Demon Lord (35 page)

"Yes, you will be getting
desperate soon, but I will watch you. Perhaps this running away to
save me was all a ploy to make me use the power again, since you
think it will kill me. But you failed. I did not use the power at
all." He leant closer, his words heavy with scorn. "I could have
been there long before, had I used the power. You were lucky I was
in time, or perhaps unlucky."

Mirra closed her eyes, unable to
stomach the loathing on his face. "I was lucky. But I was not
trying to make you use the power."

"We shall see how lucky you
are."

An uncomfortable silence fell,
and Mirra's head drooped with fatigue. After her sleepless,
uncomfortable night, she was exhausted, hardly able to listen to
him, much less hold an intelligent conversation. He left, and she
lay down on the floor, longing for sleep. It seemed only a second
later that he shook her awake again.

"Get up, we are leaving. Your
horse has returned."

Bane swung away and left her to
shake off the sleep that tried to drag her back into its soft black
folds. As she tottered from the tent, it collapsed behind her as
Mord packed it away. The grey horse awaited her, saddled, and she
climbed onto his back. Bane set off aboard the demon steed, Mirra
following, and the grumbling army trudged after them.

Mirra hardly noticed the day
pass. Her weariness blanked her mind and dulled her perceptions.
The open woodland gave way to thick forests that slowed the pace to
a walk, and the horse's plodding lulled her with its gentle swaying
motion. The stallion followed Bane, Mirra sagging on his back,
unaware that they had once more entered a gloomy, dripping forest.
At times she nodded off, until a horrible slipping sensation as she
started to slide from the saddle jerked her awake. Only when they
arrived at the city did she look around, the stallion's tension
jolting her into wakefulness.

The forest's mighty, looming
trees ended abruptly, as if the soil beyond that point had been
poisoned, for nothing grew in it, not even a blade of grass. Dead
brown earth, trampled to rock-like hardness, surrounded the Old
Kingdom city. Once a mighty metropolis, the ancient city's huge
stone buildings crumbled into ruin, and the streets, wide enough
for ten horses to traverse abreast, were cracked and worn. Statues
of demons, heroes, and gods, some forgotten, others recognisable,
and a few that had never existed, lined the broad roads. Guttering
flames and foul offerings clustered at their feet, bird droppings
streaked their impassive stone faces.

A great procession of red- and
black-robed priests, wearing gargoyle masks, met Bane as he rode
into the city. A hissing chant of greeting rose from the crowd, and
although these people did not wear dirt to honour their evil lord,
they had not forgone the tattoos and disfigurations. Bane waited
while everyone prostrated themselves, their arms outstretched in
abject worship, then made an impatient gesture that brought them
all upright, heads bowed in respect. When the High Priest had read
a long oratory of welcome, the procession parted to admit the demon
steed into their midst, forming around Bane in an honour guard.
Soldiers, dressed in smart green and black armour, held back the
crowd as the Demon Lord rode past, and the priests, carrying long
staffs tipped with oily torches, strode beside him.

Mirra gazed around, shocked by
the number of crippled beggars that fringed the crowd. Never had
she seen so many people with missing appendages, eyes, ears and
even noses. Some wore leg chains or iron collars, and all carried a
tin cup, which they rattled at the people who watched the
procession. Filthy rags covered them, and their eyes gazed
hopelessly from sunken sockets in emaciated faces. She guessed that
they must be slaves, perhaps captured over the river and brought
here to live out their lives in misery, or sacrificed when occasion
demanded it. The sight of their mutilations aroused her pity, and
she longed to go amongst them and give what help she could.

The grim city was devoid of all
greenery; no trees, flowers or grass broke the monotony of brown
stone. The mostly windowless buildings stood in ugly rows,
unrelieved by any ornamentation save gargoyles and carved runes.
Crows perched atop walls and statues, watching the people below
with bright, glittering black eyes. Their hoarse cries echoed
amongst the monstrous buildings, adding a taint of corruption to
the already evil atmosphere. It was fitting that birds of death and
carrion would inhabit a city of evil worship, Mirra mused. The ride
through the city seemed interminable, but eventually the procession
halted before an enormous temple set atop a shallow stepped
pyramid.

