Mirra woke enfolded in luxuriant softness. Stretching, she opened her eyes and froze. Bane lay beside her, so close that she had almost brushed against him when she stretched. Her heart skipped a beat and pounded. Her first impulse was to jump off the bed and get away from him as quickly as possible, but then she realised that no dark power emanated from him.
Mirra edged away, her eyes fixed on him. He was fast asleep, and looked oddly vulnerable. In repose, his face lost a lot of its fierceness. The sharply angled brows and widow’s peak still gave him a demonic look, but his mouth was gentle, and his long black lashes lay innocently against his cheeks.
Mirra smiled. The Demon Lord looked like nothing more than an extremely handsome young man. How strange, she thought, that he should have such an arresting face when he should be ugly to match his deeds, and the evil within him. With his tormented eyes closed, he appeared innocuous. His eyes were the source of her fear. The hatred in their clear blue depths chilled her, and when they turned black they terrified her. The rune scars were the only outward sign now of the evil power within him.
Bane’s eyes flicked open, and she recoiled, slipped off the bed and landed on the floor with an inelegant thud. The bed creaked as he sat up and peered down at her, his sneer back, his eyes cold with contempt. She scrambled to her feet, backing away, and he smiled.
“If I had known that you wished to share my bed, I would have invited you.”
Her cheeks warmed. “I do not. I fell asleep, by accident.”
“What were you doing on it in the first place?”
“I just wanted to try it. The floor is very hard.”
Bane snorted. “Well, stay off it in future.”
“I will. I am sorry.”
Bane slid off the bed and stood up, favouring his blackened foot. When he was dressed, they ate the breakfast already waiting on the table, no doubt served by the ever-faithful Mord.
Mirra blew on a spoonful of steaming porridge. “Are we leaving today?”
“No. I would like to, but I want to give Agden a chance to try his luck. No doubt he will have planned a day of entertainment, and will seek his opportunity during it.”
“Why do you want to do this?”
He shrugged, as if killing a man was no more important than swatting a fly. “He annoys me.”
A timid tapping on the door heralded a grovelling priest, who informed Bane that Agden had organised a day of games, fights and orgies for his pleasure.
Bane pretended to consider. “What manner of fights?”
“Gladiators, Lord.”
“Do they kill each other?”
The priest shook his head awkwardly, still prostrated. “Not usually, Lord.”
“How boring.” The Demon Lord yawned. “You tell Agden, if he wishes me to stay, he will have to have a lot of bloodshed in his arena, or I will be displeased.”
The priest scuttled away. Even they had lost their dignity, Mirra reflected. Bane inspired fear in all those around him. Perhaps it was the aura of dark power that hung about him like a cold shroud, or the icy glint in his eyes, which informed everyone that he was a cold-blooded killer. She swallowed a sour taste. The thought of watching men fight to the death sickened her. She had already seen more of it than she could bear. There was nothing glorious about a sword in the gut, nothing heroic about blood spurting from a sliced throat. The smell of gore and excrement was hard to forget, its sickly taste stayed in her mouth for days, as if the cloying stink clung to the inside of her nose.
She asked, “May I stay here?”
Bane frowned. “No.”
Mirra’s heart sank, but she knew it was useless to argue. He was clearly in an unbending mood.
The arena’s huge stone blocks looked newer than the rest of the city, as if it had been a late addition. The stepped interior provided seats for the masses, and a crowd was already in attendance when Bane arrived. Most people wore drab tunics of black, brown or crimson; some were clad in dull green, but gay colours like yellow, blue or pink were absent. The murky grey sky dampened the festive air somewhat, since bright, warm sunshine would have added to the crowd’s enjoyment of the day.
When the Demon Lord appeared, a muted roar of welcome greeted him, which he ignored. A priest guided Bane to a lone chair on a platform cut into the side of the arena, above and separate from the common folk, set aside for royalty and the priesthood. Agden sat a few feet to his right, and the priests were ranged behind them. A rich black velvet parasol, edged with gold, shaded them from the weak sunlight. Mirra settled beside Bane’s chair, trying not to attract unwelcome attention.
The games began immediately, but it soon became obvious that the Demon Lord found foot races intensely boring, judging by his yawns, and the athletes were shooed off, giving way to the fighting. The gladiators fought slaves, who had no idea how to use the weapons they had been given. It was little more than butchery, and the arena soon stank of blood and death. Bane seemed to enjoy it, although even Agden looked mildly sickened, and Mirra refused to watch, plugging her ears.
