Demon Lord

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ascension of the Black Lord

  Bane stood beneath the last rune, sweat dewing his brow, his flesh burning. The strength that the dragonroot had bestowed was severely depleted, but he was not finished yet. Wearily, he unleashed the fire and floated up to the rune, then stretched out his hand and laid it upon the carved symbol. As the rune broke, a thunderclap rolled away across the plains, reverberating from the distant mountains in a great, resounding rumble that made the ground vibrate. A deep chime rang out, as discordant as a cracked bell, a peal of doom. The rock crumbled beneath his fingers, breaking away and starting to fall. He followed it down, pain lancing his head again.

  On the ground, he gulped the potion and walked away from the monolith as the stabs of fire receded, then turned to study it once more. Although bereft of runes, the pentagram still stood, solid and seemingly indestructible. One last effort, he promised himself. One last burst of power, albeit a strong one, then he could rest. The girl huddled some distance away, her pale face turned towards him. He had experienced several twinges of doubt when he had consumed the root she had brought him, realising, a little belatedly, that it might only become a poison when he used the dark power, or it might weave some other spell on him, not merely kill him. Perhaps it was only to strengthen her spell, so his father could not break the enchantment.

  The arguments she had offered had not been terribly convincing, yet he had believed her when she had told him it was only to save him. If that was true, however, his father had lied about her, and she had not been sent to stop him breaking the wards. Then again, perhaps the Black Lord had only been trying to protect him from any possible threat. Yet it seemed that she had not lied, and the root had given him the strength he needed to break the last ward, which was puzzling. Once he was free of her spell, he would decide what to do with her.

  Bracing himself, he raised his arms high and summoned the power, sending the black fire that surged from him flashing across the gap to strike the base of the monolith. Another great rumble shook the ground, and shards of rock broke away from the ward, crashing down onto the rubble below.

  Bane concentrated the power, using the years of painful lessons he had been forced to undergo to control it. The black magic constantly strived to elude him, writhing in his grip like a dangerous ebon snake. Bane knew all the skills required to tame it, however; his schooling had been lengthy and thorough. Closing his eyes, he looked deep within the earth and found the crevasse that had birthed the megalith, and, beneath it, the vast cavern formed by its rising. He tore at it, widening it, causing the huge tectonic plates far beneath the surface to shift.

  The earth twitched like the skin of a fly-bitten horse. He poured shadows into it, using the existing stress to increase the potency of the destruction, channelling the magic into every flaw and crack, forcing them to widen and weaken. Rock grated and groaned, and cracks appeared in the soil, crazing it with sharp reports. The ground shook, causing the monolith to tremble and shed chunks of stone.

  Bane’s power ebbed, and the rune scars ignited, burning with sullen light. Yet the earth still resisted him, and he flung back his head, starting to Gather. The runes flared to bright crimson, searing him. Hot pain stabbed his brain, and flashes of agony cut into his eyes as the shadows rushed into him, filling him with their awful power and the illness that came with it. He channelled it into his hands and unleashed it at the ward in a crackling arc of pure blackness that split the air like a river of night, blasting the ward’s foundations, tearing rock and soil. The earth bucked, and chunks of stone the size of houses fell to smash all around him, filling the air with whizzing shards that his power deflected.

  Still, the ward stood. Bane raised his arms higher, increasing his Gather, the sixth rune starting to glow, growing brighter. Blackness rose from the ground, seeped from the air, and crept from the shadows amongst the rocks. It poured into him, filling him, and blasted from him into the bedrock. The earth shuddered, and a deep rumble came from far underground, growing to a muted roar. Bane became a conduit through which the black magic flowed, the sixth rune now burning as brightly as the rest. Mind-bending agony transfixed him as the dark fire burnt through him in a torrent that would have incinerated a black mage.

  The seventh ward tottered as its foundations crumbled, pieces breaking off and thundering to the ground with resounding booms that shook the earth. Slowly, it leant, dust and pebbles cascading from it, crystals smashing. For a moment, it hung, defying gravity, then, like a mighty tree, it fell. The massive, grating boom rocked the ground, rolling away in a thunderous roar that echoed off the distant mountains and reverberated around the world. Rock smashed, crumbled, broke into sheets and chunks, crashed to the ground and broke again. Dust billowed up to veil its death in a pale shroud.

  Bane staggered, struggling to keep his feet as the earth heaved, cracks snaking across it, fissures opening to swallow streams of soil and grass. He strived to leash the power, dispersing what he could not hold, forcing the rest into his bones, his stomach churning. His vision became red-tinged as he bent and retched. He fought the weakness that invaded him, but sank to his knees. Drops of blood fell on the ground in front of him, dripping from his eyes. The agony of the fire’s aftermath made his flesh burn as if his skin was packed with hot coals. Lances of pain split his skull, and the power leashed in his bones became an instrument of exquisite torture, forcing a cry from him as he tasted blood, and wept it.

  Dark fire licked over his hands, beyond his control, and he fought to leash it. His lungs burnt and his heart laboured. He had absorbed too much. He could not contain it, and he had not dispersed enough. Now he was too exhausted to master it, and it was consuming him, breaking free to ravage his flesh.

  Cool hands gripped his arm, and the power flowed into them, reducing his suffering immensely. A soft cry made him turn to find the girl kneeling beside him, her expression agonised. Bane wrenched free, and she crumpled as his pain redoubled. He had control again, however, and leashed it savagely, the agony fading as the power subsided, trapped within him once more. His heart slowed, and cool air put out the fire in his lungs as he blinked blood from his eyes. The healer lay motionless, dust settling on her skin. He wondered if she was alive or dead, wishing he had the strength to find out. His vision dimmed, the world tilted, and he collapsed.

  For a long time, he lay barely conscious, racked by shivers and spasms. Dust settled on him and his temples pounded, but he was too weak to drink from the flask. He studied the blood-spotted soil under his nose, unable to lift his head. Waves of blackness washed over him, lulling him, and finally he surrendered to the mercy of its numbness as it rinsed away the pain.