Dark God (49 page)

Sensing Bane's tension
increasing, she released him. There were times, when his mood was
more relaxed, when he found it easier to accept her affection, but
this was not one of them. By asking him to tell her about his past,
she had trespassed on his privacy and made him relive his pain. By
offering to answer her questions, however, he had opened a fragile
window into his past, and she sensed it was a privilege she should
take great care not to abuse. Nevertheless, she resolved to ask him
to tell her of every instance of torture he had suffered, over
time, so he could come to terms with it.

Bane rose to his feet, and she
reclined on the bed and watched him stand by the window, then pace
around the room like a caged tiger. One mystery about him plagued
her. She had never seen him remove his wrist guards. Deciding that
since he was already disturbed, now may be a good time to find out
why he never took them off, she sat up.

"Bane, come here."

Bane stopped pacing and glanced
at her, then walked over and sat beside her. Mirra took his hand
and turned his arm to expose the laces on the underside of his
wrist, tugging at the knot that bound them. A glance at his face
found him frowning, then he placed his other hand on hers, stopping
her.

"I would rather you did not do
that."

"I know. But I want to know what
you are hiding. Is that too much to ask?"

He paused, frowning at the wrist
guard. "Will it suffice to tell you there are scars there, and I do
not know what purpose they serve, nor how they came to be
there?"

"I would like to see them."

Bane hesitated, then removed his
hand, and she unlaced the wrist guard and pulled it off. Two thin
scars encircled his wrist, and between them were angular scars that
she recognised as runes. These were different from the ones on his
chest, however, and she ran her fingers over them with a puzzled
frown.

"You know nothing about
these?"

"No."

"Then you were too young to
remember."

He inclined his head, gazing at
the scars. "In all likelihood."

"And you cannot decipher them
now?"

"No."

She removed the other wrist
guard and studied the scars on his left wrist, which were identical
to the ones on the right. "Why do you hide them?"

He shrugged and shook his head,
then looked away.

"Do you have any other scars
like these?"

"I think so."

"Where?"

Bane reached up and pulled aside
his hair, exposing the nape of his neck, where three more rune
scars marked his skin. Mirra noted that they were different from
the ones on his wrists.

"How did you know about
these?"

"I can feel them."

"And you did not ask Arkonen
about them?"

Bane let his hair cover the
scars again. "No."

"You just accepted them, as you
did everything he did to you."

"Yes."

"Have you ever seen these runes
anywhere else?"

He nodded. "They were on the
walls of the chamber in which I was kept as a small child."

"What possible reason could
there be to cut runes into the skin of an infant?"

"I do not know."

She gazed at the scars on his
wrists. "But then, you were no ordinary baby..."

"What do you mean?"

"You were a god child. Perhaps
these were to bind you, so you could not escape. Perhaps without
them, you could have?"

"I never had any wish to escape.
The Underworld was my home."

Mirra stroked his wrist. "And
you can think of no reason for them?"

"No." Bane raised his other hand
and turned it, examining the scars.

"Can you activate them, like the
ones on your chest?"

"No."

"But you are ashamed of
them."

Bane replaced the guard on his
left wrist and pulled the laces tight. "I hate them."

Sensing that he was growing
weary of her curiosity, she leant back against the pillows. He
stood up and strapped on the other wrist guard as he walked over to
the window. She longed to know the reason for the scars, but since
even he could not tell her, it seemed her curiosity was doomed. How
many other humiliating rituals had the Black Lord practised on him,
and why? She thought about what she had learnt while Bane paced the
room, ignoring her pleas for him to get some sleep. The pad of his
feet kept her awake for a while, but she dozed off eventually. When
he shook her awake, the sky had started to lighten.

"It is almost dawn, and Grem has
not returned. Something must have happened to him."

Mirra sat up, knuckling her
eyes. "What are you going to do?"

He was digging in his pack, and
a pang of dismay went through her when he pulled out his Underworld
clothes.

"No, do not use the dark power
again, please."

