Demon Lord IV - Lord of Shadows Read online

  Dawn was predictably cold, dark and windy, and Tygon complained bitterly as he warmed himself beside the stone and ate a breakfast of sugary confections. He had apparently decided that the sooner he created the ward, the sooner he could leave, for he set to work with a will, although not without complaint. He cleared the last of the grass and soil from the pentagram that he had marked, and then began to chisel the ward into the rock.

  Bane watched with interest as Tygon struck the rock with a fist sheathed in blue fire, and each blow cut a deep, perfect 'V' in the stone, as long as his fist. The stone within the groove was turned to dust, and the wind whipped it into his face, turning it grey with blue spots. Bane chuckled, but managed to keep a straight face whenever Tygon glanced at him. To pass the time, he lost himself in pleasant memories, something he had been unable to do for a while.

  Late in the afternoon, Tygon finished chiselling the solid ward and sat down to admire it, drinking from his flask to celebrate. Bane offered no congratulations, and Tygon pouted, shooting him a sulky glare. After resting for several minutes, he rose and walked over to the line of blue powder that marked one of the sides of the ward. He paced up and down the line, chanting under his breath, making arcane motions with his hands. Bane took a little more interest in this strange ritual, although he was sure that it was superfluous.

  Tygon stopped next to the stone that he had placed at the end of the line the day before. Raising his arms, he summoned the blue power, which, Bane had discovered, flowed from the air with little effort on the part of the mage. Tygon pointed at the end of the line of blue powder, and magic arced from his fingers to strike the earth, spreading along the line. The blue fire ate downwards, creating a hairline crack along which the ward would rise. Bane yawned and closed his eyes, sinking back into happy memories.

  That evening passed much like the first, but Tygon was tired and silent, eating his food and then curling up to sleep. The next day he created the second and third sides, finishing just before darkness fell. On the third day he created the last two sides, looking drained and exhausted at the end of it, and falling asleep without eating. The following day he was weak, and the flesh had melted from him, leaving him gaunt and hollow-eyed. The toll that the blue power had taken on the mage surprised Bane. Wielding it had never tired him at all, but then, Tygon was only a man.

  The prince ate a little food before he began to work, which appeared to give him some strength. Bane understood why the blue mages of the Overworld had died creating their wards, and wondered if Tygon would survive his. The mage filled the grooves of the solid ward with blue powder, then moved beyond the cracks that he had created and summoned his power. Unlike the dark power, there was no visible manifestation of a blue Gather. It remained invisible until it was concentrated and focused. Once he had established a flow from the air, Tygon pointed at the cracks, and the blue fire poured from him in a shining river, filling them until they glowed. He continued until they blazed with blinding incandescence, forcing Bane to look away.

  As the radiance grew so dazzling that it lighted the clouds with a strange blue shimmer, a soft, grating crack came from deep within the earth, and it shivered. With ponderous majesty, the mighty ward began to rise, birthed from its aeons-old womb. Its edges grated together with a deep, earth-shuddering rumble. It drifted upwards, raised by the tremendous amount of blue power that Tygon poured into it. The prince closed his eyes and tilted back his head as he concentrated on his task, lines of strain bracketing his mouth and eyes. The huge stone rose four feet above the ground, then five, revealing fresh cut grey rock, raw from its earthen womb. Beads of sweat formed on Tygon's brow and ran down his cheeks, dripping from his chin. The chill wind had no effect on him now; his effort was so intense that his body burnt as if with fever.

  When the ward towered fifty feet above him, Tygon slumped to the ground. The flow of blue fire winked out, and the ward settled back about ten feet, then stopped and rose slightly before becoming still. Bane went to Tygon and knelt beside him, studying the mage's pinched, grey, blue-spotted features. His eyes had dark circles of exhaustion around them, and his lips were bloodless. The Demon Lord scooped him up and carried him into the lee of the rock wall, laying him in the hollow in which he slept. He considered trying to rouse him, then decided against it, letting him rest. The prince was at the end of his strength, and it would jeopardise the plan if he perished before he had completed his task. Bane heated the stone and settled down to sleep, watching the red glow fade from the clouds as the sun sank.

