Dark God
Dark God
T C Southwell
Published by T C Southwell at Smashwords
Copyright © 2010 T C Southwell
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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This book is dedicated to my brother.
Chapter
One
–
Dark Lord
Chapter
Two
–
The New Kingdom
Chapter
Three
–
The Lady's Temple
Chapter
Four
–
The Goddess
Chapter
Five
–
The Purge
Chapter
Six
–
The Gather
Chapter
Seven
–
First Blood
Chapter
Eight
–
The White Fire
Chapter
Nine
–
The Dark Army
Chapter
Ten
–
Mercy
Chapter
Eleven
–
The Final Conflict
Chapter
Twelve
–
Intervention
Chapter
Thirteen
–
Aftermath
Chapter
Fourteen
–
A Young God
Chapter
Fifteen
–
The Dark Power
Chapter
Sixteen
–
Atonement
Chapter
Seventeen
–
Judgement
Chapter
Eighteen
–
Demon Lord
Chapter
Nineteen
–
Father of the Curse
Chapter
Twenty
–
The Rune
Chapter
One
Dark Lord
T
he young healer
sighed as she dug in the dry ground, unearthing a pale tuber for
her supper. She straightened with her booty, glancing at the huge,
tumbled stones of the broken ward that dominated the plains where
she had dwelt now for five days. When Bane, the Demon Lord, had
broken this, the seventh and last ward, he had freed the Black Lord
from the Underworld to conquer and ravage the Overworld. Bane had
been raised in the Underworld, and had believed that the Black Lord
was his father until his rising, when he had mocked Bane, told him
the truth, and left him to die.
Mirra had saved him with herbs
that gave him strength, and had nursed him since then, gradually
restoring some of his health. She glanced at the leather tent where
he rested. He had hardly ventured out of it since that day,
spending most of his time in a deep, exhausted sleep. Running a
dusty hand through her short flaxen hair, she walked back to the
tent. The Underworld food Bane ate was almost gone, and what little
food she could gather was barely enough to feed her. Their supply
of water was also running low, and the wine was finished.
Tucking the jejune tuber into
the pocket of her long white healer's robe, she pushed aside the
flap and entered the tent's gloomy confines. Bane's eyes opened,
and he stared at the roof while she poured a little water into a
pot to wash her supper. The slight noise seemed to irritate him,
and he frowned at her.
"Go and do that outside."
Mirra cast him a reproachful
look as she sliced the tuber. "How are you feeling today?"
"Awful."
Mirra concentrated on her chore,
wondering when the after effects of the dragonroot would take their
toll. The herb granted temporary strength, but the penalty for its
use was grave. So far he had only suffered from extreme exhaustion
and the aftermath of using such colossal amounts of dark power,
which was bad enough. He had been too weak to stand until
yesterday, when he had walked unaided for the first time since
breaking the ward. His weakness infuriated him, and she had kept
quiet to avoid annoying him, for his mood was constantly sour and
his temper short. The Gather he had performed while breaking the
ward had filled him with the dark power, and she knew that its evil
influence made him unpredictable and sadistic. She sliced the
vegetables with deft strokes.
"We will have to leave soon.
Your food is almost finished, and so is the water."
"Tomorrow," he muttered.
"If you are strong enough."
"You doubt me?"
"No, of course not. But I did
not mean we had to leave straight away. You have been through a
terrible ordeal..."
Bane sat up, his straight,
steeply angled brows drawing together in a frown. Wings of jet hair
fell from a deep widow's peak to frame the sculpted visage of an
angelic demon - if such a thing was possible, she mused. He glared
at her with vivid blue eyes that seemed to pierce her soul with
their intensity, the nostrils of his narrow nose flaring. His
alabaster skin had not seen the sun until he had come through the
World Gate and entered the Land of Light. His aversion to sunlight
had made him avoid it, and as a result of that, plus the effect the
dark power had on it, his skin remained milk pale. The ravages of
his ordeal showed in the lines of strain that bracketed his mouth,
his bloodshot eyes and too-red lips.
"I know what I have been
through. Had I been able to leave today, I would have."
She nodded as she put the sliced
vegetables in a pot and added a little water. "Good, then we leave
tomorrow."
