Demon Lord

by T C Southwell

  Chapter Fifteen

  Betrayal

  The murmur of conversation died away as Bane entered the hall, and the priests who sat around the banquet table pushed back their chairs with a great scraping of wood on stone and prostrated themselves, as did the servants who attended them and the priests who lined the temple’s perimeter. Bane experienced a trickle of pleasure, more so now than when that damned girl watched with horrified eyes. Agden’s forehead hovered several inches above the floor, and Bane strolled over to the Emperor, who bowed a little lower at his approach.

  Bane placed a boot on the Emperor’s neck and pinned him down with a merciless heel. “You try my patience, Agden. You have been warned, so beware, lest I punish you.”

  “Yes, Lord,” Agden croaked.

  Bane lifted his foot and walked away, signalling to the priests to rise. Agden rubbed his neck, his hatred ill-concealed. He clapped, and the servants cleared the platters, passed fingerbowls amongst the priests and refilled empty wine goblets. Evidently the banquet table had been brought in especially for the feast, because a quartet of strapping man carried it out and others removed the chairs. The priests moved to the cushioned marble benches that lined the temple just inside the pillars. Bane filled a cup with his wine and sat on the high-backed throne. The crowd that waited outside the temple murmured, a distant buzzing, like a hive of bees.

  Agden clapped again, and drums began to beat. Dancers filed into the temple, oiled, muscular men and scantily clad girls. The crowd outside cheered as its members initiated their festivities. Bane watched the dancers gyrate, undulate and pirouette, finding it rather boring.

  It did not match the Underworld’s ceremonies, where hundreds of naked droges would cavort with demons in man form, the great booming of the huge human-skin drums beaten by earth demons echoing around the massive chamber. The dark magic swirled around the cavern and the Black Lord himself would preside, clad in a handsome droge form, his dark presence adding to the excitement. The inner fire’s lurid glow lighted the scene, the temperature rising as fire demons took true form, their bright flames winding about the dancers, the man-shapes melting into forms that would give these priests nightmares.

  Then the condemned souls would be brought in and endowed with droge bodies at the Black Lord’s gesture. The demons would torture them in the most horrific ways conceivable, their screams the music to go with the drums. The dark magic would thicken the air until Bane found it difficult to breathe, the shadows drawn from their niches to clothe the scene in gloom.

  How had his father created him? The question popped into his mind unbidden. The girl was right, the dark power could not create life or heal, only destroy. What was he, really? He had always wondered why he was not like the demons, but trapped in a weak mortal body. His father had assured him that it was necessary, so he could break the wards, but where had the body come from? He had grown up in it, yet his father had always told him that he was not human.

  Bane could still remember his words.

  “I had to give you a human body, son, but that is temporary. You are not human. You are my son.”

  The drums stopped, interrupting Bane’s thoughts. The sweating dancers ran off, and the priests stood up.

  The sacrifice was brought in, a slender, tattooed girl of about the same age as the healer, who stared blankly ahead. Long black hair flowed down her back, and her face was painted to enhance her beauty. Her floating, diaphanous white robe did almost nothing to conceal her lithe figure. Robbed of fear by drugs, she walked calmly between two priests, a dreamy smile on her lips. Bane had no doubt that she had been preparing for this moment all her life, and was honoured to die for the Black Lord.

  As the girl reached the altar just a few feet from Bane, the priests began a droning chant, punctuated with clapping and gong ringing. The priests lifted the girl onto the altar, where she lay, her eyes closed, relaxed and vulnerable. Bane’s mind flashed back to the morning, when he had entered the temple and found the healer stretched out like that, the priest poised to plunge the sacrificial knife into her breast. His fury and fear had almost made him blast the priest to a crisp, and he had Moved, appearing beside the man and nearly giving him heart failure.

  When he had plucked the knife from the priest’s fingers, he had wanted to kill her; the urge had sickened him. He could not, however; his warring emotions had turned the knife aside and smashed it on the stone, overcome by a strange horror at the thought of her dying. Never had he experienced such confusion before, and her diabolical spell had defeated him yet again. He had struggled against the urge to show her kindness, give her comforts, and try to please her. He could not help talking to her now, nor did he like to see her suffer, but he would do no more than that. The humiliation was immense, and he longed for the day when his father would break her spell and he could look at her with only a strong lust for her death. He had lied about not using the power to save her this time; he had not wanted her to have the satisfaction. The use had been slight, anyway, and the headache that followed had been negligible.

