Demon Lord (44 page)

She sagged, despondent. They
were right back where they had started. "But I do not want to kill
you. You cannot save me if you are dead."

Bane smiled, his eyes shining in
the lamplight. "Yes I can. I shall be just as powerful in a dark
form as I am now."

"If your father grants it to
you."

"Why would he not?"

"Why would he? Or more to the
point, what if he does not? You will be at his mercy once you
become one of his own kind; a dead soul. Will you take the chance
that the enchantment cannot be broken, and you will be helpless to
prevent your suffering if he kills me? Would it not be better to
ensure that I live, in that case?"

He pondered this, looking
bitter. "You seem very sure that your spell cannot be broken, yet
you claim not to have cast it."

"I did not. But if the healers
cast it, I doubt that your father can break it, because we use
different kinds of magic."

"So, you have sought to enslave
me with this spell, ensuring your safety with it. Very well then, I
shall accept your argument as valid. It does make sense to me. But
I promise you this, witch. If my father cannot free me of you, I
will find a way to do it, I swear. And when I do, you will suffer
for your tricks and lies, more than you can imagine."

Mirra suppressed a shiver.
Certainly this was just the sort of thing that would appeal to him,
but at the same time it made her own argument seem really stupid,
for by saving his life, she ensured her suffering at his hands, or
so he thought.

Bane watched her, looking
amused. "Do you still want me to live?"

She raised her eyes to his.
"Yes, but not for your reasons. I believe that the Black Lord will
betray you, and you will turn against him. Keeping you alive is the
only way to save the Overworld."

"You think so?" He laughed.
"Believe what you will, it seems we both have reasons for wanting
me to retain my mortal form. You will regret this, I promise." He
took the root and studied it, rubbing the dirt from it.

She snatched it back. "I will
wash it."

Mirra rinsed it in a bowl of
water, scrubbing it clean, aware that his eyes followed her every
move. When she was satisfied, she held it out, but he shook his
head, and her heart sank. Had he been toying with her?

"You first."

Mirra nodded. "There is one
thing. It has an after effect, when it starts to wear off."

"What sort?"

"Unpleasant. Cramps, fever,
nausea, headaches."

He shrugged. "Nothing new to
me."

Mirra broke off a leg and chewed
it, grimacing at the burning, acidic flavour, which stung her
mouth. After she had finished, he waited for a while, watching her,
then started to chew the root. He grimaced as she had done, and she
thought he would spit it out, but he did not.

"It tastes rather like my
food."

She shuddered. "It is foul."

It took him some time to consume
the entire root, and she sighed with relief when he had finished.
He lay back, closing his eyes once more, and Mirra rose to leave,
but his voice stopped her.

"Stay here. If you have poisoned
me, I will take you with me."

"You will not have to. I have
eaten it too."

He shrugged. "True."

Mirra settled on the floor, her
heart buoyant. She had persuaded the Demon Lord to take her advice,
albeit not for the best reasons. Apparently he feared her death
more than she did, which puzzled her. Then again, perhaps he merely
wished to retain his independence from the Black Lord, which he
could do only if he lived. Once he was dead, the Black Lord could
do what he wished with him, even consign him to the Land of the
Dead. Or could he? Was Bane just a powerful black mage, or
something more? Ellese had said that he was stronger than a normal
man, which hinted that he was not normal, in which case, what was
he?

If he was anything more than a
normal man, he evidently did not know it, which had worked to her
advantage in this instance. Bane's trust in his father was
implicit, however, his only doubt seemed to be whether or not the
Black Lord could break the spell he believed himself to be under.
She was certain that the healers had not cast any spell, for they
did not use that kind of magic, but if not, then who had, if
anybody? Whatever the reason, she was glad that he had accepted her
help; she could not bear to think of him dying tomorrow. Satisfied
with the night's work, she fell asleep listening to Bane's soft
breathing, comforted by his presence.

