Demon Lord VI - Son of Chaos Read online

“What do you want me to do?”

  “Keep recording everything they say. Put it on a databar, and I’ll take it close to him, perhaps that’ll translate it. For as long as they stay on the ship, we keep studying them. I hope Drevarin stays, I feel better when he’s around.”

  Enyo nodded. “I can’t get over the fact that he looks so... normal. I always thought a creator would be made of light or something.”

  “I reckon he can look like anything he wants. The tar’merin probably can too.”

  Enyo grunted and turned to gaze at the screen. “Who would have thought that gods need to sleep?”

  ***

  Bane woke with a splitting headache, and his mouth tasted like something had crawled into it and died. Grimacing, he sat up and swung his legs off the couch, rubbing his brow. Drevarin lounged on his couch, sipping ambrosia, and smiled at him.

  “Sore head?”

  Bane nodded and winced. “I had almost forgotten the penalty for indulging in too much wine.”

  Drevarin rose and approached to lay a hand on Bane’s shoulder. The headache vanished, and Bane sighed and summoned his own cup as Drevarin returned to his couch. The ambrosia, he discovered, had the peculiar and most welcome ability to banish the foul taste from his mouth after one sip, leaving a clean, minty taste. Bane glanced down at Mirra as she yawned and stretched, casting him a sleepy smile. He bent to kiss her cheek, then looked around at the empty dining room with a frown.

  “Nikira!”

  After about a minute, the commander ran in and knelt before him, performing the prostration he required of her. “I’m unworthy to serve you,” she intoned in a dull voice.

  “Yes, you are.”

  She hesitated. “May I lick the dirt from your shoes?” The words clearly almost choked her.

  “No.” Bane studied her. “Your garb pleases me, but your lack of respect does not.”

  “But I did as you asked.”

  “I did not ask, I ordered, and you forgot my title.”

  “Sorry, Lord.”

  Bane snorted. “Do not do it again, or I shall have to punish you. How goes our journey?”

  “It’ll take another day to reach those co-ordinates.”

  “Is the ship travelling as fast as it can?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Good.” He regarded her for several moments, but she kept her eyes on the floor. “You will show me everything on this ship, and explain what it can do, starting with the most important.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  Bane stood up, raising a brow at Drevarin, who smiled and rose. When he held out his hand to Mirra, however, she shook her head. “I want breakfast. I’ll find Mithran and Grem and eat with them if you’re not hungry.”

  Bane hid his disappointment and indicated that Nikira should provide a guide for his wife. She summoned a hovering crewman to show Mirra to Mithran’s room, and then led them down a long corridor and into a tiny grey room with no other doors leading off it, which puzzled Bane. As he was about to ask her why they were in what appeared to be an empty closet, she touched a button on a lighted panel by the doors, which slid shut. Bane tensed as the room moved upwards rapidly, then the doors opened. They entered a dim room with many flashing tables and square glowing boxes.

  Bane glanced back at the tiny room, intrigued by the cleverness of it and glad he had not made himself appear foolish by asking about its purpose. Drevarin caught his eye and smiled, shrugging to show that he too had been mystified at first. Five men jumped up from their seats in front of the glowing squares and saluted as Nikira entered. She motioned to them, making most of them sit down again, although they could not tear their eyes from Bane and Drevarin.

  “This is the bridge, Lord,” Nikira explained. “It controls the ship’s navigation and movement.”

  Bane wandered over to a table, and the man who sat at it rose and moved away, glancing at Nikira. The Demon Lord studied the lighted panels and peered into the glowing screen. Drevarin went to another and examined it, running his hand over the board. The room tilted, and Bane grabbed the console, glancing around in alarm. Nikira hurried to the board and touched it, and the room became level once more. Drevarin looked at Bane and chuckled. The Demon Lord smiled and turned to Nikira, hardening his expression.

  “How do you see outside?”

  Nikira touched the board again, and a screen the size of a horizontal door on one wall filled with a bright image of seething blueness shot with bursts of fire.

