Demon Lord (27 page)

The Demon Lord said, "Tell your
king I will meet him to discuss this, but for now I agree to
nothing."

The herald galloped away, and
Bane followed at a trot, his troops massed behind him like a
clanking black and red tide. The trolls, goblins and rock howlers
numbered only about two thousand, but they were fearsome fighters.
Mirra turned her head to study them, wondering what the city's
citizens would make of these strange creatures that had always
shunned the company of men and, until now, had rarely been
seen.

The trolls carried huge
scimitars and double-headed axes, the goblins were armed with short
swords, while the rock howlers each had two daggers. Some wore
chain mail over their fur, and the goblins sported boiled leather
armour and breeches. Of the three species, the goblins most
resembled men, but with disproportionately long arms and legs,
pointed ears and beardless, feral faces. They had long noses,
yellow skin and brown eyes; their hands four-fingered and
clawed.

The trolls were the largest,
with short legs and barrel bodies, long arms and huge, callused
hands. The rock howlers, clad in bright red, shaggy pelts, had
black, dog-like faces framed by ruddy manes. They carried their
daggers in sheaths strapped to their forearms, but even unarmed,
were fearsome fighters with teeth and claws. The dark creatures
defied description. They wore no garb, nor carried any form of
weapon other than those with which they had been born, yet they
were undoubtedly the most formidable of Bane's followers.

At the city gates, six shiny
knights on huge horses, resplendent in plumed helms and red and
gold livery, met Bane. The horses snorted and sidled as Bane
approached, rolling their eyes. One knight blocked Bane's path, but
saluted smartly and addressed him in polite tones.

"Lord, if you will leave your...
er... men here, we will take you to the King."

"Unless you plan to stop me, I
advise you to get out of my way," Bane said, ignoring the uniformed
pike men who stood on either side of the road, pikes grounded on
the cobbles. The knight looked at his companions for help, but his
horse shied from the demon steed, effectively removing him as an
obstacle. The massive gates, however, remained closed, and the
demon steed halted before them. The knight forced his horse closer
to Bane.

"My lord, we cannot allow your
army into the city. There are women and children within. I must ask
you -"

"Open the gates, or I will
destroy them, and you," Bane said.

The knight hesitated, glancing
at his comrades once more, then gestured to the soldiers who manned
the gates. They pulled an overturned cart aside, and the huge doors
swung open. Bane rode into the city, the knights forming up around
him, as close as they could persuade their horses to come to the
demon steed. The horde poured in behind them, gibbering with
glee.

The city's inhabitants were
locked in their homes, the doors and windows barred, as the Black
Lord's son rode past. Mirra followed Bane and his escort along a
fairly broad road that ran through the centre of the city, the
rabble fanning out into the packed houses on either side to loot
and pillage. The trolls and goblins helped themselves to whatever
caught their fancy, mostly livestock, stealing squealing pigs and
cackling chickens from their pens. Rock howlers snatched fruit from
abandoned farm stalls and ripped plants from window boxes. The
shadows between the houses filled with glowing red eyes as the dark
creatures sifted into the city, an occasional malformed flitting
shape giving away their soft-footed advance.

The knights glanced back often
at the seething horde, their horses prancing skittishly, unnerved
by the padding of paws and clicking of claws, the rumble of deep
voices and soft sniggering. Occasional shrieks of laughter erupted
as a rock howler stole washing and donned it the wrong way, or a
goblin strutted in a lady's bonnet. Smashing glass and
semi-hysterical giggles told of idle vandalism. Missiles flew as
goblins pelted each other with fruit, a few bouncing off the
knights' shiny armoured backs, apparently by accident. The six
knights sweated, but dared say nothing to the Demon Lord, who
ignored the ruckus behind him.

In the centre of the city, they
arrived at the broad marble steps of a formidable palace set in
manicured gardens, and the six knights dismounted. Bane guided the
demon steed up the steps, the knights clanking after him.
Scandalised, spear-toting guards moved aside as he rode through a
gleaming entrance hall bedecked with gold ornamentation, ancestral
weapons, shields, banners and coats of arms. He only dismounted
when he encountered a door too small for him to pass through
without ducking.