Columns held up the flat stone
roof, much like the one that Orran's people worshipped in, only
this one was larger, more grand, and intact. Mirra wondered how the
huge slabs of stone, fifty feet long and at least three feet thick,
had been raised to balance on the columns. The hard grey stone had
a smooth, glazed surface, similar to that of Torlock keep, which
made her think that magic had been used in its construction.

Stone serpents coiled up the
columns, their glaring eyes set with glowing emeralds. Deeply
etched runes, meaningless to her untrained eyes, covered the edge
of the roof slab. The honour guard chased away a huddle of human
misery on one side of the steps, another group of mutilated slaves
chained together. Many were so weak they could barely walk, and
their fellows dragged them as the guards lashed them with long
whips. Mirra swallowed a whimper at their pain, glancing at Bane,
who seemed oblivious to them.

The Demon Lord halted the demon
steed at the bottom of the steps, where two lines of torch-bearing
priests flanked the route upwards. She thought that he would ride
into the temple, but he dismounted, and she followed suit. Bane
flicked the edges of his cloak over his shoulders, revealing the
crimson lining, and mounted the steps. She hesitated before
following, acutely aware of the priests' eyes upon her. Bane
traversed the torturously steep ascent with ease, but Mirra's legs
ached by the time she was halfway up.

At the top, they walked across a
huge, polished black marble floor flanked by the seemingly endless
rows of red-robed, tattooed priests. All of them had a third,
glaring red eye painted on their foreheads, and their cheeks bore
long scars from old blood lettings. Bright torches filled the
building with dancing golden brilliance, banishing almost all the
shadows that tried to gather in gloomy corners now that the sun had
set. Ugly black statues huddled in niches, and gargoyles leered
from every corner.

Bane's boots clicked on the
marble floor, echoing around the enormous temple. The priests'
trappings and rich clothes made it clear that this was a prosperous
people, secure in their city, righteous in their worship of the
Black Lord. Many wore tarnished copper nose rings and huge golden
earrings that pulled their ears into long, sagging flaps. All
glared into space, their expressions blankly fierce, but as Bane
passed them, each prostrated himself, causing a wave that followed
the Demon Lord the length of the temple.

A tall, lean man rose from a
golden throne set behind a massive altar stone of black marble. He
wore black robes, and gold glittered at his throat and winked on
his fingers. His bald head gleamed in the torchlight, and dark eyes
glowed in a cadaverous, hook-nosed face. Stepping aside, he bowed
to Bane, gesturing to the vacated throne.

"Welcome, Demon Lord. I am
Emperor Agden, and your presence here honours us."

Bane stopped and regarded the
man with cold eyes, his tall frame relaxed, one leg resting. A
number of high-ranking priests flanked the throne, gold-trimmed
cowls hiding their faces. As Bane waited, the silence grew
oppressive, only the spluttering hiss of the torches disturbing it.
The priests stood as if carved from stone, but the Emperor shuffled
his feet, his eyes darting.

"Do we give offence, Lord?"

"You do. Do you think to meet me
as an equal?"

The Emperor's leathery face
paled, his brows drawing together. "You are not the Black Lord, but
his son, and I am Emperor of the city that was once his, and is the
greatest city to worship him."

Bane's lip curled. "You are a
human, yet you presume not to make obeisance to me, as even the
demons do."

"The demons are mere minions of
the Black Lord. I lead his loyal people." Agden swelled with
pride.

Bane stepped closer, his stance
threatening. "I will not tolerate your disrespect. Prostrate
yourself, or die."

The Emperor's face twisted with
hatred, but he sank to his knees and pressed his face to the marble
floor. Bane set his boot against the man's neck, holding him
down.

"Do not think to defy me, human,
you are nothing to me."

Turning away, he allowed the man
to rise as he stalked over to the altar and leant against it. Agden
glared at him, gesturing again to the throne.

"Take what is yours, Demon
Lord."

"It looks uncomfortable." Bane
yawned. "I am tired. Show me to a room."