Mirra woke when he did, sitting
up and rubbing her eyes while he stretched, joints cracking. He
looked down at her.

"So, you told the truth, it
seems. I have not felt this fit since I left the Underworld."

Mirra smiled, glad of the vigour
the root had imparted to her as well, for she had a nasty suspicion
she was going to need it today. Dull, cold sunlight filtered in
through the flap, flaring as Bane pushed it aside and stepped out.
She followed, finding him considering the monolith with eyes
narrowed to slits against the grey sky's glare. Dorel glowered at
her with fresh venom, clearly furious at being evicted from the
Demon Lord's tent and replaced by what she considered to be a
smelly human. Bane sent the droge to prepare his breakfast, and
Mirra chewed on some roots she had collected and stored in the
copious pockets of her robe, while he ate. Afterwards he ordered
the droge to bring his pack and turned to Mirra.

"Go away, girl. I am going to
perform another Gather."

Mirra nodded and left to find a
comfortable spot in the grass where she could gaze at the monolith,
not wishing to watch Bane's terrible ritual. Despite her resolve,
her eyes were drawn to him constantly. Again he cut five runes,
which she assumed meant that he did not plan to use his full
strength. She wondered if he had ever used all seven runes, and
what would happen if he did. Even with only four or five his power
was awesome, she could not imagine more. When he had finished, he
sent Dorel away and turned to face the giant ward, which dwarfed
him with its mighty presence.

Bane gazed at the seventh ward
for a long time, pondering its might and gauging the power that
would be required to destroy it. The mage who had created it had
been powerful and wise. The seventh ward had been created first,
and had held the Black Lord below on its own until the other six
had been put in place to ensure his entrapment and prevent demons
from entering the Overworld. Its power was such that even now his
father was locked below, although half the ward had been
broken.

The reason he had broken the
wards in the reverse order of their creation was because they were
linked in a complex magical web that allowed them to strengthen and
protect each other. When one was attacked it drew power from the
others, so if he had come here first, the seventh ward would have
been impervious to his power with the support of the other six. Now
it stood alone, but even so it was a formidable adversary, one
that, unlike a living mage, had no fear of death and would not
accept defeat easily.

Bane walked up to it and stopped
amid the rubble that cluttered its base, considering the mammoth
stone sentinel that would be his final challenge. The chiselled
rune, the first of five that he would have to break, was about a
hundred feet above him, forcing him to use the dark power to reach
it. Invoking it, he drifted upwards on the column of flame, until
he stood on the air before the arcane symbol. Reaching out, he
placed his palm on the rune and channelled his magic into it. With
a dull crack, the rune crumbled under his hand, a layer of stone
breaking away to slide down and smash on the rubble below with a
dull rumble.

Dropping to the ground, he
pulled out the flask and sipped some potion as the first shafts of
pain spiked his brain, then picked his way through the moraine to
the next side of the five-sided stone. There he once again drifted
up and placed his hand upon the second rune, causing it to crumble
into dust, destroying its power.

Mirra knelt in the grass and
prayed that she had done the right thing by helping the man who was
now destroying the one thing that could keep her world safe from
the Black Lord's ravages. She had not lied to Bane when she had
told him that she wanted to live, she did, but not in the world the
Black Lord would create.

The seeress sat back and rubbed
her eyes, horrified by what she had seen in the scrying glass. The
sisters of her abbey, who had gathered to hear her news, held their
breath as they waited for her to speak, their faces worn by worry
and despair. Ellese quelled a strong urge to break down and weep,
stiffening her back as she raised her head and faced them.

"He is breaking the seventh
ward."

A great groan rose from them,
and some of the younger girls burst into tears, their wailing
tearing at Ellese's fragile control.

"Hush now. Mirra has failed,
yes. The black ship was too strong, the wind that blew it too
powerful. She tried, sisters, she did her best, but perhaps she was
sent too late. She should have been with him much longer. His faith
in the Black Lord was stronger than we ever imagined, and that was
what defeated her in the end."

