Demon Lord (33 page)

"Grovel, Draynabesh."

The demon fell to his knees and
abased himself.

"You are dirt, Draynabesh.
Dirt."

"I am dirt, Demon Lord."

"When next you feel you can defy
me, remember this. I have but to summon you, and you will serve
me."

"I will serve you," Draynabesh
echoed dully.

Mirra sensed that the demon
seethed with impotent rage, and wondered at the advisedness of
Bane's cruelty.

Bane was merciless. "Give Orriss
your power."

The demon rose, walked to the
demon steed and touched it. Dark power flowed from him, thickening
the demon steed's translucent form back to solidity and igniting
his burning mane and tail. Draynabesh returned to stand before
Bane, some of his gritty substance falling away in a shower of
soil. Bane glared at him.

"I am the Demon Lord,
Draynabesh, do not forget it."

The earth demon bowed. "Yalnebar
needs to be reminded."

Bane nodded. "I shall do that.
Begone!"

The demon was sucked back into
the Underworld, leaving behind his soil in a foul heap. Bane
slumped against the rock, his hands shaking and his brow sheened
with sweat. Mirra's hands tingled from the touch of his dark fire,
and her stomach remained a tight knot. Her sickness must have shown
on her face, for he eyed her sourly.

"That will teach you to stop
pawing me, will it not, witch?"

Mirra hung her head,
nodding.

Bane turned away. "Mord!"

The troll appeared within a few
moments to gather up the potions while Bane issued curt
instructions. As the troll scuttled off, the demon steed
approached, and Bane mounted with some difficulty, but growled when
she tried to help. She left him and mounted the grey stallion,
following the Demon Lord to a glade where his army waited and his
tent was already pitched.

Under the eyes of his men, Bane
stalked into the tent, but Mirra found him sprawled on the bed, an
empty cup on the floor. He seemed oblivious to her, clutching his
head, his eyes shut. Mirra winced at the pain he radiated, but did
not offer her help, knowing he would reject it. Bane tossed and
turned, unable to escape the pounding in his head, his face
ashen.

His jaw muscles writhed as he
ground his teeth, but not even the softest groan escaped him. She
found it difficult to stand by and do nothing, so great was her
longing to help him. From the words of the old mage on the Isle of
Lume, she guessed that Bane had used too much of his power and
taken a long stride closer to death. After all the times he had
saved her, unwittingly quickening his doom, she had to do
something, no matter what his reasons had been.

Mirra left the tent and searched
the forest's grassy glades for the flower she needed. It was a
common one, and after half an hour she found a clump. Picking a
bunch, she ran back to the camp and borrowed a pot and a fire from
some trolls, who watched curiously as she brewed her remedy. Even
if he was angry, even if he beat her for it, she would somehow get
him to drink it.

Bane lay on the bed, his hair
rumpled and eyes sunken. Gathering her courage, she went to him and
touched his shoulder. His eyes opened, filled with such terrible
suffering that she recoiled, then held out the cup.

"Mord made a stronger brew. I
asked him to."

Bane's eyes brightened with
hope, then darkened with suspicion. "You tricked me before. You
will not do it again."

Mirra's eyes stung at his
mistrust and impending rejection. She knelt beside the bed. "Bane,
I cannot stand to see you suffer so. Please drink it, it is not
poison."

He stared at her for a long
moment, as if trying to plumb her soul, then said, "You drink
it."

"I am not in pain. You need
it."

Lines of weariness scored his
face as he closed his eyes. He had not slept well for days. "You
drink some first."

Mirra nodded, eager to comply
with any condition he stipulated if it persuaded him to take the
potion. She took a gulp of the sweet brew, which tasted of flowers,
not an unpleasant flavour. Bane watched her, as if expecting her to
keel over or change colour. She held out the cup, but his eyes
remained suspicious.

"Poison would not work on you,
would it?"

She slumped. "I am trying to
help you."

