Demon Lord (29 page)

"You could make people pay for
healing, and be rich."

"Yes, rich in worldly
possessions, inanimate objects that cannot love me, while those who
cannot afford the healing would hate me, and those who could would
resent me still. Far better to give it freely and have the love of
everyone. I would never starve or freeze. Even the men of your
army, who ravish the land, murder and plunder, made sure I was fed
and clothed. None offered me harm."

Bane grunted. "I noticed,
although they did try to kill you at first."

"Because you told them to, and
they fear you, but they did not wish to do it."

He gazed at her with great
bitterness. "I wish they had succeeded."

"Why?"

Bane's cold eyes pierced her,
making her draw back from their iciness. "Because you trouble me.
You are a thorn in my side that I cannot pull out. I no longer take
pleasure in your pain, but that does not mean I cannot still
inflict it. I do not know how you are meant to stop me from
completing my task, but believe me, you will not succeed." He lay
back, closing his eyes, and Mirra was torn between her pity for him
and her fear of him.

Chapter Twelve

The Old Kingdom

The seeress sat back, rubbing
her eyes. Weariness weighed her down. Her back ached and her eyes
throbbed from too much scrying. Tallis approached with water,
eyeing Elder Mother's haggard face. Since Mirra had left the abbey,
Tallis had insisted on being the one to watch over Ellese when she
was absorbed in her scrying, eager for news of her friend. Ellese
spent too much time hunched over the glass, however, and Tallis was
worried about her. She had lost weight, and the burden of her
worries had lined her face and put more white into her grey hair.
They now resided at a poor coastal abbey where the sun shone and
all seemed peaceful. Only Ellese was still subjected to the Demon
Lord's atrocities through her scrying. To the rest of the healers,
the tales she told were far removed from their lives, though they
knew them to be true.

Tallis handed her the cup. "You
should spend some time in the sun, Mother."

"I know. I will." Ellese sipped
the water. "At least we have sun, now that the Demon Lord moves
away from here."

"Yes. How fares Mirra?"

"As well as can be expected."
She put aside the cup and rubbed her temples. "Bane has destroyed
the city of Nestor, after toying with the King. Mirra saved the
Prince, and Bane declined to punish her. She was lucky, I think his
headache was too bad."

"He has broken four wards now,
Mother, he has but three to go." Tallis shook her head. "I do not
understand how Mirra will stop him."

Ellese smiled, and her eyes took
on a dreamy look. "Imagine two ships sailing the ocean, Tallis, one
pure and good, its sails as white as snow, its hull
mother-of-pearl. The other is as black as the night, its sails made
of shadows, its hull ebony. But there is a tiny flame aboard the
black ship. A pure flame."

Ellese closed her eyes. "Imagine
that they meet, come together in a mist, and crash into each other,
damaging one another, but also becoming entangled. They cannot be
parted, but each sails to a different wind. The black ship would
sail on to the sunset and destroy the world; the white ship strives
to turn away. The closer the black ship gets to the sunset, the
more the white ship seeks to turn away, but they are bound
together, inseparable, and equally strong. You see?" She opened her
eyes and studied the girl.

Tallis frowned. "Either the
white ship will turn the black, or the black ship will take the
white with it to its destruction."

"But they are equally
strong."

"Then they will tear each other
apart."

Ellese picked up the cup and
sipped from it again. "Perhaps. But there is one factor you
forgot."

"The pure flame?"

"Yes."

"You think there is good in
Bane?" Tallis sounded incredulous.

"He is human. He is not a demon,
nor demon possessed. He has a soul that belonged to the Lady when
he was born, but which the Black Lord has corrupted." She looked
wistful. "It can be redeemed, and only Mirra can do that."

"So..."

"Mirra must fan the spark of
good in Bane until it flares up and consumes him, then he will turn
away."

"But surely the demons can
complete the task now that they are able to rise from the
Underworld?"

Ellese shook her head. "No, Bane
is far stronger than a demon. He is the Black Lord's equal. The
wards were set to bind the Black Lord; only Bane has the power to
break them. The mages who set the wards thought they had made them
indestructible, for only the Black Lord had the power to break
them, and it was he whom they held below."

Tallis shuddered. "Until
Bane."

