Bane woke refreshed, glad that his father had forgiven him. Opening his eyes, he stared up at the leather tent, enjoying the lack of pain. Only a dull ache sat at the base of his skull, even now that the girl’s potion had worn off. He had grown used to the constant ache that Mealle’s potion did not banish, but it had not been so slight for many months. After he had taken the healer’s potion, the complete lack of pain had been blissful. He sat up and studied her, curled up asleep on the floor, and wondered how she had cast such a powerful spell on him.
Such a fragile creature, so small and helpless. He could snap her neck easily, but the thought brought a stab of some indefinable emotion, and it was not pleasure, as it should be. He resented that; it robbed him of some of his power and confused him, too. His father was right, however. It did not stop him breaking the wards, and when the Black Lord rose he would free him from this enchantment.
Rising, he stretched, the pain of his wounds flaring, making him wince and grunt. He glanced at the healer, afraid that she had seen his weakness, but she still slept, and he allowed himself a brief grimace. Good, pain was good, although he cursed the slight weakness that still plagued him. He did not need any help from anyone, least of all the whey-faced witch. He loathed her touch, her gentle pawing and soft words. That was how she had cast the spell, he was sure, and he would not let her near him again. She was always trying to touch him, he thought with a shudder. He hated being touched, ever since he had been a small boy tormented by the slaps and pinches of those who had tended him.
Bolstered by his resolve, he padded to the table and used a soft cloth to rub his eyes, turning as the girl stirred. She sat up and smiled at him, making him scowl. She smiled too much, as if something about him amused her, and each time she saw him she was reminded of it. The thought angered him, and he longed to smash the smile from her face. He loomed over her, pleased when she retreated, faint trepidation replacing her amusement. At least she still feared him, although not as much as she should.
Mord brought his breakfast and bread for the girl. Bane watched her eat while he spooned his food. When she offered him some, he glared at her. He had told her that Overworld food was poison, yet she blatantly tried to feed it to him. Leaving the rest of his meal, he quit the tent, forcing her to abandon her breakfast to hurry after him.
Outside, Bane shouted for his captains, who ran to cower at what they thought was a safe distance, straightening their dirty finery and looted armour. He cast a scornful eye over their unshaven dishevelment, making them shift in uneasy suspicion. Finally he informed them that they marched to the fourth ward. The captains ran to gather their troops, and Bane mounted the demon steed. The girl walked behind as he rode out of town, Mord trailing with his pack of potions. Three other trolls carried Bane’s tent and furniture on their backs.
Demon Lord Page 46