Demon Lord VI - Son of Chaos Read online

  The angel opened his eyes and stood up, coming to stand before him, looking a little smug. “What do you wish, Lord?”

  “At least two more of you.”

  Tryne tilted his head. “What great feat requires three angels?”

  Drevarin glanced at Bane. “I must touch his spirit.”

  The angel’s eyes widened. “Just how powerful is he, Lord?”

  “Hard to tell, but let me put it to you this way: all the time I have spent restoring him has not put back even a tenth of his energy.”

  “And three of us will be sufficient?”

  Drevarin sipped his ambrosia. “All I require of you is to anchor me, so if it goes wrong and his spirit is freed, it will not draw mine after it.”

  “Must you heal it?”

  “If I do not, the dark power will attack the weakness as soon as he Gathers it. Evil abhors frailty, that is why he is so strong. He has adapted so he could wield more and more, but now he has a fatal flaw. Eventually it will kill him, unless he never uses his power again.”

  Tryne nodded. “Then he must be healed. I will call upon two of my kin. He will owe the favours.”

  “No, I will take them on.”

  “As you wish, My Lord.”

  Tryne turned and stepped into the air, leaving Drevarin to sip his ambrosia and ponder the dangerous task ahead.

  Nikira paced around next to the shredder room window, anxious about the reason for Drevarin’s rebuff. How had she offended him now? Would he ever speak to her again, or had he shunned her? Had he finished healing the tar’merin, or was he just taking a break? How much longer would it take? Why did he now keep them locked out of the room? Had something gone wrong? The possibility that Drevarin would not be able to save the tar’merin made her cringe inwardly with shame. If that happened, the people in the hold would riot. Why did she have to be the one to capture this man who appeared to be a dra’voren, but was in fact so highly valued by creators that one had actually come to save him? Remembering Ethra, still locked in a cabin, she ordered a nearby contech to fetch the girl.

  The contech returned looking cross and dishevelled, gripping Ethra’s wrist in one hand and a sharpened plastic spoon in the other. Nikira smiled at the girl’s ingenuity, for she had clearly been using the spoon to try to escape, and probably to attack the contech as well. Ethra wore a thunderous scowl, her arms reddened where she had scuffled with the man, who had been unable to explain the situation while they were away from Bane. When she spotted the scene in the shredder room, she jerked free of her captor and ran to the window, elbowing aside contechs and scientists with no regard for their rank.

  “Who is he?” she asked when Nikira reached her side.

  “His name’s Drevarin. An angel summoned him.”

  “Angels don’t summon gods.”

  “Well, asked for his help then.”

  Ethra shot her a worried glance. “Is Bane going to be all right?”

  “Drevarin’s healing him.”

  “He looks better, so why is he still asleep?”

  Nikira shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I want to go in there.”

  “Drevarin won’t let anyone in.”

  Ethra gazed through the window for several minutes, her eyes bright with tears. “I must tell the others.”

  Nikira ordered the contech to take Ethra down to the hold and reunite her with her group, then settled down to resume her vigil. Moments later, she jumped up with a gasp that was echoed by everyone in the room as three angels stepped from the air beside Drevarin and bowed to him. One of the newcomers was a man with curly chestnut hair and slanted hazel eyes, the other a willowy woman with red locks and green eyes, and the third was the one who had left earlier. They all possessed the same ethereal grace and wore the same tattered silken garb.

  “Good grief,” Drontar muttered. “Are they having a convention?”

  A qualm passed through Drevarin now that his task was at hand, and he waved away his cup of ambrosia. The newcomers appeared to be older than Tryne, but with angels it was hard to tell.

  Tryne said, “These are Lyris and Pryad, Lord.”

  “You have explained the task?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Good, let us begin.”

  Drevarin lay down on his couch, and the angels came to stand beside him, each laying a hand upon his chest. Closing his eyes, he permitted himself to sink back into the semi-sleep that allowed him to guide the white power deep within Bane. When he had achieved the required state and schooled himself to serenity, he reformed the conduits of light between them.

