Demon Lord VII - Dark Domain (24 page)

Bane had
rescued about eighty people now, and those left behind cowered
against a wall while the demons he had summoned fought off attacks
from others. They stood in front of the prisoners, holding back the
demons that sought to slay them. Two of Bane’s earth demons
slumped, defeated, and others stepped into the gaps they left.
Several enemy fiends pushed past the defenders, which went after
them, trying to prevent them reaching the prisoners. Earth demons
became partially molten as fire demons burnt them, and three
charged a fire demon together and crushed it between them, snuffing
it out. The scene became increasingly chaotic as more demons
entered the chamber and the battle escalated.

Behind her,
Artan muttered, “Armorgan’s teeth!”

Bane reappeared
and took the hand of a man in the group closest to him. Mirra
feared that a demon would attack him in the midst of the confusion,
for it was impossible to tell the ones he had summoned from the
attackers. Nor could he dismiss them now, since summoning more
would take too long. Demons poured into the room. Not much time
remained before they defeated his minions.

Bane vanished
and returned within moments, and a fire demon struck him from
behind as he appeared, sending him sprawling. Ethra squeaked and
Mirra stifled a gasp and clasped her hands to hide her tension.
Mithran put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He understood how
she felt, as did Grem, having the same concerns, and his solid
presence was always welcome.

Bane turned and
raised an arm, and a black fire poured from his hand, struck the
demon and snuffed it out in a blaze of sickly flame. Bane rose to
his feet and spread his arms, ignoring the people who gathered
around him, holding out their hands. Dark power streamed from his
palms and struck a number of battling demons, destroyed them and
reduced the number of enemy fiends considerably. She wondered how
he knew which were which, but was glad he did.

When Bane
returned to the torture chamber once more, only a few burnt corpses
and his demons populated it, the aggressors having fled, their aim
thwarted. His hip smarted a little from his fall, and about twenty
people had perished in the conflict, but he had taken approximately
a hundred and thirty to the hospital. Only five of his demons
remained, and he dismissed them before Moving to the dilapidated
house he had seen in Tryne’s memory. The front door flew open ahead
of him as he strode up the steps, and he followed a short hall to a
door that led into the basement.

Anything evil
or occult always seemed to reside in cellars, basements or caves,
he reflected. Sure enough, when he reached the bottom of the steps,
a guardian rune became visible to him in the gloom, marking the
concealed entrance of the Fetch. An unwary person could trigger it
by stepping too close to the rune, and the demons had probably
merely chucked their victims at it, then followed them down. He
made a series of gestures, speaking the words of unmaking.

“
Shethar
herrin traveth, vantar morril
.
Eskareth!
”

The guardian
rune quivered and lost its shape, its shadows dispersing. Without
the trigger rune, the Fetch would never open again.

The encounter
with demons made his longing to cast out the dark power again
stronger than ever. His powerful urge to murder the governor and
lack of sympathy for the demons’ victims confirmed his increasing
need for a break from its influence. Even though the priestess’
assertion that he was the darkness was wrong, he was becoming more
like it with every day that he continued to carry it and use it. He
wanted to close the dark realm’s world gate first, though, and the
Sources, thereby reducing the amount of shadows pouring into the
mid realm. Perhaps now would be a good time to do that, then he
could relax for a while before he created the wards. Turning away,
he Moved.

Bane
rematerialised in front of the dark realm’s gate and gazed up at
it, remembering the time, long ago, when he had emerged from the
Underworld through just such a portal. That one had been formed
from grey, beaten iron, crudely ornamented with demonic symbols,
streaked with rust and dotted with blobs of metal that had escaped
Kayos’ dreamtime hammer. Such slipshod workmanship was
understandable, given Kayos’ age and the number of domains he had
created. Pretarin, apparently, had taken more care with his
creations, probably due to his relative youth. This world gate was
sleek obsidian, and would have been beautiful if not for the evil
designs upon it and the river of shadows that flowed through it.
This domain was rife with power, Bane mused, since both world gates
had been standing open for centuries, pouring light and shadow into
it.

