Demon Lord (45 page)

Bane's power ebbed, and the
runes ignited, burning with sullen light. Yet the earth still
resisted him, and he flung back his head, starting to Gather. The
runes flared to bright crimson, burning him. Hot pain stabbed his
brain, and flashes of agony cut into his eyes as the shadows rushed
into him, filling him with their awful power and the illness that
came with it. He channelled it into his hands and unleashed it at
the ward in a crackling arc of pure blackness that split the air
like a river of night, blasting its foundations, tearing at the
rock and soil. The earth bucked, and chunks of stone the size of
houses fell to smash all around him, filling the air with whizzing
shards that his power deflected.

Still, the ward stood. Bane
raised his arms higher, and the Gather increased, the sixth rune
starting to glow, growing brighter. Blackness rose from the ground,
seeped from the air, and crept from the shadows amongst the rocks.
It poured into him, filling him, and blasted from him into the
monolith's bedrock. The earth shuddered, and a deep rumble came
from far underground, growing to a dull roar. Bane became a conduit
through which the black magic flowed, the sixth rune now burning as
brightly as the rest. Unbelievable agony flooded him as the dark
fire burnt through him in an unstoppable torrent that would have
incinerated a black mage.

The seventh ward tottered as its
foundations crumbled under the Demon Lord's attack, pieces breaking
off and thundering to the ground with dull booms that shook the
earth. Slowly it leant, dust and pebbles cascading from it, crystal
smashing with discordant chimes. For a moment it hung, defying
gravity, then, like a mighty tree, it fell. The massive, grating
boom rocked the ground, rolling away in a thunderous roar that
echoed off the distant mountains and reverberated around the world.
Rock smashed, crumbled, broke into sheets and chunks, crashed to
the ground and broke again. Dust billowed up to veil its death in a
pale shroud.

Bane staggered, struggling to
keep his feet as the ground heaved, cracks snaking across it,
fissures opening to swallow streams of soil and grass. He strived
to leash the power, dispersing what he could not hold, forcing the
rest deep into his bones, nausea churning his stomach. A wave of
weakness washed over him, dimming his vision as he bent and
retched. He fought it, but his legs buckled, and he fell to his
knees. Drops of blood splattered the ground before him, dripping
from his eyes. The agony of the fire's aftermath made his flesh
burn as if his skin was filled with hot coals. Lances of pain split
his skull, and the power leashed in his bones became an instrument
of exquisite torture, forcing a cry of pain from him as he tasted
blood, and wept it.

Dark fire licked over his hands,
beyond his control, escaping the prison of his flesh without his
consent. He tried to leash it, harnessing his will to place a yoke
of command upon its raging chaos. Bloody tears ran down his cheeks,
his lungs burnt and his heart laboured. He had absorbed too much
during the Gather. He could not contain it, and he had not
dispersed enough to bring it down to a safe level. Now he was too
tired and weak to control it, and it was consuming him, breaking
free to ravage his flesh.

Cool hands gripped his arm, and
the power flowed into them, reducing his suffering tremendously. A
soft cry made him look around to find the girl kneeling beside him,
her face twisted with agony and her hands locked about his arm.
Bane jerked free, and she slumped as his pain redoubled. He had
control again, however, and leashed it savagely, the agony fading
as the power subsided, trapped within him once more. His heart
slowed, and cool air put out the fire in his lungs as he blinked
the blood from his eyes and looked over at the healer, who lay
motionless, dust settling on her golden skin. He could not tell if
she was alive or dead, and he did not have the strength to find
out. His vision dimmed, the world tilted, and he collapsed.

For a long time he lay barely
conscious, racked by shivers and spasms, his eyes leaking blood.
Dust settled on him, greying his hair and skin. Pain pounded at his
temples, but he was too weak to drink from the flask. He studied
the soil under his nose, unable to lift his head. Waves of
blackness washed over him, lulling him, and finally he surrendered
to the mercy of its numbness as it rinsed away the pain.

Mirra woke with a jerk, blinking
gritty eyes. She ached from the agony she had shared with Bane, yet
she had survived. Raising herself on shaking arms, she looked
around for Bane. He lay on his stomach beside her, his head turned
to the side, as still and waxen as a corpse. Black despair clutched
her heart, and she laid a hand on his brow, its warmth sending a
rush of relief through her.