  Bane nodded. “Is that what you used to see me when I walked into your trap?”

  “No. We have a special room for observing... things that contain dark power.”

  “Show me.”

  Nikira led them back into the tiny room, which moved downwards. When the doors opened, they stepped out into another room full of glowing squares and flashing boards. Three men glanced around as Nikira entered. Their expressions became wary when they spotted Bane, and awed when Drevarin wandered in behind him.

  “This is the observation room,” Nikira explained. “This is where we spot and track dra’voren.”

  “Or tar’merin,” Bane muttered.

  “Anything that contains the dark power, we can detect with our scanners.”

  “Show me.”

  Nikira glanced at one of the men, who shook his head. “There’s nothing out there right now.”

  Bane was a little disappointed, but shrugged and followed Nikira back into the little room, where he murmured, “Neglect to use my title once more, and I will ensure that you have no choice in the matter.”

  She gulped. “Sorry, Lord.”

  ***

  The tour lasted most of the day, and included the hold containing the refugees. Most of them sank to their knees and bowed their heads when Bane entered it, although they looked wary and some moved away, their expressions fearful. Nikira shot Bane a startled glance, which he met with hard eyes.

  “A common reaction from ignorant peasants,” he assured her.

  Nikira looked away, wondering why she was shocked by the refugees’ reaction, which was not unexpected, as he pointed out. Perhaps because she had been under the impression that these people had been so brainwashed before, but now she realised that only Bane’s group of friends and kindred had shown him any affection or respect. The refugees turned to Drevarin with low, respectful cries of joy and knelt to him with adoring smiles. Drevarin looked a little embarrassed, shooting Bane a rueful glance. After Bane had explained where the refugees had come from, Nikira took them back to the dining hall, where Mirra waited with Mithran, Grem and Artan’s group.

  ***

  The next day, Retribution arrived in the dusty valley nestled between the ridges of beige stone. Nikira received the message while she was donning the hated white dress, and, after eating a frugal breakfast, she went down to the dining room that the two gods had chosen to make their home. They were asleep, sprawled on their couches. Bane had shed his cloak, tunic and boots. Mirra slept beside him, her arm flung across his chest. Nikira hesitated, unsure of whether she should wake them. Bane’s eyes flicked open, and he sat up in a lithe movement, making her avert her eyes as his gaze swept over her.

  “You dare to wake me?”

  “I’m sorry, Lord, I -”

  “You will perform your prostration before you address me.”

  Nikira sank down and pressed her brow to the carpet in the primitive, humiliating ritual, which she guessed was its sole purpose. After she had intoned the requisite words and asked for the pleasure of cleaning his boots with her tongue, he regarded her for several moments. Mirra squirmed closer to her husband and yawned, her arms sliding around his waist.

  Drevarin awoke with a snort, and a gush of relief went through Nikira. His presence, hostile though it was, was immensely comforting, although she was well aware that he would not, and probably could not, prevent the tar’merin from doing whatever he wished to her. Bane shot the creator a slight smile, then turned back to her, his expression becoming grim once mor
e.

  “No, you may not defile my boots with your tongue. What monumental occasion has given you the foolish notion that you have the right to disturb my rest?”

  Nikira swallowed hard and studied the carpet. “We’ve arrived at the place you asked us to bring you.”

  A pregnant silence fell, and her unease grew until she could bear the suspense no longer and glanced up at him. The Demon Lord frowned and stretched out a hand towards her, making her heart freeze with dread. Iron clamps gripped her chest, and her eyes widened in terror as she tried to suck in air with lungs that refused to obey her. He watched her with cold eyes as she clawed at her throat, her mouth wide. Drevarin cast Bane a worried look, and he lowered his hand. Air rushed into Nikira’s lungs, and she sagged, gasping.

  “You neglected my title again,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, Lord.”

  Drevarin gestured, and a golden cup appeared before him, which he plucked from the air. “Are you strong enough?”

  Bane glanced at him. “No, but I think I can recall how we got to this place.”

  “Do not put any faith in that. Things change here. And you were blind.”

