Chapter Eleven
The City
A kick jerked Mirra awake, and she opened her eyes.
Bane frowned down at her. “Get up, we are leaving.”
Mirra scrambled to her feet and hurried outside as the tent collapsed behind her, Mord rolling it up swiftly. Pale morning light bathed the mountains and dew frosted the grass beneath a blanket of mist. Bane strode to the demon steed with hardly a trace of a limp, even though his foot was undoubtedly crushed. She rubbed her eyes and stretched. Soldiers roused from their bedrolls, shook out their blankets and gathered up their packs.
The remains of the previous day’s feast lay scattered around the dead fires’ black scars. The bones and hides of the cattle the men had slaughtered were piled in the centre of the camp. Evidently none had any appetite for more food, since no cook fires had been lighted for breakfast. Mirra had overslept, and her stomach rumbled. Mord loaded two trolls with Bane’s furniture, and the Demon Lord headed back towards the tunnel. Benton had already saddled the warhorse, and helped her mount. She urged him after Bane, hastening into the tunnel behind him.
Most of the day was spent within the smooth tunnel, the monotonous clop of the horse’s hooves ringing above the steady tramp behind. The men were silent and glum, their booty weighing them down. The towns they had ransacked had provided slim pickings, but Torlock Keep had been rich in gold and jewels, some of its erstwhile inhabitants being wealthy nobles from Marrane’s royal court.
That night, they camped in a lush valley beyond Torlock Keep, far enough away so the stench of the corpses in the vanquished castle did not reach them. As the men settled down around their cook fires, Bane spoke to Mord, and the troll hurried off. Mirra thought nothing of it. Mord was always carrying messages for Bane, but her heart turned cold when he returned with two other trolls, who dragged Benton. He looked like he had put up a fight, for he panted, and red marks marred his cheeks.
Mirra hurried over to Bane. “What are you doing?”
He turned to her, a chilling smile twisting his lips. “I have found a way to thwart you, witch.”
“Thwart me?”
“Yes. You see, I am giving you a choice. Remove your accursed spell, or he suffers.”
She gaped at him. “I have no spell.”
“Do not lie to me. I will cut him to pieces slowly unless you revoke your spell. Do it, witch!”
“I cannot. If there is a spell, I did not cast it, I swear by the Lady. I know nothing of spells and wizardry. I am only a healer. Please do not hurt him.”
“You are lying.” He drew his dagger and tested its edge with his thumb. Benton’s white-ringed eyes followed his hand. He was bound hand and foot, and lay where the trolls had dumped him.
The Demon Lord said, “Soldier, tell the healer how much you want to live.”
Benton cast her a pleading look. “Please do as he says.”
“I would if I could, Benton. I wish I could!”
Bane glared at her. “You will!”
Bane swung and slashed Benton’s cheek, making him yelp and jerk away. Mirra clasped her cheek with a whimper as she shared the soldier’s pain. Bane grasped Benton’s hair, dragged him to his knees and drew the blade across his chest, leaving a red line that spread over his ragged shirt. With a cry, Mirra ran to Benton and laid her hands upon the wound, healing it. Bane snarled and kicked her, but she only clung more tightly to the soldier, protecting him. Bane released Benton and lowered himself to one knee beside them.
“So, you seek to go against me?”
Mirra shook her head. “No, I just do not want him hurt. Please stop this.”
“At last, you show some defiance. Good.” He took hold of the coarse material of the soldier’s shirt. “Do as I say, or he dies. Even your powers cannot save him from a blade through the heart.”
“I cannot.”
“Damn you. Do you doubt me? You are wrong!”
“I know you will, and I would do as you wish if I could.”
“Liar!”
Bane’s hand rose and flashed towards Benton’s chest, and Mirra flung herself into its path. The dagger impaled her back, and Bane jerked the weapon out and leapt to his feet with a startled oath. She risked a glance up at him as she clung to Benton’s chest.
Bane’s nostrils flared. “You will not defy me. Lift the spell, now!”
“I cannot!” she wailed, cradling the trembling soldier’s head. “There is no spell, I swear it!”
Bane turned away, and for a moment she thought he had given up, but then he shouted for Mord, pointing at her. “Get her away from him, and hold her.”
Mord dragged her away, despite her shrieks and struggles. Benton writhed, fighting his bonds in a panic-stricken bid to get free, his despairing cry tearing at her heart.
“Healer!”
