Demon Lord (38 page)

Many swift streams chuckled
across their path on mossy beds, the icy clear water providing
refreshment for the weary, footsore soldiers. The grey stallion
snatched mouthfuls of grass when they passed through pretty glades
filled with wild flowers and bracken, and little waterfalls
cascaded down the rocky slopes above them. Only the occasional
glimpse of red eyes and malformed shapes shambling through the
shadows spoilt her enjoyment of the scenic landscape, a constant
reminder of whose company she kept. When they camped at night, the
woodland resounded with screams and howls as the creatures of
darkness hunted, making her shiver on the floor of Bane's tent.

For two days they travelled
through the mountains, encountering only hardy mountain deer that
fled from their path. Bane hardly spoke to her unless she asked him
a question, which, more often than not, he answered with grunts,
his mood gloomy. For a day his eyes remained bloodshot, and she
knew the headache troubled him again, but he took nothing for it
this time. His use of the power had been slight, so the pain was
bearable, by his standards.

When they stopped to rest at
noon on the third day, Mirra found a pool in a rocky hollow near
the campsite. She knelt to drink, contemplating a wash as well.
Before her hand broke the calm surface, her reflection changed, and
she looked into Elder Mother's eyes. Mirra recoiled with a gasp,
but the image smiled with gentle reassurance.

"Do not be afraid, Mirra, it is
I, not a ghost. This is the last of your talents, untried until
now." Ellese's voice came faintly from the water.

Mirra crept closer. "Elder
Mother?"

"Yes, my dear."

Relief and joy rushed through
Mirra, making her eyes fill with tears. "Oh, Mother, I am so glad
that you are all right. I have been worried about you! How is
Tallis?"

"She is well. We all are. There
is no time for chatter, listen carefully to me now."

Mirra nodded, and Ellese went on
with solemn gravity, "Bane goes to break the sixth ward. He is
perilously close to completing his task. He is human, Mirra, not
some creation of the Black Lord. His mother was taken and killed
when he was born. He was reared in the Underworld. It is the only
home he has ever known. You were sent to turn him from his purpose;
that is why you were placed in his path. It is your destiny. He
feels something for you, and you must use that to persuade him to
renounce the Black Lord. You must not tell him that you were sent
to stop him, only that you want him to stop."

Mirra shook her head, knowing
this to be impossible. "He will not listen to me."

Ellese smiled. "He might. You
have not tried, but you must now. We are all depending on you. The
power of good cannot stand in direct confrontation with evil; it
will fail. The Lady herself cast the Black Lord into the
Underworld, and she gave the mages the power to set the wards. Now
we pray to her constantly, but she has not revealed her purpose.
Perhaps this time it is our task alone. You must try to stop him
from eating the Underworld food, it helps to keep him evil."

Mirra glanced around, nervous
that Bane would see her. "It has been terrible, Mother. He kills
people. He enjoys the suffering of others."

"I know, my dear, I have been
watching. Try to turn him, Mirra, please."

Elder Mother's image faded, and
Mirra took a quick drink before returning to the camp.

That night, when Bane retired to
his tent and lay staring at the ceiling, she broke into his
reverie.

"Bane, what would happen if you
did not break the last two wards?"

He shrugged. "My father would
stay in the Underworld."

"He would not... punish you, or
anything?"

"He would be furious. He would
send me back to do it."

"What if you stayed in the
Overworld?"

He turned his head to look at
her. "I have no wish to stay here."

"Why not?"

"I do not like it here. I belong
in the Underworld."

"But you do not. You belong
here."

Bane sat up, swung his legs off
the bed and faced her. "Why all the questions?"

Mirra took a deep breath. "I
spoke to my Elder Mother today, the leader of my abbey. She told me
the truth. Bane, you are -"

The tent flap flew open, and a
woman entered as if she had lived there all her life. Long, curly
red hair framed a perfect face with melting brown eyes and a wide,
smiling mouth. A graceful, forest-green velvet gown hugged her
voluptuous curves, and gold earrings and a sapphire necklace
glowing against her creamy skin. She grinned and spread her arms as
Bane rose to his feet.

