Mirra sat in the darkness and gazed at the tent. Bane was dying, but he neither knew it, nor cared. He still believed the Black Lord would resurrect him with honours and install him as a beloved son, but she was sure he would not. She pitied Bane’s misguided wish to please the foul creature that had tricked him into breaking the wards. The Black Lord had timed it well. Bane’s use of the power tomorrow would be the last straw, and he would not survive it. She had failed to turn him from his purpose, and now he would destroy the world.
“Mirra...”
The whisper made her jump, fearful of demons sent to ensure her demise while Bane was so weak. A piece of crystal glinted in the moonlight, and something seemed to move within it. She crept closer, startled by the sound of Elder Mother’s voice.
“Mirra, come here.”
Mirra hurried over to a chunk of crystal broken on a flaw, its mirror-smooth surface turned uppermost, and knelt on the sharp stones in front of it. Ellese’s image filled it, worried and haggard.
Mirra cried, “Mother, help me! Everything has gone wrong. He would not listen. I tried! He will break the last ward tomorrow, and it will kill him.”
“Hush, child,” Ellese soothed. “Trust me. You can still save him. You must, now more than ever. He is our only hope.”
Mirra shook her head, bewildered. “How can he be our hope? He is utterly loyal to the Black Lord.”
“Do your duty, Mirra. Heal him.”
“I have no power. And even if I did, his evil stops it.”
Ellese held up a calming hand. “Think, child. He needs strength, stamina. There is another way to give him these things, not only with magic.”
Mirra was aghast. “But he is exhausted.”
“He can do it. He is very strong, far more so than a normal man. Find some dragonroot, give it to him tonight.”
“He will not eat it. He does not trust me.”
“Find a way!” Ellese’s voice cracked with authority, then softened. “I know you can, my dear. We are all counting on you.”
Mirra sagged back, horrified by the enormity of Ellese’s order. Dragonroot strengthened the body and gave vitality for a while, but when its effects wore off the penalty was grave. Bane might survive his ordeal tomorrow with its help, but would he live through the after effects? The crystal was empty, and she scanned the dark plains. Dragonroot was fairly common, but it would be hard to find in this expanse of grass, in the dark. If it was going to help him, he must have it tonight, for dragonroot was slow acting. It would take until the morning to work, and it might take a while to persuade him to eat it.
Galvanised by urgency, she hurried into the gloom. The ground around the monolith was strewn with sharp-edged crystal, and dangerous to navigate in the dark, so she moved beyond its edge before she began her search. The danger of demons made her nervous as she hunted amongst the grass for the small, fleshy-leafed bush. The moon rose, and Mirra grew frantic as the time seemed to fly past.
Just when she was starting to despair, she stumbled upon a tiny bush and dug it out, unmindful of the stones that bruised her fingers or the scratches from its thorny branches. When at last she freed it, she studied its distinctive shape. Dragonroot was aptly named, with its long, tail-like taproot and four short roots that were its legs, above which the head swelled, then tapered to a narrow muzzle.
Breaking off the superfluous stem, she ran to Bane’s tent, slowing as she approached it. At the flap, she hesitated, afraid of the droge, then gathered her courage and went inside.
Bane slept on the bed, and the droge sat on the floor, guarding his slumber. At Mirra’s entrance, her head snapped up and her eyes pinned Mirra with a baleful glare.
“Get out!”
Mirra shook her head. “I need to speak to Bane, alone.”
“He’s asleep, stupid, leave him be.”
“I must speak to him, now.”
Dorel rose, her hands clenching as she advanced, clearly intending to chase Mirra from the tent if she did not leave. Bane’s eyes opened, and he sat up, frowning at Mirra. Dorel froze, eyeing him.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“I must speak to you,” Mirra said.
“I am tired. I must rest. Come back tomorrow, if you wish.”
“It is important. Tomorrow will be too late.”
Dorel growled, “Don’t listen to her.”
Bane’s cold gaze flicked to the droge, his irritation becoming anger. “Do not tell me what to do, Dorel. Wait outside.”
Dorel’s lip curled, and she pushed past Mirra, making her stagger. As soon as they were alone, Mirra moved closer to Bane, fiddling with the root.
He regarded her with weary, bloodshot eyes. “What is it? If this is another attempt at talking me out of it, you can leave now.”
“No, it is not that.” Mirra bowed her head, then lifted it. “Will you trust me?”
“No.”
“But I have not tried to harm you, have I?”
His eyes narrowed. “Not yet, but I would say that now would be a good time to try.”
“If I told you that I have no intention of harming you, would you believe me?”