Bane eyed her as she squirmed and flailed against the troll’s strong, hairy arms. “Last chance girl, or he dies.”
“No!” Mirra cried. “There is no spell!”
Bane turned to the soldier, and she gave a mighty wriggle, slipping from the troll’s rough hands. She threw herself at Bane, making him step back, and gripped the front of his shirt, clinging to him.
“No! Bane, please! Kill me, if you wish, not him.” Taking his hand, she pressed the dagger to her heart. “Strike. I have little power left. A few blows will be sufficient to drain it, then I will die.”
Bane glared down at her with such fury that for a moment she thought he would do as she recommended. Then he hurled her away with a savage thrust of his arm, tearing her fingers from his shirt. She stumbled back and fell, throwing out her hands to cushion the impact. Bane stood over her, the dagger twitching.
“I would like to, more than you can imagine.” His tone was venomous. “I see you are determined to keep your infernal spell, even if I kill him, are you not?”
She bowed her head. “I cannot lift what I did not cast. I swear, if there is a spell, I know nothing about it, and that is the truth.”
Bane sheathed the dagger and signalled to the waiting trolls. “Release him.”
Mirra breathed a sigh of relief as the trolls untied Benton, who cast her a grateful look and fled. Aware of Bane still standing over her, she risked a peek up at him.
He said, “Do not ever lay your hands on me like that again. Do you understand?”
Meekly she nodded. He spun on his heel and marched to his tent, yanking the flap aside with such force that he almost ripped a peg out of the ground. For a long time, she sat and played forlornly with a few blades of grass, afraid to enter the tent and face him.
When dusk leeched the last dregs of light from the sky, she crept inside shivering, chilled by the night air. Bane glanced at her as she settled as far from him as she could. He sat on the folding chair, a cup of wine on the table beside him, and appeared deep in thought. Mirra lay down and fell asleep.
Madick saddled the stallion for her in the morning, and she wondered if Benton had left, unable to blame him. They traversed the green countryside for another day and camped beside a forest at dusk.
The following morning, Mord came to the tent flap. “Lord, the men have gone.”
Bane nodded. “I know.”
The troll left, and Mirra asked, “Where have they gone?”
He rummaged in a pack, pulled out maps and discarded them. “Home, where do you think? They have all the loot they can carry, and that is what they wanted. The fools think they will live long enough to enjoy it. Those who are not slaughtered by their more moral fellows will perish when my father rises, anyway.”
“How terrible.”
“Is it?” he snorted. “It is no more than they deserve. I do not need them anymore. I still have the trolls and goblins, the creatures of darkness. They do not fight for gold. They worship my father. He might even reward the survivors and let them live. I need to move quickly, and the men would only hold me back. The dark people travel faster.” He frowned at her as if wondering why he was telling her anything, the
n studied the map he held.
Mirra wondered if Bane and the Black Lord would leave anyone alive; so many had died already. She gazed at his perfect profile while he was intent on the map. “Why do you want to kill people?”
He regarded her with empty eyes. “Because my father wants the Overworld, and these people are in his way. He does not want them here.”
“Then your father wants to kill them, not you.”
“You could say that.” He shrugged, looking at the map again. “I do my father’s bidding. I would rather be at home, in the Underworld.”
Since he seemed quite calm, she grew bolder. “What is it like?”
He raised his head to stare into the middle distance. “Dark and warm. A great maze of caverns and tunnels, some full of treasure. Droge slaves toil to dig out gold, silver and gems, and their cries echo through the caves. The glow of the inner fire lights everything, and warm winds blow along the passages. Sometimes spirits are brought over from the Land of the Dead to be tormented, given droge bodies so the demons can play with them. I have never been there, for my father gave me a mortal body, but he promised that I will see it when this is all over. I do not like it up here. It is too bright, and it is cold and wet sometimes.”
Mirra shuddered at the visions his description conjured up. “Will your father like it?”
“He will change it; make it like the Underworld.”
“Oh.”
Bane’s lips twisted. “I doubt you will like it then.”
Mirra nodded as he went back to his perusal of the maps, hating the thought of the Overworld, with its verdant land, blue skies and multitude of beasts and birds, turned into a dim, red-glowing world, dead and blasted by evil.