"Bane, darling! I'm here at
last!"

The Demon Lord looked stunned,
and Mirra glanced from one to the other, confused.

Bane said, "Dorel. What are you
doing here?"

The woman stepped up to him and
slid her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him. His
arms remained at his sides.

She pouted. "Bane, dear, your
father sent me to help you. With only two wards left, he could,
just. He said that you were ill, and needed someone to take care of
you, so I volunteered, naturally. He's worried about you, darling,
surrounded by all these pathetic humans and trolls. He felt you
needed some decent company, and moral support too, of course. It
must be terrible for you, rubbing shoulders with trash."

Her gaze fell upon Mirra, and
she frowned. "Why, there's one in your tent, darling. What's she
doing here? Oh, I know." Dorel turned limpid brown eyes on Bane.
"You won't need her any more, dearest."

Bane stepped back, disengaging
the woman's clinging arms. "She is not -"

"Oh, Bane," she crooned, "I've
missed you. We have a lot of time to catch up on, don't we?" Dorel
turned to glare at Mirra. "Get out, human, and take your lice and
filth with you."

Mirra rose and slipped out into
the chilly night air. The woman's throaty laughter followed her as
she stumbled into the moonlit forest. She did not go far before
settling next to a tree, out of earshot of the tent. The cold made
her shiver after the warmth of Bane's tent. She gathered some wood
for a fire, then realised that she had no way of lighting it.

Huddled against the tree, she
hugged herself and scanned the darkness for red eyes, thinking
about the strange woman. How odd that she did not fear the Demon
Lord. She treated him like an old friend, and even interrupted him
when he spoke. Mirra recalled his rage at Agden's lack of proper
respect, yet this woman took unheard-of liberties with his person
and went unpunished. She had not thought Bane capable of the kind
of emotions this woman seemed to credit him with, calling him
'darling' as if she was his sweetheart.

As her thoughts whirled in
ever-increasing circles, Bane emerged, a tall shadow in the
moonlight, and walked straight to her. He dropped a blanket beside
her and squatted down, spotting the pile of wood. Placing his hand
on it, he channelled a tiny dark flame into it, and the wood caught
fire with a dull whoosh. He removed his hand unhurriedly, rubbing
off a little soot. In the orange light, his face was tense and
broody as he stared into the fire.

Mirra pulled the blanket around
her. "Who is she?"

He glanced at her. "She is a
droge. She was one of... my father sent her."

"A spirit?" She shivered. The
woman looked so human.

Bane smiled. "Of a sort. She
died, and was sent to the Underworld. My father has given her a
body, though it is not flesh and blood, but a kind of solid
illusion. She is not human anymore, but she is not a demon. She has
no power."

"Do you like her?"

He chuckled. "I do not like
anyone. She has her uses, though."

"I am glad you will have company
that agrees with you. One of your own kind, at last."

Bane stood up, his face hidden
in shadow. "You will be all right here. You are close enough to the
tent."

Mirra nodded, watching him
stride back to the tent before lying down next to the fire. How was
she going to speak to him now? No doubt the droge would be with him
all the time, and she clearly did not want Mirra around.

Chapter Sixteen

The Sixth Ward

Bane entered the tent and
stopped. Dorel lay on the bed, naked, voluptuous and inviting, her
red lips smiling. She raised her arms, beckoning him to join her.
Bane unclipped his cloak and dropped it on the floor, then
unbuttoned his shirt. Dorel watched him with eager eyes, running
her tongue over her lips. Stripping off his shirt, he sat on the
bed beside her and started to remove his boots. Dorel sat up and
moved closer, running her hands over the rune scars.

Bane watched her, part of his
mind urging him to do what he had done so many times before, with
her, and others. She was not real, another part of him protested.
No blood surged in her veins; no pulse throbbed at her throat. Her
invitation was tempting, but she was not alive. Not human, like the
healer, like... him. Even if his father had created his soul, his
body was human, while she was truly a creature of the Underworld,
lifeless. Strangely, he had always found that the healer repelled
him, perhaps because she was his opposite, yet now Dorel did not
appeal to him either. No surge of the lust that she had awakened in
him so often in the past arose, if anything, her lewdness disgusted
him.