This was the door to the throne
room, and the liveried flunkies who flanked it fled, leaving Bane
to stride in unannounced. The gold on his tunic gleamed as richly
as his surroundings, and his simple garb made the room's regal
sumptuousness seem cheap and garish. Mighty hangings and tapestries
covered the walls; fluted marble pillars supported a high, arched
roof painted with a breath-taking mural of some heroic battle. High
galleries overlooked the massive chamber, dark niches in which
Mirra thought she glimpsed moving shapes. Bane's boots rang on the
polished marble floor, halting the low murmur of conversation.

Mirra stayed close behind him,
aware of her dirty robe and ragged hair, awed by the splendour of
the palace. Silence fell as the Demon Lord approached the throne,
the nobles and courtiers who lined the way stepping out of his
path. Powdered, simpering ladies fanned themselves furiously and
gasped behind lace hankies. Strong incense and the rich smell of
roast meat filled the air, and Mirra headed for a table groaning
under a feast of good food, her mouth-watering.

The short, mousy man on the
throne stood up as Bane approached, his small brown eyes wide with
fear. So much finery covered his tubby form that Mirra wondered how
the poor man could breathe. Layers of rich clothes and jewellery
gleamed under a fur-lined cloak of royal blue. His plump fingers
and neck bulged around gold rings and pendants, while indecently
snug-fitting tights revealed the thinness of his legs and extent of
his paunch. His soft-featured face gleamed with nervous
perspiration, and some lonely strands of hair were carefully combed
over a shiny bald pate.

Bane strode up the steps to the
throne and confronted the King, who sat down abruptly, shrinking
away from the Demon Lord's looming, black-cloaked presence.

Bane bent over him, saying, with
deceptive mildness, "Mind if I sit?"

Bane heaved the chubby man off
the throne and sent him rolling down the steps, then took his
place. The court gasped, and two nobles hurried forward to help the
sprawled King to his feet. King Holran faced Bane from a safe
distance and bowed, regaining his composure as he brushed imaginary
dirt from his sleeve.

"Welcome, Demon Lord. You honour
us with your presence."

"Do I?" Bane sounded bored, his
eyes scanning the crowd of overdressed nobles. "Do you worship my
father?"

The King spread his hands. "No,
but we wish no quarrel with you."

"So you think I will just march
through and leave you alone. Why should I? My army needs
supplies."

"We will provide them, My Lord.
We ask only to be allowed to live."

Bane tossed his cloak back,
revealing the blood-red lining. Mirra knew he was enjoying this
immensely; it was his idea of fun. She munched a pastry, wishing
the King luck.

"What will you offer me in
return?" Bane asked.

The King hesitated. "What do you
wish? We will give you supplies, and unopposed passage."

"Maybe I will take all your
riches."

The chubby King shrugged. "Then
do."

"Maybe I will take your
daughter."

A large, horse-faced woman clad
in a bright pink gown festooned with an overabundance of red silk
roses fainted dead away into the arms of a grey-haired nobleman,
who staggered under her weight. Bane glanced at her and shook his
head, his lips twisting. "Maybe not."

"Whatever you wish, My Lord. We
know we cannot defeat you." The King spread his arms in entreaty.
"We ask only for our lives."

Bane's eyes narrowed. "I cannot
be bribed to spare you. I can take all I want from your city once
you are all dead."

"No, No, I do not mean to try,
My Lord. I merely say we are at your mercy, and we will only fight
for our lives."

"Perhaps I will take your
throne."

"It is yours, My Lord, even
now."

Bane sighed, growing bored with
the lack of argument. "Then I will take your life."

A collective gasp went around
the room, and the plump Princess, who had been in the process of
recovering, fainted again. An overweight woman with tightly curled
red hair and a heavily rouged face stepped forward and curtsied to
Bane.

"I am the Queen, My Lord. May I
beg for my husband's life?"

Bane shrugged, waving a
negligent hand. "Go ahead."

"He is a good man, My Lord. He
seeks only to save his people. He is the father of six children,
and is a kind and loving man. He does not deserve to die."

"What of it?"

The Queen blanched. "My lord, I
beg you to take me, not my husband."

"How sweet. Is this what you
humans call love?"

A low murmur of amazement went
around the room, for although Bane was a striking-looking man, he
was obviously human. The Queen dabbed her bosom with a hanky.

"Yes, Lord. I love my king, and
would gladly die for him."