For the next few days, they travelled much faster, the goblins and trolls able to trot all day, apparently tireless. The gnomes were left behind, their stumpy legs unable to keep up. The rock howlers dropped to all fours and bounced along sideways, like apes. The creatures of darkness moved with many odd, yet mile-eating gaits, scuttling from shadow to shadow with gibbers of distress whenever the watery sunlight touched them. Mirra wondered why they did not follow at night, catching up with Bane by morning. Yet, she supposed, if they were needed in battle they had to be on hand, not miles behind. Their methods of killing and proficiency at it chilled her, but she still pitied them, malformed as they were.
They encountered only a few abandoned villages and an empty castle, to Mirra’s relief. The countryside changed little, going from rolling grassland and wild woods to tame meadows and ploughed farmland near the towns, then back to wild greenery. They crossed a marsh, but, apart from being wet and insect infested, it did not hamper the troops or Bane.
The Demon Lord scorned roads and moved across the land in a straight line, obviously sure of his destination. The sight of his broad-shouldered figure on the glowing stallion seemed to become a constant part of her life, continuing in her dreams at night when weariness sucked her into the black cocoon of sleep. She missed Benton and their talks around the fire, but was glad that he had returned to his home and perhaps his family, no longer a member of the murderous horde.
Bane hardly seemed to notice her presence, rarely spoke to her, and mostly ignored her unless she spoke to him. He sometimes snarled at her, and on occasion loomed threateningly, but he no longer struck her. His health gradually improved, his eyes growing less bloodshot with each day that he did not use his power.
On the fifth day, they crested a hill and looked down on a lush, cultivated green valley, at the centre of which was a walled city. A makeshift barrier of overturned wagons and sandbags reinforced the massive gates, and people moved about like ants in the distance. Mirra’s heart sank. Bane smiled, evidently looking forward to the coming slaughter.
Within the city walls, the houses were packed together in a jostling huddle, looming over each other and almost meeting above the streets. Washing dried on lines strung between rooftops, flapping in the breeze that swept away the blue smoke that rose from the chimneys. Never had she seen such a close-packed metropolis. It seemed that no one lived outside the walls save the cattle, horses and sheep, whose sheds dotted the verdant fields. She wondered what enemy kept these people so firmly behind their walls.
Dejectedly, she followed Bane into the vale, the troops muttering with excitement behind them. Before they reached the valley floor, a herald galloped out to them, stopping his horse some distance away. The Demon Lord halted the steed, the army bunching behind him, and listened with a cynical smile as the man read from a scroll he held in shaking hands.
“All hail the Demon Lord!” he shouted. “King Holran of Nestor bids you welcome to pass through his lands, and says you thus: if you do keep your troops in good order, and do no damage to his city or its people, he will withhold his troops and grant you safe passage. He holds that he has no quarrel with you, and bids you pass in peace.”
Bane chuckled, and the herald blanched, but held his ground, rolling up the scroll. The nervous cavorting of his horse, which snorted and shied from the demon steed, spoilt his composure.
The Demon Lord said, “Tell your king I will meet him to discuss this, but for now, I agree to nothing.”
The herald galloped away, and Bane followed at a trot, his troops massed behind him in a clanking black and red tide. The trolls, goblins and rock howlers numbered only about two thousand, but they were fearsome fighters. Mirra wondered what the city’s citizens would make of these strange creatures that had always shunned the company of men and, until now, had rarely been seen.
The trolls carried huge scimitars and double-headed axes, the goblins were armed with short swords, while the rock howlers each had two daggers. Some wore chain mail over their fur, and the goblins sported boiled leather armour and breeches. Of the three species, the goblins most resembled men, but with disproportionately long arms and legs, pointed ears and beardless, feral faces. They had long noses, yellow skin and brown eyes; their hands four-fingered and clawed.
The trolls were the largest, with short legs and barrel torsos, long arms and huge, callused hands. The rock howlers, clad in bright red, shaggy pelts, had black, dog-like faces framed by ruddy manes. They carried their daggers in sheaths strapped to their forearms, but, even unarmed, were ferocious fighters with teeth and claws. The dark creatures defied description. They wore no garb, nor carried any form of weapon other than those with which they had been born, yet they were undoubtedly the most formidable of Bane’s followers.
At the city gates, six shiny knights on huge warhorses, resplendent in plumed helms and red and gold livery, met Bane. The horses snorted and sidled as Bane approached, rolling their eyes. One knight blocked Bane’s path, but saluted smartly and addressed him in polite tones.
“Lord, if you will leave your... err... men here, we will take you to the King.”