At last, lunch was served, and the men gravitated to the laden tables behind the royal grandstand. Mord brought Bane his Underworld food, which the priests eyed with the same greedy glint in their eyes that Orran had displayed. Mirra could eat nothing, her stomach in knots, although the others had no such qualms and tucked into the succulent spread. Agden kept glancing at her, and finally plucked up the courage to ask about her.
“Lord, who is the girl?”
Bane glanced at her, and his lip curled. “Nobody.”
Agden’s eyes gleamed. “She is your captive?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you keep her?”
Bane shrugged. “Entertainment.”
“Ah.” Agden smiled. “I too, enjoy such pleasures a lot. Perhaps I could borrow her sometime?” He leered at Mirra.
Bane’s spoon hit his plate with a clatter, and everyone froze. He glared at Agden, who shrank back. “Agden, your stupidity is only outstripped by your arrogance. What is mine is not for the likes of you to borrow, not even to ask for, ever.”
Agden nodded vigorously, ashen. As Bane turned away, the Emperor’s eyes became glacial, and Mirra shivered as he shot her a promising look.
After lunch, Bane led the clutch of dignitaries back towards the grandstand, passing through a knot of young priests waiting to clear away the remains of the feast. The hard-faced youths prostrated themselves as Bane passed them, but Agden hung back, and Mirra paused, watching him. A faint smirk tugged at the Emperor’s lips, and his eyes darted, then he gave an imperceptible nod to the young priests Bane had just passed.
She shouted, “Bane!”
Four priests charged Bane, drawing daggers. The Demon Lord spun, his eyes turning black as dark fire poured from his hands. Two priests were flung back, engulfed in flames, the other two exploded with dull thuds, splattering the senior priests near Bane with blood and guts. They recoiled with muffled cries, backing away as Bane watched the screaming youths burn.
As the last one stopped writhing, he turned to Agden. The Emperor gaped at the corpses, his eyes wide. Everyone else had moved away from Bane, but Agden stood transfixed, perhaps frozen by the enormity of his betrayal and the realisation of what his failure would cost him. Bane scowled at him, and Agden raised his hands, backing away. Bane’s eyes remained black, and dark power emanated from him in sickening waves.
Mirra retreated, burning with the agony from the stricken priests, which had punched the air from her lungs and robbed her of the ability to scream. Bane advanced on the Emperor, and she dreaded what was to come.
The Demon Lord enquired, “You arranged that bit of entertainment, not so?”
Agden shook his head. “No! I swear I had nothing to do with it!”
“Do not lie to me, fool.” Bane loomed over him. “I know you do not want my father to rise. It would rob you of most of your petty power, would it not? You do not want to show me proper respect, so you certainly would not want my father here.”
Agden fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. “Lord, I did not send them, I swear!”
Bane’s expression became scornful. “Do not beg for mercy, Agden. Pleas for mercy only fill me with contempt. You are supposed to be an emperor, a high priest, charged with the worship of the Black Lord. Instead, you are a grovelling, snivelling pig who thought to challenge me, the Black Lord’s son. Did you think your minions could kill me?
“You are a powerful black mage in your own right, granted that power by my father. A big mistake, it seems. You will pay dearly for your effrontery, and my father will enjoy tormenting you. He will show you the meaning of pain. Your puny powers will avail you nothing down there.” Bane studied the cringing man. “Raise your head.”
Agden obeyed, his hands clasped in supplication. “Spare me, Lord! I -”
“Be silent.” Bane reached down as if in benediction and touched Agden’s head.
“No! Please, Lord!” Agden’s cry ended in a strangled scream as the burning power flowed into him, boiling his insides while he thrashed and shrieked. His skin blackened and smoke rose from his hair and smouldering robes. With a strangled cry, Mirra fled.
When she reached the room with its softly glowing runes promising safety, she flung herself onto the bed and wept. Bane’s penchant for pain and death dismayed her. How could a man enjoy inflicting it so much? Every time he killed, it grew more unbearable for her. The more she liked him, the more his evil ways hurt her. No wonder the men of his army feared him so much. No doubt they had witnessed just that sort of exhibition, and that was why they would not come near him. Until now, she had not realised the true horror of his power; that he could kill so terribly with a mere touch.
“Girl.”
Mirra scrambled off the bed at the sound of Bane’s voice. He stood in the doorway, scowling, his eyes blue once more. She backed away, not wanting him near her after what she had just seen.
He closed the door. “I did not give you permission to leave.”
