Demon Lord IV - Lord of Shadows Page 5

  "What did you do to it?"

  Bane smiled. "I sent it my own illusion."

  "You should have destroyed it."

  "At that distance, my power would have been visible to the people in the street."

  Bashir rubbed his brow with a shaking hand, and Bane glanced around, his eyes settling upon the area in the middle of it, which was swept clean. A pentagram was chiselled into the floor, its grooves filled with blue powder. Three illusory wards hovered above it, brilliant and realistic. Bane walked closer to examine it, passing his hand through the illusions, which lacked the sting of power that the real one would possess.

  "Is it finished?"

  "Almost. I could activate it now, but I want to add more illusions."

  "Good."

  "How is Tygon?"

  Bane shrugged. "Well enough. Tired."

  "As am I, and I am sure Kimera and Shrea too."

  "Your wards are small compared to his."

  "Even so." He looked pensive. "Will that demon tell Vorkon what happened?"

  "No."

  "Do you know if Shrea and Kimera are all right?"

  "They are."

  Bashir looked relieved. "I was afraid at least one of us might perish in this endeavour."

  "You still may. It is not over yet."

  "No, of course not, but the wards are almost complete, are they not?"

  "Yes."

  "Once Vorkon is trapped by the -"

  Bashir broke off as Bane raised a hand. Another cry came in his mind, desperate, pleading. A powerful prayer, or one that he could hear far better than any before. It called his name and begged his aid, but he did not recognise the voice. He frowned, irresolute. The dark power within him sneered at the idea of going to some puny human's aid.

  Bashir stared at him as he considered the plea, which continued to call out to him, insistent, despairing. Who knew his name, and prayed to him so passionately? The prayer did not originate in the Overworld. Those he still heard from time to time, but he knew from whence they came. This one was from the Lightworld, a fair distance to the south. He had already left Tygon, and using his power in another location would draw Vorkon's attention away from the Rathgarian Wastelands. Indeed, perhaps another decoy was just what he needed.

  "I must go," he snapped.

  Bashir nodded, and Bane Moved.

  The dull roar and screams of a battle accosted Bane's senses as he reappeared atop a boulder, the familiar stench of blood and death assaulting his nose. At first he thought that it was another village being wiped out by a dark army, but there were no houses, only some wagons arranged in a circle. Soldiers defended what appeared to be a fortified encampment, but the fortifications were recent and slipshod, as if they had been erected in a hurry. A deep trench had been dug around the circled wagons, a wall of mud in front of it, bristling with sharpened stakes. Workmen toiled between the warriors, throwing up more mud to raise the wall and deepen the trench.

  Mud and blood almost obscured the soldiers' uniforms, but patches of royal blue cloth showed that they were Queen Kyan's men. Some of them carried silver tubes, but did not use them; most were armed with long pikes or narrow swords. Officers marched up and down the trench, shouting orders and encouragement, and beyond it, the enemy seethed like a black sea. An army of dark creatures hurled themselves against the fortifications, breaking through to die on the swords of the defenders, killing some. Beyond the dark army, several fire demons in true form stood sentinel, and beyond them, two black-clad figures.

  The prayer still clamoured in his mind, distracting him, and he looked around, searching for its source. A group of ragged people huddled beside one of the wagons, their hands clasped and heads bowed. No wonder it was so strong, never had a group begged his aid before. He jumped down and strode over to them, narrowly avoiding a group of men who ran past to reinforce the lines. Reaching the group, he stopped, but none of them noticed him, for their eyes were closed.

  "Enough!" he shouted. "I have heard you!"

  They fell silent and opened their eyes, cowering away from him. Bane rubbed his brow. "You are giving me a damned headache."

  A girl pushed her way out of the group and flung herself at his feet, trying to touch his boots. Bane backed away, avoiding her, and she raised her head, shaking back her wild black hair.

  "You came! Thank you, Demon Lord!"

  Bane opened his mouth to ask her how she knew his name, then recognised her as the girl whom he had saved in the doomed village, the one who had used fire. Without the ash covering her, she looked quite different, and was clad in a ragged, coarse grey gown and a brown shawl.

