Demon Lord VII - Dark Domain

by Southwell, T C

  The Demon Lord snorted. A light priestess was too certain of her conviction to be swayed with words, and usually she would have been right. He stepped towards the three orphans and held out a hand. “Come.”

  The priestess shrieked, “Monster! Leave them alone!”

  Snatching up a stone, she hurled it at him, and he ducked, shooting her an irritated scowl. Her bravery surprised him, but, considering her situation, she probably thought a quick death at his hands was better than a lingering, horrific one, as she expected. He did not want to have to fight the people he had come to rescue, however, and if she continued to rant she might sway them. He took control of her and replaced her dread with gratitude and the certainty that he was there to rescue them.

  She sagged and turned to the others. “I was wrong. He is here to save us. Trust him.”

  Seeing an opportunity to spread the word of Sherinias’ birth, he beckoned to her. “Come here.”

  The priestess ran forward to kneel at his feet, bowing her head. “Lord!”

  “When you return to your church, inform your fellows that Pretarin’s daughter has been born, and now rules this domain. Her name is Sherinias.”

  “Praise the light, Lord!” She raised a face twisted with joy and worship.

  “Go,” Bane said. “Help the children.”

  The priestess went over to the three orphans and ushered them towards the rest of the prisoners, who watched her with wide eyes, clearly unsure of what had just happened. Bane estimated that there were close to a hundred and fifty people in the chamber, and a group of twenty was the maximum he could Move at once. Despite the priestess’ words, the rest of the prisoners did not appear to know the significance of his distinctive appearance, or his ability to banish and summon demons. In this instance, the fact that they did not believe in gods was a boon, since they discounted the priestess a madwoman, despite their recent experience with demons. Had they all been convinced of his evil intentions, the task would have been almost impossible and taken far too long to achieve.

  The prisoners hobbled forward, some helping their weaker fellows. Women wept and clutched wailing children, and the chained men held out their hands, pleading to be released. The dark power’s influence expunged Bane’s pity for them, and he did not bother to fight it. He just wanted the onerous chore over with. He approached the chained men and touched the duron manacle around the first man’s neck. It shimmered and parted, and the prisoner stumbled forward to join the rest. Bane walked along the wall, freeing all the men, then turned to the groups. As he did, a fire demon rushed out of one of the torches and shot towards the prisoners.

  Bane said, “Begone!”

  The demon vanished with a flare of sickly light, and the people gasped in shock, a few giving half-hearted screams that tapered off into whimpers. The fire demon’s attack meant that Bane did not have much time, however. He summoned Jentaru again, then closed his eyes and opened his mind to the far-see, locating a medical centre. Stepping towards the nearest group, which included the priestess, he held out his hand.

  “Hold onto each other,” he instructed, and then addressed the nearest man, one of those he had freed from the wall. “If you want to leave this place, take my hand.”

  The man hesitated for only a moment before he grasped Bane’s hand. He Moved. The effort of Moving so many people dragged at him like a great weight, and it seemed to take longer than ever before: several moments of cold darkness before the aseptic white décor of a hospital appeared around him. The people doubled over and retched, some collapsed and writhed, clutching their stomachs. Alarmed shouts came from the white-clad medical personnel who populated the corridor, but then they approached to help the former prisoners. The man who held Bane’s hand released it and stepped back, staring at Bane as he struggled not to vomit.

  The Demon Lord Moved back to the chamber and approached a second group. Four earth demons shot up from the floor, raising gritty fists. Bane dismissed them, but the problem with banishing the demons was that each time he did it he dismissed Jentaru as well, plunging the chamber into gloom. Summoning the fire demon again, he held out his hand to a woman at the edge of the closest group. She seized it, and the people clung together. Now that they knew they might be slaughtered while they waited for him to return, they grew more desperate. Some of the people in the other groups tried to join the one he was about to Move.

  “Get back!” he said. “Wait your turn!”

  “They will kill us!” a man cried.