After a brief struggle, she
rolled him onto his back, grunting with effort. His limbs flopped
limply, yet his eyes were open and his muscles twitched. Bloody
tears ran down his cheeks to stain the dry ground, washing runnels
in the dust that clung to his skin. His pale eyes stared
sightlessly at the blackening clouds, and his chest rose in shallow
breaths.

"Bane! Bane, can you hear
me?"

His eyes closed.

Digging in his tunic, she found
the nearly empty flask and held it to his lips, letting the potion
trickle into his mouth. He coughed a spray of it out, then
swallowed. Bit by bit, she fed it to him, careful not to waste a
drop. When the flask was empty, she put it down and laid a hand on
his chest, recoiling as a frisson of cold power shot up her arm.
Alarmed, she undid his shirt buttons and pulled it open. Six runes
glowed with dull red light.

"Bane, leash the power.
Bane!"

His head lolled to the side, and
the runes died to faint embers, but did not go out. Mirra looked
around for the droge, but there was no sign of her. Climbing to her
feet, she tottered away in search of more dragonroot. She soon
found another shrub, and tore her nails in her frenzy to dig it
out, then ran to the tent and crushed it in a cup of water,
squeezing the juice from its tough fibres. Stumbling with
weariness, she returned to the Demon Lord and knelt beside him,
lifting his head into her lap. She held the cup to his lips and
trickled the fiery liquid into his mouth, persevering even when he
gasped and coughed, knowing that it might still not be enough.

When he had swallowed most of
it, his skin dewed with sweat from the ordeal, she wiped his face
with the edge of her robe. His limp jet mane filled her lap like
dusty raven's wings, his deep widow's peak and sharply angled brows
at the mercy of her exploring fingers. She had often longed to run
her hands over the striking contours of his face and caress the
silken smoothness of his pale skin, but had thought she would never
get the chance. Now he was unable to pull away as he had before,
and even his lashing tongue was stilled by the half-death that held
him.

The clouds thickened and
blackened into an ominous shroud, and distant lightning flickered
to earth, followed by soft rumbles of thunder. The fallen seventh
ward lay crushed and broken, its power gone. The Black Lord was
rising. She could taste a cold tang of iron in the air and smell
corruption in the chill wind that ruffled her hair. She sat with a
fallen dark god's head cradled in her lap, the chiselled lines of
his face etched by the fading light. His crimson-lined cloak lay
about him like a pool of black-edged blood, and he was as still as
death, but for the faint twitching of his limbs and the painful
hiss of breath in his throat. He clung to life by a thread, held
only by the dragonroot and his perverse spirit.

Gently she traced his fine brows
and ran her fingers through the silken hair that had always
bristled with life. The runes had faded to angry red scars, yet
somehow remained menacing. Leaning over him, she allowed her tears
to overflow and splash onto his skin.

"Do not die, Bane, please do not
die."

The Demon Lord coughed, his lips
twisting to reveal white teeth. His eyes opened, vivid blue against
the crimson whites, releasing more bloody tears that trickled down
his cheeks.

He whispered, "Damned... mother
hen."

Her heart sang with joy. "Thank
the Goddess. How do you feel?"

He blinked blood from his eyes.
"Half... dead."

"Then you are half alive."

Bane grunted, his eyes drifting
closed. Mirra looked around at the darkening landscape. Black
clouds had blotted out the sunlight completely, and the air was
filled with an eerie tingling that made her hair bristle. Lightning
illuminated the clouds with silver flashes, and the wind plucked at
her with cold fingers. The Black Lord was rising, here, and
now.

She looked down at Bane. "The
Black Lord is coming."

"Good."

"He will kill me."

Thunder rolled across the land
as Bane's eyes opened again, allowing more blood to escape. He
gazed across the stormy grassland, and Mirra prayed that the
dragonroot had started to take effect, for time was running out.
The tension in the air was like a silent scream as the Overworld
struggled against the Black Lord's rising. Clouds raced across the
sky, and the lightning flickered constantly now. The very fabric of
the Overworld protested, the air stiff with electrical
animosity.