  Once more he sent the light into the Demon Lord, seeking the place where the damage lay, his every instinct warning him away. He had considered sending Tryne to seek a Grey God, but the odds of finding one within a decade were slim, even for an angel, or a dozen angels, for that matter. He had also considered allowing Bane to recover so he could find Kayos, but if he was embattled he would not be able to help. This was the only option, yet he longed to shy away from it. Steeling himself for the backlash, he sent a filament of power into the shimmering greyness that was the damaged area. Bane’s soul flared, its power washing through Drevarin in a wave of white-hot energy, and he writhed.

  Nikira bit her lip as Drevarin appeared to have a mild seizure. For an instant he became a figure formed of light, then it faded and the conduits between him and Bane pulsed. A moment later the tar’merin’s back arched, and his lips drew back in a grimace of pain.

  Enyo swore. “What the hell are they doing?”

  “I wish I knew,” Nikira mourned.

  Drevarin writhed again, his hands clenching, then Bane did the same. Blue fire sparkled at his fingertips, making several people gasp. When the seizure passed, he lay gasping, a faint film of sweat sheening his brow. The creator showed no signs of physical distress, but a deep frown furrowed his brow.

  “This is supposed to be healing him?” Drontal muttered. “Looks more like he’s trying to kill him.”

  Drevarin sent the filament of light questing a final time, forcing it to touch the last fragment of shimmering greyness. The wave of soul energy made him bite his lip in agony, then it passed, and he relaxed, sensing Bane’s physical reaction to the intrusion a moment later. The strain had taxed them both, but the Demon Lord had paid a heavier price, since his mortal form was susceptible to injury. The power Drevarin poured into him ensured that any damage was instantly healed, but it did not undo the drain on Bane’s strength. That would require more work. Drevarin examined the area minutely, braving another two weaker flares of soul energy to be certain that the damage had been completely healed. When he was sure, he opened his eyes and smiled up at the angels.

  “It is done. You may go.”

  Lyris and Pryad bowed and stepped into the air, but Tryne remained, cocking his head with a slight smile. “I will stay.”

  “Please yourself.” Drevarin closed his eyes again and sank back into the healing sleep, continuing to strengthen the Demon Lord.

  ***

  Bane drifted up through the darkness, becoming aware of the soft couch upon which he lay, and the lack of pain. It seemed like a pleasant dream, for he knew that reality was quite different, so he tried to cling to it. His rise back to consciousness slowed, and more sensations seeped into him. Becoming aware of two beings close by, he discovered that one could only be a god. His soul light was too brilliant to be anything else. Turning his head towards the new soul, Bane opened his eyes.

  A stranger sat on a cloud couch beside him, sipping ambrosia and smiling. “Welcome back.”

  Bane rolled onto his side, finding that he also lay on a cloud couch, and some of his strength had returned. Raising himself on one elbow, he bowed his head as a wave of dizziness washed over him, then looked up at the stranger again.

  “Who are you?”

  The light god beamed, his eyes sparkling. “I am Drevarin.”

  “Tryne brought you.”

  “Just in time.”
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  “I owe you my life.”

  Drevarin inclined his head and smiled. “I had that privilege, but think nothing of it. Saving a tar’merin is an honour. Through you and your deeds, my name will live in legend.”

  Bane sat up and swung his legs off the couch, rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair. He looked around at the strange room with its many protuberances and the black lodestones in their niches, then glanced down at himself, discovering that he was clad in his own clothes.

  “How long have I been unconscious?”

  “Two days since I got here. The idiots who captured you had almost succeeded in killing you.”

  Bane summoned a cup of ambrosia and drank from it. “What else have you to tell me?”

  “The shackles you wore damaged your spirit bond. I healed it, so the weakness that plagued you will not return. These people are godless and therefore ignorant, which is why they did not recognise Tryne.” He smiled again. “They did not even know what I was at first.”