Dorel was pressed to his chest,
her hands sliding over his shoulders, caressing his skin, tracing
the runes of power. Bane gripped her long hair and pulled her head
back, staring into her hot brown eyes that glowed red in their
depths. He thrust her away, sickened by her touch. She smiled coyly
and started back towards him, licking her lips. Bane stood up,
frustrating her.

"The bed is too small, and I am
tired. You can sleep on the floor. Since you chased the girl out,
you can take her place."

Dorel eyed him. "You don't want
me?"

"No."

Her mouth twisted in a sneer.
"You'd rather jump on that dirty little human, wouldn't you?"

Anger boiled in him at the
thought. "If I did, I would have by now."

"She's trash, human filth!"

"Like you once were?"

She glared at him. "At least I'm
not that anymore. You're letting your human body rule your soul.
You never were human."

Bane gripped her arm and yanked
her off the bed. "This has nothing to do with the girl. I am tired,
and you are starting to annoy me."

The droge settled on the floor,
glaring at Bane as he removed his boots and lay down on the bed.
For a long time he lay awake, staring into the darkness, wondering
why he no longer desired the droge, and grew angry at the thought
of ravishing the healer. Indeed, no human woman had awakened any
desire in him, yet he had not objected to his soldiers having their
way with them.

Why had he not given them the
healer to play with? He put the thought aside, unwilling to delve
any deeper into the possibilities. He listened for the soft sounds
of breathing, then remembered that droges did not breathe. He
thought about the girl who lay beside the fire outside, and
stretched out his senses to assure himself that she was all right.
With a soft grunt of disgust at his concern, he rolled onto his
side and forced himself to sleep.

The next morning Dorel was all
smiles, serving him breakfast, polishing his boots and cleaning the
tent. Bane sent Mord back to his fellows in the army, not needing
him anymore. Dorel chattered incessantly about nothing, and he
tuned her out, brooding. It was good of his father to send a droge.
It must have taken a great deal of power with two wards still in
place. At least now he had someone apart from the girl who was not
afraid to touch him, should he need something done. He suffered her
to brush his hair, but shook her off when she started to get
intimate again.

The girl joined a group of
trolls at a fire, and he watched her, not knowing why he did.
Perhaps his father had sent the droge to break her spell. He
shrugged it off. Dorel would be useful, anyway.

When it came time to break camp,
he allowed Dorel to ride behind him, her arms tight around his
waist. He could have made her follow on foot, since droges were
tireless, but she might have caused trouble. Dorel pressed herself
against his back all day, and he was glad when the journey ended at
mid-afternoon.

They arrived at the lip of a
huge canyon that a swift river had carved in the mountain's
bedrock. The soaring, snow clad peaks stabbed the sky to one side,
the birthplace of the river that ran down through the foothills the
army traversed. Further upstream, the spate ran a normal course
between rocky banks, bubbling over a stony bed softened by green
moss. Here, soft rock had given way to the water's endless eroding
power, and the torrent plunged into a massive gorge, digging it
deeper as it crashed endlessly against the rocks far below.

The mighty falls thundered, and
a soft mist hung in the chasm, hiding its depths. Stunted trees,
dewed with water droplets, clung to the cliffs like desperate
mountaineers. Near the chasm's edge the forest thinned, the trees
vying for soil in the rocky ground, their roots snaking across it
in search of sustenance. On the far side, the forest continued, a
mass of green stretching away into the hazy distance.

Bane gazed at the waterfall, but
he did not see the hurtling white water or the drifting mist, his
eyes were fixed on the ward that hung before the falls. Despite the
day's dullness, a rainbow streaked the mist with vibrant, glowing
colour, and trapped within it, the faint lines of the sixth ward
shone. He cursed the mage who had set it, for the ward was far out
of reach, hanging a hundred feet from any solid ground. Sheer
cliffs rose on either side, black and wet with settling mist.