  "Save us!" she implored.

  Bane glanced around at the embattled troops. The dark power sneered at her plea, urging him to join the dark creatures and slay the troops instead. It despised the dirty, weak humans, and filled him with its disgust. He struggled against it, closing his eyes. Immediately the bright souls of the soldiers shone like a circle of stars in his mind, and beyond them, a seething sea of dull redness.

  The girl who knelt before him was radiant blue, and he wondered if Mirra's soul would be brighter. He opened his eyes and met hers, which were so dark that they were almost black. He was human too, like her, like the soldiers, no matter what the dark power urged. Bane swung away, his cloak flaring, ignoring her despairing cry. He strode to the boulder on which he had first appeared, and leapt onto it.

  The panorama of the battle lay all around him, and the men were losing. The wall had collapsed in two places, and dark creatures boiled through the gaps, meeting the defenders' swords and lances. Blood flowed and men screamed as the huge, malformed beasts ripped them apart or trampled them underfoot. Bane raised his head, seeking the black mages who stood in the distance, guiding their foul troops. He was aware of the girl standing beside the boulder, watching him with intense eyes. He raised his arms slowly, like a man stretching in the morning, summoning the dark power from his bones and releasing it into his flesh.

  Bane pointed at the distant mages, who were unaware of the threat, and lacked shields. Twin bolts of shadow spat from his fingers and arced across the muddy field, striking the warlocks. One leapt into the air with a piercing shriek, then exploded in a red haze of blood and guts. The other fell writhing, his skin blackening as his hair burst into flames. The demons had no time to flee, Bane unleashed four more bolts in quick succession, snuffing them out in flashes of foul fire.

  Bane lowered his arms and gazed down at the dark army, whose members had stopped hurling themselves at the mud wall. Many glowing red eyes turned to him, and a high, terrified keening came from some of them. The soldiers continued to hack and stab at them, oblivious to the fact that their foe no longer fought back. The tide turned, and the army surged away from the trench, seeking to flee the dark god who had appeared amongst their enemy.

  Bane opened his hands, revelling in his power, which exulted at the death that he was dealing out even if it was against its own kind. He raised his arms, and black fire poured from him, flashing past the soldiers to engulf the dark creatures. They screamed as it consumed them, exploding in gory splatters of blood and guts or collapsing to writhe before they became still.

  Like wheat before a scythe, they fell in a spreading circle all around the encampment as the fire overtook them. The shadows lapped at the dead forests beyond the fields, and a few dark creatures escaped into them. Bane let the fire die there, allowing the remainder to flow away into the ground as he leashed it into his bones.

  The soldiers stared dumbstruck at their fallen foes, their dirty faces stretched in expressions of amazement and disbelief. A few turned towards Bane, then a voice behind him shouted, "Black mage!"

  Bane started to glance around, and the girl shrieked, "No!"

  A rock struck him on the temple, and darkness slammed down.

  Kayos leapt out of his chair. "No!"

  Mirra gasped and cried, "Bane!"

  Within the Eye, Bane crumpled, his cloak flaring like dark win
gs trying futilely to hold him up. His knees hit the rock, then he slid sideways, landing beside it in an awkward tangle of arms and legs. Kayos gripped the edge of the Eye, willing Bane to sit up and show himself to be unharmed.

  The blow had been hard. The force of it had jerked Bane's head back, and Kayos' heart filled with dread. As he lay motionless, a group of ragged people gathered around him. Kayos' dread redoubled, but they appeared to be protecting the fallen dark god, and his immediate concern diminished. The Grey God gripped his hair and tugged it, a fierce scowl furrowing his brow.

  "Foolish mortals! He was helping you!" He swung away, paced in a circle, then faced the Eye again.

  Mirra's hands were clamped over her mouth, her wide eyes full of horror. Mithran stood behind her, gripping her shoulders as he frowned at the scene within the Eye. Grem swung away, rubbing his brow.

  "My Lord, help him!" Mirra cried, stretching forth her hands in a gesture of pleading.

  Kayos shook his head. "I cannot."

