Demon Lord (26 page)

The remains of the previous
day's feast lay scattered around the dead fires' black scars. The
bones and hides of the cattle they had slaughtered were piled in
the centre of the camp. Evidently none had any appetite for more
food, since no cook fires had been lighted for breakfast. Mirra had
overslept, and her stomach's rumbling told her of its emptiness.
Mord loaded the other two trolls with Bane's furniture, and the
Demon Lord headed back towards the tunnel. Benton had already
saddled the warhorse, and helped her mount. She urged him after
Bane, hastening into the tunnel behind him.

Most of the day was spent within
the smooth tunnel, the monotonous clop of the horse's hooves
ringing above the steady tramp behind. The men were silent and
glum, their booty weighing them down. The villages and towns they
had ransacked had provided slim pickings, but Torlock keep had been
rich in coin, gold and jewels, some of its erstwhile inhabitants
being wealthy nobles from the court of Marrane's king.

That night they camped in the
lush valley beyond Torlock Keep, far enough away so the stench of
burnt corpses from the vanquished castle did not reach them. As the
men settled down around their cook fires, Bane spoke to Mord, and
the troll hurried off. Mirra thought nothing of it; Mord was always
carrying messages for Bane, but her heart turned cold when he
returned with two other trolls, who dragged Benton between them.
The soldier looked like he had put up a fight, for he was panting,
and red marks marred his leathery cheeks. Mirra hurried over to
Bane.

"What are you doing?"

He turned to her, a chilling
smile twisting his lips. "I have found a way to thwart you,
witch."

"Thwart me?"

"Yes. You see, I am giving you a
choice. Remove your accursed spell, or he suffers."

She gaped at him. "I have no
spell."

"Do not lie to me. I will cut
him to pieces slowly unless you revoke your spell. Do it,
witch!"

Mirra shook her head in helpless
horror. "I cannot. If there is a spell, I did not cast it, I swear
by the Lady. I know nothing of spells and wizardry. I am only a
healer. Please do not hurt him."

"You are lying." He drew his
dagger, testing its edge with his thumb while Benton's white-ringed
eyes followed his hand. Mirra stared at Bane, her mind clogged with
helpless dread. The Demon Lord turned to the cowering soldier, who
was bound hand and foot, and lay where the trolls had dumped
him.

"Soldier, tell the healer how
much you want to live."

Benton cast her a pleading look.
"Please do as he says."

"I would if I could, Benton. I
wish I could!"

Bane glared at her. "You
will!"

Bane swung and slashed Benton
across the face, making him yelp and jerk away, blood oozing from
the wound. Mirra clasped her cheek with a whimper as she shared the
soldier's pain. Bane gripped the man's hair, dragged him to his
knees and drew the blade across his chest, leaving a red line that
spread over his ragged shirt. With a cry, Mirra ran to Benton and
laid her hands upon the wound, healing it. Bane snarled and kicked
her, but she only clung more tightly to the terrified soldier,
protecting him with her power. Bane released Benton's hair and
lowered himself to one knee beside them.

"So, you seek to go against
me?"

Mirra shook her head, her eyes
filled with tears. "No, I just do not want him hurt. Please stop
this."

"At last you show some defiance.
Good." He gripped the coarse material of the soldier's shirt. "Do
as I say, or he dies. Even your powers cannot save him from a blade
through the heart."

Mirra gazed at him with pleading
eyes. "I cannot."

"Damn you. Do you doubt me? You
are wrong!"

"I know you will, and I would do
as you wish if I could."

"Liar!"

Bane's hand rose and flashed
towards Benton's chest in a killing stroke, and Mirra flung herself
across the soldier with a shriek. The dagger impaled her in the
back, and Bane jerked the weapon out and leapt to his feet with a
startled oath. She risked a glance up at him as she clung to
Benton's chest. He stared at her, his nostrils flared with
fury.

"You will not defy me. Lift the
spell, now!"

"I cannot!" she wailed, holding
the trembling soldier's head cradled against her. "There is no
spell, I swear it!"