Bane frowned, then sat up and
took the cup. She thought he would hurl it across the tent, then he
slugged it back, driven by the pain. Mirra suspected that at this
moment death would have been a merciful release, and he was almost
beyond caring. He rubbed his face, pushing back his thick mane. She
settled on the floor and waited for the miracle. It only took a few
minutes. He sat with his head in his hands, waiting, she suspected,
to strangle her the moment he felt something strange.

Mirra sensed his pain abate,
slowly at first, then faster, washed away as if by the waves of a
rising tide. When the last torturous clamp released his brain, he
drew a deep breath and raised his head. The lines of suffering
faded and his brow smoothed. He regarded her with a hint of
confusion, then his expression hardened.

"So, this time it was not
poison. Do not think you have gained my trust."

She shook her head, smiling.
"No, I will not."

Bane raked back his hair and lay
down again, relaxed now, but still exhausted. The sweat and dirt
that had covered him when he had emerged from the cave were gone,
burnt away by the dark power. She left him to sleep, happy that she
had at last eased his suffering. Wandering outside, she found some
trolls playing knucklebones and joined in, happily losing a fortune
that she did not have, and they did not want.

As dusk fell, she spotted a
light in Bane's tent and quit the circle of players to enter it.
The Demon Lord sat at the table, studying his maps again. He looked
better than he had for weeks, and she smiled, well pleased with the
result of her skill. He shot her a quick, blank glance, then went
back to his reading, ignoring her as she settled on the floor.

Politely she waited until he put
aside the map before asking the question that had been burning in
her mind all afternoon.

"What happened in the cave?"

Bane stared at her with hostile
eyes, as if debating whether or not to tell her, then sighed.
"Another clever trap. I was expecting something, but I could not
find it. I broke the blue ward, and nothing happened, so I broke
the solid ward, and that was when the roof fell in."

"How did you get out?"

"I used the magic of rock
walking, and walked out."

Mirra's eyes widened. "Through
the rock?"

He shrugged as if it was a minor
matter they discussed, and not the use of stupendous amounts of
magic. "Yes. It is not pleasant, cold and dark, like wading through
thick treacle. That is what used up all my power. It requires a
lot, and I cannot Gather at the same time."

Mirra nodded, remembering again
the haunting words of the mage on the Isle of Lume. "I think that
is what they want."

"Who?"

"The mages who set the wards.
They foretold your coming, and planned for it."

Bane scowled. "How do you know
that?"

"Remember the old mage? He said
that each time you use your power, you come a little closer to
death."

"That is a lie." His brows
knotted.

Mirra quailed a little, not
wanting to enrage him, but her concern for him drove her to
continue, "Maybe, but every ward you break forces you to use more
power, does it not? The mages want you to use it so much that it
kills you before you reach the final ward."

"The mage also said my father
planted the seeds of my destruction, and he would never do that. It
is a lie."

"Perhaps that is. Maybe your
father does not know what it is doing to you."

He considered this. "If that is
true, then you were also planted in my way to help kill me." He
glared at her. "I have used plenty of power to protect you from the
demons."

Mirra's eyes widened. She had
not considered that. "But your father is sending the demons."

"Then he cannot know it is
harming me. He does not want me to die."

"No," she agreed, her mind
racing. "At least, not until you have broken the last ward. Perhaps
that is why he stopped sending them for a while, until you were
trapped in the rock."

"My father does not want me
dead. He has spoken of us sharing this world. Why would he kill me?
Your fellow healers plan my destruction, after all, it is their
world, and they are trying to protect it. They must have known the
power would make me sick, and planted you in my way so you would
cast your spell, forcing me to protect you. My father has been
trying to save me by getting rid of you, and I should have heeded
him."

"If that is true, then I am
causing your death." She paled at the thought, raising a hand to
her mouth. "I cannot believe the healers would do that."

"This is a war."

What he said made a lot of
sense, and she hated the idea. She raised her eyes to his,
flinching at the hatred in them. "Then I should leave, so you do
not have to protect me anymore."

Bane frowned. "My father will
have you killed. I should be glad of that, but I am not. You will
stay with me. Your vile spell has bound me to you. I cannot let you
die, or kill you, until the spell is gone."