“I could not bear it.” She pressed her back to the far wall, wishing she could sink through it.
Bane approached her. “Now you know why no one comes near me.”
“Yes.”
“So will you scuttle from me too, now?”
“No.”
He stopped in front of her. “Why not?”
“I do not fear death like they do.”
“Still, it is painful, as you know. Now you have seen what happens to people who try to kill me.”
She edged away along the wall. “I am not trying to kill you.”
“So you say, but I know you are.” He took hold of her arm, and she cried out, shuddering at his touch, which had just killed a man so monstrously. Bane smiled wryly. “Your spell protects you. Why do you fear me?”
“Because I have no spell.”
“Why do you keep lying? I know you have a spell, because I feel it. If you did not have it, you would be dead long ago.”
She gazed up at him. “What do you feel?”
“I have told you, and I shall not repeat it. The entertainment is over, so we are leaving. These idiots can amuse themselves finding a new emperor. I have two more wards to break.”
Bane pushed her towards the door, and she gladly moved away from him. Mord waited outside, the Demon Lord’s pack strapped to his back. He scurried down the corridor, and Mirra followed, uncomfortably aware of Bane exuding cold anger behind her.
The Emperor’s death had thrown the city into confusion, for the people in the arena had spread the news. Priests prostrated themselves as the Demon Lord passed, but the populace stayed away, peering from the shadows of doorways and windows. The demon steed pranced and snorted fire, eager to be off, and the grey stallion was just as keen. The dwindling army straggled behind them, unhappy about leaving the city, where its members had been made welcome in every possible way. Bane would win no popularity contests, Mirra mused. He had come to a city that idolised him, and left one that only feared him. She was undoubtedly the only person in the world who liked him.
Unlike the previous day, she sensed the forest’s malevolent gloom, with its towering, ancient trees and dripping moss. To her relief, after a few hours they journeyed into more normal woodland. She put the horror of what she had witnessed from her mind, since dwelling upon it did no good, concentrating on the passing scenery as they traversed a rocky, mountainous land thickly wooded with conifers.
Many swift streams chuckled across their path on mossy beds, the icy clear water providing refreshment for the weary, footsore troops. The grey stallion snatched mouthfuls of grass when they crossed pretty glades sprinkled with wild flowers and bracken, and little waterfalls cascaded down the rocky slopes above them. Only the occasional glimpse of red eyes and malformed shapes shambling through the shadows spoilt her enjoyment of the scenic landscape, a constant reminder of whose company she kept. When they camped at night, the woodland resounded with screams and howls as the creatures of darkness hunted, making her shiver on the floor of Bane’s tent.
For two days, they travelled through the mountains, encountering only hardy mountain deer that fled from their path. Bane hardly spoke to her unless she asked him a question, which, more often than not, he answered with grunts, his mood gloomy. For a day, his eyes remained bloodshot, and she knew the headache troubled him again, but he took nothing for it this time. His use of the power had been slight, so the pain was bearable, by his standards.
When they stopped to rest at noon on the third day, Mirra found a pool in a rocky hollow near the campsite. She knelt to drink, contemplating a wash as well. Before her hand broke the calm surface, her reflection changed, and she looked into Elder Mother’s eyes. Mirra recoiled with a gasp, but the image smiled with gentle reassurance.
“Do not be afraid, Mirra. It is I, not a ghost. This is the last of your talents, untried until now.” Ellese’s voice came faintly from the water.
Mirra crept closer. “Elder Mother?”
“Yes, my dear.”
Relief and joy made Mirra’s eyes brim with tears. “Oh, Mother, I am so glad that you are all right. I have been worried about you! How is Tallis?”
“She is well. We all are. There is no time for chatter, listen carefully to me now.”
Mirra nodded, and Ellese went on with solemn gravity, “Bane goes to break the sixth ward. He is perilously close to completing his task. He is human, Mirra, not some creation of the Black Lord. His mother was taken and killed when he was born. He was reared in the Underworld. It is the only home he has ever known. You were sent to turn him from his purpose. That is why you were placed in his path. It is your destiny. He feels something for you, and you must use that to persuade him to renounce the Black Lord. You must not tell him that you were sent to stop him, only that you want him to stop.”
Mirra shook her head, knowing this to be impossible. “He will not listen to me.”
Ellese smiled. “He might. You have not tried, but you must now. We are all depending on you. The power of good cannot stand in direct confrontation with evil. It will fail. The Lady herself cast the Black Lord into the Underworld, and she gave the mages the power to set the wards. Now we pray to her constantly, but she has not revealed her purpose. Perhaps this time it is our task alone. You must try to stop him eating the Underworld food. It helps to keep him evil.”