The next day
Bane was still terribly weak, and Mirra watched with deep concern
as he emerged from the tent. A gust of wind made him stagger, and
she bit her lip, expecting him to give up and return to his bed.
Despite the lack of food and water, it would be better if he could
rest for longer and grow stronger. Bane raised his head and scanned
the horizon, and she turned at the sound of drumming hooves.
The
demon steed galloped
towards them, and her heart chilled with fear, then she realised
that he had summoned it. The grey warhorse that had carried her
here grazed in the distance, content in the golden
grass.
The
demon steed stopped and reared,
shaking its fiery head, cascades of bright yellow flame swirling
about its neck. It looked like it was formed from lava, its glowing
hide dappled with dark and brighter areas. Its eyes glowed
white-hot, and fire formed its mane and tail. Bane had summoned the
Underworld creature from a fire several weeks ago to serve him, and
his summoning still bound it. He glared at it, a small, bitter
smile twisting his lips. The demon steed bowed to him, lowering
itself to its knees so he could climb onto its back. He started
towards it, but she grabbed his arm.
"You are still too weak. You
should to rest a little longer."
"Do not tell me what to do," he
snarled.
"You will kill yourself if you
do not regain your strength."
"I have a score to settle, and I
do not take orders from the likes of you. We are leaving now,
whether you like it or not." He jerked his arm from her grip,
staggering, and walked to the fiery stallion, climbing onto its
back with some effort.
Mirra turned to call the grey
horse, but Bane said, "Leave him be. I must travel fast. He cannot
keep up."
Mirra gathered
up their few possessions, packing away the stiff, heavy tent while
he waited atop the
demon
steed. She passed the bundles up to him, and he placed them behind
him, then held out his hand to her.
Mirra
hesitated, repelled by the stallion's dark fire. Bane's eyes
flicked to the beast, and its emanation of power vanished. She took
his hand, and he helped her up before him. Her hands sank through
the flames that writhed about the stallion's neck, finding purchase
on its glowing surface. Its silken hide radiated no more warmth
than a normal beast, despite the appearance of heat. It was like
touching the smooth embers of a tepid fire, and the contradiction
of her senses made her stomach squirm with unease. Bane sat stiffly
behind her, radiating resentment at her presence, even though she
was there at his behest. Then the
demon steed sprang forward at his silent command, and she
forgot all in the exhilaration of the ride.
The ground
blurred beneath the stallion's drumming hooves as they shot across
the grasslands at an incredible speed, the wind ruffling her hair.
Within moments they passed the place
where the army had camped, the ruins of the seventh ward
already on the horizon. The dark army was gone, scattered by the
Black Lord's rising. Only the flattened grass and charred areas
where they had built their fires remained, flashing past as the
demon steed skimmed over the grass.
By evening,
they had reached the foothills of the mountains, entering the
coniferous forest that clothed the slopes. They had traversed in
one day the same distance that had taken ten when the troll army
had slowed them. The
demon
steed stopped, and Bane slid from its back and sank to his knees,
utterly exhausted. Mirra dragged the bundle from Orriss' back and
erected the stiff, heavy tent with some difficulty, for it resisted
her efforts to bend it to her will.
Bane sat and watched her, making
no effort to help, but she did not mind, for he was too weak
anyway. When at last the tent was up, she made a fire to heat his
food, then helped him inside and onto the folding bunk. She gave
him the food and waited while he ate it, to ensure that he did.
Leaving him to rest, Mirra
searched the forest for a pool, and found a tiny one amongst some
rocks, fed by a trickle of water. She knelt beside it, studying her
reflection. Short, dusty gold hair framed her delicate features, a
ragged remnant of the long tresses that had been hacked off during
her first encounter with Bane. Dust filmed her pale skin, and her
blue-green eyes were filled with weariness now. The horrors she had
witnessed as Bane's prisoner had banished the joy they had held in
her childhood. Her face had lost its childish contours and grown
gaunt from the hardships she had suffered, giving her a waifish
air, she thought.
She leant forward and called,
"Elder Mother!"
After a long moment, Ellese's
face blossomed in the water, gazing at Mirra with sorrowful eyes.
She had aged, and anxiety and dread had lined her elderly, careworn
features. "Mirra. I am glad to see you, my child. You have done
well, saving Bane."
