Chapter Eight
The Third Ward
Bane rested for an hour beside the lake. The girl bathed in it, cleaning the cuts on her feet. Her slender nakedness repelled him, and he looked away when she waded out to don her dress again. Gazing across the placid water, he almost smiled at the memory of the old wizard’s terrified expression when he had conjured the demonic aspect. It had been a mere trick, for he had been toying with the old man then, making him pay for his pathetic attempt to fight him. No blue mage, no matter how powerful, could stand against the Demon Lord. The greybeard’s poisonous words had enraged him, and he had made him suffer for them, but the white fire had hurt. His hands still burnt, and the power he had been forced to unleash had also taken its toll.
The headache pounded his brain with mighty strokes, making his teeth ache and his eyes throb. It remained undiminished, so he stood up and stripped off his cloak, boots and tunic, wading into the warm water. The lakebed sloped rapidly downwards, forcing him to use a little power in order to travel through the water. Revolted by its hated touch, he moved out over the ward. When he dived down to it, the lines of force looked as frail as the old man who had cast them.
Summoning the black fire, he hammered the ward, and it shattered like brittle glass. Bane smiled, then frowned as the ward reappeared, the lines drawn back together as if he had struck an illusion. He shattered it again, but once more it reformed, like a reflection in a still pool. Angered, he kept hammering it, but as soon as he stopped, it reappeared.