  Bane addressed the fire demon. “Jentaru, protect them.”

  Bane Moved again, releasing the woman’s hand in the hospital corridor, close to the first group, which nurses and medics tended. When he returned to the Underworld chamber, another group of people rushed towards him, and Jentaru battled two fire demons, barely holding them at bay. The fresh corpses of several women and children lay on the floor, burnt to death, and a few man-shaped ashen shapes indicated that others had met a quicker demise from fire demon eyes.

  “Begone!” Bane shouted as the group reached him and grabbed his arms and clothes, clinging to him. He wanted to shake them off, but time was running out. He summoned Jentaru and Moved to the hospital again. Wrenching free of the grimy hands that gripped him, he shoved the people away and Moved back to the Underworld chamber. This time, Jentaru battled four earth demons while a fire demon moved amongst the fleeing prisoners, slaying them with fiery fists and searing eyes. Bane dismissed them, and the people surged towards him.

  “Form groups!” he bellowed. “If you do not, I shall not return!”

  The prisoners halted their dash and obeyed, the men ushering the women and children, who wept with abject terror, into groups to be taken before them. Jentaru could not hope to keep them all safe for much longer, Bane knew. He needed help. Avoiding the grasping hand of a woman on the outskirts of the closest group, he murmured the words of summoning and the names the dark power provided.

  Fire demons blossomed from the torches and bowed to him, earth demons rose from the floor with gritty grating sounds, and the people wailed afresh, drowning out Bane’s words.

  “Be silent!” he shouted. “These are mine. They will protect you.” He swept the fifteen demons he had summoned with hard eyes. He did not have time to name them. “I am the Demon Lord. You will protect these people. Nothing else.”

  As the demons bowed, he took hold of the woman’s hand and Moved.

  Mirra sat beside Drevarin and gazed into the light god’s Eye. Mithran, Grem, Artan, Sarrin and Ethra stood behind her, watching over her shoulder. The sight of Bane saving people filled her with pride and joy, tempered by dread that he would be hurt. It made her realise why Kayos prized him so much and longed for his aid. No one else could do what he did. Those who would could not, and those who could would not. Only he could and would. Much as she missed her home, and Bane while he was away, moments like these made up for that somewhat.

  Bane had rescued about eighty people now, and those left behind cowered against a wall while the demons he had summoned fought off attacks from others. They stood in front of the prisoners, holding back the demons that sought to slay them. Two of Bane’s earth demons slumped, defeated, and others stepped into the gaps they left. Several enemy fiends pushed past the defenders, which went after them, trying to prevent them reaching the prisoners. Earth demons became partially molten as fire demons burnt them, and three charged a fire demon together and crushed it between them, snuffing it out. The scene became increasingly chaotic as more demons entered the chamber and the battle escalated.

  Behind her, Artan muttered, “Armorgan’s teeth!”

  Bane reappeared and took the hand of a man in the group closest to him. Mirra feared that a demon would attack him in the midst of the confusion, for it was impossible to tell the ones he had summoned from the attackers. Nor could he dismiss them now, since summoning more would take too long. Demons poured into the room. Not much time remained before they defeated his minions.

  Bane vanis
hed and returned within moments, and a fire demon struck him from behind as he appeared, sending him sprawling. Ethra squeaked and Mirra stifled a gasp and clasped her hands to hide her tension. Mithran put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He understood how she felt, as did Grem, having the same concerns, and his solid presence was always welcome.

  Bane turned and raised an arm, and a black fire poured from his hand, struck the demon and snuffed it out in a blaze of sickly flame. Bane rose to his feet and spread his arms, ignoring the people who gathered around him, holding out their hands. Dark power streamed from his palms and struck a number of battling demons, destroyed them and reduced the number of enemy fiends considerably. She wondered how he knew which were which, but was glad he did.