“Unless you plan to stop me, I advise you to get out of my way,” Bane said, ignoring the latent threat of the red-uniformed pike men who lined the road, pikes grounded on the cobbles. The knight looked at his companions, but his horse shied from the demon steed, effectively removing him as an obstacle. The gates, however, remained closed, and the steed halted in front of them.
The knight forced his horse closer to Bane. “My Lord, we cannot allow your army into the city. There are women and children within. I must ask you -”
“Open the gates or I will destroy them, and you.”
The knight hesitated, glancing at his comrades once more, then signalled to the soldiers who manned the gates. They hastened to remove some of the sandbags and pull an overturned wagon aside, and the huge doors swung open. Bane rode into the city, the knights forming up around him, as close as they could persuade their horses to come to the steed. The gibbering horde poured in behind them.
The city’s inhabitants were locked in their homes, the doors and windows barred, as the Black Lord’s son rode past. Mirra followed Bane and his escort along a fairly broad boulevard that ran through the centre of the city, the r
abble fanning out into the packed houses on either side to pillage. The trolls and goblins helped themselves to whatever caught their fancy, mostly livestock, stealing squealing pigs and cackling chickens. Rock howlers snatched fruit from abandoned farm stalls and ripped plants from window boxes. The shadows between the houses filled with glowing eyes as the dark creatures sifted into the city, an occasional malformed flitting shape giving away their soft-footed advance.
The knights glanced back often at the seething horde, their warhorses prancing skittishly, unnerved by the padding of paws and clicking of claws, the rumble of deep voices and soft sniggering. Occasional shrieks of laughter erupted as a rock howler stole washing and donned it the wrong way, or a goblin strutted in a lady’s bonnet. Smashing glass and semi-hysterical giggles told of idle vandalism. Missiles flew as goblins pelted each other with fruit, a few bouncing off the knights’ shiny armoured backs, apparently by accident. The six knights sweated, but dared say nothing to the Demon Lord, who ignored the ruckus behind him.
In the centre of the city, they arrived at the broad marble steps of an impressive palace set in manicured gardens, and the six knights dismounted. Bane guided the demon steed up the steps, the knights clanking after him. Scandalised, spear-toting guards stepped aside as he rode through a gleaming entrance hall bedecked with gold ornamentation, ancestral weapons, shields, banners and coats of arms. He only dismounted when he encountered a door too small for him to pass through without ducking.
This was the door to the throne room, and the liveried flunkies who flanked it fled, leaving Bane to stride in unannounced. The gold designs on his tunic gleamed as richly as his surroundings, and his simple garb made the room’s regal sumptuousness seem cheap and garish. Mighty hangings and tapestries graced the pale walls; fluted white marble pillars supported a high, arched ceiling painted with a breath-taking mural of some heroic battle. High galleries overlooked the vast chamber, dark niches in which Mirra thought she glimpsed moving shapes. Bane’s steel-soled boots clinked on the polished marble floor, and his entry halted the low murmur of conversation as well-dressed nobles turned to stare at him.
Mirra stayed close behind him, aware of her dirty dress and ragged hair, awed by the palace’s splendour. The Demon Lord strolled towards the throne, the nobles and courtiers who lined the way stepping out of his path. Powdered, simpering ladies in stiff court gowns fanned themselves furiously and gasped behind lace hankies. Strong incense mingled with the rich aroma of roast meat, and Mirra headed for a table groaning under a feast of good food, her stomach rumbling.
The short, mousy man on the throne stood up as Bane approached, his small brown eyes wide. So much finery covered his tubby form that Mirra wondered how the poor man could breathe. Layers of rich clothes and jewellery gleamed under a fur-lined, royal blue cloak. His plump fingers and neck bulged around gold rings and pendants, while indecently snug-fitting white breeches revealed the thinness of his legs and extent of his paunch. His soft-featured face glistened with nervous perspiration, and some lonely strands of hair were carefully combed over a shiny bald pate.
Bane strode up the four steps onto the throne’s dais and confronted the King, who sat down abruptly, cringing a little.
Bane bent over him, asking, with deceptive mildness, “Mind if I sit?”
Bane heaved the chubby man off the throne and sent him rolling down the steps, then took his place. The court gasped, and two nobles helped the sprawled King to his feet. King Holran faced Bane and bowed, regaining his composure as he brushed imaginary dirt from his sleeve.
“Welcome, Demon Lord. You honour us with your presence.”
“Do I?” Bane sounded bored, perusing the overdressed nobles. “Do you worship my father?”
