Mirra woke to blissful warmth. Soft, soothing golden power glided through her, wiping away the pain. She basked in the sun’s glory, soaking it up. Gradually, she became aware of a malignant presence beside her, a source of intense suffering. She opened her eyes and sat up with a shocked gasp.
Bloody tears streaked the Demon Lord’s cheeks, and his eyes were blue gems set in crimson. Lines of strain and agony bracketed his too-red lips, scored his brow and framed his eyes. Mirra reached out to him, but he flinched away, scowling. With a grunt of effort, he rose to his feet, swaying a little.
“I hope you are satisfied, witch.”
“Why? What did I do?” Mirra asked, perplexed.
“You wandered too far from me, as I warned you not to. I destroyed Yansahesh, and tore open the clouds to save you. I doubt my father will forgive me for this.”
“Bane...”
The Demon Lord strode away, and Mirra leapt up to run after him. She caught his sleeve, and he spun, his fist rising. It struck her jaw, the pain blocked, the injury healed even before she sprawled on the ground. She scrambled up again, and he glared at her.
“Bane, please, I can help you.”
“What have you done to me?” he demanded. “Why can I not let you die? You were sent to kill me, and I almost killed myself to save your miserable, worthless life. Why?”
His face was bitter. “You are nothing! A piece of human trash! Yansahesh was worth a hundred of you, yet I destroyed him. You lied to me, pretended to have no power when you did, tried to kill me when I was injured. You defy me, disobey me, and force me to save you from your own infernal stupidity! I hate you! I spit on you! And I will find a way to kill you. I will break your spell, witch!”
Her tears overflowed. “I am not here to kill you. I want to end your suffering. I do not have a spell on you. I -”
“Enough! I want nothing from you. I have no need of help, yours or anyone else’s.”
Bane marched off, and she gazed after him, forlorn. He was right; her presence put him in danger by luring demons to try to kill her. She had become a bone of contention between him and the Black Lord, and the resulting rivalry might lead to Bane’s downfall. Her heart cried out to save him from himself, but logic told her that she did him more harm than good.
“I will go. I will leave you in peace then,” she called after him.
The Demon Lord stopped as if he had run into a brick wall. He turned to face her, some yards separating them. “What?” Slowly he shook his head. “You are not going anywhere. I will keep you with me until I discover how to break your spell and kill you.”
“But... I have no spell.”
He stepped towards her, his expression daunting. “I should have killed you as soon as I knew how, yet I did not. I should have let Mealle kill you, but I saved you instead. I saved you from Amnon, and Yalnebar. I destroyed Yansahesh! I want to know why, witch, if not a spell?”
“I do not know. It is the truth.”
He advanced on her. “I should enjoy hurting you, but I do not. Why?”
“I do not know.”
Bane gripped her arm, his fingers digging into her. “Well I intend to find out. My father will help me, and your plan to kill me will fail.”
“I have no plan. I am not trying to kill you.” Her power reacted to his touch, but the evil repelled it. He sensed it and yanked her forward, sending her stumbling with a hard shove.
“Lies!”
Mirra trotted ahead, staying out of his reach all the way back to town. He followed her to his room at the inn, where she retreated into a corner. A cup of potion awaited him on the table, and he tossed it back in a gulp. She expected a beating, or worse, but Bane sat on the bed, holding his head. She shared the suffering that held him in its merciless grip, tearing at the delicate substance of his mind.
It had been building since he had used the power, and now it reached unbearable proportions. The strain of wielding the power when he was wounded had done far more harm than usual, she sensed. With growing desperation, she tried to think of a way to ease his pain. As he closed his eyes against the light that amplified the hammering in his skull, she crept to the door and slipped out.
This was dangerous, if a demon attacked her now, Bane would be unable to help her, but she did not think another would come so soon after Yansahesh’s demise. She ran to the kitchen, ransacking the cupboards for her herbs. Her nose wrinkled at Mord’s foul ingredients, but she found what she needed in a jar. Boiling water, she steeped the dried flowers in it.