Mirra glanced around, nervous that Bane would see her. “It has been horrible, Mother. He kills people. He enjoys the suffering of others.”
“I know, my dear. I have been watching. Try to turn him, Mirra, please.”
Elder Mother’s image faded, and Mirra took a quick drink before returning to the camp.
That night, when Bane retired to his tent and lay staring at the ceiling, she broke into his reverie.
“Bane, what would happen if you did not break the last two wards?”
He shrugged. “My father would stay in the Underworld.”
“He would not... punish you, or anything?” br />
“He would be furious. He would send me back to do it.”
“What if you stayed in the Overworld?”
He turned his head to look at her. “I have no wish to stay here.”
“Why not?”
“I do not like it here. I belong in the Underworld.”
“But you do not. You belong here.”
Bane sat up, swung his legs off the bed and faced her. “Why all the questions?”
Mirra took a deep breath. “I spoke to my elder mother today, the leader of my abbey. She told me the truth. Bane, you are -”
The tent flap flew open, and a woman entered as if she had lived there all her life. Long, curly red hair framed a perfect face with melting brown eyes and a wide, smiling mouth. A graceful, forest-green velvet gown hugged her voluptuous curves, and gold earrings and a sapphire necklace glowing against her creamy skin. She grinned and spread her arms as Bane rose to his feet.
“Bane, darling! I’m here at last!”
The Demon Lord looked stunned, and Mirra glanced from one to the other, confused.
Bane said, “Dorel. What are you doing here?”
The woman stepped up to him and slid her arms around his waist, pressing herself against him. His arms remained at his sides.
She pouted. “Bane, dear, your father sent me to help you. With only two wards left, he could, just. He said that you were ill, and needed someone to take care of you, so I volunteered, naturally. He’s worried about you, darling, surrounded by all these pathetic humans and trolls. He felt you needed some decent company, and moral support too, of course. It must be ghastly for you, rubbing shoulders with trash.”
Her gaze fell upon Mirra, and she frowned. “Why, there’s one in your tent, darling. What’s she doing here? Oh, I know.” Dorel turned limpid brown eyes on Bane. “You won’t need her anymore, dearest.”
Bane stepped back, disengaging the woman’s clinging arms. “She is not -”
“Oh, Bane,” she crooned. “I’ve missed you. We have a lot of time to catch up on, don’t we?” Dorel glared at Mirra. “Get out, human, and take your lice and filth with you.”
Mirra rose and slipped out into the chilly night air. The woman’s throaty laughter followed her as she stumbled into the moonlit forest. She did not go far before sitting next to a tree, out of earshot of the tent. The cold made her shiver after the warmth of Bane’s tent. She gathered some wood for a fire, then realised that she had no way of lighting it.
Huddled against the tree, she hugged herself and scanned the darkness for red eyes, thinking about the strange woman. How odd that she did not fear the Demon Lord. She treated him like an old friend, and even interrupted him. Agden’s lack of respect had enraged him, yet this woman took unheard-of liberties with his person and went unpunished. She had not thought Bane capable of the kind of emotions this woman seemed to credit him with, calling him ‘darling’ as if she was his sweetheart.
As her thoughts whirled in ever-increasing circles, Bane emerged, a tall shadow in the moonlight, and walked straight to her. He dropped a blanket beside her and squatted, spotting the pile of wood. Placing his hand on it, he channelled a tiny dark flame into it, and the wood caught fire with a whoosh. He removed his hand unhurriedly, rubbing off a little soot. In the orange light, his face was tense and broody as he stared into the flames.
Mirra pulled the blanket around her. “Who is she?”
He glanced at her. “She is a droge. She was one of... My father sent her.”
“A spirit?” She shivered. The woman looked so human.
Bane smiled. “Of a sort. She died, and came to the Underworld. My father has given her a body, although it is not flesh and blood, but a kind of solid illusion. She is not human anymore, but she is not a demon. She has no power.”
“Do you like her?”
He chuckled. “I do not like anyone. She has her uses, though.”
“I am glad you will have company that agrees with you; one of your own kind, at last.”
Bane stood up, his face shadowed. “You will be all right here. You are close enough to the tent.”
Mirra nodded, watching him stride back to the tent before lying down next to the fire. How was she going to speak to him now? No doubt the droge would be with him all the time, and she clearly did not want Mirra around.