Demon Lord VII - Dark Domain (14 page)

Chapter
Six

Rescue

Drevarin stared
at the image in the Eye, stunned. Bane lay in a metal room,
surrounded by a pool of blood, his legs twisted. A man squatted
beside him and talked to others who crowded the doorway.

“No!” Sherinias
cried in a strangled voice, and clamped her hands over her
mouth.

Drevarin
gripped the edge of the Eye, his heart pounding as three
white-garbed men entered the room carrying bags.

Sherinias
lowered her hands. “Where is Father?”

Drevarin sought
Kayos in the Eye, and the image changed to a different angle of the
metal room. “He is there too, invisible, and he must be
unconscious. I must help Bane.” He raised his voice to address the
crowd. “I must leave. When the shield falls, hide in the rocks; I
will lead the ships away.” He swung back to Sherinias. “Stay here
and protect them.”

“I want to come
with you.”

“No. You must
protect Lady Mirra and Mithran. That is of the utmost
importance.”

Sherinias
pouted, but inclined her head. Drevarin dismissed the Eye and
strode to the side of the dome, which parted like a curtain.
Startled soldiers raised their weapons as he emerged, but collapsed
at his gesture. The reprieve was only a temporary one, however; his
sleep command would lose its efficacy as soon as he left the
vicinity. Mirra hurried after him, flanked by Mithran and Grem. The
refugees followed, eyeing the slumbering soldiers with apprehensive
expressions.

As soon as
Mirra, Mithran and Grem were safe behind an outcrop, Drevarin
allowed the shield to fall, and the remaining people scattered as
the ships opened fire again, felling two. Drevarin leapt into the
air and flew towards the largest warship. He raised an arm, and
snaking filaments of white power shot from his fingers and struck
the vessel, which lurched, the hum of its engines becoming a
discordant drone. Drevarin unleashed the light within him once more
and swooped towards the domain. The damaged ship lost altitude, but
soon recovered, and all three turned to follow him.

Sherinias ran
to the injured men and healed them, sending them to join their
fellows behind the rocks as the soldiers roused and scrambled to
their feet. It only took a few moments for them to get their
bearings, and then they raised their weapons and resumed their
pursuit of the refugees. Most of the troops went after the people
who had fled into the rocks, but a few opened fire on the men
Sherinias had just healed. The refugees sprinted for cover, and she
marched towards the soldiers, furious.

“Stop that!
Return to your city!”

The men stared
at her, apparently surprised that a teenage girl would confront
them in such a bold manner. Outside the domain, she could do little
more than heal and fly, and she backed away when the soldiers
started towards her.

“Leave this
place!” she shouted. “I will not allow you to harm these
people.”

The men smirked
and swapped snide remarks, clearly unable to believe her capable of
protecting the refugees. Indeed, it must seem like a preposterous
claim, she reflected, when they did not know who or what she was.
As the men closed in around her, she rose into the air. They
shouted in wonder and alarm, raised their weapons and fired at her.
The bolts of blue light tingled, and Sherinias unleashed a little
white power to make her skin glow. Most of the soldiers who headed
for the ridges turned back, drawn by the prospect of killing or
capturing her. They soon realised that their blue light weapons had
no effect and drew smaller weapons from holsters on their belts,
which fired solid projectiles with sharp reports.

Sherinias
flinched as several struck her, surprised by the stabs of pain,
then flew towards the camp, drawing several dozen troopers after
her. The rest continued to chase the refugees, and she leashed the
light and shot back towards them, leaving the men who had been
chasing her looking around in confusion for their prey, who seemed
to have vanished. She landed beside a wounded man and healed him,
and he fled further into the rocks.

Blue light from
the soldiers’ weapons cracked into the stone all around her, and
the screams of injured people made her blood boil. She ran to
another victim and healed her, but more were gunned down as they
tried to elude their pursuers, and she despaired of healing them
all before they died. Others were caught and bound, and hot tears
of fury and frustration stung Sherinias’ eyes.