Stepping up to
the right-hand gate, he ran his fingers along its edge, sparking a
soft red glow within the stone, as if his touch made it molten. The
reaction was to his power, and what he was. Only a god could
command a great gate. The realm gate had a light inner surface and
a black outer surface, denoting the neutrality of its power, even
though white wards protected it. Always, there was balance. The
dark realm’s gate had no wards or runic symbols around it, and he
recalled that the one in Myrthran had opened when he had approached
it and closed behind him. How, then, was he supposed to close a
world gate that had been left open? The dark power offered no aid,
and he glanced around for a clue. The wind keened in the crags and
showers of dust sifted down the cliffs to the canyon floor. There
was no life for leagues around this gate.

The place was
eerie, and made him shiver. He almost laughed at his reaction:
being unnerved by a long-abandoned gate. Its neglect did not
surprise him. No one tried to get into an Underworld if they had
any sense. The dark power’s lack of assistance was odd, though. It
usually provided the answers to his problems when it was to do with
the darkness.

He retreated a
few paces, raised his hands and spread them towards the gates,
muttering, “
Drokath
.”

Bane brought
his hands slowly together, but the huge doors merely shivered. He
studied them again, puzzled. Normally, these gates were always
closed, just like the other great gates. They opened on command and
closed of their own accord, so Torvaran had forced this gate to
remain open, just as he had done to the realm gate, but how?

Bane made a
languid, beckoning gesture. “
Frotharth
.”

Five shadow
runes shimmered into visibility within the doorway. So, a dark
command, a glamour to conceal them from a god’s sight, and more.
Only one commanded the gates to stand open, one cast the glamour,
and the other three formed a trap. Anyone who attempted to step
through the gate would be transported somewhere, but he could not
discern the destination. Doubtless a deep pit or magma river,
neither of which would harm him, so the trap was intended for
creatures of the light, or mortals. Given the curious, meddling
nature of the people who dwelt in this domain, probably many unwary
explorers and archaeologists had fallen foul of Torvaran’s trap
over the centuries. Bane was tempted to step into the snare and
find out if any of its victims had survived, but the chances of
that were slim to none. Perhaps they would be released when he
destroyed the runes, but then they would be trapped in the
Underworld.

Dismissing
their plight as inconsequential, he made the gestures and spoke the
words of unmaking again, as he had just done in the cellar. The
runes shivered and seemed to burst, the shadows that formed them
sinking into the rocks. Bane spread his hands towards the gates
again. “
Drokath
.”

The mighty
doors swung inwards as he drew his hands together, their lower
edges scraping across the scree that had fallen into the canyon
over the centuries they had stood open. The dark realm’s world gate
closed with a hollow boom, a flare of shadows sealing it.

Chapter
Twelve

Demon Gods

The Demon Lord
sat at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the White City, his
back against a silver cloud tree, admiring the view. Mirra nestled
against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. They had left
Miraculous a short while earlier to enjoy a stroll in the gardens
and stretch their legs, weary of being cooped up in the ship.

The realm gate
remained open, since ships still came and went through it, ferrying
the population of Sarlan City to Bayona. It seemed there were more
people in the outer city than any of them had bargained for, and
two days of evacuation had yet to move them all, although Bane did
not doubt that Predoran had been amongst the first to return to the
domain. Retribution’s capture pleased Bane, and most of the crew
had remained with the ship. Not only did it give them another ship,
it also got Nikira off Miraculous. Perhaps commanding her ship
again would distract her from her infatuation. It seemed to be a
passion of hers.

A distant chime
distracted him, and he turned his head, listening. Another peal
came, and the hairs on his nape prickled. He knew of only one thing
in a light realm that chimed, and he had heard it all too often
recently.

Mirra shifted
and glanced up at him. “What is it?”

“I am unsure.
The realm gate is chiming.”

“What does that
mean?”

“Since it is
open, I do not know.”

A third faint
chime made Bane’s unease grow. He sat up, turning to gaze along the
path that led through the cloud gardens to the gazebo, and beyond
that, the gate hall, both of which were hidden by mist. Without his
power, he could not create an Eye or far-see what caused the realm
gate to chime.

