Demon Lord (30 page)

He bowed again. "I am Orran,
master, High Priest of the Black Lord, and it is an honour to serve
you."

Bane gestured, and the man
trotted ahead, beckoning to the surrounding trees, whereupon others
emerged from the shadows to form an escort around the Demon Lord,
glancing up at him with fawning, worshipful eyes. All were thin,
dirty and scarred, the young men aged by the disfigurations, alike
in their mutilated ugliness. There were only about a dozen of them,
armed with long spears. Many shot frowning looks at Mirra, who
shivered under their baleful gaze. They padded beside the demon
steed, unmindful of the moss that brushed them or the cobwebs that
clung to them. They seemed deformed, their joints knobbly, ribs
prominent and backs hunched. All had dark eyes and black hair, as
if they were all members of the same race or tribe, unlike the
people of the New Kingdom, who came in many shapes and colours.

At sunset they rode into a
cluster of crude huts around an ancient stone temple. Here the
forest humus gave way to hard-packed earth, worn by many feet. The
badly thatched mud huts had soot-stained roofs with ill-cured hides
draped over them that gave off an unpleasant stench. Clay pots and
stone implements lay strewn on the ground, and a pile of whitened
bones and rotting remains on the edge of the forest added to the
smell. Filthy children played in the dirt, and small forest
creatures, either tied up or in cages, provided sport.

The temple was built from black,
red-streaked stone. Great, carved pillars supported a flat roof,
and dressed blocks formed the floor and steps. It loomed huge in
the gathering dusk, lighted by ruddy torches that burnt with oily
black smoke. Crudely carved gargoyles and demon faces adorned its
walls, evil runic symbols covered the pillars. An oily fire burnt
in front of the stained altar, throwing leaping shadows that
brought the horrific sculptures to lurid life.

The forest had invaded the
temple grounds, and trees had rooted themselves amongst the stones,
pushing them aside as they grew towards the sun, slowly destroying
man's creation with Nature's unstoppable power. Walls were
collapsing, their foundations undermined, and cracked pillars leant
drunkenly. Moss grew lushly over the ancient stones, and fallen
leaves made rich humus in every nook and cranny. Clearly the people
who lived and worshipped here now had not built the temple, for
they were slovenly and backward, too lazy or ignorant to maintain
it.

Men and women emerged from the
huts and raised their hands, hissing in welcome, their crude
baubles clanking dully. Clad in rough leather and furs, they
pressed forward, their matted hair falling into their faces, their
thin bodies jerking as they danced in celebration. Many held out
children and infants, perhaps hoping for Bane's blessing, but he
ignored them, the demon steed snorting fire as he forged through
them. They parted before him like a foul sea, their grinning mouths
filled with brown, filed teeth, their glinting eyes rabid with
worship.

Bane stopped at the temple steps
and dismounted, surveying the crowd. Mirra gave a frightened cry as
many filthy hands dragged her off the grey horse, pulling her away
from him. Bane turned and frowned.

"Leave her!" he barked.

They released her, and she edged
through the snarling crowd to stand next to him. The stench of
their unwashed bodies, glistening with animal grease and soot, made
her stomach heave. He smiled maliciously and turned as High Priest
Orran approached, grinning and bowing.

"Is she for sacrifice,
master?"

"If I say so. Until then, leave
her alone."

Orran leered, showing pointed
yellow teeth. "A healer would be a powerful sacrifice."

"Indeed, but not now."

Orran bowed, clasping hands
tipped with black-edged nails in unholy reverence. "We have
prepared a feast in your honour, master."

Bane grimaced and shrugged.
"Very well."

Leaving the crowd to continue
their hissing chant and obscene gyrations, Bane followed Orran into
the temple. Passing the altar, they entered an open area paved with
stone and surrounded by high, crumbling walls. Human skeletons and
decomposing corpses decorated the walls, hanging from rusted iron
rings. The grinning skulls of those that had long ago lost cohesion
lay amongst the bones at the base of the wall, forming a macabre
border, a necromancer's flowerbed.