"I will not let them kill my
father. I am no warrior, like Grem, yet he failed, and I do not
want everyone to know who I am, but I have to save him."

Mirra's heart sank at the
prospect of his being forced to perform another Gather. If he did,
they would have to return to the Lady's Temple so he could be
purged again. Despondently she watched him don the black clothes
and sweeping cloak. By the time he was dressed, warm sunlight
streamed in through the window.

Bane went over to it, and Mirra
joined him to gaze out at a grassy common where a tree with a
convenient branch stood, a fresh rope hanging from it. A crowd
waited, the men in it puffing pipes and muttering. Most were
bearded mountain men, woodsmen and trappers, each distinctive in
their garb. The woodsmen wore pale leather attire, the trappers
were clad in fur, while the mountain men, prospectors and miners
dressed in rough homespun clothes with wide-brimmed hats. Some
townsfolk were in evidence, garbed in sombre clothes of a better
cut and quality than their wild brethren.

A commotion at the far end of
the common drew her attention. Four husky jailers dragged two men
across the grass. People shouted insults, and some threw stones,
evincing angry growls from the guards when a few ill-aimed missiles
bounced off them. The stone throwing petered out, but the captives
looked bedraggled and bruised. Grem walked with his head up, his
eyes scanning the crowd, while the other man, taller than he,
walked with a bowed head and dragging feet.

Bane swung away and strode to
the door, his face grim. Mirra followed, fearful of the outcome of
this confrontation, the first between Bane and humanity since he
had stopped slaughtering them. He swept through the empty alehouse
and out into the street, his strides lengthening. Reaching the
common, he stopped behind the crowd, which gawked at the tall man
being led to the noose. Soon someone sensed Bane's presence and
turned, nudging his neighbour. Within minutes, every head was
turned towards Bane, and a tense silence fell. In his distinctive
garb of fine sable cloth embroidered with gold flame-like patterns,
and the heavy cloak lined with crimson satin, he exuded an air of
evil power.

"Release those men."

Bane's command carried clearly
across the common to the men who held Grem and the man who must be
Mithran. A muted muttering rose from the crowd, and a huge,
red-bearded trapper left Grem's side and pushed his way through the
throng to confront Bane. He was clad in soft furs, his hands
scarred from the traps, a skinning knife in his belt. He stopped
several feet away, his expression wary and his chin thrust out.
Bane's glacial eyes raked him. The trapper folded bulging arms and
scowled blackly under thick brows.

"So you've come to fetch yer
own, have ye?"

Bane's
smile was cold enough to freeze
fire. "You could say that."

"I knew he was in with demons.
Now you've just proved me right, haven't ye? But yer ain't got any
magic now, do ye?" The man spat on the ground. "The way I heard it,
them healers made sure yer as harmless as a snake with no
fangs."

Mirra bit her lip, wondering how
Bane would counter this situation, which was rapidly turning ugly.
Some members of the crowd edged away, while others sniggered,
borrowing bravado from the swaggering trapper.

Bane tilted his head. "Are you
certain of that?"

The trapper smiled, glancing
around at the villagers to ensure that they hung on his words.
"Aye, that's what I heard, and I doubt they'd let a murdering
bastard like yer wander around if yer was still dangerous."

"You heard
wrong. I can take the power up again
anytime I wish."

The crowd's retreat picked up
momentum as it sought a safe distance, but a fair number of
muscular woodsmen stayed, including those who held the prisoners.
The red-haired man gave a disbelieving guffaw.

"That's impossible. The wards
are back. None of yer stinking evil can be in the Overworld."

Bane shook his head. "Wrong
again."

Grem shouted, "You'd better
listen to him! I was there when he fought the Black Lord. I saw it!
He can turn you all to ash!"

The crowd muttered, and the
trapper glowered at the townsfolk, shooting a venomous glance at
Grem. "He's lying! The bastard's harmless!"

"Would you like to test that
theory?" Bane asked.