  When Bane woke, a new dark day had dawned, and he stretched, prodding Tygon awake. The prince groaned and rubbed his face with a shaking hand, frowning as he looked around in confusion. Bane helped him to sit up and handed him his flask of wine. He drank from it, gazing at the massive ward sitting in its blazing rim of blue fire. Bane dug in the pack and extracted a parcel of sticky confections, offering them to the prince.

  Tygon grimaced and shook his head. "I am not hungry."

  "Eat."

  The prince met his eyes. "I cannot."

  "You will, or I shall stuff it down you."

  "You do have a way with words."

  "I do what I must."

  Tygon took a sugary pastry. "I thought it was a novel privilege to be served by a god, but now I feel more like a lamb being fattened for slaughter."

  "You have work to do."

  "I do not know if I can do anything today."

  "We have been lucky so far. No warlock, hound or demon has stumbled upon us or sensed your power, but that will not last. We cannot waste time."

  "I am not trying to waste time," Tygon protested. "I do not have the strength right now."

  "That is why you must eat."

  Tygon waved the pastry. "I am."

  "Get on with it then."

  The prince nibbled the pastry a little faster, and Bane watched him. The waiting was getting on his nerves, and the risk of discovery increased with each day that they remained in one place, using the blue power. He could not force the prince to work any faster, however, he was already at his limit.

  A familiar sensation tingled in the back of his mind. A voice cried his name and begged his aid. Kimera. Jumping up, he found her location from her prayer and Moved.

  Bane reappeared in a ruined arena, its weathered stones ancient and crumbling. Parts of it had been broken by the trees that had invaded it, and dead ferns poked from the tumbled stones of the stepped stands. Desiccated vines crawled over them like black snakes, and ash covered everything in a grey shroud. To one side was a podium where once the winners of duels and games had stood to receive the accolades of the crowd.

  Kimera crouched before it, her arms raised, a blue shield shimmering over her. It wavered and warped under the attack of the black mage who stood a few paces away, hurling bolts of shadow with vicious gestures. The surge of dark power that accompanied Bane made the warlock look around, and his eyes widened. Bane raised his hands, and the mage tried to Move, but did not complete the first gesture. The dark power engulfed him, blackened his skin and crisped his hair, and he died with a choked howl.

  Kimera let her shields fall and slumped against the podium, sobbing. Bane walked over to her.

  "He is dead."

  Kimera nodded, but continued to weep, covering her face. Bane studied the half completed ward carved into the stone podium, lines of runes circling it. He recognised some of them, and could decipher a little of their meaning. Mostly they were for protection and strength, adding to the ward's already considerable power. He looked down at Kimera.

  "I cannot stay long. Are you unharmed?"

  She wiped her eyes and nodded again, then rose to her feet, her face pale with shock. "Thank you for coming."

  "I said that I would." His eyes swept over her. "But you did not believe me."

  "I did not think that my life was worth your intervention."

  "It is not, but the ward is."

  "Of course." She clasped her hands to still their trembl
ing.

  Bane glanced at the incomplete ward again, noticing the chisel and hammer that lay beside it. "You use tools?"

  "I am not a stone master."

  "How long before it is finished?"

  "A day, perhaps two."

  Bane nodded. "Good."

  "How fair the others?"

  "Well." He turned and walked away. "I must go."

  Kimera raised her hand in a forlorn gesture of farewell which he did not see, and after ten paces, he vanished, his power making her shiver. She glanced at the body of the mage and shuddered, recalling how close she had been to death herself before Bane had appeared.

  Kayos straightened when Bane vanished from the Eye, a slight frown tugging at his brows, and Syrin rose to stand behind him and gaze into it. Mirra tensed, and Mithran put a soothing hand on her shoulder. Within moments, a new image formed as the Eye followed Bane to the ruined arena in Rith Forest. After the brief confrontation, Syrin returned to her seat on the bed, and Kayos leant back in his chair once more.

