Demon Lord IV - Lord of Shadows (3 page)

Bane glanced
at him. "You said these people do not believe in magic, yet they
use the blue power. They too must have mages."

"No, My Lord."
Bashir looked up at the shimmering walls of blue fire that held the
darkness at bay. "The machines that create the city walls run
entirely by themselves. They use a method of perpetual flow, and
are far too powerful for a mage to supply. These people must have
spies in our cities, or else they bought the technology from one of
our inventors."

Bane grunted
and set off down the alley, heading for the busy street beyond, and
Bashir followed. Horse-drawn carts and wagons clattered along the
stone roads, and horseless vehicles rumbled amongst them, puffing
foul blue smoke. Bashir sweated, glancing around at the people who
walked past without seeing them.

He cast a
puzzled look at Bane, who said, "No, they cannot see you."

The mage
looked relieved. "Marvellous."

"What manner
of carriages are these?"

Bashir frowned
at a passing vehicle, wrinkling his nose. "They use a foul liquid
for fuel. That is all I know about them."

Bane looked
around. The populace seemed predominantly middle class, their
clothes simple and dull, and their expressions listless. The women
wore scarves over their hair, and the men were all bearded. Bane
disliked the place, finding it dreary and depressing. He set off
down the street, Bashir a pace behind. Several times he narrowly
avoided collisions with the lethargic people, once stepping back
and trampling on Bashir's toes.

"What are we
looking for, My Lord?" Bashir enquired after they had walked a fair
distance.

"A quiet
place, an empty building, perhaps."

"A
cellar?"

"That would
do. A temple or church would be ideal."

Bashir shook
his head. "These people do not believe in gods."

"They are
fools." Bane spotted an imposing building further down the street.
"Would that have a cellar?"

"That looks
like a prison, My Lord."

"No good. Too
many closed gates. What about the one next to it?"

"That might be
an administration building."

They entered
the building, narrowly avoiding two men who strode out of a doorway
ahead of them. Bane marched down the drab halls, some of which a
coat of white paint cheered, glancing into cramped, dull offices
where sleepy clerks scratched in parchment books. He opened several
doors, finding more offices and clerks, who must been mystified by
the doors that opened and closed by themselves. At the end of a
long, narrow corridor, he found an empty room. A narrow barred
window let in a little light, and dust lay thick on the floor. Bane
nodded with satisfaction.

"This will
have to do."

Bashir looked
doubtful. "What if someone comes in? This place is full of
people."

"No one will
enter." Bane turned to the door and waved his hand, and a brick
wall replaced it.

"An
illusion?"

"No."

Bashir set
down his pack. "And if Vorkon finds me?"

"Pray."

The mage
inclined his head. "Of course."

"I will return
when the seventh and sixth wards are set."

Bashir opened
his mouth, but before he could speak, Bane Moved.

Chapter Two

Mage Prince

Bane
reappeared in the map room, where Shrea and Tygon sat at the table,
waiting. Shrea rose and picked up her bundle, her slender form clad
in a thick fur coat. Bane held out his hand, and she took it
without hesitation, to his surprise.

The cold
mountain wind cut through his cloak, and he released Shrea's hand,
glancing around. An icy wind swept the barren, inhospitable rocky
slopes, and patches of dirty grey snow sheltered in the crevasses.
The dark clouds seemed closer, and silent lightning flickered
through them. Two peaks away, a volcano spewed glowing lava down
steep slopes, smoke and ash flying past on the wind. Shrea
straightened from her bout of sickness, her face pale, and pulled
her coat close, shivering.

Bane turned to
her. "Find a good place, a cave would be ideal."

Shrea nodded
and scanned the slopes, the wind tearing at her straight brown
hair.

"If you need
me, pray," Bane said, and she nodded again.

Bane returned
to the map room, where Tygon paced the floor, his bundle clutched
in his arms. He stepped back when Bane appeared, his already pasty
face becoming ashen.

"I do not
think I can do this," he whimpered.

"You have no
choice."