"Yes, Bane is the Black Lord's
answer to the riddle, but he has that one small flaw, which we can
use. The very thing the Black Lord needed in order to send him
above to break the wards. His humanity."

"So Mirra was sent to save
him."

Ellese smiled, rising to her
feet. "I shall go and sit in the sun awhile."

Mirra stared with dawning horror
at the huge, muddy brown river that swirled past, sucking at its
banks. Rain sleeted down in cold sheets to soak her robe and make
it cling to her slight curves. Her hair, slicked to her head,
dripped water onto her face, forcing her to wipe her eyes
continually. Bane sat on the demon steed, his thick mane sleek
against his narrow skull, frowning and plucking at the shirt that
clung to the muscular contours of his chest. Clearly he hated the
rain, yet it seemed to wash some of the evil from him, even reduced
his stature as the gleaming palace had not. The water ran down his
face, making his long lashes stick together in thick spikes around
his pale eyes as he brushed water from them.

The demon steed pranced; the
rain hissing against its burning hide seemed to cause it great
discomfort, which Bane ignored. He turned to her, his mouth twisted
with anger and disgust.

"This is your fault. This is the
result of causing the clouds to follow us, eventually they had to
drop their foul burden."

Mirra bowed her head, accepting
the blame.

He snorted. "You bore me with
your humble ways. You would be more interesting if you showed some
spirit."

Mirra kept her eyes downcast.
Bane was in an exceedingly foul temper, and she knew better than to
rile him further. He swung away with a grunt of disgust and rode
over to the trolls, stopping before they fled and issuing orders in
a harsh voice, accompanied by curt gestures. Mord unpacked the
tent, and Mirra dismounted, letting the warhorse graze. The trolls
vanished into the forest, where they started felling trees. So he
planned to cross the river on a raft. The spate, however, looked
far too swollen and strong for that. She shrugged mentally. He was
the Demon Lord; nothing was beyond him.

As soon as the tent was up, Bane
entered it, and Mirra hesitated for a moment before joining him. He
glared at her, rubbing water from his hair with a dry cloth.
Settling on the floor, she strived to hide her shivering. Bane had
already shucked his wet shirt and cloak, now he put down the towel
and pulled off his boots, wincing as he tackled his injured foot.
It was badly swollen and discoloured; she was amazed he was able to
walk on it. The torn skin had healed, but the broken bones would
not, for he gave it no rest. The longing to heal him flared, but
she kept silent, knowing his reaction. He studied the appendage for
a moment, then went back to drying himself.

Mirra clasped her knees,
striving to get warm. A sneeze shook her, and she wiped her nose,
shooting Bane an anxious glance.

He eyed her with obvious
disgust. "If you are going to start sniffling, you can go and do it
outside, not in my tent." He flung the damp cloth at her. "Dry
yourself, you are dripping on the floor."

Mirra rubbed her soaked hair,
making it stand out in a soft blonde halo. Her dress was sopping,
so she held the cloth around her shoulders to help warm herself,
since she had no dry clothes to change into. Bane donned a clean
shirt, this one worked with patterns of vivid blue that matched his
eyes. The injuries from the temple had faded to pale pink scars,
but the runes stood out, angry red. He caught her studying him and
glared, his eyes flicking over her, noting a shiver she was unable
to hide.

"Cold, girl? Even you do not
like this world, though it is your own."

"No one likes to get wet in the
rain."

"Least of all me."

Mirra nodded, hugging herself.
She jumped in surprise when Bane threw a blanket at her.

"Stop sniffling and
shivering."

"Thank you." Mirra smiled at
him, delighted by his generosity.

Lying back on the bed, he said,
"Give the wet things to Mord to wash and dry."

Mirra gathered up his discarded
shirt and cloak, heading outside to give them to the troll.

Bane's voice stopped her at the
flap. "Yours too."

Mirra stripped off her wet robe
amongst the trees and gave the clothes to Mord, hurrying back to
the tent before the blanket got damp. Sitting on the floor, she
looked over at Bane's recumbent form, at first thinking him asleep,
then spying the gleam of his open eyes.

Emboldened by his sudden mellow
mood, she enquired, "Why are we crossing the river?"

