Demon Lord (36 page)

"How can he be a god? This is
the Lady's domain."

"Do you think your goddess is
the only celestial being in this world? Arkonen is a god too. Once
he was a man, then he was sent to the Underworld and became the
Black Lord."

"He was human?"

He nodded. "A long time ago. He
cast aside his mortal body when he became the Black Lord, so he is
not human anymore."

"People cannot become gods."

"Not usually, but he did."

"How?"

"I never asked him."

Mirra recalled her lessons about
the birds and the bees. "If he has no mortal body, how can he be
your father?"

"He created me with his power,
stupid girl, I had no mother."

"But you are mortal."

"I had to be, to break the
wards." Mirra shook her head in confusion, and Bane frowned at her,
spooning his stew. "You seem unconvinced."

"Your power cannot create, it
only destroys."

A short silence fell while he
considered this, then he shrugged. "He must have found a way."

"Prince Holran -"

"No!" Bane banged the table
again, making her jump with the crockery. "I am no farm wench's
whelp."

Mirra let the matter drop, since
arguing with him would only put him in a foul mood. Bane finished
his stew in silence, then rose. Picking up the wine flagon, he
wandered about the room, running his fingers over some of the runes
on the walls. The runes he touched glowed faintly red, and he
turned at the door.

"You will be safe in this room.
Do not venture out of it."

Mirra nodded. She had no
intention of going anywhere. Her eyelids drooped with weariness,
and she longed for sleep. As soon as the door closed behind him,
she contemplated the big, soft bed. Since she had been with Bane,
she had slept on hard floors, and the bed was a great temptation
now, invitingly empty.

Unable to resist, she stretched
out on it, revelling in the forbidden luxury. Even at the abbey her
bed had not been this comfortable. She sank into it with a blissful
sigh, cradled in its silken folds. She would wake before Bane came
back, she decided. His ceremony would no doubt be long, maybe
lasting all night. There was no harm in napping for a while.

Chapter Fifteen

Betrayal

As Bane entered the huge marble
hall, the murmur of conversation died away and everyone prostrated
themselves with a rustle of rich fabric. A trickle of pleasure went
through him, more so now than when that damned girl watched with
her horror-filled eyes. He noticed that Agden's forehead hovered
several inches above the floor, and walked over to the Emperor.
Agden's head sank lower at Bane's approach, but did not quite touch
the floor.

Bane placed a boot on Agden's
neck and banged his head against the ground, pinning him there with
a merciless heel. "You try my patience, Agden," he said. "You have
been warned, so beware, lest I punish you."

"Yes, Lord," Agden croaked.

Bane lifted his foot and walked
away, signalling to the priests to rise. Agden rubbed his neck, his
eyes filled with ill-concealed hatred. The Emperor clapped his
hands, and servants cleared the platters, passing finger bowls
amongst the priests and refilling empty wine cups. Bane filled a
cup with his wine and flung himself into the high-backed throne.
The crowd that waited outside the temple murmured with excitement,
a distant buzzing, like a hive of bees.

Agden clapped his hands again,
and drums began to beat. Dancers filed into the temple, oiled,
muscular men and scantily clad girls. The crowd outside cheered,
beginning their festivities. Bane watched the dancers gyrate,
undulate and pirouette, finding it rather boring.

It did not match the
Underworld's ceremonies, where hundreds naked droges would cavort
with man-shaped demons, the great booming of the huge human-skin
drums beaten by earth demons echoing around the massive chamber.
The dark magic swirled around the cavern and the Black Lord himself
would preside, clad in a handsome droge body, his dark presence
filling the air with excitement. The inner fire's lurid glow
lighted the scene, the temperature rising as fire demons took true
form, their bright flames winding about the dancers, the man-shapes
melting into forms that would give these priests nightmares.

Then the condemned souls would
be brought in and endowed with droge bodies by a wave of the Black
Lord's hand. The demons would torture them in the most terrible
ways conceivable, their screams the music to go with the drums. The
dark magic would thicken the air until Bane found it difficult to
breathe, the shadows drawn from their niches to clothe the scene in
gloom.

