Demon Lord (43 page)

Dorel tugged at him, and he
pushed her away too. "Leave me alone."

Realising that his cheeks were
wet, he wiped them, and his fingers came away bloody. A little
strength seeped back into him, and he shook his head to dispel the
shock and confusion of falling so far, so fast. The girl watched
him with deep concern, and, with a grunt of irritation, he pushed
Dorel aside, staring up at the mountain. The healer's distressed
expression left him in no doubt that he looked a mess, but he had
broken half of the last ward.

Smashed crystal lay all around,
great chunks and tiny shards, some stabbed deep into the earth,
like spears. The droge was unharmed, of course, but the girl had a
cut on her head, clotted with dried blood, and another in her
shoulder, which still oozed. He checked himself, for he had landed
in a sea of razor-sharp crystal. Cuts covered his thighs and chest
where the crystal had sliced through his clothes.

"Get my jar," he snapped at
Dorel, and the droge hurried away.

While he waited for her to bring
the pot of jelly, his shirt gradually soaking with blood, he cast a
triumphant look at the girl.

"Halfway there, and I am still
alive."

"Just barely. The potion I made
for you stops pain, but that is only a symptom of the real injury.
How much pain would you be in now, without the medicine?"

"A lot."

"That is how close you are to
death."

"There were three traps," he
retorted, as if that justified his state. "That damned mage was
crafty."

"I do not want you to die."

He scowled, angry that she
spoilt his triumph by carping about his health. "Leave me alone. I
am well enough."

She glanced up at the great
stone sentinel that towered over them, crowned with jagged crystal
shards. "At least rest for a while, please?"

"I was going to, anyway. I do
not need you clucking over me like a damned mother hen. In fact, I
do not know why I put up with you at all."

She laid a hand on his arm. "I
care about you."

He glared at her. "You would
like me to believe that."

"It is true."

The droge arrived with the
ointment, and Bane ripped open his shirt with an angry jerk,
revealing a chest spotted with oozing cuts. Dorel smeared the paste
on, running her hands over him with unnecessary enthusiasm. Bane
tolerated it for a moment, then pushed her away and did it himself.
The girl retreated, but Dorel remained, watching him with an avid,
hungry expression that sickened him. The droge worshipped power,
and coveted any who possessed it.

He thrust the jar at her. "Go
and make my food."

Dorel pouted and flounced off,
shooting a killing look at the healer. Bane strived to quell the
shivers that ran through him while he pondered the task ahead.
Tomorrow he would destroy the great block of stone and free his
father. The back of his skull throbbed, the only pain the healer's
potion had failed to ease, but it was trifling. He rubbed his legs,
making no attempt to stand because he knew that he was too weak.
His frailty irked him, delaying his triumph by forcing him to rest.
He must perform another Gather soon, for he had hardly any power
left.

Bane did not attempt to rise
until the sun sank, and even then Dorel had to help him, for his
legs buckled at every step. In the tent he flopped onto the bed,
closing his eyes as intense exhaustion sucked him into the soft
arms of sleep.

Mirra sat in the darkness and
gazed at the tent. Bane was dying, but he neither knew it, nor
cared. He still believed the Black Lord would resurrect him with
honours and install him as a beloved son, but she was sure he would
not. She pitied Bane's misguided wish to please the foul creature
that had tricked him into breaking the wards. The Black Lord had
timed it well. Bane's use of the power tomorrow would be the last
straw, and he would not survive it. She had failed to turn him from
his purpose, and now he would destroy the world.

"Mirra..."

The whisper made her start and
glance around in alarm, fearful of demons sent to ensure her demise
while Bane was so weak. A piece of crystal glinted in the
moonlight, and something seemed to move within it. She crept
closer, startled by the sound of Elder Mother's voice.

"Mirra, come here."

Mirra hurried over to a chunk of
crystal broken on a flaw, its mirror-smooth surface turned
uppermost, and knelt before it on the sharp stones. Ellese's image
filled it, worried and haggard.

Mirra cried, "Mother, help me!
Everything has gone wrong. He would not listen. I tried! He will
break the last ward tomorrow, and it will kill him."