The King spread his hands. “No, but we wish no quarrel with you.”
“So you think I will just march through and leave you alone. Why should I? My army needs supplies.”
“We will provide them, My Lord. We ask only to be allowed to live.”
Bane tossed his cloak back, revealing the blood-red lining. Mirra knew he was enjoying this immensely; it was his idea of fun. She munched a pastry, wishing the King luck.
“What will you offer me in return?” Bane asked.
The King hesitated. “What do you wish? We will give you supplies, and unopposed passage.”
“Maybe I will take all your riches.”
The portly King shrugged. “Then do.”
“Maybe I will take your daughter.”
A large, horse-faced woman clad in a bright pink gown festooned with an overabundance of red silk roses fainted dead away into the arms of a grey-haired nobleman, who staggered under her weight. Bane shook his head, his lips twisting. “Maybe not.”
“Whatever you wish, My Lord. We know we cannot defeat you.” The King spread his arms. “We ask only for our lives.”
Bane’s eyes narrowed. “I cannot be bribed to spare you. I can take all I want from your city once you are all dead.”
“No, no, I do not mean to try, My Lord. I merely say we are at your mercy, and we will only fight for our lives.”
“Perhaps I will take your throne.”
“It is yours, My Lord, even now.”
Bane sighed. “Then I will take your life.”
A collective gasp went around the room, and the plump Princess, who had been in the process of recovering, fainted again. An overweight woman with tightly curled red hair and heavily rouged cheeks emerged from the crowd and curtsied.
“I am the Queen, My Lord. May I beg for my husband’s life?”
Bane shrugged and gestured. “Go ahead.”
“He is a good man, My Lord. He seeks only to save his people. He is the father of six children, and a kind and loving man. He does not deserve to die.”
“What of it?”
The Queen blanched. “My Lord, I beg you to take me, not my husband.”
“How sweet. Is this what you humans call ‘love’?”
A low murmur of amazement came from the courtiers, for, although Bane was a striking-looking man, he was obviously human.
The Queen drew out a lace handkerchief and dabbed her cleavage. “Yes, My Lord. I love my king, and would gladly die for him.”
Bane hooked a long leg over the throne’s arm and swung it. “What an interesting notion. What if I kill you both?”
The crowd gasped again, and two noblemen stepped forward. “We will ask to take their places,” one said.
“And who are you?”
“Lord Montrage and Duke Holran.”
Bane smiled. “But I do not want you. I want them.” He indicated the pudgy King and Queen.
A young, dark-haired man burst from the crowd. Shaking off the hands that plucked at his sleeves, he strode up to the steps, his brown eyes fierce.
“I am Prince Holran, heir to the throne, and I challenge you to single combat!”
The Queen and Princess fainted. The King went grey, sending a look of despair at his son.
Bane straightened, his eyes glinting. “You challenge me, upstart?”
“You are the upstart!” the Prince shouted. “A mere peasant boy, torn from his mother’s womb by the foul Lord of the Underworld, now posturing with borrowed power, lording it over the rightful kings of this land.”
The King fainted, as did a number of ladies, and the crowd went still, apart from those occupied with helping the ladies. Mirra put down her honeyed bun, her appetite gone. Bane rose and descended the steps to halt in front of the Prince, topping the young man by six inches.
“You have a big mouth, boy. I am the Black Lord’s son, no peasant.”
“Everyone knows you are just a peasant boy, stolen from the Overworld by the Black Lord to be used to break the wards and free him. He killed your mother and poisoned your mind, but you are as human as we are. No demon spawn could break the wards or even set foot in the Overworld.”
Bane’s eyes frosted. “Is that so?”
“It is! You are mortal!” The Prince lu
nged at Bane, a dagger appearing in his fist. Mirra yelped, but Bane knocked the Prince down with a powerful blow. The boy skidded across the polished floor and was fielded by two lords, who helped him up. He glared at Bane, clutching his cheek.
Bane stalked back to the throne. “For that insult, princeling, I will reduce your city to ash, and you will provide my entertainment.”
“No!” The King, recovered from his swoon, threw himself at Bane’s feet. “Demon Lord, he is young, stupid. I beg mercy!”
“He attacked me under truce. He broke your bond and disgraced you, Holran. I want nothing from you that I cannot take. Your city is forfeit, and all of your lives.”
The Prince strained at the men who held him, shouting, “Murderer! Foul traitor! You slaughter your own kind!”