  “I will cross that bridge if I encounter it.”

  Drevarin inclined his head, sipping his ambrosia,

  Bane turned back to Nikira. “I shall come to this... bridge of yours, and guide the ship.”

  “Yes, Lord.” Nikira rose on shaking legs.

  Bane pulled on his boots, then stood and donned his tunic, shooting her a calculating look as he did up the buttons. Mirra sat up, knuckled her eyes and raked her hair into a semblance of order. Bane turned to kiss her and murmur in her ear, whereupon she nodded and stretched. She rose, greeted Drevarin, and left the dining hall. Bane picked up his heavy cloak and held it out to Nikira.

  “Help me with this.”

  Nikira forced her legs to carry her to him, her heart pounding. She fumbled with the cloak as she placed it upon his shoulders, his proximity making her shiver. Her fingers trembled as she struggled with the clasp, aware of him watching her. When at last she closed the clasp, his hand shot up and gripped her wrist, making her freeze with trepidation. She did not dare to look at his face, and he leant closer.

  “Your fear insults me.”

  “Sorry, Lord.”

  “Am I a monster?”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet his intense gaze before she looked away. “No, Lord.”

  “Then stop acting like I am one. If I was, you would be dead already.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  Bane snorted and thrust her away, then headed for the door. Nikira hastened to it ahead of him, and Drevarin followed.

  On the bridge, all conversation hushed as they walked in, and a dozen men stood to attention. Nikira signalled for them to continue their work, and they shot Bane distrustful looks as they obeyed. Running her fingers over a console, she brought the main screen online and focussed the external cameras on the ridge where they had spotted the people when they had captured the tar’merin.

  Bane nodded. “Go there, then follow the flat area between those two ridges, which runs for several miles.”

  Nikira nodded to the pilot, and the image swelled as the ship headed for the ridge. Bane glanced around and sat on one of the chairs, discovering that it had wheels with a start of surprise. He shot Drevarin a white-toothed grin, and the creator settled into another chair, his jovial expression becoming mischievous. His brown eyes sparkled, and he rolled his chair towards Bane’s, who sent himself rolling back with a kick.

  Nikira watched open-mouthed as the two celestial beings rolled around the bridge like boys with new toys. The bridge crew gaped at them as well, and Nikira pulled herself together long enough to send them a hard glance that made them return to their work. She jumped out of the way as Bane shot past, chortling, Drevarin close behind, his face alight with delight. Bane’s chair collided with a console, and he laughed as he careered around it, spinning. His soft, husky mirth amazed Nikira, who had not thought him capable enjoying such a simple thing.

  Drevarin chased him around the bridge, steering his chair deftly between the consoles until he miscalculated and crashed into one, making the panels flicker. An operator glanced at Nikira, who bit her lip, wondering if she dared to try to put an end to their fun before they hurt themselves, the equipment, or one of her crew.

  Bane laughed at Drevarin’s misfortune and sent himself rolling backwards, spinning into another console. This time he got his arm trapped between the chair arm and the console, and jumped up with a curse. Drevarin chuckled, and Bane shot him a rueful grin, rubbing his arm, then sat down again, but remained still this time. Nikira sighed with relief that the game was over, and the only one who had been hurt was Bane.

  They settled down to watch the image on the main screen, but after a short time Bane frowned and shook his head.

  “I slept a lot, and, as you rightly pointed out, Drevarin, I was blind.” He turned to Nikira. “Send for one of the people who were with me, I care not which one, whoever wishes to come.”

  Nikira passed on the order to a crewman, who left the bridge as the ship slowed to a stop. Several minutes later, the man returned with Mithran, who gazed about the bridge in wonder before studying the screen. He pointed at an outcrop of stone and instructed them to go towards it.

  The ship resumed its flight, and Mithran gave corrections every so often, guiding the vessel along a winding course between natural obstacles they could have flown over far quicker. They skirted dark regions that were harmless to the ship, but might have been hazardous to people on foot, their progress slow. After several hours, they headed across a featureless desert of white pebbles under a dark grey sky, the temperature outside chilly, according to the sensor data on Nikira’s instruments.

