Demon Lord IV - Lord of Shadows (6 page)

Another army
of dark creatures and vicious looking men dressed in scarred armour
and filthy clothes blocked the road ahead. The horses slowed to a
trot as they passed a belt of dead trees, and a makeshift fortified
camp came into view just beyond them. Two more supply wagons stood
in the middle of it, and a platoon of soldiers crouched behind a
low wall of mud spiked with sharpened stakes. Workmen toiled to dig
the ditch deeper and raise the mud wall, refugees that the other
supply train had picked up, she suspected.

"Over there!"
the captain bellowed, directing the drovers to head for the
camp.

The drovers
whipped the lathered horses back into a canter, and they rumbled
towards the camp. Some of the workmen pulled aside a barrier of
felled trees to allow them entry, and as soon as the wagons entered
the camp, the captain ordered the soldiers off. They ran to join
their fellows behind the mud wall, firing streaks of blue light at
the surging, howling host that faced them. The drovers hauled the
horses to a skidding stop in the trampled mud, then leapt down to
run to the wall and help with the fortifications.

"All able
bodied men to the trench! Use whatever you can find and dig!" the
captain shouted.

Four of the
refugees in her group jumped down and ran to obey, leaving the
women, children, and a few elderly or injured men. Shevra jumped
down and hurried over to the captain, standing behind him and
staring at the black tide of death that faced them.

"Can I help?"
she yelled over the din.

He swung
around, raking her with a glance. "Are you a mage?"

"No. I'm a
fire dancer."

"A fire mage?"
He shook his head. "No use to us. We need someone who can recharge
our weapons."

"I can throw
fire."

"Just stay out
of the way, girl."

Shevra
re-joined the refugees beside the wagon, who watched the battle
with wide, fearful eyes. Imral had gone to help dig the trench, and
she stood beside the motherly woman, who shot her a despairing look
and took her hand in a sweaty grip. The dark army attacked the camp
in waves of roaring, sword swinging death, and the soldiers' blue
light cut down hundreds.

The volleys
barely slowed the attack, which washed up against the fragile
defences like a dark wave, meeting more hot blue light and sharp
swords. Screams rent the air as dark creatures and men were burnt,
torn apart or impaled upon swords and lances in a gruesome carnage.
Shevra's bile rose as the stench of burnt flesh and torn entrails
wafted from the battle front, mixed with the tangy scent of fresh
blood. She turned to the refugees, many of whom wept with
terror.

"We must
pray!"

A woman nearby
shook her head, her face pinched with dread. "The goddess cannot
help us. We've prayed for years and it's never done any good."

"Then don't
pray to her. Pray to the Demon Lord."

"The dark god
you spoke of? Are you mad, girl? He will destroy us even quicker
than those beasts, unless you seek a swift end?" The woman glanced
at the battle. "Which might be a wise choice."

"I think he
will save us, but which ever you believe he will do, it's better
than being torn apart by them."

"He might not
answer at all," an old man yelled.

"In which
case, we're no worse off than we are now. But if there's a hope
that he will save us, as he did in my town, we have to try."

The woman
nodded, glancing around at her friends. "She's right. It can do no
harm. It will either lead to a swift end or nothing will happen at
all."

"You don't
know that he'll kill us quickly," the elderly man protested. "He
might use us for sport!"

"Then you
don't have to pray, but let those who still have hope join me in
prayer, or I'll do it alone," Shevra stated.

"You could
doom us all!"

Shevra
gestured towards the battle. "We're already doomed. Here is a
chance for salvation. Take it!"

The woman
nodded, her face grim. "How do we pray to a dark god?"

"The same as
Drayshina; call his name and beg his aid." Shevra walked over and
took the woman's hands, gazing deep into her frightened eyes. "Help
us, Demon Lord."

The woman
shivered, but closed her eyes and repeated the words. Soon others
joined in, and a chant began, rising to a shout.

