom, finding several pairs of
sandals, but all far too large. Opening a drawer in the intricately
carved cupboard, she pulled out some underclothes, tearing them
into strips with which she bound her feet. As she stood up to
leave, she noticed a mirror over a table in the corner. Fascinated,
she moved closer, studying her reflection for the first time.

Another face formed in the
mirror, making her jump back with a squeak. The old mage looked out
at her, his sunken eyes filled with soft green light.

"Mirra. Have courage, child, do
not give up. He will not kill you. He cannot, although he thinks he
can. Be strong, your reward will be great in the end. The Lady
watches over you."

The image faded as a thousand
questions invaded her mind, but the mirror was empty save for her
own pale, wide-eyed reflection. A shiver went through her. The old
house made her skin crawl, and she fled back to the dubious
security of Bane.

He smirked at her. "Did you see
a ghost?"

"Uh, no."

Bane grunted and walked towards
the rim of the crater, Mirra following. All the way down, she
wondered if she had told her first lie. The mage was dead, so it
could have been a ghost, but ghosts did not appear in mirrors. If
she had told Bane what she had seen, he would have asked what he
had said, and that he probably should not know. If she had said
that the ghost did not speak, that would have been a bigger lie.
She comforted herself that the image in the mirror had not been a
ghost.

By the time they reached the
ship, Mirra's cloth shoes were rags, and she stumbled with fatigue.
Bane went straight to his cabin, shouting for Mord, and she went in
search of Benton. He was in the crew's quarters, eager to hear her
story, and plied her with sweet cakes while she told it. When her
stomach was full, exhaustion made her eyes droop, and she went to
Bane's cabin, wary of hunting demons.

The Demon Lord lay stretched out
on the bed, one arm across his face. Sweat dewed his skin and
soaked into the black mane that spread across the pillow like
ravens' wings. He glanced at her with one red eye before rolling
onto his side, turning away from her. His pain lanced through her
like needles of fire, making her eyes burn with pity. He bore it in
silence, lying quite still, and she moved away to curl up on the
floor and sleep.

At dawn the ship slipped away
from the island's rocky shore, encountering large swells, and Mirra
realised that Bane had been controlling the sea around the island,
allowing them to moor so close to it. The wind that came up blew
towards the mainland, driving the ship before it. This too, was the
Demon Lord's influence; he seemed able to control the weather with
consummate ease.

After the first day, which Bane
spent in his cabin, suffering the aftermath of the battle, he came
up to stroll on deck, ignoring the men, who avoided him. The
captain watched his languid perambulations with cold green eyes,
making no effort to hide the hatred shining in them. Two days
passed in peace, with no demon attacks, and Bane was remarkably
calm.

The unnatural wind blew day and
night, speeding the ship back to its harbour. Mirra noticed that
Bane's headache had worn off quicker than usual, and he looked
healthier. His eyes cleared and his lips became paler, his skin
acquiring a little colour. His mood stabilised to glum surliness,
and he ignored her completely. Her bruises faded, and the cuts on
her feet closed, leaving red scars.

As they approached land, Bane
sank into a black gloom, staying in his cabin until the ship
docked. When Mirra tried to talk to him, he ordered her out. The
army waited on the wharf, but Bane only emerged an hour after the
men and Mirra had disembarked. He ignored them when they chanted
his name, and went straight to an abandoned inn. Mirra found him in
the empty common room, two pots and a flask on the table before
him.

Mirra gasped and would have
fled, but Bane said, "Come here, girl." She hesitated, still
tempted to run, and he smiled. "How far do you think you will
get?"

Defeated, she approached him,
flinching when he gripped her arm and pushed her into a chair. "I
was waiting for you. I knew you would come, like some faithful
puppy dog." He tied her to the chair.

"Do not do this, Bane. Do not
cut the runes again, please."

"Be quiet."

Having secured her, he stripped
off the cloak and tunic, then drew his dagger. His pale skin still
bore the raw red scars from the last time he had carved the runes,
and the dagger twitched angrily in his hand.

"I used up most of my power
saving you, witch. It is your fault I must do this again so
soon."

"I am sorry." Mirra gazed up
into his intense eyes. "Please do not do it."

Bane leant closer, frowning.
Once again, his angelic-demonic aspect struck Mirra, the clear blue
eyes blazing in their black fringe of lashes, too beautiful to be
evil.