  His first instinct was to rush to Bane's aid, but the Demon Lord's use of power would have already drawn Vorkon's attention to the area.

  "Why not?" she demanded.

  Kayos stared into the Eye. Bane was in grave danger, and it was too late to go there and block Vorkon's Eye. He would know the location and come to investigate, which would put Kayos in danger too.

  "Vorkon will come after me if I do."

  "You cannot leave him there! Vorkon will kill him!"

  "I know. Let me think, child."

  Kayos ran a hand through his hair. Everything had been going so well. He had begun to hope that their plan might succeed without a hitch, but this was a very big one. Bane looked badly injured. What if he died? Vorkon would destroy his soul, and Kayos would be trapped in this dying domain. All because of an idiot with a rock. A fool with a stone might have decided the fate of this domain. It seemed too stupid to be possible. How could fate be so cruel? He paced around again, pondering the problem. He had to save Bane, but without being captured himself. If Bane died the future was gloomy indeed for everyone. Mirra watched him, biting her lips, her eyes filled with anguish.

  Shevra crouched over Bane like a tigress protecting her cub, glaring at the soldiers who had gathered beyond the ragged group that had come at her call. They were reluctant to get close to a dark god, but knew that he was the one who had just saved them. The soldiers seemed to think that he was a black mage, and shouted at the people who protected him. An officer pushed his way to the front of the mob.

  "What's going on here?" he demanded.

  "He's not a black mage!" Shevra bellowed. "He saved us! Who do you think killed the foul creatures? He did!"

  "Then he must be a black mage!" a soldier yelled.

  "No! He's not! He's a dark... god." Shevra's voice softened and trailed off on the last words as she realised that a dark god was far worse than a black mage by anyone's standards.

  "A what?" The officer frowned at her.

  "Please help him. Don't let them hurt him."

  The officer studied Bane, whose pale, impossibly fine skin was unmarred by dirt. Just the fact that he was clean told the soldier that Bane was either some sort of magician, or he had not been there long. He met the girl's pleading eyes again and shrugged.

  "Well someone killed the scum, and if it was him, he must be a friend." He turned to the men. "Back to your posts, all of you."

  The soldiers grumbled, but moved off, and Shevra looked down at the man who had saved them. A red mark marred his temple just below his glossy hair, and blood ran across his brow from a cut. He had come to her aid again, in answer to her prayer, and been struck down. She frowned. How could a dark god be struck down so easily, by a mere stone, albeit a big one? That question was for another time, however, right now he needed her help. She looked up at the ragged crowd of refugees.

  "Is there a healer amongst you?" They shook their heads, and Shevra's heart sank. She took hold of Bane's arm. "Help me get him to a tent."

  Four men lifted Bane out of the ash and carried him, shuffling and slipping, to one of the canvas tents that the soldiers were erecting, laying him on the rickety cot. Shevra knelt beside him, and someone brought a bowl of water and a rag, which she used to clean the cut on his temple. It seemed a trifling wound, but a swelling was forming under it. A wizened crone shuffled in with a bag and approached to examine Bane, shaking her head and sucking her toothless gums.

  "Eh, a bad un, that," she muttered, using a dirty, claw-like hand to pry open one of his eyes.

  "Are you a healer?" Shevra asked.

  "Nay, a medicine woman is all, but better'n nothin'. Still, ain't nothin' to be done for 'im. Either he wakes, or he don't."

  "He can't die, he's a god."

  The crone shook her head. "Mortal, he is. Only mortals bleed."

  "A mortal god, yes."

  "Then 'e can die. But he don't look like no god I ever saw before."

  "How many have you seen?"

  The old medicine woman smiled. "None. But I 'eard plenty of stories, mark my words."

  "Fictional ones," Shevra muttered.

  The crone cupped a hand to her ear. "Eh?"

  "Thank you."

  "Twas nothing, lass."

  The medicine woman shuffled out, mumbling, and Shevra turned to gaze at Bane, laying a hand on his brow. She noticed that the blood that had clotted in his hair had vanished, which intrigued her. Experimentally she smeared a little ash on his cheek, and her eyes widened as it slowly vanished.