On the barren
plains, the new day dawned colder. Black sleet fell in slanting
sheets, driven by the endless wind. Tygon shivered and crouched
over the warm stone, reluctant to leave the shelter of the wall.
The cold also gnawed at Bane's bones, and he wondered if his face
was as reddened as the prince's. He had a bad feeling about the
day; something told him that it boded ill. Tygon plucked up the
courage to venture out into the freezing wind, and set to work
raising the ward again. The deep, grinding rumble of its passage
shivered the earth, as if it too felt the cold. It towered a
hundred and fifty feet high now, the runes fifty feet above the
ground.

It had risen
another twenty feet when a cry of terror came in Bane's mind,
jerking him from his reverie. He jumped up, casting a glance at
Tygon, who was oblivious to him, all his concentration upon the
rising ward. He probably would not notice Bane's absence, and
although he was reluctant to leave with the ward so close to
completion, Bashir's cries for help could not be ignored. If he
Moved through time upon his return, there would be no risk, except
of discovery, and it was almost time to find Vorkon anyway.

Bane Moved,
reappearing in the small, dusty room. Bashir stood with his back
pressed against the wall, beating at his robes, his eyes wide and
his face pale.

"Snakes!
Snakes!" he screamed.

Bane strode
over to him and clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling his cries.
"Be quiet. There are no snakes."

Bashir's
bulging eyes met his, then dropped to the floor again, widening
further, and he continued to beat at his legs. Bane glanced around
the room, but found no air demon in it, and no sign of any dark
force. Yet something was in Bashir's mind, filling it with an
illusion of snakes, of which the mage was clearly terrified. He
placed his other hand on Bashir's brow and closed his eyes, seeking
the source of the illusion.

Bane found a
silvery thread of consciousness interfering with Bashir's, and cast
his mind along it, out over the drab slate roofs to a room on the
top floor of a tall building. A man lay on a couch, his pinched,
sly features stretched in a gloating smile. A minor earth demon,
terrorising others to amuse itself. Bane cast himself into the
demon's consciousness and filled it with an image of a true dark
god, his hands raised to strike. At this range, he could not use
the dark power. The demon's eyes flew open, and he gave a horrified
shriek, leaping off the couch and racing out of the room.

Bane became
aware of Bashir's struggles again, and released him. The mage leant
against the wall, gasping, his eyes still wide, flicking around the
room in search of the illusory snakes that had disappeared.

"Goddess! What
was that?"

"A bored
demon."

"An
illusion?"

Bane
nodded.

"Goddess!"
Bashir ran a hand through his thin hair. "It was so real! A master
of illusion should not be vulnerable to that sort of attack."

"A demon is a
far more powerful illusionist than you will ever be. It is one of
the tools that they use to torment people."

"So it was not
one of Vorkon's?"

"No. You were
a random victim."

"What did you
do to it?"

Bane smiled.
"I sent it my own illusion."

"You should
have destroyed it."

"At that
distance, my power would have been visible to the people in the
street."

Bashir rubbed
his brow with a shaking hand, and Bane glanced around, his eyes
settling upon the area in the middle of it, which was swept clean.
A pentagram was chiselled into the floor, its grooves filled with
blue powder. Three illusory wards hovered above it, brilliant and
realistic. Bane walked closer to examine it, passing his hand
through the illusions, which lacked the sting of power that the
real one would possess.

"Is it
finished?"

"Almost. I
could activate it now, but I want to add more illusions."

"Good."

"How is
Tygon?"

Bane shrugged.
"Well enough. Tired."

"As am I, and
I am sure Kimera and Shrea too."

"Your wards
are small compared to his."

"Even so." He
looked pensive. "Will that demon tell Vorkon what happened?"

"No."

"Do you know
if Shrea and Kimera are all right?"

"They
are."

Bashir looked
relieved. "I was afraid at least one of us might perish in this
endeavour."

"You still
may. It is not over yet."

"No, of course
not, but the wards are almost complete, are they not?"

"Yes."

"Once Vorkon
is trapped by the -"

Bashir broke
off as Bane raised a hand. Another cry came in his mind, desperate,
pleading. A powerful prayer, or one that he could hear far better
than any before. It called his name and begged his aid, but he did
not recognise the voice. He frowned, irresolute. The dark power
within him sneered at the idea of going to some puny human's
aid.