A three-man
medical team arrived in the containment room, their white uniforms
splattered with blood and faces lined with fatigue. They pushed
past the officers in the doorway and hurried to Bane’s side,
dumping their gear. The doctor felt for a pulse in Bane’s neck,
then rolled him onto his back. The hair slid off his face,
revealing it to be pallid and drawn, blood oozing from his mouth
and nose. More soaked his hair, and a new pool formed under his
head. Sarjan stared at him, torn between his revulsion for a
dra’voren and a strong, inexplicable impulse to help him. Stripped
of his power and senses, he seemed to be nothing more than a
handsome young man who possessed a tangible aura of power and
mystery.

The doctor
frowned. “He looks like... This is the dra’voren!”

“Yes, but he’s
human.”

The doctor sat
back and looked up at Sarjan. “You want me to save a
dra’voren?”

“He’s a man,”
Sarjan said. “Treat his wounds.”

“Commander...”

“That’s an
order.”

The doctor
turned back to his patient with a muttered expletive, took the
scissors one of his assistants held out and cut away Bane’s torn,
blood-soaked shirt and tunic, examining the wounds in his belly.
“What the hell happened to him?”

Sarjan
hesitated, surprised that Bane had only two puncture wounds and a
lot of red welts. The wounds must have been deep, however; blood
still oozed from them. “A beast dra’voren attacked him.”

The doctor took
pressure dressings from his bag and clamped them to the wounds, one
of his assistants taping them in place. With the bleeding
staunched, the doctor examined the back of Bane’s head and his
legs, then sat back.

“Both his legs
are broken below the knees.” He dug in his medical kit, extracted a
bag of packed red cells and set up a drip, ordering the other aide
to position the narrow board next to Bane, on which they would
carry him to the hospital.

“No blood,”
Sarjan ordered, recalling the data he had received from base,
gleaned from the examinations and experiments carried out on Bane
aboard Retribution.

“He’ll die
without blood,” the doctor protested.

“No blood.”

The physician
glared up at him. “Then I’m wasting my time. He has massive
internal injuries. He’s bleeding out, and you don’t want me to give
him blood?”

“He can’t have
blood. It will kill him.”

“He’s going to
die without it.”

“You don’t know
that. He’s not the same as us. Just strap him up, or stitch him;
whatever you have to do.”

The doctor
threw the bag of blood back into his pack. “That won’t do him any
good.”

“Just do
it.”

One of the
medics dropped a roll of bandage and gave chase. It rolled a few
feet away and vanished. The man stopped, frowning, then bent and
groped for it, recoiling with a yelp of alarm as his hands
vanished.

“What is it?”
Sarjan asked.

“I don’t know,
Commander.” The medic rubbed his hands. “It’s like there’s
something here. Some sort of field. My hands vanished.”

Sarjan
approached him and bent to thrust his hands into the area the man
indicated, snatching them away when they also disappeared.
Intrigued, he groped into the area again, stifling the impulse to
yank his hands away when they vanished once more, and this time his
fingers encountered silken fabric covering a warm body.

“It’s another
man.”

“Another
dra’voren?” Ferid demanded from the doorway.

“There’s no
dark power in this room, yet he’s still invisible, so he can’t be a
dra’voren.” Sarjan ran his hands over the man, finding no moisture
that might have been blood and a strong pulse in his neck. “This
one seems to be all right. He’s just stunned.”

“Well there’s
not much we can do for him if we can’t see him,” the doctor
grumbled.

Sarjan jumped
as shouts of alarm came from the containment room and swung to
stare through the observation window. A blond man clad in dark grey
trousers and a silver jacket stood in the middle of the room, his
expression daunting. He raised his hands, and white fire streamed
from his fingers, striking the consoles with crackling bangs and
showers of sparks. The containment technicians yelled and dived for
cover as bright fire crawled over the control boards.

When wisps of
smoke rose from the defunct consoles, the stranger lowered his
hands and vanished, reappearing beside Bane. Sarjan and the medical
team scrambled away as the man fell to his knees and ripped off the
dressings. He placed his hands over the wounds, a golden glow
forming under his palms. Sarjan’s mouth fell open, while the doctor
made a strangled sound of disbelief. The stranger’s frown eased as
Bane’s flesh filled with soft light, and the wounds closed.