  The door burst open, and the high priestess tottered in, clutching her chest. "A hound!" she gasped. "Beyond the hallowed ground. Vorkon has found you, My Lord."

  Kayos stood and dismissed the Eye. "Flee at once, high priestess."

  "Yes, My Lord."

  As soon as she had left, Kayos turned to Syrin. "I would prefer that you left this domain."

  She cast him a coy smile. "You fear for me?"

  "No, I fear for those with whom you will meddle."

  Her eyes glinted. "Like the villagers I saved?"

  "Bane saved them, not you."

  "I will not leave." She pouted, then stepped into the air and vanished.

  Kayos held out his hands to the three people, who snatched up their possessions and grasped them. They reappeared in a church that was as far away from the one that he had just left as he could find. This time he chose to remain invisible, not wishing to reveal his presence, even to the priestesses. He disliked interacting with mortals, finding it tedious at best, and tiresome when they clamoured for his blessing. Besides, this was Drayshina's domain, and too many sightings of him would gain him worshippers that he did not want. Keeping his companions within the shroud of invisibility, he wandered through the church until he found another empty cell to settle in, where he sat once more and created an Eye.

  Vorkon glared down at the six black mages who knelt before him, then glanced around at the demons and droges that attended him. He stood outside the vast temple of black rock that he had raised around the Source that he had created, deep within the kingdom of Daord. The mages could not enter it, the dark power inside was too intense.

  "You are useless!" he shouted at the warlocks, who cowered. "Eleven of your number he has already slain, and still you cannot find him. The blue mages hide on hallowed ground, out of my reach, and the Grey God eludes me as Drayshina did. What is the tar'merin doing? I must know! I want him dead, so that I may destroy his soul. He is a mortal. An arrow through the heart will kill him."

  "Perhaps if you torture the goddess, he will come to her aid," a mage suggested.

  "He will not, you fool, he is not stupid. He is up to something, I can feel it. You must find him!"

  Vorkon turned and marched back into the temple, leaving the mages to stare at his retreating back with bleak expressions. For them, finding Bane was a death sentence, and they knew it.

  Vorkon walked past the Source, enjoying the cool, refreshing touch of its power, and continued towards the back of the temple, where a shallow pit housed the flesh creature. Drayshina lay gripped in its many hands, and several of its misshapen legs were chained to the floor, anchoring it, and her.

  Vorkon stopped at the edge of the pit and stared down at her. Her serene expression irritated him as she lay, apparently relaxed, her eyes closed. A blue nimbus surrounded her, testament to the vast amounts of dark power within the temple. He had taunted and tortured her, but neither had brought him anything other than the satisfaction of doing it, for she refused to speak. Her screams had been pleasant, but the threat of the tar'merin had distracted him from his enjoyment of them. The fact that his enemy still lived infuriated him, and that he was hiding so successfully, blocking Vorkon's Eye, annoyed him even more. The destruction of one of his armies and several of his mages soured his mood further, and all in all, apart from capturing Drayshina, things were not going well since the tar'merin had appeared. That would change, however, as soon as one of his mages, hounds or demons found him, of that, he was certain. Then the upstart traitor would die, and his soul would be destroyed forever.

  Shevra crouched in the gutter beside the road, shivers racking her in gut-wrenching waves. Two days of walking had brought her to this desolate spot, but then, everywhere was bleak. After she had left her devastated home, the skies had darkened again, and she had paused often to gaze back at the grey spot in the clouds behind her. Eventually it had darkened, and she had trudged on, hungry and tired. Pools of water in the gutter had provided her with something to drink, although it was foul and muddy. She had dampened her skirt and wiped the ash from her face and arms, brushing it out of her hair to try to get rid of the stench of death that still clung to her.