Bane hooked a long leg over the
arm of the throne and swung it. "What an interesting notion. What
if I kill you both?"

Another gasp went around the
room, and two richly dressed noblemen stepped forward. "We will ask
to take their places," one said.

"And who are you?"

"Lord Montrage and Duke
Holran."

Bane smiled with malicious
delight, starting to enjoy himself again. "But I do not want you. I
want them." He pointed at the pudgy King and his portly wife.

A young, dark-haired man burst
from the crowd. Shaking off the hands that plucked at his sleeves
in a bid to halt him, he strode up to the steps, his brown eyes
alight.

"I am Prince Holran, heir to the
throne, and I challenge you to single combat!"

The Queen and Princess fainted.
The King went grey, sending a look of despair at his son. Bane
straightened, his eyes brightening with interest.

"You challenge me, upstart?" he
demanded.

"You are the upstart!" the
Prince shouted, his face reddening. "A mere peasant boy, torn from
his mother's womb by the foul Lord of the Underworld, now posturing
with borrowed power, lording it over the rightful kings of this
land."

The King fainted, as did a
number of ladies, and the rest of the crowd became still and
silent, apart from those occupied with helping the ladies. Mirra
put down the honeyed bun she had been nibbling, her appetite gone.
Bane rose and walked down the steps to stand before the Prince,
topping the young man by six inches.

"You have a big mouth, boy. I am
the Black Lord's son, no peasant."

The young Prince was undeterred.
"Everyone knows you are just a peasant boy, stolen from the
Overworld by the Black Lord to be used to break the wards and free
him. He killed your mother and poisoned your mind, but you are as
human as we are. No demon spawn could break the wards or even set
foot in the Overworld."

Bane's eyes looked like chips of
blue ice. "Is that so?"

"It is! You are mortal!" The
Prince lunged at Bane, a dagger appearing in his fist. Mirra gave a
cry of horror, but Bane's hand lashed out, sending the Prince
flying with a powerful blow. The boy skidded across the smooth
floor and was fielded by two lords, who helped him up. He glared at
Bane, clutching a reddening cheek.

Bane stalked back to the throne.
"For that insult, Princeling, I will reduce your city to ash, and
you will provide my entertainment."

"No!" The King, recovered from
his swoon, threw himself at Bane's feet. "Demon Lord, he is young,
stupid, I beg mercy!"

"He attacked me under truce. He
broke your bond and disgraced you, Holran. I want nothing from you
that I cannot take. Your city is forfeit, and all of your
lives."

The young Prince strained at the
men who held him, shouting, "Murderer! Foul traitor! You slaughter
your own kind!"

Bane strode down the steps
again, heading for the Prince, but stopped when swords hissed from
their scabbards, and several steely-eyed men stepped into his path.
The King mopped his face.

"You leave us no choice, Demon
Lord; we will fight."

Bane looked around. "Indeed. You
will give me a headache, then."

The men lunged at the Demon Lord
with slashing, stabbing swords, and Bane's eyes became pits of
utter darkness. Black power erupted from him in a wall of dark
flame, hurling the men back, charred corpses before they hit the
polished floor. He turned, sweeping the room with a languid gesture
of his slender hands as the ladies fled screaming. Black fire
lashed from him, incinerating some, burning others, who fell
shrieking in agony.

Arrows hissed from the hidden
galleries high above as the men stationed there let fly. Bane
raised his arms, and a black shield shimmered into being over him,
consuming the arrows as they struck it, allowing only ash to pass
through. He gestured, razing the archers with fire, and they fell
howling to smack against the marble floor with sickening thuds and
splatters of blood. Within moments the tapestries were ablaze and
burning bodies littered the floor, some writhing and shrieking.

Mirra stood frozen beside the
now-burning banquet table, too shocked by the sudden violence to do
anything but stare at Bane. The agony of the stricken people knifed
through her like lances of fire. The blazing table set the edge of
her robe alight, and she leapt away with a gasp, beating the flames
out before they could spread. Her stomach clenched at the dark
power's touch, adding to her already considerable pain and anguish
and making her double over, clutching her gut. The brief battle had
reduced the sumptuous room to a fiery charnel house, and the people
who had not escaped the initial lash of fire but who were not too
badly injured scrambled to get out before the heat and smoke
overcame them. The thickening fumes made Mirra cough, her eyes
watering.