"I do. You
cannot make me. Let Shrea create the seventh ward, she is almost as
powerful as I am."

Bane shook his
head. "If you will not do it, I will take your wife."

"No.
Please."

"Then you
must."

"I
cannot."

Bane gave an
impatient snort and strode over to the cringing mage prince, taking
his arm in a crushing grip. Tygon yelped, and Bane Moved,
reappearing on flat, icy tundra that stretched away in all
directions as far as the eye could see. Tussocks of dead brown
grass poked through a layer of dirty frost, and a chill wind tugged
at his cloak. Dark clouds raced overhead, and the air stank of
sulphur. He released Tygon, who dropped to his knees and retched.
When he recovered, he raised his head and glared at Bane, the icy
wind making his eyes water.

"I will
freeze!"

The Demon Lord
gestured, and a curved wall of rock shot up from the ground with a
grating crack, towering over them. Tygon stumbled into its lee and
stood shivering, chafing his arms and blowing on his hands.

"Goddess, what
is that stench?" He clamped a hand over his nose.

"Begin," Bane
growled.

"Why do you
not do it? You have more power than any of us."

"A black ward
would not mesh with the blue ones, as you should know, and Vorkon
will sense my power if I use too much."

Tygon glanced
around. "Why here?"

"Because this
is where it must be." Bane glared at him. "Now get on with it."

The consort
squatted next to the wall and fumbled with his pack, extracting two
pots and a book. He opened a pot and sniffed it, grimacing, then
began to page through the book, the pages riffling in the
occasional gusts of wind that came around the barrier. Bane watched
him with growing disgust, snorting when he dropped the book and
almost fell over trying to catch it. Bane leant against the wall,
folding his arms as the blue mage bumbled ineffectually with his
condiments.

"If you take
long enough," Bane growled, "Vorkon will find us, and this plan
will fail."

Tygon leapt
up. "Then why do you not destroy him? You are a damned dark god,
fight him! Because of your cowardice, I have to freeze in this hell
hole!"

Bane's eyes
narrowed, and he resisted a strong urge to slap the shivering
prince, who, in his opinion, was a blithering idiot. He forced
himself to remain still. "Get on with it, or I will leave you here
for him to find."

"It is not
fair!" Tygon was almost weeping. "I am a prince! I should not have
to do this."

"And I do not
have to do this at all. I can leave this domain, and all of you, to
die under Vorkon's rule."

Tygon sniffed,
wiping his nose on his handkerchief.

Bane stepped
closer. "My patience wears thin."

The prince
retreated a few steps, then put the handkerchief away and appeared
to find some resolve. Dragging the rich furs in which he was clad
closer, he stepped out into the wind and gazed around, his eyes
narrowed. Bane had already looked within the earth and found a
suitable fault, but it took Tygon several minutes to find it. He
muttered, then returned to his pack and took out a pot. Going back
to the patch of ground where the ward would take shape, he opened
the pot and poured blue powder onto the ground, shuffling around in
a rough pentagram. The wind whipped the powder away, blowing it
into his face and making him cough. By the time he had finished,
his face was liberally sprinkled with blue spots.

Bane settled
down in the shelter of the barrier to wait, leashing his power into
his bones so that a hound would be less likely to find him. Tygon
continued to work, muttering and sniffing. He placed polished
stones at the corners of the pentagram, which was forty paces to a
side, not as large as the one in the Overworld had been, but big
enough to make Bane wonder if he was capable of raising it.

By the time
dusk fell, he had ripped out most of the tough grass within the
pentagram to expose the bedrock, his exertions warming him. He cast
many resentful looks at Bane, clearly envious of the dark god's
inaction, but even he knew that Bane could not help him without
tainting the ward. Bane found a loose rock and brought it to the
shelter of the wall, using a little dark power to heat the stone.
When it became too dark to work, Tygon joined him, eating some food
and drinking strong wine from his flask, while Bane conjured a cup
of ambrosia to sip.

"Why do we
have to stay here?" the prince demanded.

"Because every
time I use my power, there is a danger that Vorkon will sense
it."

