Demon Lord IV - Lord of Shadows (26 page)

"Yes."

"I hope this
little favour of yours is not going to take too long."

"You wish to
cast out your power?"

He sighed. "I
must. Its hold grows stronger all the time."

"You are using
it up now, are you not?"

"Yes. Using it
is easier than casting it out."

"How long can
you do this for?"

"Quite a
while." He held out his hand. "We should go."

Syrin took it,
steeling herself for the strange rush through darkness, but instead
there was an instant of utter cold, like needles in her skin, then
they stood within the black shields once more. Bane waved his hand,
and they vanished. Kayos and Drayshina stood some distance away,
talking. Kayos spotted them and walked over, Drayshina following.
Both looked relieved to see Syrin unharmed. Bane released her hand,
and she moved away as he regarded the two light gods with a cynical
smile.

"Well, a
lesson learnt by all. Never trust a dark god, even when he
threatens to kill an irritating angel. Chances are, he is
lying."

"Bane..."
Kayos shook his head in chagrin. "Do you have any idea how
difficult you are? How impossible to predict?"

"Yes,
impossible. Is it me, or is it the dark power?"

"It is a
dangerous game you play."

"It is not a
game."

The Grey God
nodded. "All right. What is it then?"

"A lesson in
humility for an arrogant angel."

Kayos glanced
at Syrin. "That is not what I meant. You play a game with the dark
power, tempting it and then denying it."

"That is how I
shall master it."

"You are
running before you have learnt to walk."

Bane snorted.
"Do you think me a fool, Kayos?

"No, I think
you are a tar'merin, whose power is at odds with his nature. A
dangerous combination that led to the demise of all the ones before
you."

"Dark gods
destroyed them."

"Because they
hated themselves even more than they did their enemies. You are
heading for that path too."

Bane gazed at
him, then glanced at Drayshina, whose eyes shimmered with tears. "I
have been travelling that path for some time now. It is well known
to me."

"Then you must
leave it."

"It is hard
not believe myself to be a monster when everybody treats me as one.
You would not fear my power if you did not believe me capable of
using it to harm you."

Kayos shook
his head. "It is not you whom we distrust, but the dark power
within you."

"And it feeds
upon your fear."

"I would have
thought that a lack of fear would have goaded it, perhaps beyond
your control, as we thought Syrin had."

Bane sighed.
"It does. But not beyond my control."

"Not yet."

The Demon Lord
turned to Syrin. "Let us be off upon your little quest, angel. I
tire of this conversation."

"At once, My
Lord. We must travel to a distant land, far to the east, to a place
called Andar's Cove."

Bane closed
his eyes, allowing his power to find the location, and Moved. He
reappeared in a field outside a village that must have once been
picturesque, but was now covered, like everything else, with grey
ash. Sunlight bathed rolling meadows and tracts of dead woodland,
and the unnatural silence hung heavy in the air. Smoke rose in
gentle swirls from the chimneys of the thatched houses, drifting
away on a soft breeze. The light made Bane squint, and he set off
towards the sparse shade of the nearest trees as Syrin stepped from
the air beside him. Just within the wood, Bane turned to survey the
village again, then looked at Syrin.

"Is there an
army approaching?"

"No, My Lord.
If you will come with me, I will show you."

Bane followed
Syrin around the village, staying mostly within the shelter of the
woods, until they arrived at a dilapidated cottage, its walls
cracked and its thatch sagging. Syrin stopped and turned to
him.

"If you would
cloak us from the sight of people, we should go closer."

Bane obliged,
and they walked to a tree at the edge of the yard, stopping in its
skeletal shade. A few minutes passed, and Bane had started to grow
impatient when the cottage's door opened, and a thin girl dressed
in rags came out carrying a pail. She emptied the slops into the
gutter, then walked over to the woodpile with dragging steps and
hanging head. Bane's eyes narrowed as he noted the bruises on her
thin arms and the dried blood on the back of her dress. Her tangled
blond hair was bound in a thick plait down her back, and she
appeared to be about twelve years old. She picked up an axe that
looked too heavy for her and began to chop the wood.