  Mithran bent to murmur in his son’s ear, and the Demon Lord stood up and stretched, yawning. “Keep going in this direction until you find a mountain range, then call me.”

  Drevarin and Mithran followed him off the bridge, and the crew relaxed, some with sighs of relief. Nikira wondered if Bane and his companions would be able to use the lift without her, then berated herself for worrying about her tormentor. She reminded herself that what he was doing to her was nothing compared to what she had done to him.

  The pilot said, “Commander, this is an uncharted region. No one has been this far into the Wastes before.”

  She went over to his console. “I’m aware of that.”

  “Our scanners are picking up a lot of anomalies, fluctuating temperature and pressure, changes in gravity. This is a wild place.”

  Nikira frowned. There were several wild places within the charted territories, which ships avoided at all costs after two had been lost in them. Wild areas changed without warning from placid landscapes to dangerous flux regions, swallowing ships without a trace. She returned to her command chair and sat down to gaze at the main screen, where the flat expanse of white pebbles shot towards them as they speeded across it.

  “Just keep on this course.”

  Two hours later, as if the pilot’s words had been a prediction, an officer said, “Commander, the temperature is increasing.”

  “How much?”

  “Fifty degrees and rising. The pressure’s starting to increase as well.”

  Nikira rose and went over to study his screen over his shoulder. The digital readouts from the exterior sensors were increasing so fast that the numbers were blurred. “Looks like we’re in for trouble.”

  Within a few moments the peaceful pebble desert sprouted giant flames that rose like geysers of fire, falling back into seething craters filled with lava. Nikira gripped the console as a burst of fire from below rocked the ship, and an alarm beeped on a nearby console. The officer who manned it typed on his keyboard, making adjustments that sent coolant to the hull, but she knew that these were only temporary measures.

  A stealth ship could not survive a full blown flux-storm, and it looked like one was about to engulf them. She clu
ng to the hope that they would fly over the region before it became too intense, but Retribution rocked again and more alarms sounded. The pilot tried to compensate for the buffeting flames, but the ship veered wildly, lashed by powerful up-draughts of searing air and fire. The desert had become an inferno, and flames filled the viewing screen as the flux-storm swallowed the ship.

  The officer beside her ran his hands over his controls with swift expertise, frowning as his countermeasures proved ineffective. “Coolant unable to compensate; hull temperature becoming critical, Commander. Pressure starting to exceed safety parameters. We’re going to be crushed.”

  “No, we’re not.”

  Nikira sprinted into the lift and hammered the down button until the doors slid shut. The lift descended with incredible torpor, and when the doors opened on the fifth floor she raced along the corridor to the dining room, hoping that the two men were there. They lounged on their couches, engaged in a soft conversation, and glanced around when she ran in. Some of Bane’s little group sat at a nearby table sipping beverages, and Mirra was curled up beside him on the couch, holding a cup of milk. Nikira stopped in front of them, gasping.

  “The ship’s in danger. We’ve run into a flux-storm.”

  Bane frowned. “I thought it was getting bumpy. My rest is over, it seems.”

  Drevarin shook his head. “I will deal with this.”

  The Demon Lord inclined his head as Drevarin looked vague for a moment, then sipped his ambrosia again.

  “Can you help us?” Nikira begged.

  Drevarin raised his brows. “I already have. Your vessel is in no danger now.”

  She hesitated, then bowed to him. “Thank you, Lord.”

  Bane frowned at her. “You neglected my title again.”

  “Sorry, Lord.”

  “I shall allow it this time, but not the next.”

  Nikira gritted her teeth. “Thank you, Lord.”

  “Leave us.”

  Nikira did so gladly, hurrying back to the bridge. On the way she noticed that the ship was stable once more, and wondered what Drevarin had done. The atmosphere in the bridge was tense and hushed, and she glanced up at the main screen, where a faint blue haze obscured the inferno.