  When Bane returned to the torture chamber once more, only a few burnt corpses and his demons populated it, the aggressors having fled, their aim thwarted. His hip smarted a little from his fall, and about twenty people had perished in the conflict, but he had taken approximately a hundred and thirty to the hospital. Only five of his demons remained, and he dismissed them before Moving to the dilapidated house he had seen in Tryne’s memory. The front door flew open ahead of him as he strode up the steps, and he followed a short hall to a door that led into the basement.

  Anything evil or occult always seemed to reside in cellars, basements or caves, he reflected. Sure enough, when he reached the bottom of the steps, a guardian rune became visible to him in the gloom, marking the concealed entrance of the Fetch. An unwary person could trigger it by stepping too close to the rune, and the demons had probably merely chucked their victims at it, then followed them down. He made a series of gestures, speaking the words of unmaking.

  “Shethar herrin traveth, vantar morril. Eskareth!”

  The guardian rune quivered and lost its shape, its shadows dispersing. Without the trigger rune, the Fetch would never open again.

  The encounter with demons made his longing to cast out the dark power again stronger than ever. His powerful urge to murder the governor and lack of sympathy for the demons’ victims confirmed his increasing need for a break from its influence. Even though the priestess’ assertion that he was the darkness was wrong, he was becoming more like it with every day that he continued to carry it and use it. He wanted to close the dark realm’s world gate first, though, and the Sources, thereby reducing the amount of shadows pouring into the mid realm. Perhaps now would be a good time to do that, then he could relax for a while before he created the wards. Turning away, he Moved.

  Bane rematerialised in front of the dark realm’s gate and gazed up at it, remembering the time, long ago, when he had emerged from the Underworld through just such a portal. That one had been formed from grey, beaten iron, crudely ornamented with demonic symbols, streaked with rust and dotted with blobs of metal that had escaped Kayos’ dreamtime hammer. Such slipshod workmanship was understandable, given Kayos’ age and the number of domains he had created. Pretarin, apparently, had taken more care with his creations, probably due to his relative youth. This world gate was sleek obsidian, and would have been beautiful if not for the evil designs upon it and the river of shadows that flowed through it. This domain was rife with power, Bane mused, since both world gates had been standing open for centuries, pouring light and shadow into it.

  Stepping up to the right-hand gate, he ran his fingers along its edge, sparking a soft red glow within the stone, as if his touch made it molten. The reaction was to his power, and what he was. Only a god could command a great gate. The realm gate had a light inner surface and a black outer surface, denoting the neutrality of its power, even though white wards protected it. Always, there was balance. The dark realm’s gate had no wards or runic symbols around it, and he recalled that the one in Myrthran had opened when he had approached it and closed behind him. How, then, was he supposed to close a world gate that had been left open? The dark power offered no aid, and he glanced around for a clue. The wind keened in the crags and showers of dust sifted down the cliffs to the canyon floor. There was no life for leagues around this gate.

  The place was eerie, and made him shiver. He almost laughed at his reaction: being unnerved by a long-abandoned gate. Its neglect did not surprise him. No one tried to get into an Underworld if they had any sense. The dark power’s lack of assistance was odd, though. It usually provided the answers to his problems when it was to do with the darkness.

  He retreated a few paces, raised his hands and spread them towards the gates, muttering, “Drokath.”

  Bane brought his hands slowly together, but the huge doors merely shivered. He studied them again, puzzled. Normally, these gates were always closed, just like the other great gates. They opened on command and closed of their own accord, so Torvaran had forced this gate to remain open, just as he had done to the realm gate, but how?

  Bane made a languid, beckoning gesture. “Frotharth.”

  Five shadow runes shimmered into visibility within the doorway. So, a dark command, a glamour to conceal them from a god’s sight, and more. Only one commanded the gates to stand open, one cast the glamour, and the other three formed a trap. Anyone who attempted to step through the gate would be transported somewhere, but he could not discern the destination. Doubtless a deep pit or magma river, neither of which would harm him, so the trap was intended for creatures of the light, or mortals. Given the curious, meddling nature of the people who dwelt in this domain, probably many unwary explorers and archaeologists had fallen foul of Torvaran’s trap over the centuries. Bane was tempted to step into the snare and find out if any of its victims had survived, but the chances of that were slim to none. Perhaps they would be released when he destroyed the runes, but then they would be trapped in the Underworld.