Bane glanced
at Syrin. "What is the point of this? There are many poor people in
every world."

"Wait and
watch."

Bane sighed,
then formed a seat and sat down. The girl handled the axe
awkwardly, lacking the strength to wield it effectively, and the
pile of wood remained small even though she worked hard. As the sun
descended, the cottage door opened and a strapping, hirsute man
shambled out. Gravy stains dappled his dirty shirt, and his greasy
blond hair hung into his brutish face, from which blood-shot blue
eyes glared. From the way he reeled across the yard, it was evident
even to the most ignorant observer that he was exceedingly drunk.
As he approached the girl, she dropped the axe and retreated,
looking frightened. The man glared at the pile of faggots that she
had cut.

"Is this all
you've done, you lazy cow?" he bellowed. "You've been out here all
afternoon!"

Bane raised
his brows at Syrin. "Your one favour of a dark god is to settle a
family dispute?"

She watched
the man stalk his terrified daughter, her eyes filled with sadness.
"Yes, My Lord. He beats her -"

"Many men
do."

"That does not
make it right."

"Nor does it
require my intervention. Gods do not meddle in such petty
matters."

Syrin turned
to him. "Sometimes they do, My Lord. Do not suppose that you know
so much about your kind. You are new to their ranks. That girl
prays constantly to the goddess, but Drayshina can do little for
her."

"I suppose you
want me to strike him down? Any mortal could do that for you."

"No. Killing
is not always the answer. That would leave her fatherless and her
family destitute."

Bane closed
his eyes. The girl's spirit shone with pinkish purity, but the
man's was a mixture of light and dark, a swirling, pulsing red and
blue glow. "He is tainted."

"But not yet
evil. If he is killed now he will be unable to enter the Forever
City, nor will he descend to the Darkworld. He will remain here,
trapped. But aside from that, his children love him, and he loves
them. He is a woodcutter, one of the few trades that survived
during the dark days, and when this world returns to normal his
family will need him. If he dies, they will go hungry.

"He has been
led into evil by drink, which opened him to the darkness. He will
beat her, and then he will be overcome with remorse, and turn to
drink for comfort, which will open him to the darkness again. You
know something of what it is to be torn between good and evil, do
you not, My Lord?"

"So what do
you want me to do?"

"That is for
you to decide." Syrin turned to watch the man, who had fumbled open
his belt buckle, and was tugging it from his waistband. The girl
cowered beside the woodpile, weeping.

"Why does she
not run?"

"He is her
father. She fears him, but still loves him. She blames herself for
his rage, and so will accept his beating."

Bane snorted.
"How is it possible to love a man as loathsome as him?"

"It is
possible, as you know."

He cast her a
sharp glance. "You draw parallels between that man and myself? You
think me loathsome?"

"No, My Lord,
not anymore. But there was a time..."

Bane frowned,
then turned to gaze at the man and his daughter again. The
woodcutter beat the child, who knelt before him, her hands clasped
over her head, begging him to stop. The scene brought back
unpleasant memories, and the dark power rejoiced at the sight of
the girl's pain, trying to infect him with its vicious delight. He
thrust away its evil influence and contemplated several methods of
ending the man's brutality, all of which required the woodcutter's
humiliation. That, he realised, was the dark power's influence
again. It longed for the suffering of either one of the two people
before him, and it did not care which. He pondered for a while,
aware of Syrin's growing impatience and intense study, as if she
was trying to read his mind.

Rising to his
feet, he stretched out a hand towards the man. Syrin tensed and bit
her lip. Bane motioned, and the wisp of darkness within the
woodcutter obeyed his summons and leapt across the gap to sink into
his hand. The man staggered as the evil influence left him, along
with the alcohol's mind-numbing euphoria. He froze, his arm raised,
and stared down at his weeping daughter. Lowering his arm, he
frowned at the belt, then cast it away with a vicious flick of his
wrist. He fell to his knees and gathered the child into his arms,
weeping with her as he begged for forgiveness.

