Demon Lord

Bane closed his eyes as the power surged within him, burning his raw flesh, still unhealed from the last time, and the Gather. The memory of the girl’s despairing eyes intruded, but he banished the image, recalling instead his father’s fiery glory and the booming words he had spoken on the night Bane had left the Underworld.

  “You are my son! Never forget that! Complete this task and we will rule together, forever. We will share the glory, the power!”

  Channelling the black fire downwards, Bane stepped over the canyon’s edge and floated down. The mists closed over him, and vapour settled on his skin and soaked into his clothes. He would not betray his father. He would free him from the trap that had held him prisoner for aeons and raise him up to walk the surface of the Overworld, lord of everything.

  The ward shimmered within the foaming water, and he had no time to waste. A mighty blast of black fire smashed it, scattering the blue lines into prisms of rainbow glimmers. The carven ward was beyond it, and he moved forwards, passing through the thundering falls. The water beat down on him for a moment, then he hovered before the carved ward, and a blow shattered it. Moving swiftly as the pain in his head increased, he retreated and powered upwards to the chasm’s rim.

  As he leashed the power, agony spiked his brain like red-hot slivers, and he staggered, clutching his head. Fumbling in his tunic, he pulled out the wineskin. Dorel grabbed him, trying to wrench it from his hand, and he shoved her away. She staggered back, teetering on the edge of the gulf, her arms wind-milling, rage on her face, then toppled over. Bane smiled and drank from the skin.

  The time it took for the potion to work seemed interminable. Bane faced the gorge, hiding his pain from the troops until at last it faded away, and his shoulders slumped. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the mist veiling the far side, remembering all the years of suffering in the Underworld. Demons loved to taunt, and he had grown to hate them, even to the extent of destroying one when he at last had the power to do it. Even after they had stopped tormenting him, his hatred had not waned. Then again, hatred flourished in the Underworld, everyone seemed to thrive on it.

  The droge who had raised him had hated him, and he had grown to detest her too, eventually persuading his father to send her to the Land of the Dead. He remembered how satisfied he had been when his father had revoked her body, and he had watched her fade. At the last, her ranting had stilled, and she had returned his malicious smile. Her words stayed with him still.

  “He made you well, Bane. You have nothing left in you but hate.”

  Only his father had been exempt, for the Black Lord had not taunted or been unnecessarily cruel to him. He had remained aloof, watching, sometimes teaching, but never attracting Bane’s hatred. The cruellest thing he had done to Bane was cutting the runes. Then he had met Bane’s fierce glare, shaking his head.

  “Do not hate me, Bane. I am your father, and this is necessary.”

  So Bane did not. Until recently, the Black Lord had been the only person, living or dead, Bane did not hate. Now there was the girl. How could he hate someone who just wanted to help? Who did help by taking away his pain? Who showed him where the ward was, so he could break it and destroy her world, just to spare him more pain?

  Bane jumped at a touch on his arm, turning to find the girl gazing up at him with her innocent eyes.

  “What happened to Dorel?”

  He shrugged. “She got pushed over the edge.”

  “Down there?” Her eyes widened.

  “She has been dead for over two hundred years. She will be back, when she manages to climb out.” He turned away, becoming aware that he was soaked, and walked back to his tent. The girl followed, sitting quietly while he dried himself and donned fresh clothes. He sat on the bed, rubbing his face.

  “Have you ever hated anyone?”

  She looked startled. “No.”

  “Not even someone who was cruel to you?”

  “No one ever was, until...”

  “Until me,” he finished for her.

  “Yes.”

  “But you do not hate me, either.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  She hesitated. “You enjoy hurting because you have been hurt. It is not your fault, but the fault of those who hurt you.”

  Her perception surprised him. “How do you know?”

  “I can see it in your eyes, and I feel it. You want people to suffer the way you have. That is why you were so angry when you could not hurt me.”

  Bane nodded. “Yes.”

  The girl looked expectant, but he had no more questions for her. Lying back, he gazed at the leather roof. One more ward, and the hatred of the Underworld would be unleashed.