  Dismissing their plight as inconsequential, he made the gestures and spoke the words of unmaking again, as he had just done in the cellar. The runes shivered and seemed to burst, the shadows that formed them sinking into the rocks. Bane spread his hands towards the gates again. “Drokath.”

  The mighty doors swung inwards as he drew his hands together, their lower edges scraping across the scree that had fallen into the canyon over the centuries they had stood open. The dark realm’s world gate closed with a hollow boom, a flare of shadows sealing it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Demon Gods

  The Demon Lord sat at the edge of the cliff that overlooked the White City, his back against a silver cloud tree, admiring the view. Mirra nestled against him, her head pillowed on his shoulder. They had left Miraculous a short while earlier to enjoy a stroll in the gardens and stretch their legs, weary of being cooped up in the ship.

  The realm gate remained open, since ships still came and went through it, ferrying the population of Sarlan City to Bayona. It seemed there were more people in the outer city than any of them had bargained for, and two days of evacuation had yet to move them all, although Bane did not doubt that Predoran had been amongst the first to return to the domain. Retribution’s capture pleased Bane, and most of the crew had remained with the ship. Not only did it give them another ship, it also got Nikira off Miraculous. Perhaps commanding her ship again would distract her from her infatuation. It seemed to be a passion of hers.

  A distant chime distracted him, and he turned his head, listening. Another peal came, and the hairs on his nape prickled. He knew of only one thing in a light realm that chimed, and he had heard it all too often recently.

  Mirra shifted and glanced up at him. “What is it?”

  “I am unsure. The realm gate is chiming.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Since it is open, I do not know.”

  A third faint chime made Bane’s unease grow. He sat up, turning to gaze along the path that led through the cloud gardens to the gazebo, and beyond that, the gate hall, both of which were hidden by mist. Without his power, he could not create an Eye or far-see what caused the realm gate to chime.

  He rose to his feet, helping Mirra up. “You stay here. I will go
and see what it is.”

  “No, I am coming with you.”

  “You will be safer if you hide here.”

  “I am safe with you.”

  He shook his head with a smile. “I have no power.”

  “Of course you do, just not the shadows.”

  “Mirra…”

  “I am coming with you.”

  He sighed. “Very well, but if I tell you to run, do it, all right?”

  “I shall. Do you think it is something dangerous?”

  “Possibly. Realm gates do not chime for no reason.”

  Bane set off along the path, Mirra clinging to his hand. Despite her insistence on accompanying him, he sensed her fear. The clouds swirled and eddied across the track, at times obscuring it, and the glowing trees swayed in a sweet-scented breeze. After spending so much time in a light realm, the brightness no longer bothered him as much, especially when he had no power. The lack of it, however, made him cautious now, for he had little with which to fight, should whatever had sparked the gate’s warning prove to be dangerous. The gazebo loomed out of the mist, empty, and he cursed Kayos’ absence.

  His sense of foreboding increased, and he glanced down at Mirra. “Call Kayos.”

  She bowed her head, whispering the Grey God’s name.

  Bane followed the path past the gazebo, heading for the gate hall. The soft, slow chimes continued, louder now that they approached the source. The gate hall came into view, its massive, diamond-encrusted pillars swallowed by mist high above. Bane stopped beside a bank of cloud bushes and studied the hall, within whose dimness glowing runes pulsed around the giant gateway. A flying vehicle hummed overhead, apparently oblivious to the gate’s alarm, but then, it remained open. A flicker caught his eye, and he stared at it. It moved, becoming discernible as a man-shaped figure with sweeping horns and a bull-like head. A second figure appeared beside it, as if stepping from another dimension, as angels did. Four shadows twisted and swirled beyond them. All six skirted on the edge of his vision, barely perceptible.