“No.”
Mirra sighed, but persevered. “My potion helps, does it not?”
“Yes, but that was just a ploy to gain my trust. If you think you have succeeded, you are deluding yourself. Get to the point, I want to sleep.”
Mirra held out the dragonroot. “Do you know what this is?”
“No. It looks disgusting.”
She glanced down at the dragonroot’s grey, flaky skin, silently agreeing with him. “It is called dragonroot, and it gives strength if you chew it.”
“What of it?”
“You will die tomorrow when you break the ward. If you eat this, you might survive.”
Bane leant forward, his brilliant eyes intense. “You are asking me to trust you?”
She met his gaze, secure in her innocence. “Yes.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I want to help you.”
Bane snorted. “I do not need your help. Even if I die tomorrow, my father will reward me with a dark form.”
“I thought you might like to choose your own time for taking the dark form, not have it forced upon you.”
He considered this. Mirra had appealed to the one thing she knew he had in abundance: pride.
He said, “And for this, you think I will risk my life, before I have completed my task. How stupid do you think I am?”
Mirra hung her head, tears threatening. He would never trust her. He had no reason to now that he was so close to achieving his goal. His suffering had driven him to take her potion, but all she could do now was plead with him, and that had never worked. She glanced up when he spoke softly.
“Give me a reason. One good reason I should trust you in this; something that makes sense to me.”
Mirra was struck afresh by the angelic aspects of his countenance, his brilliant eyes and alabaster skin. Rarely was the good side of him so strikingly visible, only when he lacked the evil taint that usually held him in its dark thrall. His lack of power had opened a brief and fragile window of opportunity, one she could not afford to miss. She did not consider her words before they tripped off her tongue, and her lack of thought made them ring with truth.
“Only you can save me. Without you, I will die.”
A faint, mocking smile curved his lips, tainted by a cynical twist. “Ah. That, I understand. A selfish trait at last, just when I was starting to think you were utterly inane. Yes, you are right, without me, you are dead. But the only reason I have been protecting you is because of your damned spell, otherwise you would have been dead long ago. When my father comes, he will break your foul enchantment, and I shall be free to torment you.” He shrugged. “So why should I risk your poison to save you when I will not want to?”
She searched her mind for a reason. “What if he cannot break the spell? What if he does not want to? You have angered him many times. He might punish you for
that. Will you suffer if I die?”
He frowned. “Only if your spell still holds me.”
“Exactly. What better punishment could he inflict for your defiance of his orders than to kill me while the spell still harms you?” Mirra cringed inwardly at the slight deceit in her words, a twisting of the truth to suit his way of thinking.
Bane considered this, but it did not seem to worry him. “My father has never punished me. Why should he start now?”
Mirra cursed the Black Lord’s devious planning. He had ensured Bane’s undying loyalty with his token generosity, making Bane believe himself too important to incur his father’s wrath. As long as he had faith in the Black Lord’s affection for him, he would not doubt his immunity.
She tried another angle. “All right; but what if he cannot break the spell, and kills me out of revenge for all the trouble I have caused, then what?”
He chuckled. “The Black Lord will easily break your silly enchantment.”
“So why can you not? If you are as powerful as he is, you should have been able to do it yourself.”
“I am not as well versed in magic as he is. He has promised to break your spell, and he will.”
“What if he does not?”
“He promised.”
“He has never broken a promise?” she asked.
“No.”
“What if he cannot? He might think he can, but if he is wrong, you cannot let me die, can you?”
“Give it up. You cannot turn me against my father.”
“I am not trying to. I know that would be futile; but what about your choice? Will you let him dictate your future, and take the chance, no matter how slight, that he might decide to punish you this time? If he does, you will be helpless to stop him unless you live. Once you are dead, he will rule you, for he can decide how much power to give you, if any. As long as you retain your mortal body, disgusting as it is to you, you are beyond his reach, for he cannot rule the living.” Mirra wondered where all the knowledge came from.
Bane looked thoughtful. “You have a point, I suppose. But if you kill me now, I will lose that choice, and fail my father too. That is a big risk to take just for the sake of ensuring my powers after his rising. I trust him, but I certainly do not trust you.”
She sagged, despondent. They were right back where they had started. “But I do not want to kill you. You cannot save me if you are dead.”
Bane smiled, his eyes shining in the lamplight. “Yes I can. I shall be just as powerful in a dark form as I am now.”
“If your father grants you one.”
“Why would he not?”
“Why would he? Or, more to the point, what if he does not? You will be at his mercy once you become one of his own kind; a dead soul. Will you take the chance that the enchantment cannot be broken, and you will be helpless to prevent your suffering if he kills me? Would it not be better to ensure I live, in that case?”