Bane turned away, and for a
moment she thought he had given up, but then he shouted for Mord,
pointing at her. "Get her away from him, and hold her."

Mord dragged her away from the
terrified soldier, ignoring her shrieks and struggles. Benton
writhed, fighting his bonds in a panic-stricken bid to get free,
his despairing cry tearing at her heart.

"Healer!"

Bane eyed her as she squirmed
and flailed against the troll's strong, hairy arms. "Last chance
girl, or he dies."

"No!" Mirra cried. "There is no
spell!"

Bane stepped towards the
soldier, and she gave a mighty wriggle, slipping from the troll's
rough hands. She flung herself at Bane, making him step back in
surprise, and gripped the front of his shirt, clinging to him.

"No, Bane, please! Kill me, if
you wish, not him." Taking his hand, she pressed the dagger to her
heart. "Strike. I have little power left. A few blows will be
sufficient to drain it, then I will die."

Bane stared down at her with
such fury that for a moment she thought he would do as she
recommended. Then he hurled her away with a savage thrust of his
arm, tearing her fingers from his shirt. She stumbled back and
fell, throwing out her hands to cushion the impact. Bane stood over
her, the dagger twitching.

"I would like to, more than you
can imagine." He spoke with soft venom. "I see you are determined
to keep your infernal spell, even if I kill him, are you not?"

She bowed her head, unable to
meet his furious eyes. "I cannot lift what I did not cast. I swear,
if there is a spell, I know nothing about it, and that is the
truth."

Bane sheathed the dagger and
gestured at the waiting trolls. "Release him."

Mirra slumped as the trolls
untied Benton, who cast her a grateful look and fled. Aware of Bane
still standing over her, she risked a look up at him, finding his
expression furious and pensive.

He growled, "Do not ever lay
your hands on me like that again. Do you understand?"

Meekly she nodded, light-headed
with relief. He spun on his heel and marched to his tent, yanking
the flap aside with such force that he almost ripped a peg out of
the ground. For a long time she remained where she was, playing
forlornly with a few blades of grass, afraid to enter the tent and
face him.

When dusk had leeched the last
dregs of light from the sky, she crept inside shivering, chilled by
the night air. Bane glanced at her as she settled on the floor. He
sat in the folding chair that the trolls carried on their backs
every day, along with the bed and tent. A cup of wine stood beside
him, and he appeared to be sunk deep in thought. Mirra lay down and
fell asleep, leaving him to sit and drink alone.

For another day they traversed
the green countryside, but Mirra did not see Benton, and a stranger
saddled the stallion for her in the morning. She wondered if he had
left, and could not blame him.

The following morning, Mord came
cowering to the tent flap. "Lord, the men have gone."

Bane eyed him. "I know."

The troll backed out, and Mirra
looked at the Demon Lord. "Where have they gone?"

Bane rummaged in a pack, pulled
out maps and discarded them. "Home, where do you think? They have
all the loot they can carry, and that is what they wanted. The
fools think they will live long enough to enjoy it. Those who are
not slaughtered by their more moral fellows will perish when my
father rises, anyway."

"How terrible."

"Is it?" he sneered. "It is no
more than they deserve. I do not need them anymore. I still have
the trolls and goblins, the creatures of darkness. They do not
fight for gold; they worship my father. He might even reward the
survivors and let them live. I need to move quickly, and the men
would only hold me back. The dark people travel faster." He frowned
at her as if wondering why he was telling her anything, then
studied the map he held.

Mirra wondered if Bane and the
Black Lord would leave anyone alive, and her heart filled with
sorrow. So many had died already. She looked up at his handsome
profile while he was intent on the map.

"Why do you want to kill
people?"

He turned to regard her with
empty eyes. "Because my father wants the Overworld, and these
people are in his way. He does not want them here."

"Then your father wants to kill
them, not you."

"You could say that." He
shrugged, looking at the map again. "I do my father's bidding. I
would rather be at home, in the Underworld."

Since he seemed quite calm, she
grew bolder. "What is it like?"