  The nights were terrifying, dark and cold, and the shadows had seeped into her while she lay in the gutter. She woke often, shivering with terror and cold, her stomach a tight knot. Now that she knew that the dark creatures were real, and had seen their horrific forms, she dreaded that they would find her and tear her apart. Without flint and iron she could not make a fire; her talent did not include creating it. She wondered at the wisdom of leaving her town, where there was some shelter and perhaps even a little food. The survivors would have to go to a city, and she could have gone with them. She followed the road that the supply wagons used, which had to lead to a city, and anyone else from her town would use the same track, yet she had seen no one. Perhaps they were behind her, and if she waited, they would catch up.

  The sound of voices made her stiffen in alarm, then raise her head to peer over the edge of the gutter. A group of about a dozen ragged people walked along the road towards her, but they were heading in the direction from whence she had come. Even so, they were a welcome sight, and she did not care where they were going. She crawled out of the gutter, and the group hurried towards her with exclamations of concern. A thin, bearded man crouched beside her and gave her clean water from a flask, and a plump, motherly woman put a blanket over her shoulders.

  "Where do you come from?" the man enquired.

  "Abardon."

  "It's fallen?"

  Shevra nodded, pulling the blanket closer. "Gone. Destroyed."

  The man glanced at his fellows. "That's where we were going. No point now, I suppose."

  "No. Go to the city."

  He nodded, and the plump woman thrust a chunk of journey bread into her hands. She tore at it. "Thank you."

  "Are you the only survivor?"

  "No, there were others. They're probably a day behind me. We were saved by a dark god."

  The man frowned. "A dark god."

  "Yes."

  "Saved you?"

  "Yes. He destroyed the dark army."

  "Vorkon?" The man looked sceptical. "I think you've been through a grave trauma, lass."

  "I'm not mad, and it wasn't Vorkon. He's called Bane, the Demon Lord."

  "I've never heard of such a god. Perhaps it was a black mage?"

  She smiled, shaking her head. "No. He destroyed an entire dark army with a single stroke of magic."

  "Why would a god destroy his own army?"

  "It wasn't his army, it was Vorkon's."

  "So he's a rival?" The man glanced at his fellows again, who looked grim. "There are now two dark gods battling for this world? We're doomed for sure, if that be the case."

  "No, you don't understand. He saved us. He told me so. That's why he came."

  "So he's a good dark god." He smiled. "If there was any sun, I'd say you'd been out in it for too lo
ng, girl."

  "You don't have to believe me, but that's what happened."

  "All right." He nodded and rose to his feet. "Can you walk?"

  Shevra stood, clutching the blanket, and the plump woman put an arm around her shoulders as the group headed back the way they had come, towards the city.

  Bane did not Move directly to the seventh ward, instead, he reappeared several leagues away, so that if Vorkon sensed his power, it would not give away the ward's location. That left him with a long, cold walk, which he did not enjoy. When he arrived at the ward, he found the prince consort slouched behind the barrier, clutching a wine skin. In his terror at being left alone, he had consumed his entire supply, and on an empty stomach to boot. He looked up with a lopsided grin when Bane loomed over him, and held out the almost empty wine skin.

  "The great god returns! 'Ave a drink!"

  Bane growled and bent to grip Tygon's collar, yanking him to his feet. "You worthless piece of human dung. You are weak! A coward!"

  Tygon plucked at Bane's hands. "You left me to die, you bastard!"

  "I am tempted to kill you myself!"

  "You cannot, you need me! And I needed a drink!"

  "I hope you enjoy it coming up as much as you did it going down."

  Tygon scowled at him, bleary-eyed. "What do you mean?"

  Bane allowed a little dark power to flow from his hands, and Tygon went green, then bent over and vomited, bringing up copious amounts of sour wine.

  "That," Bane murmured, releasing him and walking away in disgust.

  "You bastard," Tygon groaned, coughing and gasping as he retched. When the bout of sickness had passed, Tygon sat blank-eyed, his face pinched and drawn. Bane was tempted to summon a large amount of cold water and dump it over the prince, but considering the freezing wind, decided that it might not be advisable. Instead he dug in the consort's pack until he found a flask of water, then knelt beside him and held it out. Tygon scowled at him and tried to knock it from his hands with an ill-aimed blow.