"Hush, child," Ellese soothed.
"Trust me. You can still save him. You must, now more than ever. He
is our only hope."

Mirra shook her head,
bewildered. "How can he be our hope? He is utterly loyal to the
Black Lord."

"Do your duty, Mirra. Heal
him."

"I have no power. And even if I
did, his evil stops it."

Ellese held up a calming hand.
"Think, child, he needs strength, stamina. There is another way to
give him these things, not only with magic."

Mirra looked aghast. "But he is
exhausted."

"He can do it. He is very
strong, far more so than a normal man. Find some dragonroot, give
it to him tonight."

"He will not eat it. He does not
trust me."

"Find a way!" Ellese's voice
cracked with authority, then softened. "I know you can, my dear. We
are all counting on you."

Mirra sagged back, horrified by
the enormity of Ellese's order. Dragonroot strengthened the body
and gave vitality for a while, but when its effects wore off the
penalty was grave. Bane might survive his ordeal tomorrow with its
help, but would he live through the after effects? She looked at
the crystal, but it was empty, and she turned to gaze at the dark
plains. Dragonroot was fairly common, but it would not be easy to
find in this expanse of grass, in the dark. If it was going to help
him, he must have it tonight, for dragonroot was slow acting. It
would take until the morning to work, and it might take a while to
persuade him to eat it.

Galvanised by the urgency of her
task, she hurried into the darkness. The ground around the monolith
was strewn with sharp-edged crystal, and dangerous to navigate in
the dark, so she moved beyond its edge before she began her search.
The danger of demons made her nervous as she hunted amongst the
grass for the small, fleshy leafed bush. The moon rose, and Mirra
grew frantic as the time seemed to fly past.

Just when she was starting to
despair, she stumbled upon a tiny bush and dug it out, unmindful of
the stones that bruised her fingers, or the scratches from the
thorny branches. When at last she freed it, she studied its
distinctive shape. It was aptly named, with its long, tail-like tap
root and four short roots that were its legs, above which the head
swelled, then tapered to a narrow muzzle.

Breaking off the superfluous
stem, she ran to Bane's tent, slowing as she approached it. At the
flap she hesitated, afraid of the droge, then gathered her courage
and went inside.

Bane slept on the bed, and the
droge sat on the floor, guarding his slumber. At Mirra's entrance,
her head snapped up and her eyes lighted with a baleful glare.

"Get out!"

Mirra shook her head. "I need to
speak to Bane, alone."

"He's asleep, stupid, leave him
be."

"I must speak to him, now."

Dorel rose, her hands curling
into fists as she advanced on Mirra, clearly intending to chase her
from the tent if she did not leave. Bane's eyes opened, and he sat
up, frowning at Mirra. Dorel froze, eyeing him.

"What is it?" he demanded
irritably.

"I must speak to you," Mirra
said.

"I am tired. I must rest. Come
back tomorrow, if you wish."

"It is important. Tomorrow will
be too late."

Dorel growled, "Don't listen to
her."

Bane's cold gaze flicked to the
droge, his irritation becoming anger. "Do not tell me what to do,
Dorel. Wait outside."

Dorel's lip curled, and she
pushed past Mirra, making her stagger. As soon as they were alone,
Mirra moved closer to Bane, fiddling with the root. He studied her
with weary, bloodshot eyes.

"What is it? If this is another
attempt at talking me out of it, you can leave now."

"No, it is not that." Mirra
bowed her head, then lifted it. "Will you trust me?"

"No."

"But I have not tried to harm
you, have I?"

His eyes narrowed. "Not yet, but
I would say that now would be a good time to try."

"If I told you I have no
intention of harming you, would you believe me?"

"No."

Mirra sighed, but persevered.
"My potion helps, does it not?"

"Yes, but that was just a ploy
to gain my trust. If you think you have succeeded, you are deluding
yourself. Get to the point, I want to sleep."

Mirra held out the dragonroot.
"Do you know what this is?"

"No. It looks disgusting."