How had his father created him?
The question popped into his mind unbidden. The girl was right, the
dark power could not create or heal, only destroy. What was he,
really? He had always wondered why he was not like the demons, but
trapped in a body that bled and could die. His father had assured
him that it was necessary, so he could break the wards, but where
had the body come from? He had grown up in it, yet his father had
always told him that he was not human.

Bane could still remember his
words.

"I had to give you a human
body, son, but that is temporary. You are not human. You are my
son."

The drums stopped, interrupting
Bane's thoughts. The sweating dancers ran off, and the priests
stood up.

The sacrifice was being brought
in, a girl of about the same age as the healer, her eyes staring
blankly ahead, her tattooed skin pale. Long black hair flowed down
her back, and her face was painted to enhance her beauty. A
floating white robe clothed her, the material so fine that her
lithe body could be seen clearly through it. Robbed of fear by
drugs, she walked calmly between the priests who accompanied her, a
dreamy smile on her lips. Bane had no doubt that she had been
preparing for this moment all her life, and was honoured to die for
the Black Lord.

As the girl reached the altar
just a few feet from Bane, the priests began a droning chant,
punctuated with clapping and gong ringing. The priests lifted the
girl onto the altar, where she lay, her eyes closed, her delicate
body relaxed and vulnerable. Bane's mind flashed back to the
morning, when he had entered the temple and found the healer
stretched out like that, the priest poised to plunge the knife into
her breast. The fury and fear that had flooded through him had
almost made him blast the priest to a crisp, and he had Moved,
appearing beside the man and nearly giving him heart failure.

When he had plucked the knife
from the priest's limp fingers, he had wanted to kill her; the urge
had sickened him. He could not, however, his warring emotions had
turned the knife aside and smashed it on the stone, overcome by a
strange horror at the thought of her dying. Never had he
experienced such confusion before, and her diabolical spell had
defeated him yet again. He had struggled against the urge to show
her kindness, give her comforts, and try to please her. He could
not help talking to her now, nor did he like to see her suffer, but
he would do no more than that. He longed for the day when his
father would break her spell and he could look at her with only a
strong lust for her death. He had lied about not using the power to
save her this time; he had not wanted her to have the satisfaction.
The use had been slight, anyway, and the headache that followed had
been negligible.

The chanting died, and the
priest stepped up to the altar, raising the knife. He called upon
the Black Lord to accept the girl's soul and grant his people
protection and prosperity in return, then plunged the weapon into
her breast. She died silently, her blood running into the altar's
carved gutters, which channelled it into the braziers to be burnt.
Bane sensed the faint surge of dark power that was drawn up through
the altar stone, taking the girl's soul down to the Underworld. His
father would find her uninteresting, and quickly consign her to the
Land of the Dead. Agden's soul would bring him far more pleasure;
no doubt he would milk the last drop of enjoyment from the arrogant
bastard's agony.

The sight of the dead girl
filled Bane with a sudden, irrational fear for the healer, and he
stretched out his senses to find her asleep in the room. Relaxing,
he watched the priests file past the altar, dipping their fingers
in the blood and daubing it on their faces while they chanted
praises. He cursed himself for worrying about the wretched girl,
forced to by her foul spell.

The gold throne jabbed his
tailbone, and he shifted to relieve it. At least the discomfort
kept him awake, but he looked forward to retiring. He rested his
chin in his hand and leant on the throne's arm as they cut out the
girl's heart and burnt it, not caring if he looked as bored as he
was. Agden shot him hate-filled glances when he thought Bane was
not looking, and Bane promised himself that the emperor would
suffer when he died.

By the time the dancers came
back, he had had enough. Rising to his feet, he waved a hand as
everyone prostrated themselves. "Carry on without me. I am tired.
Agden, you can have your seat back, you undoubtedly have the
calluses for it."

Agden radiated hatred, and Bane
chuckled as he strode out. The music started up behind him again as
he walked down the torch-lighted passage, pushing open the door to
his room.