He pondered this with a bitter expression. “You seem very sure that your spell cannot be broken, yet you claim not to have cast it.”
“I did not. But if the healers cast it, I doubt that your father can break it, because we use different kinds of magic.”
“So, you have sought to enslave me with this spell, ensuring your safety with it. Very well then, I shall accept your argument as valid. It does make sense to me. But I promise you this, witch. If my father cannot free me of you, I will find a way to do it, I swear. And when I do, you will suffer for your tricks and lies, more than you can imagine.”
Mirra suppressed a shiver. Certainly this was just the sort of thing that would appeal to him, but at the same time it made her own argument seem really stupid, for by saving his life, she ensured her suffering at his hands, or so he thought.
Bane watched her, looking amused. “Do you still want me to live?”
She raised her eyes to his. “Yes, but not for your reasons. I believe the Black Lord will betray you, and you will turn against him. Keeping you alive is the only way to save the Overworld.”
“You think so?” He laughed. “Believe what you will, it seems we both have reasons for wanting me to retain my mortal form. You will regret this, I promise.” He took the root, rubbing the dirt off it.
She snatched it back. “I will wash it.”
Mirra scrubbed it clean in a bowl of water, aware that his eyes followed her every move. When she was satisfied, she held it out, but he shook his head, and her heart sank. Had he been toying with her?
“You first,” he said.
Mirra nodded. “There is one thing. It has an after effect, when it starts to wear off.”
“What sort?”
“Unpleasant. Cramps, fever, nausea and headaches.”
He shrugged. “Nothing new to me.”
Mirra broke off a leg root and chewed it, grimacing at the burning, acidic flavour, which stung her mouth. He waited for a while, then chewed the root. He pulled a face, and she thought he would spit it out, but he persevered.
“It tastes rather like my food.”
She shuddered. “It is foul.”
It took him some time to consume the entire root, and she was relieved when he finished it. He lay back, closing his eyes once more, and Mirra rose to leave, but his voice stopped her.
“Stay here. If you have poisoned me, I will take you with me.”
“You will not have to. I have eaten it too.”
“True.”
Mirra lay down on the floor, hardly able to believe that she had persuaded the Demon Lord to take her advice, albeit not for the best reasons. Apparently he feared her death more than she did, which puzzled her. Then again, perhaps he merely wished to retain his independence, which he could do only if he lived. Once Bane was dead, the Black Lord could do whatever he wished with him; even consign him to the Land of the Dead. Or could he? Was Bane just a powerful black mage, or something more? Ellese had said that he was stronger than a normal man, which hinted that he was not normal, in which case, what was he?
If he was anything more than a normal man, he evidently did not know it, which had worked to her advantage in this instance. Bane’s trust in his father was unshakeable; his only doubt seemed to be whether or not the Black Lord could break the spell he believed himself to be under. She was certain that the healers had not cast any spell, for they did not use that kind of magic, but if not, who had, if anybody? Whatever the reason, she was thrilled that he had accepted her help. She could not bear to think of him dying tomorrow. Satisfied with the night’s work, she fell asleep listening to Bane’s soft breathing, comforted by his presence.
Mirra woke when he did, sat up and rubbed her eyes while he stretched, joints cracking.
He looked down at her. “So, you told the truth, it seems. I have not felt this fit since I left the Underworld.”
Mirra smiled, glad of the vigour the root had imparted to her as well, for she had a nasty suspicion she was going to need it today. Pale, cold sunlight filtered in through the flap, flaring as Bane pushed it aside and stepped out. She followed, finding him considering the monolith with eyes narrowed to slits against the grey sky’s glare. Dorel glowered at her with fresh venom, clearly furious at being evicted from the Demon Lord’s tent and replaced by what she considered to be a smelly human. Bane sent the droge to prepare his breakfast, and Mirra chewed some roots she had collected and stored in her pockets, while he ate. Afterwards, he ordered the droge to bring his pack and turned to Mirra.
“Go away, girl. I am going to perform another Gather.”
Mirra nodded and left to find a comfortable spot in the grass where she could view the monolith, not wishing to watch Bane’s ritual. Despite her resolve, her eyes were drawn to him constantly. Again he cut five runes, which she assumed meant that he did not plan to use his full strength. She wondered if he had ever used all seven runes, and what would happen if he did. Even with only four or five, his power was awesome. She could not imagine more. When he finished the Gather, he sent Dorel away and turned to face t
he giant ward, whose mighty presence dwarfed him.