  The chanting died away, and the priest stepped up to the altar, raising the knife. He called upon the Black Lord to accept the girl’s soul and grant his people protection and prosperity in return, then plunged the weapon into her breast. She died silently, her blood running into the altar’s carved gutters, which channelled it into braziers to be burnt. Bane sensed the faint surge of dark power that was drawn up through the altar stone, taking the girl’s soul down to the Underworld. His father would find her uninteresting, and quickly consign her to the Land of the Dead. Agden’s soul would bring him far more pleasure. No doubt he would milk the last drop of enjoyment from the arrogant bastard’s agony.

  The sight of the dead girl sparked a sudden, irrational fear for the healer, and Bane stretched out his senses to find her asleep in the room. Relaxing, he watched the priests file past the altar, dip their fingers in the blood and daub it on their faces while they chanted praises. He cursed himself for worrying about the wretched girl, forced to by her foul spell.

  The gold throne jabbed his tailbone, and he shifted. At least the discomfort kept him awake, but he looked forward to retiring. He rested his chin in his hand and leant on the throne’s arm as they cut out the girl’s heart and burnt it, not caring if he looked as bored as he was. Agden shot him baleful glances when he thought Bane was not looking, and Bane promised himself that the Emperor would suffer when he died.

  By the time the dancers came back, Bane had had enough. Rising to his feet, he motioned as everyone prostrated themselves. “Carry on without me. I am tired. Agden, you can have your seat back. You undoubtedly have the calluses for it.”

  Agden radiated hatred, and Bane chuckled as he strode out. The music started up behind him again as he walked along the torch-lighted passage, pushing open the door to his room.

  The girl was stretched out on the bed, and he strode over to it, intending to order her off, but when he reached her side he could not bring himself to wake her. She looked so peaceful and innocent, breathing softly through parted lips, like a child. Then again, he reflected, she was little more than a child, a mere girl, not a woman yet. With an annoyed grunt, he swung away to stoke the fire.

  Sitting beside it, he pulled off his boots and inspected his blackened foot. He was certainly not going to sleep on the chair or floor. The huge bed still had plenty of space. The situation, he thought angrily, was becoming unbearable. Her spell was so strong now that he could not even get her off his bed if she chose to occupy it. He had no wish to sleep so close to her, but nor did he want to disturb her. At least he would have some satisfaction from her horrified reaction when she found him beside her in the morning.

  Bane removed his cloak and shirt, returning to the bed. Lightly as a cat, he climbed onto it and settled down on his back, still some two feet from her, yet uncomfortably aware of her presence. It kept him awake for a while, but eventually he fell asleep.

  The Black Lord appeared in an inferno o
f dark fire, bright sparks hissing from his visage. The scene behind him was of a raging red sea, a firestorm lighting the foaming waves from below. Bane knew he was furious, but faced him unafraid.

  “Bane, you are falling into a trap.”

  “Why does the dark power make me ill, Father?”

  “Because I had to give you a human body, of course.”

  “Where did the body come from?”

  The Black Lord shook sparks from his hair. “I took it. What has this to do with anything?”

  “Is the power killing me?”

  “No. It makes you sick, that is all. You have been listening to that witch’s lies again.”

  Bane nodded. “She gave me a medicine for my headache. The one Mealle gave me no longer helps, and the pain becomes unbearable.”

  “You must not consume anything from the Overworld.” The Black Lord’s eyes flared, and the burning sea behind him darkened, growing wilder. “You can live with the pain. I taught you how. Have you forgotten your lessons?”

  “No, but the pain increases each time I use the power.” Bane met his father’s glare. “The mage on Lume said that you planned my death.”

  The Black Lord sighed, his eyes dimming. The mood vision changed to a calm sky of deep red streaked with glowing yellow clouds. “Do you believe these lies? I told you they would try to turn you against me. How else can they win? They cannot defeat you, so they try to subvert you. I formed your spirit myself. I created your soul, and housed it in that body so you might perform this task. Once it is over, you shall have a dark form, like mine, and we will rule together. Have I not always told you that? Do you doubt me?”

  Bane shook his head, ashamed of his doubt, slight though it had been. “No, Father, you are right. I should not listen to her. She is our enemy.”

  “Good. You are doing well, son. I am pleased. Only two more wards to go, then I can free you from the witch’s spell. After that, we will change the Overworld together, and make it a pleasant place to inhabit. There will be much sport, killing humans. Beware the girl. She weaves her spell powerfully upon you. Do not let the human emotions of that body contaminate your soul. Fight it. It is a trap.”

  “Yes, Father.” Bane bowed his head, reassured of his father’s reliance upon him. His father was not trying to kill him, the healer was.