The Black Lord rose with
terrifying suddenness. A black circle appeared not twenty feet away
and spread outwards at an astonishing speed, the grass hissing as
the dark fire consumed it, the soil whining. Natural fire flared as
the grass caught alight, and dozens of smaller circles began to
form. Fire demons manifested in gouts of sick light and earth
demons erupted all about the huge blackened circle, heaving upwards
with amazing speed. Mirra stared at them with wide, frightened
eyes, clutching the fine fabric of Bane's shirt. A black form rose
from the centre of the huge circle, tiny sparks of red light
swirling within it, and evil power emanated from it in terrible,
chilling waves.

The Black Lord.

He took a man-shape, and yellow
eyes opened in his face. Slit pupils contracted in the dim light,
then he opened a fiery red maw and smiled. Mirra wanted to run, but
was riveted by the awful sight, frozen with fear. The demons
surrounded their master, larger than he, yet far less powerful.
Black power radiated from him like heat from the sun, and shadows
seemed to gather to him, shrouding him in gloom. Mirra's stomach
heaved at the evil power he exuded, and she looked down at Bane,
who gazed at the Black Lord with shining eyes.

"Father," he whispered.

The Black Lord laughed. "So, you
survived, Bane. What a tenacious human you are." His deep, powerful
voice boomed across the space between them. He raised a hand and
wagged an admonishing finger at Bane. "You were supposed to die.
You have been a bad boy."

Bane frowned. "So I could have a
dark form?"

"No, my boy, so you could go and
live in the Land of the Dead, with the rest of the humans. For a
little while, anyway."

"What are you saying?"

The Black Lord shook his head,
red sparks cascading from the blackness. "I am not your father,
boy. You are the misbegotten son of a love sick peasant girl and a
lusty woodcutter."

Bane's eyes filled with a
terrible horror. "You lied?"

"I lied." The Black Lord threw
back his head and laughed. "I am the father of lies! I needed you
to break the wards, nothing more. I made sure you would not outlive
your purpose, but a meddling healer has prolonged your suffering."
His yellow eyes burnt Mirra. "Not that I mind. You brought it upon
yourself. You disobeyed me, and now you will pay. Lie in the dust
and die, boy. I go to conquer my new land."

"You bastard."

The Black Lord sniggered. "Ah,
your mother screamed so delightfully when I tore you from her
belly. A pity it was over so quickly, and then I had to care for
you, a dirty human brat. What a trial it was, dealing with your
messy upbringing, your wet, Overworld ways."

"I shall destroy you," Bane
rasped.

"No, you will not. You will lie
there and die. You have done well. You fulfilled my expectations
excellently, now, you are expendable."

A fire demon moved towards the
fallen Demon Lord, and Mirra recognised Mealle. The Black Lord
turned his midnight head.

"No. Even now he is more
powerful than you, Mealle. Let him die slowly."

The fire demon hissed and
withdrew, its yellow eyes filled with hatred. The Black Lord waved
a negligent hand, and a demon steed rose swiftly from a grass fire
to bow to him. He mounted, turning to stare down at Bane.
"Farewell, fool. We will visit you in the Land of the Dead. That, I
promise."

With a harsh guffaw, the Black
Lord urged the demon steed forward, and it sprang away in a flash
of speed, its hooves drumming the ground. Swiftly he dwindled, the
demons following. The fire demons shrank to flames that trailed
after him like a swarm of sparks, the earth demons pounded behind
on long legs, diving into the ground as they were left behind, to
travel below. Invisible air demons fluttered the grass with their
cold fetor as they raced after him.

Mirra sighed and relaxed as the
black power waned with his passing. She looked down at Bane, whose
brows were knotted, bloody tears streaking his cheeks. He lifted a
shaking hand and covered his eyes, his mouth twisted with
bitterness.

"Bane, it is not your fault. He
tricked you. He is the Black Lord. You stood no chance. You were
just a child. You must help us now, please, we need you."

He let his hand drop. "I am
useless."

"No, you are not. He expected
you to die. He planned it. But you did not, you lived through it,
and only you have the power to stand against him."