The redhead looked uncertain,
his eyes growing shifty under his bushy brows. For all his bravado,
Bane's icy confidence was unnerving, and the man's moral support
melted away with the crowd.

"Yer bluffing!"

"Am I?" Bane radiated contempt,
and retained an air of menace and arrogance that probably stemmed
from being a god, Mirra thought. Even though he was virtually
powerless, he still seemed dangerous. The big man sweated, but
stood his ground, defiant now, and unwilling to back down in front
of the entire village.

"Prove it," he said.

Bane reached the trapper before
he had time to react, gripped his arms and hurled him five feet
backwards, where he sprawled with a grunt. The man scrambled to his
feet and backed away, but his brawny friends closed in, hefting
their axes. Bane swept them with icy eyes.

"I do not have to prove anything
to you, but if you make me, you will not live to tell the
tale."

The men hesitated, glancing at
the redhead with doubtful expressions. The trapper, however, was
enraged now and reckless, his ego as bruised as his backside and
probably smarting more.

"Yer lying! Yer would 'ave fried
us all by now if yer could."

"I am trying to reform my ways.
Men like you make it difficult for me to not hurt people. You want
proof?"

Mirra winced as Bane ripped open
his shirt, knowing how much he hated to display the marks of his
torture. The rune scars were red against his pale skin, as if they
had been recently cut. Mirra had discovered that even after the
purging, the runes resisted all attempts to heal them. The trapper
stepped back, his eyes wide. Bane traced the seventh rune, igniting
it to a dull red glow. The big man's complexion paled until his
freckles stood out like dirt on his skin, and his eyes became
white-ringed. The men who held the prisoners untied them and shoved
them forward.

The trapper yelled, "I believe
yer! There's no need for killing. Take them!"

Bane had started to trace
another rune, and stopped, regarding the man with a chilling glare.
"I have chosen to put aside the dark power, but if you harm any
friend of mine, you will answer to me. Rather be my friend than my
enemy, it is healthier."

The trapper backed away, and his
axe-wielding cronies retreated with as much aplomb as they could.
Most of the crowd had fled, and the few hardy souls who remained
pressed back against the buildings around the common. Grem gripped
Mithran's arm and dragged him forward, but Mithran regarded Bane
with a deep hatred, digging in his heels.

"I'll not go with you!" he
snarled. "I want no help from the likes of you!"

Bane's face looked like it was
carved from granite, and he jerked his head at Grem, who took a
firmer grip on the big man.

"You have no choice," Bane said.
"You will come."

Seeing that father and son were
getting off to a bad start, Mirra darted forward and laid a hand on
Mithran's arm. "Please come with us. We mean you no harm."

He stared at
her in surprise. "What are you doing with him,
healer?"

"All will be explained, just
come with us."

Mithran glared at Bane, and
their resemblance struck her. Grey touched Mithran's dark brown
hair, but his features possessed the same strong, chiselled bone
structure. Level brows shadowed dark grey eyes, and his nose was
not quite as straight and narrow as Bane's.

He shook his head. "I'll not go
anywhere with that bastard."

"Would you rather stay here and
hang?" Bane demanded.

Mirra said, "He just saved your
life. He is not going to harm you."

Mithran shook his head again,
showing himself to be as stubborn as his son. "I'd rather hang than
be tormented by that damned monster."

"He is not a monster." Mirra
feared Bane would give up and leave rather than contend with
Mithran's hostility. "I will not allow anything to happen to you.
Will you trust me?"

Mithran tore
his glare from Bane to shoot her a confused glance. "I trust
you,
healer, but what will
people think?"

"They were about to hang you.
The Demon Lord will protect you, I promise."

Mithran eyed his son. "What does
he want with me?"

"We will explain, but not
here."

Mithran looked around at the men
who still lurked at the edge of the common and nodded. Grem
released him, and he fell in beside her as Bane swung away and
marched to the alehouse. In the yard, Grem saddled the horses and
gave Mirra's to Mithran. She ran inside to retrieve their packs,
then mounted in front of Bane.