Bane strode down the steps again, heading for the Prince, but stopped when swords hissed from their scabbards, and several steely-eyed men stepped into his path.
The King mopped his face. “You leave us no choice, Demon Lord. We will fight.”
“Indeed. You will give me a headache, then.”
The men lunged at the Demon Lord with slashing, stabbing swords, and Bane’s eyes became pits of darkness. Dark power erupted from him in a wall of black flame, hurling the swordsmen back, charred corpses before they hit the polished floor. He turned, sweeping the room with a languid motion of his slender hands as the ladies fled screaming. Black fire lashed from him, incinerating some, burning others, who fell shrieking.
Arrows hissed from the galleries high above as the men hidden there let fly. Bane raised his arms, and a black shield shimmered into being over him, consuming the arrows as they struck it, allowing only ash to pass through. He gestured, razing the archers with fire, and they fell howling to smack against the marble floor with sickening thuds and splatters of blood. Within moments, the tapestries were ablaze and burning bodies littered the floor, some writhing and shrieking.
Mirra stood frozen beside the burning banquet table, too shocked by the sudden violence to do anything but stare at Bane. The stricken people’s agony knifed through her like lances of fire. The blazing table set the edge of her gown alight, and she leapt away, slapping the flames out before they spread. Her stomach clenched at the dark power’s touch, making her double over, clutching her gut. The brief battle had reduced the sumptuous room to a fiery charnel house, and the people who had escaped serious injury from the initial blast of fire scrambled to escape before the heat and smoke overcame them. The thickening fumes made Mirra cough, her eyes watering.
Bane walked through the inferno and found the Prince, whom he had spared, sobbing beside his father’s body, crying his name. The Demon Lord gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet, thrusting him out of the room. Mirra stumbled after them, her stomach heaving. Bane glanced back at her once, his expression wrathful.
Outside, the dark army blackened the palace gardens. Rock howlers munched flowers and gnawed on the roots of ornamental shrubs. Goblins relieved themselves on the lawn, and trolls reclined on immaculately trimmed hedges. They looked up as their master appeared, and when Bane raised his fist, swept away into the city with a roar, leaving behind a trampled ruin of a garden. Just beyond the palace grounds, they clashed with the city’s troops, and savage battles raged in the streets. The horde set buildings alight, forcing those who sheltered within to flee their safety.
Bane thrust the Prince at the two portage trolls who lingered with Mord, shouting, “Bring him!”
Mounting the demon steed, he galloped towards the distant postern gate, the two armies diving from the fiery beast’s path. Mirra urged the grey stallion after him, but the swift steed left her behind and the combatants closed in around her. The warhorse tried to avoid the fighting men who thronged the streets after Bane passed, dodging swinging swords and stabbing lances.
Those he could not evade, he thrust aside, and Mirra clung to his mane and the pommel. Valiant soldiers fought in groups that bristled with steel, but the horde flung themselves upon the defenders in a fury of rending claws and teeth, stabbing daggers and swinging, bloody axes.
Torch-wielding goblins ran about, thrusting their brands into houses and shops, setting alight to stores of hay and wool. The smoke soon became thick and black, making Mirra’s eyes and throat burn as it swirled between the houses. Fighting men and beasts loomed out of it, and the stallion swerved to elude their weapons, his hooves slipping on the bloody cobbles. She urged the warhorse to flee the city, and he seemed to know the way out.
At last, the postern gate came into view, its barricade burnt to ash by Bane’s passing, and she galloped from the doomed city. Free of the smoke, blood and violence, she gasped fresh air and let the stallion go where he wished, not caring where that might be. After a while, he slowed to a trot, and she took stock of her surroundings.
Not far away, an ancient forest bestrode the land in thick a green blanket, and she headed towards it, drawn by an unfathomable sense that Bane was there. He paced under a spreading oak at the edge of it, the demon steed standing like a statue nearby. Dismounting, she waited, not daring to approach him while he still seethed with the dark power. It licked over him in shadowy flames, and she backed away when he strode over to her. Ignoring her gasp, he gripped her wrists, his black eyes boring into hers.
“It is lies! All lies! You are all in it together, you humans. You are all trying to turn me against my father. It is lies, is it not?”
“I do not know!” Mirra cried, sickened by his touch. “I know nothing about you!”
“The Black Lord gave me this body so I could break the wards. He created me. I am no peasant’s get!” She shook her head in helpless confusion, and he thrust her away with a grunt. “You are useless. You know nothing. Human trash, like all the rest.”