Mirra turned to find a
half-rotted corpse hanging near her and gagged, jumping away from
it and stumbling into Bane. He shoved her away, scowling. She
shivered at the strong atmosphere of death and suffering within the
walls, the silently screaming skulls that gaped in their shackles.
Once the area had been roofed, the broken pillars dotted around it
bore mute testimony to that. The smashed roof stones had been
cleared away, leaving only some fallen pillars too heavy to move.
Wooden carvings of fearsome creatures lined the walls amongst the
skeletons, their obscene shapes adding to the hideous ambience.

Orran guided Bane to a row of
low seats draped with animal skins of rare beauty, though badly
cured, judging by their smell. He settled on one, and a deep
drumming issued from two mammoth drums hammered by muscular men.
Mirra sat on the floor beside him, receiving a dark glance,
probably for her earlier temerity. Priests and dignitaries filed
in, prostrating themselves to Bane before taking their seats.

A crowd of lesser officials
lined the walls, muttering amongst themselves. The huge fire in the
centre of the walled area radiated a sweltering heat, ringed by
smaller cooking fires, over which whole animal carcasses turned.
Sweating men tended the fires and turned the spits, while others
gathered the carved meat on platters and placed it before the
seated priests, and Bane.

Bane waved away a proffered
platter, turning to Orran, who sat next to him, but out of reach.
Even these people were afraid to come close to the Demon Lord, like
the trolls and goblins.

"I do not eat the food of the
Overworld."

Orran looked awestruck, and Mord
entered as if on cue to place a bowl of foul reddish food and a
flagon of wine on the low table before he fled. Mirra rose and
handed it to Bane, settling at his feet again. Orran gazed with
jealous fervour at the food, as if he longed to try it, probably
expecting it to have some special powers. Bane ate with no great
appetite, and the priests fell upon the roasted meat, grabbing
chunks and tearing at it like dogs. Bane looked bored, and Orran
put aside his meat long enough to clap his hands.

A line of naked male dancers
entered, their faces painted in a parody of demons, and cavorted to
the drumming. Bane watched, uninterested, until nude women entered
and paired off with the men. Then his eyes flicked to Mirra, and he
watched her as the dancers became frenzied, then sexual. She gasped
and hid her face in her drawn up knees as the dancers performed an
orgy in front of them, and Bane chuckled.

After the feast, Mirra followed
Bane as Orran guided him to a room in the temple, the only one that
remained intact. A fire warmed it, and a huge bed draped with thick
furs stood against one wall. Crudely carved furniture hid in the
corners, and gargoyles glared down from the walls. Bane surveyed
the room, then turned as another priest entered, leading a string
of young tattooed girls. Orran beamed like a hungry shark.

"For your pleasure, master. How
many would you like?"

Bane's brows drew together. "Get
out!"

They fled, the girls squealing,
and Bane slammed the door behind them. "These fools always think
that evil is dirty, diseased and mutilated."

Mirra looked up from where she
squatted by the fire. "Is it not?"

He scowled at her. "Demons are
not dirty. Their bodies are made from the elements."

"They smell."

"Yes, but they certainly do not
have diseases. That is for mortals, and they are not mutilated
either."

Mirra sighed, poking the fire
with a stick. "These people are lost."

"They are not lost, they worship
my father, but they have fallen into foul habits."

"Like the dance?"

He chuckled. "No, that was quite
amusing. I mean trying to make themselves resemble demons. They do
not even know what a demon looks like. They are not ugly, just
different, and no man could ever look like one."

"No, he would need six arms and
three eyes."

Bane shucked his cloak and flung
it on a chair, then sat on the bed and eased off his boots. "A
demon may take on any aspect he chooses, though he cannot change
his substance." He stretched out on the bed. "The filth and
mutilations are stupid. They do not know how to worship."

"So you will teach them?"

He grunted. "I would not waste
my time. My father will wipe them out when he rises anyway."

"But they worship him."

"They are stupid, dirty
humans."

"Is there anyone he will not
wipe out?"

A short silence fell. "No. All
mortals are worthless. This will be a world for demons. Now be
quiet."

The stone floor was exceedingly
hard, but Mirra slept a little.

Bane woke her when he opened the
door to admit the cowering troll with breakfast. She ate the sweet
bread and pastries hungrily, having consumed nothing the night
before. Bane picked at his food without much enthusiasm, leaving
most of it.