He rose to his
feet, helping Mirra up. “You stay here. I will go and see what it
is.”

“No, I am
coming with you.”

“You will be
safer if you hide here.”

“I am safe with
you.”

He shook his
head with a smile. “I have no power.”

“Of course you
do, just not the shadows.”

“Mirra…”

“I am coming
with you.”

He sighed.
“Very well, but if I tell you to run, do it, all right?”

“I shall. Do
you think it is something dangerous?”

“Possibly.
Realm gates do not chime for no reason.”

Bane set off
along the path, Mirra clinging to his hand. Despite her insistence
on accompanying him, he sensed her fear. The clouds swirled and
eddied across the track, at times obscuring it, and the glowing
trees swayed in a sweet-scented breeze. After spending so much time
in a light realm, the brightness no longer bothered him as much,
especially when he had no power. The lack of it, however, made him
cautious now, for he had little with which to fight, should
whatever had sparked the gate’s warning prove to be dangerous. The
gazebo loomed out of the mist, empty, and he cursed Kayos’
absence.

His sense of
foreboding increased, and he glanced down at Mirra. “Call
Kayos.”

She bowed her
head, whispering the Grey God’s name.

Bane followed
the path past the gazebo, heading for the gate hall. The soft, slow
chimes continued, louder now that they approached the source. The
gate hall came into view, its massive, diamond-encrusted pillars
swallowed by mist high above. Bane stopped beside a bank of cloud
bushes and studied the hall, within whose dimness glowing runes
pulsed around the giant gateway. A flying vehicle hummed overhead,
apparently oblivious to the gate’s alarm, but then, it remained
open. A flicker caught his eye, and he stared at it. It moved,
becoming discernible as a man-shaped figure with sweeping horns and
a bull-like head. A second figure appeared beside it, as if
stepping from another dimension, as angels did. Four shadows
twisted and swirled beyond them. All six skirted on the edge of his
vision, barely perceptible.

Mirra tugged at
his hand. “What is it?”

“I do not know.
Can you not see them?”

“No.”

Bane blinked.
The man-shaped creatures had no souls, and the four shadows had
small dull red ones. “Go,” he whispered. “Now.”

Mirra released
his hand and backed away. One of the entities vanished and
reappeared right in front of Bane, becoming entirely visible.
Curved horns swept from the brow of what appeared to be a muscular,
seven-foot-tall man clad in polished, spiked steel armour over a
tattered dark grey kilt, his face partially obscured by a
bull-faced helm. The second creature appeared beside the first,
this one wearing a spiked helm and scale mail over ragged brown
trousers. He had a massive broadsword strapped across his back, and
the first carried a spiked club. They peered at Bane with ink-black
eyes, which flicked past him to Mirra.

“Ha! Sport!”
the bull-helmed man shouted.

Two of the
shadows beyond them shot towards Bane, becoming recognisable.
Hellhounds. Bane flung himself at them as they streaked past,
seizing one. He rolled with it in the clouds, the demon beast
growling as his hands locked around its throat. It was impossible
to strangle something that did not breathe, however, and he could
not destroy a hound without his power. A scream from the clouds
where Mirra had fled turned his heart to fire, and he gripped the
Hellhound’s head and twisted, ripping it off. Leaping up, he sprang
after the other beast, but something struck him from behind,
sending him rolling into the mist. Mirra screamed again, and Bane
raised his head, his skull ringing and lights dancing in his eyes.
The hound circled her, its eyes aglow, teeth bared, savouring its
kill for the benefit of its masters.

Kayos appeared
beside Mirra, swept her up and vanished, leaving the Hellhound
snapping at air. Bane slumped, clasping his pounding head, then
became aware of the two beings who stood behind him, watching him.
He turned, frowning. Drevarin appeared in the clouds off to his
left, striding closer, but he stopped several yards away, looking
uncertain. Bane studied the man-shaped creatures, but he had no
idea what they were. The Hellhound whose head he had torn off grew
a new one, stood up and returned to its masters, as did the other
one.