"Because the next ward is in the
Old Kingdom, idiot."

"But is it not forbidden to go
there?"

He smiled. "The people of the
Old Kingdom worship my father. They will welcome me."

"At least you will not have to
fight them."

"No, but I doubt they will like
you."

Mirra huddled into the blanket
and tried to imagine what manner of people inhabited the Old
Kingdom. The Black Lord's worshippers had driven the good people
from the Old Kingdom a long time ago, and the river had become the
boundary. The prospect of crossing into that place frightened her,
although she had only been told that the good people had been
forced to leave by others who followed the Black Lord. She wondered
what they would be like, and to what level of depravity they had
sunk over the many years of their isolation.

Knowing the Black Lord's son,
and having seen what he was capable of, she was filled with dread.
Her history teacher had skipped over the time of the Great War,
only mentioning that many bloody battles had been fought, after
which the Lady's worshippers had left the Old Kingdom. At the time
she had not given it much thought, a few words during a dull
history class had held little weight, but now she knew what evil
was all about, her eyes had been opened to its abominations.

For a long time she lay awake,
listening to Bane's soft breathing while her mind whirled with
imagined horrors. Perhaps the dark power had warped them, as it had
done the creatures of darkness that shadowed Bane's army. As if to
confirm her thought, a howl shattered the stillness, muffled by the
forest from which it issued, but sharp over the river's soft
rushing. It might have been a wolf, except that a spate of
high-pitched gibbering followed, like insane laughter. She
shivered, and Bane tossed and sighed. Reassured, ironically, by his
presence, she pulled the damp blanket closer and forced her eyes
closed, blanking her mind. Slowly she sank into a deep, exhausted
sleep.

The next morning they crossed
the river on the huge raft the trolls had fashioned, Mirra clad in
a clean, dry robe that Mord had somehow laundered. Although it
remained overcast, no rain fell as they entered the gloomy forest
on the far bank. Bane set off immediately, leaving the rest of the
army to catch up. Mirra started at shadows, imagining dark shapes
flitting through the trees all around them, hidden by the gloom.
She told herself that these were vampires that had flown across the
river, following as they always did, but closer now that they
travelled within the dim forest.

Wet humus squelched under the
horse's feet, loud in the unnatural stillness. A thick mist hugged
the ground, and the black tree trunks that loomed out of it created
an eerie atmosphere. Strings of grey moss hung from the branches,
brushing against her with soft, spidery fingers, leaving icy trails
of dampness on her skin. She was glad that the demon steed preceded
her, for its fire burnt away the huge white cobwebs that appeared
out of the mist.

Water dripped from above, making
her start whenever it splashed her, imagining cold leeches and
biting insects. No birds sang in this blighted wood, and the trees
looked diseased, grey fungus mottling their rough bark. The ground
sprouted odd, pallid growths that reached up like dead hands from
under the black leaves. Bane brushed aside the streamers of hanging
moss with impatient waves of his hands, and she urged to stallion
as close to him as he would go.

By the time dusk drew near,
Mirra was convinced that the trolls and night creatures were not
the only ones following them. The hair on her nape prickled, and
goose bumps rose on her skin. Despite her precognition, she jumped
when a figure stepped from the trees and bowed to Bane.

"Welcome, master." The man
prostrated himself, pressing his forehead to the ground.

Bane stopped the demon steed and
frowned down at him. "I was wondering when you were going to show
yourselves."

The man cringed, twisting his
neck to look up at Bane while remaining on his hands and knees.
"Beg pardon, master, we should have realised you would see us."

"Yes, you should. Now take me to
a shelter, I am tired."

The man rose to his feet, and
Mirra studied him. He appeared to be middle-aged, with thinning
hair, a prominent nose, and horrible disfigurements. His large ears
were cut to points, and stuck out on either side of his head, while
long, ritualistic scars covered his leathery cheeks. His breath
whistled through a slit, flattened nose, and dark tattoos writhed
across his skin like a cancer. Clumsy ornaments made of stone, bone
and wood pierced his ears and the skin of his neck, and his hair,
twined with gold wire and rough gemstones, hung in limp dirty
plaits. His only garb was a brief leather loincloth, and his
callused feet were bare.