Bashir stared
at him as he considered the plea, which continued to call out to
him, insistent, despairing. Who knew his name, and prayed to him so
passionately? The prayer did not originate in the Overworld. Those
he still heard from time to time, but he knew from whence they
came. This one was from the Lightworld, a fair distance to the
south. He had already left Tygon, and using his power in another
location would draw Vorkon's attention away from the Rathgarian
Wastelands. Indeed, perhaps another decoy was just what he
needed.

"I must go,"
he snapped.

Bashir nodded,
and Bane Moved.

The dull roar
and screams of a battle accosted Bane's senses as he reappeared
atop a boulder, the familiar stench of blood and death assaulting
his nose. At first he thought that it was another village being
wiped out by a dark army, but there were no houses, only some
wagons arranged in a circle. Soldiers defended what appeared to be
a fortified encampment, but the fortifications were recent and
slipshod, as if they had been erected in a hurry. A deep trench had
been dug around the circled wagons, a wall of mud in front of it,
bristling with sharpened stakes. Workmen toiled between the
warriors, throwing up more mud to raise the wall and deepen the
trench.

Mud and blood
almost obscured the soldiers' uniforms, but patches of royal blue
cloth showed that they were Queen Kyan's men. Some of them carried
silver tubes, but did not use them; most were armed with long pikes
or narrow swords. Officers marched up and down the trench, shouting
orders and encouragement, and beyond it, the enemy seethed like a
black sea. An army of dark creatures hurled themselves against the
fortifications, breaking through to die on the swords of the
defenders, killing some. Beyond the dark army, several fire demons
in true form stood sentinel, and beyond them, two black-clad
figures.

The prayer
still clamoured in his mind, distracting him, and he looked around,
searching for its source. A group of ragged people huddled beside
one of the wagons, their hands clasped and heads bowed. No wonder
it was so strong, never had a group begged his aid before. He
jumped down and strode over to them, narrowly avoiding a group of
men who ran past to reinforce the lines. Reaching the group, he
stopped, but none of them noticed him, for their eyes were
closed.

"Enough!" he
shouted. "I have heard you!"

They fell
silent and opened their eyes, cowering away from him. Bane rubbed
his brow. "You are giving me a damned headache."

A girl pushed
her way out of the group and flung herself at his feet, trying to
touch his boots. Bane backed away, avoiding her, and she raised her
head, shaking back her wild black hair.

"You came!
Thank you, Demon Lord!"

Bane opened
his mouth to ask her how she knew his name, then recognised her as
the girl whom he had saved in the doomed village, the one who had
used fire. Without the ash covering her, she looked quite
different, and was clad in a ragged, coarse grey gown and a brown
shawl.

"Save us!" she
implored.

Bane glanced
around at the embattled troops. The dark power sneered at her plea,
urging him to join the dark creatures and slay the troops instead.
It despised the dirty, weak humans, and filled him with its
disgust. He struggled against it, closing his eyes. Immediately the
bright souls of the soldiers shone like a circle of stars in his
mind, and beyond them, a seething sea of dull redness.

The girl who
knelt before him was radiant blue, and he wondered if Mirra's soul
would be brighter. He opened his eyes and met hers, which were so
dark that they were almost black. He was human too, like her, like
the soldiers, no matter what the dark power urged. Bane swung away,
his cloak flaring, ignoring her despairing cry. He strode to the
boulder on which he had first appeared, and leapt onto it.

The panorama
of the battle lay all around him, and the men were losing. The wall
had collapsed in two places, and dark creatures boiled through the
gaps, meeting the defenders' swords and lances. Blood flowed and
men screamed as the huge, malformed beasts ripped them apart or
trampled them underfoot. Bane raised his head, seeking the black
mages who stood in the distance, guiding their foul troops. He was
aware of the girl standing beside the boulder, watching him with
intense eyes. He raised his arms slowly, like a man stretching in
the morning, summoning the dark power from his bones and releasing
it into his flesh.