Agden looked shocked. "We have
planned a sacrifice in your honour, Lord."

Bane scowled, then shrugged.
"Get on with it then."

An icicle of horror pierced
Mirra. They were about to slaughter some hapless person, and she
would have to watch. Only this morning, she had almost been a
sacrifice herself. Agden bowed again, his face now set in
respectful lines.

"First we have prepared a feast
and dancing to celebrate your arrival. The city waits to hear the
drums signal the start of the revelry."

Bane turned to gaze at the
priest-lined temple, noting the silent crowd that had gathered at
the bottom of the steps. "I do not eat Overworld food, Agden. I
will dine in my room, and return for the festivities and sacrifice.
Bring the troll who bears my packs to me there."

Agden's mouth swung open, but
Bane turned his back on him, and a senior priest stepped forward to
guide him to his rooms. Once again Bane was led to a sumptuous
chamber at the back of the temple, decorated with rich velvet and
carved gilt chairs. Silken covers of deep crimson quilted the vast
bed, and several tapestries depicted the Underworld. The huge
fireplace held a cheerful blaze, and thick rugs warmed the floor.
Lines of runes ran around the walls, angular characters that meant
nothing to Mirra, although she knew they did have meaning. She had
not seen such opulence since King Holran's palace, and gazed around
in awe. A feast of rare delicacies was spread on a table before the
fire, and red wine glowed in cut-crystal glasses.

Bane surveyed the room and
nodded to the priest, who abased himself and left. Mirra sat beside
the fire and sampled the delicious food while Bane studied the
runes on the walls. When he joined her, he looked displeased.

"This Agden thinks too much of
himself. I do not trust him."

Mirra bit into a honey cake.
"Surely he can do nothing to you?"

"This place is a nest of vipers.
He might think to try to kill me. He does not know my power." He
settled on a chair.

"Why would he do that? He
worships your father."

Bane stared at the fire. "It is
easy to worship my father while he is trapped in the Underworld,
but a man like Agden would not like to have to grovel before his
lord in the flesh. He would rather the wards remain, so he may have
his petty power in my father's name."

Mirra gazed at his profile. "You
think he will try to kill you?"

"Probably."

"Why not summon a demon to guard
you?"

Bane's lip curled, and he turned
to look at her. "Do you think I need a demon to guard me?"

"No, of course not." She glanced
away, flustered. "But it would stop any attempt, so you would not
have to worry about it."

He smiled. "I am not worried
about it, I am looking forward to it. I shall enjoy killing that
arrogant bastard. I could order him to be the sacrifice tonight,
but I think I will let him try."

Mirra shivered, concentrating on
her food. "May I stay here, while you go to the ceremony?"

Bane's eyes narrowed, a look of
contempt entering them. "I suppose it would not be to your
liking."

"No."

"Very well. I shall set the
runes to prevent any demons entering, so you will be safe." He
glanced around. "This place has power these fools cannot even use.
The very stones are steeped in it."

Mirra had been wondering why her
hackles had risen when she entered the city, and still bristled,
but that explained it. She munched a vegetable dish bathed in sweet
sauce. Bane watched her with a kind of fascination.

"Why not try some?" she
offered.

He frowned. "Still trying to
poison me?"

"It is not poison, it is good
food."

"To you, not me."

There was a soft knock at the
door, and Mord entered at Bane's command, carrying a bowl of the
reddish stew and a flagon of wine. When he left, the Demon Lord
poured a glass of wine and sampled the stew. Mirra looked at it
with loathing.

"That
is
poison."

She jumped as Bane's fist
crashed down on the table, making the crockery and glasses rattle.
"My father sent me this food."

Mirra met his angry glare. "What
does it taste like?"

He shrugged, his anger
evaporating. "Food. How would I know? I have not eaten anything
else. They go to a lot of trouble to provide this for me, since
demons do not eat, and nor do the dead."

"Is your father a sort of demon,
too?"

"No. He is a god."

Mirra coughed and took a gulp
from her cup of water. Bane watched her until she put it down, then
returned his attention to his plate as she stared at him in shocked
surprise.