Orran and three other priests
waited outside, and abased themselves when Bane emerged. Their
soot-smeared, tattooed faces looked more repulsive than ever in the
daylight. Bane ignored their effusive greetings and marched
outside, leaving them to scuttle in his wake. People scattered when
he emerged, and only then did he turn to the High Priest.

"Orran, gather your men. You
will help me to fulfil my task."

Orran fell to his knees. "Yes,
master! You honour us with your presence. Your need of us is most
gratifying."

"I do not need you. I only make
use of you."

Bane left the grovelling priest
and mounted the demon steed, but the grey stallion was nowhere
around. Mirra called to him, finding the warhorse waiting in the
forest, unwilling to enter the village. She followed Bane on foot
to the trees, and there mounted the grey horse. The horde gathered
their few possessions and fell in behind her, the men of Orran's
tribe bringing up the rear. Orran led them, bloated with pride.
Mirra pitied them, for she had no doubt that Bane was leading them
to a grisly end. The dark creatures that slunk through the forest
around them drew many fearful glances from the new recruits, but
the malformed followers kept their distance.

The Demon Lord led them far
through the gloomy forest, up hills and through valleys. Orran's
enthusiasm wilted in the damp heat of the day, as did his men's. As
they travelled away from the river, the forest grew less gloomy and
damp, and younger trees replaced the looming, moss draped ones. The
dimness gave way to a dappled grey light, the overcast sky grim
through the leaves. Occasionally they came across an ancient,
rough-barked tree standing alone in a clearing, as if the rest of
the forest had shunned it. The trees thinned gradually, and they
passed through glades filled with bracken and grass, catching
fleeting glimpses of deer. The last giant tree they passed lay
fallen, blasted by lightning, and saplings sprouted from its
rotting remains as the forest reclaimed the glade from which the
giant tree had kept it.

At midday they arrived at the
lip of a deep chasm, where Bane stopped. Mirra rode up to the edge
and looked down, giving a gasp of astonishment and horror. Bones
covered the bottom of the gorge, lying in unruly piles, heaped
against the rocky sides. The huge bones of dragons lay with human
and animal skeletons, the bleached skulls of former adversaries
piled together in death. Older bones pushed through the vegetation,
grey and crumbling, newer ones gleamed ivory white. A broad swathe
down the centre of the chasm had been trampled to grey dust, as
whatever creature lurked below traversed to and from its lair. More
recent kills lay mouldering, rotten flesh peeling from bones. A few
fat crows feasted on them, but they were making slow work of it,
and no larger, four-footed scavengers braved the chasm, it
seemed.

Orran came over, puffing from
his exertions, and stopped at a respectful distance from Bane, the
soot on his face streaked with paler runnels where sweat had washed
it off.

"Master, what do we do here?"
His black eyes gleamed with fear.

Bane smiled. "You are going to
kill the dragon."

"We? Master, it'll slay us all.
You have the power, but we're mere mortals."

The Demon Lord looked down at
Orran with something akin to loathing. "I will not waste my power
slaying a beast. You will do it, so I can break the fifth
ward."

Orran fell to his knees.
"Master! I beg you, spare us! That's a Great Dragon, it cannot be
slain by men."

"I know what it is, and it can
be slain, if there are enough of you."

Mirra's eyes burnt with pity as
the ugly little man raised pleading hands, his face ashen beneath
the dirt and garish tattoos.

"Lord, I beg you, have
mercy!"

Bane frowned. "I have no mercy,
fool. If you serve the Black Lord, you will do my bidding, if not,
I shall destroy you myself."

Orran cowered, his eyes wide
with terror, then abased himself. "It shall be as you say, master.
We will die for the Black Lord, with honour."

Bane turned to gaze into the
chasm again. Orran fled back to his men, clutching the purported
honour he had so quickly gained under the threat of death, and a
keening arose from them. Bane's captains, who had come closer to
hear his words, took his instructions to the rest of the army. The
trolls and goblins muttered, and the rock howlers howled and
jabbered. Mirra had not heard the rock howlers' banshee wailing
before, and it made her hair stand up. Bane's lips twitched into a
slight, cruel smile.