"But if he sends more demons,
you will have to use the power."

"Then release me from the spell,
if you are truly so concerned about me."

"There is no spell."

"You are lying. Your magic
forces me to protect you every time something threatens you." His
nostrils flared. "I will speak to my father. When he learns that
the power is harming me, if it is, he will find a way to stop it.
When he rises he will break your spell, and I shall kill you
myself." He ground the last words out.

Mirra shrank from his vehemence,
tears burning her eyes. "Please do not. I do not want to die."

His face twisted with disgust,
and he looked away, his hands clenching. "Your spell is powerful,
witch, but once it is broken, nothing will stop me from killing
you, and I shall enjoy it."

Mirra stared at him in
confusion, wondering what spell he was talking about. She had
thought that Prince Holran was right, and Bane had come to like
her, yet he railed against his gentleness towards her as if it was
an evil thing. That he thought her capable of using magic to force
him to be kind to her was abhorrent. All she had done was try to
help him, yet he hated her. Surely the healers could not cast such
a spell, but it made sense if they planned his downfall by forcing
him to protect her. They were trapped. She was afraid to leave his
unwilling protection, and he could not leave her, nor harm her. It
was diabolical.

"I am sorry."

"You are always sorry. What good
does that do me?" He gestured at the tent flap. "Get out."

Mirra scrambled to her feet and
stumbled into the cool night air, her heart leaden. The only way
she could save him was to leave; yet she did not want to, not only
because of the demons. She wanted to stay with him, although she
did not know why. Perhaps it was because she so desperately wanted
to sooth his suffering, yet her whirling mind rejected that idea.
Her presence put him in danger. He could die because of her.
Certainly that would end the threat to the land, but her heart
contracted painfully at the thought of his demise. Healers did not
kill, yet indirectly, she would if the plan worked.

Mirra walked amongst the shadows
under the trees, where moonlight dappled the ground with flecks of
silver. If she left, perhaps the spell would be broken. It did not
matter if the demons killed her. She would die when the Black Lord
rose anyway. If she stayed Bane might die, leaving the Black Lord
trapped in the Underworld, but with Bane's death on her conscience.
Yet surely the Black Lord would find another way to break the two
remaining wards? He could have another son, or if Prince Holran was
right, kidnap another hapless child. In twenty years’ time, another
man would emerge from the Underworld and break the wards.

Perhaps if she left, the Black
Lord would not bother to send a demon after her, for then Bane
would be free of her. Maybe they would both live longer apart. She
did not want to be the cause of anyone's death, especially Bane's.
The healers, if they were responsible for this, were wrong. Killing
Bane to save the world was wrong. It broke the healer's rule to
preserve life. She could not countenance it, much less be a part of
it. Death was not something to be feared, and if the Black Lord
destroyed the world, the good people would fly safely to dwell with
the Lady and the bad would be rightfully punished.

Her mind made up, Mirra looked
about, finding that she had wandered far from Bane's tent. The dark
forest enfolded her, filled with deep shadows and drifting silver
gleams of moonlight. Red eyes glimmered in the darkness, and she
shivered. They seemed to be stalking her, but perhaps they only
watched her pass, their acute sense of smell detecting Bane's scent
on her. She contemplated running back to his tent, but discarded
the idea and gathered her courage. If she could reach an abbey she
would be safe, for demons could not tread on holy ground, but she
was deep in the Old Kingdom.

The warhorse approached,
snuffling and nudging her in welcome, as horses do. Using a fallen
tree as a mounting block, she pulled herself onto his back and
urged him to head for home, clinging to his thick mane as he raced
through the shadows, his hooves drumming on the damp earth. Aboard
his warm back she felt a modicum of safety. The powerful surge of
his muscles and the swiftness of their passage imparted a sense of
security. Passing trees whipped her with thin branches, and the
cold night air bit into her bare arms, making her huddle close to
the stallion's warmth. An owl, ghosting overhead, hooted
mournfully, as if in gentle warning of the course she had
chosen.