Bane leashed the fire, his eyes turning blue as he studied the black smoke rising from the city. Huge flames licked up now and then, and Mirra was glad she was too far away to share the pain of those who perished within the walls. Silently she prayed to the Lady for their swift passage to her realm. Bane waited, arms folded, as three running figures emerged from the burning metropolis, dragging another between them. They hastened up to him, Mord leading the two trolls who held the Prince. They thrust the singed and blackened young man at Bane’s feet, keeping their distance.
Prince Holran tried to rise, but Bane kicked him, and Mirra whimpered. Bane glanced at her, momentarily distracted, and the Prince launched himself at the Demon Lord.
“Murderer! Bastard!”
Bane avoided the Prince’s hysterical attack and hammered him to the ground, then kicked him again, sending him rolling. Mirra cried out and started forward, reaching for the injured Prince, but Bane seized the back of her dress and flung her aside with such force that she fell.
“Leave him!” he shouted. “Try to stop me this time, and I will have you tied up.”
The Prince climbed to his feet and stood swaying, clutching his ribs. Bane turned to him, drawing his dagger. Prince Holran flicked a lock of hair out of his eyes and glared at the Demon Lord.
“You monster,” he grated, “you murdered my father, my mother!”
“And I annihilated your city, what of it?”
“You are still human, but you are depraved; a butcher. Evil has twisted your mind. You stink of it!”
Bane laughed. “And now you will see just how evil I am, princeling. I enjoy torturing the likes of you.”
The Prince spat, and Bane’s hand flashed out, his dagger slashing the youth’s cheek. Prince Holran gasped and clasped the wound, blood seeping between his fingers. Mirra groaned, biting her lip. Bane raised the dagger again, but the Prince sprang at him, punching him in the ribs. Mirra whimpered as the pain of Bane’s injuries flared, but he hardly flinched. His fist cracked into the Prince’s jaw, knocking down again with a dull crunch of breaking bone. She cried out, clasping her arms about herself as their pain suffused her. This time, she knew she could do nothing to help the Prince. Bane beat the boy for
his own enjoyment, and would not be prevented.
Bane stood over the Prince. “You have courage, boy. I like that. It is more fun.”
Prince Holran shook his head, blood trickling down his chin from his lacerated lip. He struggled to his feet once more, grimacing. Bane knocked him down again, and Mirra sobbed.
Bane rounded on her. “Damn it! Leave, witch! Go and moan somewhere else.”
Surprised, she sent him an anguished look and fled to where Mord erected the tent, diving inside. She curled up on the floor, trying not to think about what was happening to the Prince. Mord carried Bane’s furniture inside and set it up meticulously the way it always was.
Half an hour later, Bane entered, shouting for his drug, which Mord had already prepared. After he drank it, Bane lay on the bed, his brow dewed with sweat, his bloodshot eyes staring at the leather above him.
Mirra uncurled. “Are you all right?”
His eyes flicked to her. “Why would I not be?”
“The power hurts you, as do your wounds.”
“What of it?”
She sighed. “I can help. I know you do not trust me, but I could take the pain away.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Did you kill him?”
He raised himself on one elbow, his eyes narrowing. “Are you questioning me?”
Mirra shrank back, shaking her head.
Bane lay down again, rubbing his temples. He sounded tired as he muttered, “No, I did not. Go and heal him if you want, then I can beat him again.”
Mirra’s heart leapt, then sank. “Please do not hurt him anymore.”
“You beg for him? You never begged for yourself.”
“I do not matter.”
“And he does?” he enquired.
“He is just a boy.”
“He insulted me.”
“Has he not suffered enough?”
Bane sighed. “Do not question me.”
Mirra went in search of the Prince, who was slumped against the tree to which he was bound, his eyes closed, his face a mask of pain. She knelt beside him and placed her hands upon him, healing his broken jaw, ribs, arm, bruises and scrapes. The Prince opened his eyes, his expression amazed, as all people were when they experienced healing for the first time. Mirra smiled, and he returned it shyly.
“Thank you, healer.”
“I am sorry for what has happened to you, Prince Holran. I am sorry for your family and city. Bane feels nothing for people. He only wishes to please his father.”
“But he feels something for you.”
“What do you mean?”
The Prince’s eyes roamed her face. “He did not like it when you felt my pain. Did you not notice?”
“I think I was distracting him.”
