For two days, the army marched, pillaging villages to strip them of food and valuables. The occasional groups of refugees they encountered were slaughtered as they fled or tortured to death, their bodies fed to the dark creatures. Mirra stumbled along behind the steed, weeping for the people who died and blessing each with a swift journey to the Lady, until Bane grew tired of her mumbling and flew into a rage. He knocked her down and kicked her several times with unusual ferocity, and, without her healing power, he would have killed her.
After the beating, which drained much of her strength, he tied her hands behind her back again and gagged her. Mirra sensed that his anger was far more virulent than his initial scorn and hatred. Then, he had tortured her for fun, now he beat her with fury; incensed by the power he thought she had over him. Her bound arms hampered her, and she struggled to keep up with the steed.
The pace Bane set was almost too fast for the troops, and whenever he got too far ahead, the men would double time, loping after him, their armour rattling. Mirra could barely keep up, forced to trot more often than walk, and run when the men loped. At times she lagged behind, and Benton helped her, but he could not feed her while she was gagged. Her exhaustion grew acuter each day, for Bane only allowed her to eat a little bread at night, and the hunting howls of dark creatures disturbed her sleep. The grey stallion shadowed them in the woods, its soft brown eyes seeking her often.
In the middle of the fifth day, Mirra fell, her legs too weak to carry her any further. Benton and Madick picked her up between them, but the slight commotion her collapse caused attracted the Demon Lord’s attention. The soldiers put her down and ran as Bane rode up. He dismounted and stood over her, folding his arms.
“You are nothing but a problem, girl. I should leave you behind for the demons.”
Tears of misery and shame stung her eyes. She had no wish to be a burden, nor did she want to be abandoned to the demons. She flinched as he bent and jerked the gag from her mouth.
She licked dry lips. “I am sorry. I am just so tired.”
He leant closer, his eyes glinting. “We still have a long way to go. Do you think those imbeciles can carry you all the way to the mountains?”
Mirra hung her head. “I wish they did not have to. They are very kind, but it will be hard for them. Perhaps I will regain my strength and be able to walk.”
Bane sighed, straightening. His hands clenched, and for a breath-stopping moment she thought he would beat her again, then he said, “You simpleton, you slow me down.” He glanced at the waiting men. “You there! Go and catch that damned horse that follows us in the woods.”
Two men ran off, and Mirra looked up, immensely grateful for this unexpected kindness. “Thank you, Bane.”
He shrugged. “I cannot afford to waste time.” Drawing his dagger, he cut the ropes that bound her wrists, then remounted the demon steed, which pranced.
Mirra called the stallion in the silent language of horses, and he trotted from the woods, the two frustrated men chasing him. He stopped in front of her, nuzzling her, and the panting soldiers returned to their group. With a word of thanks, she mounted the huge beast, which bent one knee to help her.
As he followed Bane, she unbuckled the heavy chainmail, straps and livery, letting it fall. She did not need to touch the reins, letting them lie on the warhorse’s wither. The stallion would not approach within ten feet of the demon steed, and Mirra agreed with its aversion to the Underworld creature. Bane looked back and snorted, his scowl thunderous.