He raised his head to stare into
the middle distance. "Dark and warm. A great maze of caverns and
tunnels, some filled with unbelievable treasures. The droge slaves
toil to dig out gold, silver and gems, and their cries echo through
the caves. The glow of the inner fire lights everything, and warm
winds blow along the passages. Sometimes spirits are brought over
from the Land of the Dead to be tormented, given droge bodies so
the demons can play with them. I have never been there, for my
father gave me a mortal body, but he promised me that I would see
it when this is all over. I do not like it up here. It is too
bright, and it is cold and wet sometimes."

Mirra shuddered at the visions
his description conjured up. "Will your father like it?"

"He will change it; make it like
the Underworld."

"Oh."

Bane's lips twisted. "I doubt
you will like it then."

Mirra nodded as he went back to
his perusal of the maps, hating the thought of the Overworld, with
its verdant land, blue skies and multitude of beasts and birds,
turned into a dim, red-glowing world, dead and blasted by evil.

For the next few days they
travelled much faster, the goblins and trolls able to trot all day,
apparently tireless. The gnomes were left behind, their stumpy legs
unable to keep up. The rock howlers dropped to all fours and ran
sideways, bouncing along like apes. The creatures of darkness moved
with many odd, yet mile-eating gaits, scuttling from shadow to
shadow, giving gibbers of distress whenever the watery sunlight
touched them. Mirra wondered why they did not follow at night,
catching up with Bane by morning. Yet, she supposed, if they were
needed in battle they had to be on hand, not miles behind. Their
method and efficiency at killing chilled her, but she still pitied
them, twisted as they were.

They encountered a few abandoned
villages, even an empty castle, but no people, to her relief. The
countryside changed little, going from rolling grassland and wild
woods to tame meadows and ploughed farmland near the towns, then
back to wild greenery once more. Once they crossed a marsh, but
apart from being wet and insect infested, it did not hamper the
troops or Bane.

The Demon Lord did not follow
roads, moving instead across the land in a straight path, sure of
his destination. The sight of his broad-shouldered figure on the
glowing stallion seemed to become a constant part of her life,
continuing in her dreams at night when weariness sucked her into
the black cocoon of sleep. She missed Benton and their talks around
the fire, but was glad that he had returned to his home and perhaps
his family, no longer a part of the murderous horde that followed
the Demon Lord.

Bane hardly seemed to notice her
presence, rarely spoke to her, and mostly ignored her unless she
spoke to him. He sometimes snarled at her, and on occasion loomed
threateningly, but he did not strike her. His health gradually
improved, his eyes growing less bloodshot with each day that he did
not use his power.

On the fifth day, they crested a
rise and looked down on a lush, cultivated green valley, at the
centre of which nestled a walled city. A makeshift barrier of
overturned carts, wagons and sand bags reinforced the already
massive gates, and smoke rose from the chimneys. Mirra's heart sank
when she spotted people moving about like ants in the distance. A
glance at Bane found him smiling, looking forward to the coming
slaughter.

Within the city walls, the
houses were packed together in a jostling huddle, looming over each
other and almost meeting above the streets. Washing dried on lines
strung between rooftops, flapping in the breeze that swept the
rising blue smoke away. Never had she seen such a close-packed
metropolis. It seemed that no one lived outside the walls save the
cattle and sheep, whose sheds dotted the verdant fields. She
wondered what enemy kept these people so firmly behind their
walls.

Dejectedly she followed Bane
into the valley, the troops muttering with excitement behind them.
Before they reached the valley floor, a herald galloped out to
them, stopping his horse some distance away. The Demon Lord halted
the demon steed, the army bunching behind him, and listened with a
cynical smile as the man read from a scroll that he held in shaking
hands.

"All hail the Demon Lord! King
Holran of Nestor bids you welcome to pass through his lands, and
says you thus; if you do keep your troops in good order, and do no
damage to his city or its people, he will withhold his troops and
grant you safe passage. He holds that he has no quarrel with you,
and bids you pass in peace."

Bane chuckled, and the herald
blanched, but held his ground, rolling up the scroll. The nervous
cavorting of his horse, which snorted and shied from the demon
steed, spoilt his composure.