Tygon wiped
his nose, which the cold had reddened, and gazed at the cleared
area in front of them. "How long would it take you to create a ward
like this?"

Bane shrugged.
"A few minutes."

"Then why do
you not create all of them?"

"Vorkon would
sense it immediately, and it is useless unless he goes into the
Darkworld. I cannot fight him and raise the ward at the same
time."

"I suppose
not. Even gods have their limits, then."

"We cannot
split ourselves in two, no."

Tygon scowled
at the darkness, which lacked the twinkle of stars or a silver
moon. "I will never be able to sleep in this cold, on this hard
ground. And this stench!" He grimaced.

"Then you will
be very tired tomorrow."

Tygon glanced
at him. "You have no compassion, do you?"

Bane was
silent for several moments. "As a dark god, not much."

"When are you
anything else?"

"When I cast
out the power."

"And then what
do you become?"

Bane shrugged.
"A neutral god, I suppose."

"A powerless
one? A mere mortal?"

"Not
powerless. I use the blue power, and the small gifts that are a
god's own, and do not require any power other than that of my
mind."

Tygon looked
intrigued, and held out his hands to warm them on the rock. "How
small are those gifts?"

"I command the
elements."

"That does not
sound so small."

Bane smiled,
his fingers stroking the stone, keeping it warm with his power and
warming his hands on it at the same time. "Compared to what I can
do with the dark power, they are."

"Why would you
want to cast out your power then?"

"To regain my
compassion, perhaps."

"But -"

Bane raised a
hand. "Enough questions."

Tygon fell
silent with a sullen look, and, after a lot of squirming, grass
evicting, grunting and muttering, managed to make himself
comfortable enough to fall asleep. Bane sat for a while, disliking
the necessity of remaining in this cold, bleak place to guard a
snivelling blue mage. Eventually he set a warning ward and curled
up next to the hot stone, casting himself into a light sleep.

Dawn was
predictably cold, dark and windy, and Tygon complained bitterly as
he warmed himself beside the stone and ate a breakfast of sugary
confections. He had apparently decided that the sooner he created
the ward, the sooner he could leave, for he set to work with a
will, although not without complaint. He cleared the last of the
grass and soil from the pentagram that he had marked, and then
began to chisel the ward into the rock.

Bane watched
with interest as Tygon struck the rock with a fist sheathed in blue
fire, and each blow cut a deep, perfect 'V' in the stone, as long
as his fist. The stone within the groove was turned to dust, and
the wind whipped it into his face, turning it grey with blue spots.
Bane chuckled, but managed to keep a straight face whenever Tygon
glanced at him. To pass the time, he lost himself in pleasant
memories, something he had been unable to do for a while.

Late in the
afternoon, Tygon finished chiselling the solid ward and sat down to
admire it, drinking from his flask to celebrate. Bane offered no
congratulations, and Tygon pouted, shooting him a sulky glare.
After resting for several minutes, he rose and walked over to the
line of blue powder that marked one of the sides of the ward. He
paced up and down the line, chanting under his breath, making
arcane motions with his hands. Bane took a little more interest in
this strange ritual, although he was sure that it was
superfluous.

Tygon stopped
next to the stone that he had placed at the end of the line the day
before. Raising his arms, he summoned the blue power, which, Bane
had discovered, flowed from the air with little effort on the part
of the mage. Tygon pointed at the end of the line of blue powder,
and magic arced from his fingers to strike the earth, spreading
along the line. The blue fire ate downwards, creating a hairline
crack along which the ward would rise. Bane yawned and closed his
eyes, sinking back into happy memories.

That evening
passed much like the first, but Tygon was tired and silent, eating
his food and then curling up to sleep. The next day he created the
second and third sides, finishing just before darkness fell. On the
third day he created the last two sides, looking drained and
exhausted at the end of it, and falling asleep without eating. The
following day he was weak, and the flesh had melted from him,
leaving him gaunt and hollow-eyed. The toll that the blue power had
taken on the mage surprised Bane. Wielding it had never tired him
at all, but then, Tygon was only a man.