Sarjan
whispered, “He’s healing him.”

The doctor shot
him a scandalised glance, then stared at the unbelievable scene
again.

Streams of
white fire formed shining conduits between Bane and his healer,
whose face was rapt with concentration. Bane’s legs straightened as
golden light invaded them, shining through his trousers. The man
wiped away the blood to reveal red scars that faded in moments,
leaving pale, almost invisible marks. The fire died as he lifted
his hands and frowned at the blood on them. He rose to his feet,
his eyes raking the gawping officers, many of whom retreated.

“Who is in
charge?”

Sarjan said, “I
am.”

“How long will
he be senseless?”

“Eight, perhaps
twelve hours.”

“Too long.” The
stranger glanced at his bloody hands again. “I require your
ship.”

“It... it’s
damaged.”

“How long
before it is repaired?”

“Two, maybe
three hours.”

“Leave this
room. Now.”

Sarjan headed
for the door, which the medical team reached before him, pushing
past the officers. As soon as Sarjan stepped through the door, it
slid shut, and he went to the window. The strange man moved to the
centre of the shredder room and spread his hands towards the floor,
closed his eyes and raised his head. His pose was identical to the
one Bane had adopted when he had flown the ship from Cloud World,
and Sarjan’s stomach tightened with trepidation.

Distant alarms
whooped, and he staggered as gravity increased, grabbing the
nearest console. Crewmen fell as their knees gave way, cursed and
clung to fixtures to pull themselves upright. Sarjan swung away and
raced to the bridge, his knees almost buckling with every
stride.

The bridge
officers were on their feet, holding onto their consoles as they
shouted in confusion and alarm. The pilot ran his hands over his
controls, his eyes wide.

“Report!”
Sarjan glanced up at the main screen, which showed the ground
dropping away at a fantastic rate.

“We’re airborne
sir, but not under the ship’s power.” The pilot tapped his control
panel. “Closing escape hatches.”

On the screen,
the ground vanished as they ascended through a layer of clouds.

“Sir, we’re
moving at approximately three times our maximum speed.”

“Where are we
going?”

“Straight
up.”

Sarjan nodded.
“Cloud World.”

“What’s going
on, sir?”

“Good question,
but I don’t have an answer. It seems the ship’s being used by a...
I don’t know what the hell he is.”

The pilot
turned to Sarjan. “I have no control, sir.”

A bank of snowy
clouds came into view ahead, shot with silver lightning and
rainbows, racing towards them at breakneck speed. Sarjan gripped
the console beside him, his gut clenched as the huge, dappled
golden gates appeared amongst the clouds, flashing in the sunlight.
The ship shot through them so fast that his heart lurched, then
everyone hung onto the consoles as Miraculous veered, the fantasy
landscape of clouds and silver trees flashing past. Moments later,
the white hall loomed ahead, and they speeded through it, the
pillars passing in a blur.

Again the ship
swerved, and an officer lost his grip and rolled across the floor,
cursing. They passed through the Great Gate and flew towards the
outer city, gaining altitude to pass over the fire dome, which
flickered and swirled. Sarjan stared at the cratered streets and
smouldering buildings in horrified amazement. As Miraculous swooped
into the valley beyond Minto Peak, it slowed so swiftly that he
staggered.

Miraculous
passed two frigates and a destroyer that strafed the rocky ridges
on the far side of the valley, where ragged people hid and fled.
Squadrons of troops swarmed amongst the rocks, dragged people from
their hiding places and forced them to their knees in an open area,
shooting those who ran. Sarjan stared at the scene, shocked.

“What the
hell?” an officer muttered.

A harsh,
commanding voice issued from the communications console. “This is
the destroyer Revenant. What are you doing here, Miraculous? This
is a restricted area.”

Sarjan keyed
the transmitter on the control board in front of him. “This is
Commander Sarjan. Who ordered these people slaughtered?”

“Governor
Predoran. Leave the area now, Commander.”

Miraculous
slowed almost to a stop and sank towards the ridges. Sarjan glanced
at the pilot. “Deploy landing struts.”