"We are doomed!" an acolyte
wailed, sobbing on the shoulder of her neighbour.

Ellese drank from her glass of
water, unable to meet her sisters' anguished eyes. "Perhaps. But
Mirra has ensured that Bane will survive this last ward, something
the Black Lord had not planned on. We have one last hope, dear
sisters."

The sobbing subsided a little as
the healers grew intent, listening.

"Bane is our hope now." Ellese
scanned their shocked, disbelieving faces, and smiled. "Yes, Bane.
If the Black Lord is true to his nature, we have hope. It is our
last chance, but one to which we must cling. Remember, Bane is as
powerful as the Black Lord, and human. He is a mortal dark
god."

"But how can the Demon Lord save
us?" an old healer demanded.

The seeress shook her head. "I
will spare you the details for now. Very soon, we will know, and
then we will have a difficult task ahead of us, one that many of
you will not want to undertake. If I am wrong, we are indeed
doomed, and must prepare to meet the Lady. Let us hope, until then.
Go about your duties. Gather sunlight and store it, as much as you
can, for when the Black Lord rises we will not see the sun."

Chapter Eighteen

Ascension of the Black Lord

Bane stood beneath the last
rune, sweat dewing his brow, his flesh burning. The strength that
the dragonroot had bestowed was severely depleted, but he was not
finished yet. Wearily he unleashed the fire and floated up to the
rune, then stretched out his hand and laid it upon the carved
symbol. As the rune broke, a thunderclap rolled away across the
plains, reverberating from the distant mountains in a great,
resounding rumble that made the ground vibrate. A dull chime rang
out, as discordant as a cracked bell, a peal of doom. The rock
crumbled beneath his fingers, breaking away and starting to fall.
He followed it down, pain lancing through his head again.

On the ground, he gulped the
potion and walked away from the monolith as the stabs of fire
receded, then turned to study it once more. Although bereft of
runes, the pentagram still stood, solid and seemingly
indestructible. One last effort, he promised himself. One last
burst of power, albeit a strong one, then he could rest. He glanced
over at the girl, who huddled on the ground, her pale face turned
towards him. He had experienced several twinges of doubt when he
had consumed the root she had brought him, realising, a little
belatedly, that it might only become a poison when he used the dark
power, or it might weave some other spell on him, not merely kill
him. Perhaps it was only to strengthen her spell, so his father
could not break the enchantment.

The arguments she had offered
had not been terribly convincing, yet he had found that he believed
her when she had told him it was only to save him. If that was
true, however, his father had lied about her, and she had not been
sent to stop him from breaking the wards. Then again, perhaps the
Black Lord had only been trying to protect him from any possible
threat. Yet it seemed that she had not lied, and the root had given
him the strength he needed to break the last ward, which was
puzzling. Once he was free of her spell, he would decide what to do
with her.

Bracing himself, he raised his
arms high and summoned the power, sending the black fire that
surged from him flashing across the gap to strike the base of the
monolith. Another great rumble shook the ground, and shards of rock
broke away from the ward, crashing down onto the rubble below.

Bane concentrated the power,
using the years of painful lessons he had been forced to undergo to
control it. The black magic constantly strived to elude him,
writhing in his grip like a dangerous ebon snake. Bane knew all the
skills required to tame it, however, his schooling had been lengthy
and thorough. Closing his eyes, he looked deep within the earth and
found the crevasse that had birthed the monolith, and, beneath it,
the vast cavern formed by its rising. He tore at it, widening it,
causing the huge tectonic plates far beneath the ground to
shift.

The earth shuddered, and he
braced his legs as it twitched like the skin of a fly-bitten horse.
He poured the power into it, using the existing stress to increase
the potency of the destruction, channelling the magic into every
flaw and crack, forcing them to widen and weaken. Rock grated and
groaned, and cracks appeared in the earth, crazing it with sharp
reports. The ground shook, causing the monolith to tremble and shed
chunks of stone.