“No, your whimpering was easily ignored, yet he could not.”
“He used to beat me just as badly,” she said.
“But he stopped.”
“Yes.”
“I rest my case.”
She settled more comfortably on the grass. “Perhaps he has grown used to me. I have been with him for some weeks now.”
“I do not think he is the kind of man anybody grows on, but you would grow on anyone.” He nodded sagely. “I would say he has a large soft spot for you.”
She smiled, flattered. “I hope so. I like him.”
Prince Holran frowned. “He is the Demon Lord. How can you like someone so evil? You have seen what he does. He kills... slaughters innocent people. He beat you. How...?”
Mirra cocked her head. “You should not judge, Prince Holran. That is for our Lady to do. Bane is not the Black Lord. He suffers terribly.”
“He makes others suffer more.”
“No.” Her smile faded. “He endures pain that would kill you, every day.”
“Why do you stay with him? Surely what he does is awful for a healer?”
“Yes, it is, but I long to ease his suffering. I help all I can, but I can do so little, for he will not let me. He distrusts me, you see. Those he slays wing safely to our Lady, but he suffers.”
“Were you not a healer, I would say kill him. End his suffering and ours, but I know you cannot. Even if he handed you a knife and bared his throat, you would not strike.”
She sighed, disliking the thought. “No, I would not. But I can help you, Prince, and I will.”
Mirra untied the ropes, and he glanced at the three trolls who huddled around a fire, but their backs were turned.
“He will be angry with you,” he said.
“He has been angry with me before.”
“He might beat you. Come with me.”
“No, I will stay. He cannot harm me, My Lord. I am a healer.”
Prince Holran cupped her cheek. “You are an angel. Thank you.”
“Go now, into the woods, head for another town where you will be safe.”
“No one will be safe from him. When he breaks the last ward, we will all perish, even you.” His expression became bitter.
“Yes.” She smiled sadly.
Prince Holran took her hand and raised it to his lips in a gesture that brought a warm glow to her heart. Then he climbed to his feet and walked into the forest, avoiding twigs that might snap and give him away. Just before the trees hid him, he cast a last glance back at her. She waited for a while to give him a good head start before returning to Bane’s tent.
The Demon Lord appeared to be asleep, but as she settled down, he muttered, “You should not have done that.”
Mirra started, her heart thudding. “I had to, or you would have beaten him more.”
Bane moved like lightning, seized her gown and dragged her close to glare into her eyes. “Perhaps I should beat you instead.”
She met his gaze. “If you wish.”
He pushed her away as if unable to bear her touch. “I do not wish to, and that is what bothers me.” He rubbed his eyes. “Ah, well, it does not matter. He had a good beating already.”
“Thank you.”
“What for now?”
“For letting him go, and not punishing me.”
Bane chuckled. “He will suffer more alive than dead, his family gone, his city in ruins. He will probably throw himself down a well, anyway. I begin to understand humans. They are strange, but I see their weaknesses. Their greatest is this ‘love’. It makes them vulnerable and very stupid.”
“Yes, but it also brings great joy. Without it, life would be empty.”
“Power is satisfying. No one needs more than that.”
“Power only brings sorrow in the end. To wield it, you must hurt people, and that makes them hate you. Even if you try not to hurt anyone, people will always fall prey to envy. Powerful people are lonely. They have no real friends. Power corrupts, and one is always tempted to use it for selfish gain.”
Bane turned his head to look at her. “You have power.”
She smiled. “I have the power to heal others, and myself, that is all. It can hardly be used selfishly, even if I wished to.”
“You could make people pay for healing, and be rich.”
“Yes, rich in worldly possessions, inanimate objects that cannot love me, while those who could not afford the healing would despise me, and those who could would resent me still. It is far better to give it freely and have the love of everyone. I will never starve or freeze. Even the men of your army, who ravage the land, murder and plunder, made sure I was fed and clothed. None offered me harm.”
He grunted. “I noticed, although they did try to kill you at first.”
“Because you told them to, and they fear you, but they did not wish to do it.”
His expression was bitter. “I wish they had succeeded.”
“Why?”
His artic eyes made her shiver. “You trouble me. You are a thorn in my side I cannot pull out. I no longer take pleasure in your pain, but that does not mean I cannot still inflict it. I do not know how you are meant to stop me completing my task, but believe me, you will not succeed.”
Bane turned away, closing his eyes, and Mirra was torn between her pity for him and her fear of him.