She glanced down at the
dragonroot's grey, flaky skin, silently agreeing with him. "It is
called dragonroot, and it gives strength if you chew it."

"What of it?"

"You will die tomorrow when you
break the ward. If you eat this, you might survive."

Bane leant forward, his
brilliant eyes intense. Mirra met his gaze without flinching,
secure in her innocence. "You are asking me to trust you?"

"Yes."

"Why should I?"

"Because I want to help
you."

Bane snorted. "I do not need
your help. Even if I die tomorrow, my father will reward me with a
dark form."

"I thought you might like to
choose your own time for taking the dark form, not have it forced
upon you."

He considered this. Mirra had
appealed to the one thing she knew he had in abundance: Pride.

"And for this you think I will
risk my life, before I have completed my task. How stupid do you
think I am?"

Mirra hung her head, tears
stinging her eyes. He would never trust her. He had no reason to
now that he was so close to achieving his goal. The terrible agony
he suffered had driven him to take her potion, but all she could do
now was plead with him, and that had never worked. She glanced up
in surprise when he spoke softly.

"Give me one reason. One good
reason why I should trust you in this. Something that makes sense
to me."

Mirra gazed at him, struck
afresh by the angelic aspects of his countenance, his brilliant
eyes and alabaster skin. Rarely was the good side of him so
strikingly visible, only when he lacked the evil taint that usually
held him in its dark thrall. His lack of power had opened a brief
and fragile window of opportunity, one she could not afford to
miss. She did not consider her words before they tripped off her
tongue, and her lack of thought made them ring with truth.

"Because only you can save me.
Without you, I will die."

A faint, mocking smile curved
his lips, tainted by a cynical twist. "Ah. Now that, I can
understand. A selfish trait at last, just when I was starting to
think that you were utterly inane. Yes, you are right, without me,
you are dead. But the only reason I have been protecting you is
because of your damned spell, otherwise you would have been dead
long ago. When my father comes, he will break your foul
enchantment, and I shall be free to torment you." He shrugged. "So
why should I risk your poison to save you when I will not want
to?"

She searched her mind for a
reason. "What if he cannot break the spell? What if he does not
want to? You have angered him many times; he might punish you for
that. Will you suffer if I die?"

He frowned. "Only if your spell
still holds me."

"Exactly. What better punishment
could he inflict for your defiance of his orders than to kill me
while the spell still harms you?" Mirra cringed at the slight
deceit in her words, a twisting of the truth to suit his way of
thinking.

Bane considered this, but it did
not seem to worry him. "My father has never punished me, why should
he start now?"

Mirra groaned inwardly, cursing
the Black Lord's devious planning. He had ensured Bane's undying
loyalty with his token generosity, making Bane believe himself too
important to incur his father's wrath. So long as he had faith in
the Black Lord's affection for him, he would not doubt his
immunity.

She tried another angle. "All
right, but what if he cannot break the spell, and kills me out of
revenge for all the trouble I have caused, then what?"

He chuckled. "The Black Lord
will easily break your silly enchantment."

"So why can you not? If you are
as powerful as he is, you should have been able to do it
yourself."

Bane frowned. "I am not as well
versed in magic as he is. He has promised to break your spell, and
he will."

"What if he does not?"

"He promised," Bane snapped.

"He has never broken a
promise?"

"No."

"What if he cannot? He might
think he can, but if he is wrong, you cannot let me die, can
you?"

"Give it up. You cannot turn me
against my father."

"I am not trying to. I know that
would be futile. But what about your choice? Will you let him
dictate your future, and take the chance, no matter how slight,
that he might decide to punish you this time? Because if he does,
you will be helpless to stop him unless you live. Once you are
dead, he will rule you, for he can decide how much power to give
you, if any. So long as you retain your mortal body, disgusting as
it is to you, you are beyond his reach, for he cannot rule the
living." Mirra spoke the words in a daze, wondering where all the
knowledge came from.

Bane looked thoughtful. "You
have a point, I suppose. But if you kill me now, I will lose that
choice, and fail my father too. That is a big risk to take just for
the sake of ensuring my powers after his rising. I trust him, but I
certainly do not trust you."