After what Bane had put himself through, the pain in his head could drive him mad, even kill him. The old mage had told him that the Black Lord had planted the seeds of his destruction within him, and his extreme use of his power speeded him to that end. She would have to lie, and that gave her pause. Lying was a sin, if not a mortal one. It offended the Lady, and she had always been taught to be truthful. The truth would only hamper her now, however. Bane would never accept her help, which he so desperately needed. Easing his pain was too important. It must be achieved, even if it meant lying. Silently she begged the Lady’s forgiveness while she waited for the potion to brew, then added a little cold water. She took it to his room in the same cup Mord always used.
Bane tossed on the rumpled bed. Sweat sheened his skin, deep lines furrowed his brow, and his breath came in harsh gasps. She put the cup on the table, timidly approaching him.
“Bane.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Mord brought more potion.”
His eyes flicked open. “It does not help anymore.” He groaned, clutching his head.
“He made it stronger.”
Bane levered himself upright, his bloody eyes finding the cup. He gulped down the potion, apparently without tasting it, then flopped back. Mirra quelled a smile while she waited for the medicine to take effect. After only a few minutes, Bane’s tossing calmed, his sweating stopped, and the lines on his face smoothed. For a while he lay still, breathing deeply, his striking features relaxed.
When he sat up, he looked puzzled. Mirra was delighted to sense no pain from him at all, just the lingering corruption. Bane rose and sniffed the cup, his eyes flicking to her. Putting it back on the table, he shouted, “Mord!”
Mirra went cold. Her little subterfuge was about to be discovered. Her heart pounded, dreading his reaction.
When the cowering troll appeared in the doorway, Bane asked, “How many cups of the drug did you bring me?”
“One, Lord.”
Bane swung on her, his eyes murderous. “You tricked me. You substituted your foul brew when I was suffering.”
Mirra backed away, raising her hands. “I only wanted to help. It did help, did it not?”
“You lied! What else does it do?”
“Nothing. It just stops pain. It is not poison. After what you did for me, do you think I could harm you? I was never going to, anyway. I only -”
Bane punched her, sending her sprawling. Her power rushed to heal her split skin and crushed cheekbone. Bane lashed out with all his strength, breaking ribs as he kicked her across the room. She grunted as the air was punched from her lungs, then he gripped her gown and dragged her upright.
“First you ensnare me with a foul enchantment, now you try to kill me. Slut! Harpy!” He hit her again, sending her crashing into the wall, banging her head and seeing bright stars. She slumped, but Bane dragged her up by her throat. He pinned her to the wall, choking her.
“I wish I could kill you.” His voice held a tinge of anguish that was not reflected in his wintry eyes. “It would be so easy.”
Darkness swirled in Mirra’s vision, and, with a grunt, he released her. She slid down the wall, ending up sitting with her back to it. While she gasped, he sat on the bed, raking his hair into glossy plumes with a shaking hand.
“How ironic,” he muttered, his rage seeming to leave him all of a sudden. “I am forced to save you, who are my enemy, while you try to murder me.”
“I am not.” She drew a shudderi
ng breath. “I swear, I would never try to harm you. The potion only stops the pain.”
He groaned. “How do you know what it will do to me? I am from the Underworld. Everything I eat and drink comes from the Underworld, sent up by my father at a great cost of power. This world is poison to me.”
“No, you are human, like me. Remember the old mage? It will not harm you.”
“Tricks and lies. The Black Lord is my father. How can I be human? The mage was my enemy. You are my enemy. You have poisoned me.”
“No, I want to help you.”
“Why, so I can destroy your world?” He shook his head. “That makes no sense. You seek to kill me, to save your people.”
“A healer cannot harm anyone. The Lady forbids it.”
Bane stared at the empty goblet. “You try to turn me against my father. You have a spell on me to force me to protect you, and now you try to poison me.”
Tears welled in her eyes at the anguish and horror in his voice. She longed to comfort him, but was afraid he would lash out again. Instead, she waited while he pondered his predicament, praying he would come to the right conclusion.