  "Syrin!"

  Kayos turned as the angel stepped from the air, his hair dishevelled by his tugging at it. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

  "What ails you, My Lord?"

  "Bane has been struck down."

  "How?"

  Kayos gestured. "A stone, thrown at him. He had no shields. Where were you?"

  "Resting. You require my help?" A sly smile curled her lips.

  "He does. Do not taunt me, Syrin."

  "Why do you not heal him?"

  "I intend to, but I must Move him here first. Vorkon will have sensed Bane's use of his power, and will have cast his Eye there. If he saw Bane struck down, he will go there at once to slay him, and when he finds him gone, he will vent his rage upon those people Bane just saved. I need you to go there and warn them, tell them to flee."

  "A messenger?" Her expression brightened.

  "Yes. A warning. You will save them."

  "A messenger of the great god Kayos, one of the Seven, Creator -"

  "Just tell them to flee. There is no time for flowery oratories."

  She pouted. "I like flowery oratories."

  "And while you are listing my titles, Vorkon will rise and kill Bane."

  "He may do so while you argue with me, too."

  "Then go!"

  Her lower lip protruded, childlike. "There is no need to shout."

  "At times like these, Syrin, I wish I could hurt you."

  The angel gasped, then turned and stepped into the air, leaving him wondering if she was going to obey. Mirra sat on the bed, Mithran beside her with his arm around her shoulders, staring at Bane's peaceful face in the Eye as tears ran down her cheeks.

  Chapter Four

  Havoc

  Shevra looked up as the officer she had spoken to earlier entered the tent. A slender, youthful soldier with a kindly face and short brown hair followed him, carrying a bag.

  "This is our doctor," the officer said, "though we have many wounded."

  She forced a wan smile. "Thank you."

  The officer left, and the soldier approached the bed, sitting on the edge of it and opening his bag. His hazel eyes raked Bane as he dug in it.

  "So you believe he is a god?"

  "He is."

  The doctor smiled. "He looks like a man to me."

  "That's because you have no eyes to see with."

  He chuckled. "He might be a renegade black mage, I suppose."

  "No."

  "Well, let's se
e if this god of yours has a decent pulse."

  The doctor drew out an odd instrument made of tubes and plugged it into his ears, leaning forward to unbutton Bane's shirt and pull it open. He recoiled with a curse.

  "Goddess."

  Shevra also drew back, staring at the scars on Bane's chest, then she leant forward to study them. "Runes of power." Her fingers traced one. "And protection. This one..." she hesitated. "For control, I think. Another for power."

  The doctor frowned. "They look like old burns, but they are not properly healed."

  Shevra nodded. "The fire comes from within him."

  The doctor snorted and leant forward, pressing the metal end of the tube to Bane's chest. "Good strong heart beat."

  Removing the instrument from his ears, he placed his hands on the edges of the swelling on Bane's temple, pressing. "A depressed skull fracture."

  "Which means?"

  "He probably has bleeding on the brain, and swelling. Chances are he will die."

  "You can't save him?"

  He shook his head. "He needs an operation, but it's beyond me. Give him this, if you can." He handed her a packet of powder. "Mix it with water. It will help to stop the swelling."

  "Thank you."

  The doctor closed his bag and rose, then paused in the doorway to glance back at her. "If he was a god, he would heal himself."

  "Perhaps he will."

  "I hope so. Too many have died here today."

  Shevra watched him leave, then hunted for a cup and filled it with water, emptying the powder into it. As she stirred it, a commotion outside drew her attention as voices rose in a babble of confusion and wonder. Curious, she rose and went to the flap to see what was going on, stopping just outside the tent. She gasped, almost dropping the cup as she followed the crowd's pointing fingers and spied the reason for their awed babble.

  A glowing figure hung in the air some ten feet above the ground, the slow beat of enormous, snow white wings supporting it. The description of legends ensured that there was no mistaking what the apparition was, and Shevra stared at it, awestruck. Some of the crowd had fallen to their knees, and their cries died away as the angel lifted her hands. She spoke in a musical, fluting voice.