Bane stopped in surprise when he
spotted the girl stretched out on the bed. Angrily he strode over
to it, intending to order her off, but when he reached her side he
could not bring himself to wake her. She looked so peaceful, her
face innocent of expression, breathing softly through parted lips,
like a child. Then again, he reflected, she was little more than a
child, a mere girl, not a woman yet. With a soft grunt of
displeasure, he swung away to stoke the fire.

Sitting beside it, he pulled off
his boots and inspected his blackened foot. He was certainly not
going to sleep on the chair or floor; the huge bed still had plenty
of space. The situation, he thought angrily, was becoming
unbearable. Her spell was so strong now that he could not even get
her off his bed if she chose to occupy it. He had no wish to sleep
so close to her, but nor did he want to disturb her. At least he
would have some satisfaction from her horrified reaction when she
found him sleeping beside her in the morning.

Bane removed his cloak and
stripped off his shirt, returning to the bed. Lightly as a cat, he
climbed onto it and settled down on his back, still some two feet
from her, yet uncomfortably aware of her presence. It kept him
awake for a while, but eventually he fell asleep.

The Black Lord appeared in an
inferno of dark fire, bright sparks hissing from his terrible
visage. The scene behind him was of a raging red sea, a firestorm
lighting foaming waves from beneath. Bane knew he was furious, but
faced him unafraid.

"Bane, you are falling into a
trap."

"Why does the dark power make me
ill, Father?"

"Because I had to give you a
human body, of course."

"Where did the body come
from?"

The Black Lord shook sparks from
his hair. "I took it. What has this to do with anything?"

"Is the power killing me?"

"No. It makes you sick, that is
all. You have been listening to that witch's lies again."

Bane nodded. "She gave me a
medicine for my headache. The one Mealle gave me no longer helps,
and the pain becomes unbearable."

"You must not consume anything
from the Overworld." The Black Lord's eyes flared yellow with rage,
and the burning sea behind him darkened, growing wilder. "You can
live with the pain. I taught you how. Have you forgotten your
lessons?"

"No, but the pain increases each
time I use the power." Bane's pale eyes bored into his father's.
"The mage on Lume said that you planned my death."

The Black Lord sighed, his
glowing eyes dimming. The mood vision changed to a calm sky of deep
red streaked with glowing yellow clouds. "Do you believe these
lies? I told you they would try to turn you against me. How else
can they win? They cannot defeat you, so they try to subvert you. I
formed your spirit myself. I created your soul, and housed it in
that body so you might perform this task. Once it is over, you
shall have a dark form, like mine, and we will rule together. Have
I not always told you that? Do you doubt me?"

Bane shook his head, ashamed of
his doubt, slight though it had been. "No, Father, you are right, I
should not listen to her; she is our enemy."

"Good. You are doing well, son,
I am pleased. Only two more wards to go, then I can free you from
the witch's spell. After that, we will change the Overworld
together, and make it a pleasant place to inhabit. There will be
much sport, killing the humans. Beware the girl. She weaves her
spell powerfully upon you. Do not let the human emotions of that
body contaminate your soul. Fight it, it is a trap."

"Yes, Father." Bane bowed his
head, reassured of his father's reliance upon him. His father was
not trying to kill him, the healer was.

Ellese wandered in the garden,
soaking up golden sunlight while she thought of Mirra, trapped
beneath the grey clouds with Bane, who hated the sun. The poor girl
was confused now. Bane had convinced her that she had been sent to
kill him. Indirectly she could, if the Black Lord kept sending
demons after her, but only if Bane continued to refuse her help.
Her attempt to leave Bane might have been disastrous, but luckily
the Demon Lord had reached her in time. She was well pleased with
the way Bane's feelings were progressing. He was outstripping her
expectations.

Plucking a flower, she gazed
sadly around the bright garden, thinking of the terrible things
that had started happening all over the land. Demons were rising,
no longer bound now that only two wards remained. They terrorised
villages, burning and killing, taking human form and tricking
people, sleeping with women disguised as their husbands, torturing
children in the form of a parent. Possessions happened every day,
and lay preachers had their hands full performing exorcisms. Her
heart bled for their suffering, but she was helpless to do anything
other than heal their wounds and pray to the Lady for guidance.
Bane had not turned from his task. The black ship still dragged the
white one with it towards destruction.