Bane turned to
Syrin. "There, problem solved."

"For now. You
have ended this episode, but he will drink again, and the darkness
will enter him again."

He glared at
the man. "What more can I do?"

"You are the
god, think like one."

Bane sighed,
glancing at the cottage, where a dirty, timid woman peeped around
the door at her husband and daughter. "The root of the problem is
the drink that allows the evil to enter him."

Bane walked to
the cottage, brushing past the woman, who yelled and fled to the
dubious safety of her husband, crying in alarm. The low ceiling
forced Bane to duck, and he glanced around at the shabby interior.
Spotting two barrels of ale in the corner, he went over to them and
laid his hands upon them. The barrels bulged and burst, spewing
foul, stinking sour ale onto the floor. Again he turned to Syrin in
triumph, but she shook her head.

"He will buy
more."

"You never
stop, do you?"

"You are not
thinking like a god yet."

Bane snorted,
his nostrils flaring with irritation. "Fine!"

Swinging away,
he strode to the door, colliding with the woodcutter as he entered
with his axe gripped in a white-knuckled fist. The man staggered
back, dropping the axe, then turned and fled in terror from the
dark god's invisible presence. Bane ignored him and marched into
the street, heading for the centre of town. Syrin trotted behind
him, looking puzzled and concerned.

"What are you
doing?"

"Thinking like
a god."

Bane reached
the central square and stopped, gazing around. The sun sank in a
medley of delicate colours, and the three inns that bordered the
square filled with patrons as labourers came to enjoy a night's
drinking after their day's work. The sun's return had brought the
village men employment clearing away the ash and ploughing their
fields in preparation for new crops. The Demon Lord spread his
hands, and shadows drifted from his fingers, writhing like black
snakes.

The darkness
detoured around Syrin's feet, but still made her shiver at its
malevolent proximity. Bane muttered guttural words, commanding the
dark power, and moment later dull explosions came from within the
taprooms. Rivers of sour ale flowed from the inns and several
houses, and men rushed out to vomit, pale from the terrible stench.
Bane raised a hand and wrote a shadow rune in the air.

"Drajaran," he
muttered, and hammered it into the ground with a blow of his fist.
It vanished into the dirt road, leaving a black scar. He turned to
Syrin. "There. Now they are cursed. No ale or wine will ever remain
good in this town again, whether they brew it here or bring it in.
It will turn sour."

Syrin gazed at
the men who retched outside the inns and the pools of sour beer
soaking into the ground. "You have punished all for the sin of
one."

"So?"

"That is not
fair."

"It will do
them good. They will spend more time with their families."

Syrin sighed.
"They will be unhappy. And the farmer who beats his daughter could
move to another village."

Bane flung up
his hands. "What more can I do?"

"Think like a
god."

"I am!"

"No, you are
not."

He loomed over
her and wagged a finger under her nose. "I am growing tired of
this."

"What is the
root of the problem?"

"The
drink!"

"No."

He scowled at
her. "The man?"

"Yes."

With a growl,
he turned and marched in the direction of the farmer's house.

Syrin trotted
after him. "The curse?"

Bane made a
negligent gesture and muttered, "Arnabesh."

Syrin glance
up at his scowling face. "What do you intend to do to him? You must
not kill him."

"So you have
said, but I may yet, in lieu of killing you."

When they
reached the cottage, Bane thrust open the door and entered, ducking
in the nick of time. The family sat before the fire, over which a
pot of stew bubbled. The man held his daughter on his knee, and
three young boys sat at his feet. His wife, who had been about to
scoop a ladle of stew into a bowl, gasped and dropped it when the
door flew open. She ran to hide behind her husband, who stared at
the open door, his eyes wide. Bane shed his invisibility, leaving
Syrin shrouded. The family gaped at him, frozen with shock. Bane
beckoned to the man.

"Stand
up."

The woodcutter
thrust his daughter into her mother's arms and obeyed, unable to
stand up straight under the low roof. Bane had the same problem,
and disliked it. He turned and walked to the door, where he
paused.