  “Fools.”

  “Their leader is preparing to beg your forgiveness, I should imagine. I told her to be eloquent, but they lack any form of etiquette.”

  Bane glared at the window, where many faces peered into the room. Putting aside the goblet, he rose, testing his strength. Finding it sufficient, he strode over to the window and slammed his palm against it. The glass turned to steel.

  Drevarin chuckled. “They have glass eyes in the corners too.”

  “What about the machine that gave me a headache?”

  “I disabled that.”

  “Good.” Bane glanced up at a lens just under the ceiling, and raised his arm. Blue fire spat from his fingers and smashed it, and he did the same to the other three. Satisfied, he returned to the couch and picked up the cup.

  “You are angry,” Drevarin commented.

  “Immensely.” Bane studied the ambrosia in his cup, then glanced up at Drevarin. “Did anyone tell you about Kayos?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you scried him?”

  Drevarin grimaced. “I have been busy restoring your strength, as much as I can.”

  “Will you do it now?”

  Drevarin waved an Eye into being and sought Kayos within it. A dull landscape of grey rock and yellow sky formed, a shimmering silver sphere at the centre of the image. A tall figure clad in dark red, his head covered with crimson feathers, stood beside the sphere, holding a shining key. Bane leant forward to study the image as the dark god looked around. Drevarin recoiled from his baleful glare.

  “What is he doing?” Bane asked.

  Drevarin shook his head. “I do not know.”

  “Can a key open a... What do you call that thing?”

  “A shield sphere. Not as far as I know, but then, my knowledge is limited.”

  Bane glanced at him. “You are young?”

  “Yes.”

  “That makes two of us.” He studied the image, while Drevarin grew increasingly nervous.

  “Have you seen enough?”

  “Yes.” Bane straightened as the light god waved the Eye into nothingness. “That makes you uneasy?”

  “He knew I was watching him.”

  “So?”

  “So dark gods glaring at me make me nervous.” Bane looked away, and Drevarin added, “I did not mean you.”

  “I am a dark god.”

  “You are tar’merin.”

  Bane nodded. “But that does not stop people and gods from trying to kill me.”

  “And sometimes it makes them save your life.”

  “True.” Bane sipped his ambrosia. “I must save Kayos.”

  “You must rest first. I could only give you back a little strength.”

  “We do not know how much time he has left.”

  “He is a Grey God, and further, he is Kayos. I am certain, whatever that dark god is trying to do, Kayos knows a dozen ways to thwart him.”

  “I will not chance it.”

  Drevarin looked thoughtful. “This vessel is quite amazing. It is invisible, and it travels through the God Realm safely. It could take you to Kayos while you rest.”

  “An interesting idea. I would have to summon a demon hound for it to follow.”

  “These people can also vanquish dark gods in this room.”

  Bane glanced up at the lodestones. “That would send him into the nearest domain, where he would wreak havoc.”

  “True. Do you mean to try to destroy him then? He looked powerful.”

  “I do not know.” Bane gazed into his cup.

  “I would be honoured to accompany you and offer you any aid I can provide.”

  “Do you not have a domain?”

  “Yes, but it does not require my constant supervision.”

  Bane sipped his ambrosia, and then glanced at the door. “I suppose I should speak to Nikira now.”

  “Bit of a role reversal there, I would say.” Drevarin grinned.

  Bane smiled. “More than a bit.”

  “You could give her horns and a tail, although that would be a shame. She is quite pretty.”

  “I would require my power for that, and I cannot Gather in here.”

  “That was a joke.” Drevarin shook his head and stood up, waving away his cup. “What you do to her is your choice, naturally, but I do not recommend horns and a tail. I shall leave you to it, and tell her to come in, shall I?”

  Bane nodded and addressed Tryne, who sat unobtrusively in the corner. “You will have to wait until after I have rescued Kayos for your favour, Tryne. Leave me now.”

