Chapter Three
The First Ward
That night, as Bane tossed in restless sleep on his hard cot, the Black Lord entered his dreams. Anger radiated from his dark, fiery countenance. The seething blackness that Bane’s father preferred, streaked with red and vivid yellow, engulfed Bane. Occasional glimpses of weird landscapes gave him a little insight into the workings of the Black Lord’s mind, since he created the vistas. Barren, flat expanses flitted before Bane’s eyes, some dotted with stones, others as smooth and flat as a table top, and a sickly sun shone through thick clouds with weak red light. From this, Bane deduced that his father was fairly calm, which boded well for the meeting. His father’s furies were inclined to be rather overwhelming, and battered his mind with waves of senseless rage. The scenes came and went, distracting him until the Black Lord spoke in a booming voice.
“Bane, why did you not kill the healer?”
Bane turned his gaze upon his father’s face, meeting blood-red eyes that glowed with dull venom. The Black Lord’s visage was otherwise featureless, a reflection of his personality, or lack of it.
“I tried, Father.”
“Then try harder. She must be killed.”
“She is immune to my power. I am curious.”
His father snarled, “Do not be curious, boy. Kill her!”
“I want to know why the dark power does not harm her.” Bane’s eyes were drawn past his father to a vision of stormy sea. A yellow glow on the horizon lighted huge black waves crested with bloody spume. The Black Lord’s calm was dwindling, it seemed.
“This is no time for such foolishness. I tire of waiting while you wander aimlessly about, satisfying your bloodlust. Use the power and find the wards! Smash them, then we will share the final victory over those snivelling humans. And kill that damned girl!”
Bane grew more curious as the scene in his father’s mind changed to a raging inferno that leapt and writhed with the Black Lord’s fury. It puzzled him that his father thought it so important to kill the witch. She was just another human female, with an odd immunity to his power. He intended to find out why that was, then kill her in the torturous manner he enjoyed. Before he could question his father further, the dream faded.
The next morning, he thought about the girl while he ate his breakfast. Her immunity angered him. She should have burnt, screaming, but instead she had merely looked uncomfortable, as if she had a mild stomach-ache. The rabble had proven beyond doubt that physical attack could not harm her, and the problem of killing her puzzled him. To add to that, she had feigned concern for him, and lied, claiming to care about his well-being when he knew full well she wished him dead, like all the Overworld humans. Her offer of help was intended as an insult, to make his men think he was weak or sick. He would find out why his power did not work, and remedy it. Until then, she offered sport to brighten his days, which made up for the irritation of her unwanted presence somewhat.
After breakfast, he summoned his captains, who gathered at a respectful distance, their eyes darting. The lone dark creature, which would carry his orders to the rest, watched Bane with glowing, baleful eyes. The grim was one of the lesser monsters, a bug-eyed horror with a matted black pelt and thin arms tipped with poisonous, razor claws. Its demeanour was worshipful, yet a deep, all-encompassing loathing underscored it. The sunlight obviously caused it pain, for it squinted, and a sticky ichor oozed from its hide. The others gave the squat, toad-like creature a wide berth, and not only because of its nauseating smell. The red fangs that protruded from its mouth dripped venom that blackened the grass.
Bane ordered the men to search for the wards, still reluctant to scry for them as his father had ordered. Scrying used a great deal of power, and the resulting headache would be excruciating. It meant a delay, however. Bane would have to wait for the searchers to return, since their absence would seriously diminish his force. The men left looking confused. This was the first time he had ordered them to do anything other than fight. The grim crawled away, trailing its smell into the shelter of the trees to join its fellows. He watched the captains gather their men and pass on his instructions. Each captain represented his own species or tribe, and they set out in groups that comprised only their own kind. There was no mixing of the different bands; each preferred the society of their ilk. The dark creatures remained in the forest’s deep shadows. They would only set out after dusk.
At midday, Bane wandered over to the tree at the edge of the forest where the girl was tied. She greeted him with a timid smile that reminded him of the pathetic friendliness of a whipped cur. It turned his stomach. Of all the humans he had encountered, she was undoubtedly the most sickening, annoying and pathetic.
He sneered, “Enjoying my hospitality, witch?”
“I am sure this is not meant to be enjoyable, and it is not.”
Her flaxen hair was all but gone, filth smeared her, and a foul smell hung about her. Her ragged robe clung to her slender contours, barely covering them. Yet the calm serenity in her eyes defied him, told him not of suffering but mere confusion.
He said, “I could leave you here to rot. Are you too stupid to know fear?”
She regarded him steadily, her smile fading. Bane swung away and strode back to his tent. Her composure mocked him. She should be weeping and begging for mercy. All the humans he had encountered until now had pleaded for their lives, yet this young girl seemed able to accept her fate calmly, even when it was obvious a painful death awaited her. She must be confident that he could not harm her, but he would find ways to make her suffer. Her pain would bring him satisfaction before he killed her.
Demon Lord Page 10