  The angel rose and stepped into the air, leaving Bane to gaze down at his cup of ambrosia. Drevarin’s couch floated in front of him, and he pushed it aside. Nikira would need somewhere to kneel. His anger simmered within him, requiring release.

  ***

  Nikira paced around her office, her stomach quivering with dread. Almost half an hour ago, Enyo had informed her that the tar’merin had woken, and had sealed the window and knocked out the cameras. It sounded like he was angry, and that boded ill for her and her crew. Would he destroy her ship? She recalled the angel’s words, running through them again. Would his advice save them? She jumped as the comscreen beeped, and activated it with her heart pounding in her throat. Enyo’s face filled it, looking worried.

  “Drevarin just came out. The... uh... Demon Lord wishes to speak to you. Those were his words.”

  “The tar’merin is called the Demon Lord?”

  “Apparently.”

  Nikira nodded and closed the connection, clinging to her desk as a wave of intense dread froze her blood. Gathering her courage, she went to the door and let herself out, making her way with measured steps to the containment room. The atmosphere in it was tense and hushed, and Drevarin stood to one side, leaning against the wall. His dark eyes impaled her with a cold glance, and any thought of begging him for help evaporated. Her only source of hope was the fact that the people who had put the shackles on Bane had been allowed to live, and he had even helped them.

  How could he then kill her and her crew? They had done worse, a little voice shouted in the back of her mind. Far worse. She stopped beside the door, her breath coming in short gasps, her stomach a tight knot. Bile stung her throat, and she swallowed hard, nodding at Enyo to open the door. It slid aside with a tortured screech, and she almost ran. She glanced down at the gold braid on her cuffs and forced her legs to move.

  The shredder room’s bright lights made her squint, and she jumped when the door slid shut behind her. She had not ordered Enyo to close it. With flinching eyes, she looked over at the cloud couch where the tar’merin sat with his head bowed, his hair hiding his face. Her feet seemed to be glued to the floor, and she lifted them with an effort, approaching the black-clad man. She had returned his clothes, cleaned and mended, but Drevarin had been the one who had dressed him.

  The long black cloak fell from his shoulders in graceful folds, the crimson lining gleaming like a pool of blood in which he sat, and which fell
to the floor under the couch. When she was within a few paces of him, her courage ran out, and she stopped. Her throat was dry and her tongue refused to move. Her shaking knees buckled, and she sank down on them.

  The Demon Lord raised his head, his hair sliding back to reveal his cold, perfectly chiselled face. He opened eyes the shade of a flame’s blue heart and regarded her from beneath sharply angled brows.

  Nikira wanted to run, but forced her tongue to move instead. “I... I...” She gulped and tried again. “I beg your forgiveness.” The words came out in a rush, and his nostrils flared. Nikira clasped her shaking hands in her lap and looked down at them. The sight of him was too terrifying. “I beg your forgiveness. We didn’t know.”

  She cursed herself, remembering Drevarin’s avowal that this was not an excuse. “We destroy dra’voren...” She shook her head, recalling the angel’s words. “I beg for your forgiveness, and swear to... to aid you however we can, and to... We will be your loyal servants... and... I will do whatever you wish and if you want to kill someone, kill me, but let my crew live.”

  A tense silence fell, and she tried to remember what else she was supposed to say, but her mind was blank. She listened to the soft sound of his breaths while she waited for him to do something, dreading what that might be.

  “What did you do to me?” His voice was soft.

  “I... We... You don’t remember?”

  “No. Tell me.”

  Hope flared in her, and she grabbed it. “We... we captured you and... the lodestones took your power... then we questioned you. Then you got sick.”

  “That is all?”

  “Yes.” She bit her lip, hating herself. This was wrong. They had done terrible things to him, and she deserved to be punished. “No. We starved you and held you prisoner. We allowed you to suffer for days and we didn’t heal your arm or your eyes. We used the stunner on you, several times. We experimented on you, and we didn’t believe you when you told us what you were. We were going to kill you.”