Bane followed the blue mages into a room furnished with a polished wooden table surrounded by high-backed chairs. A vast map hung on the far wall, covered with the snaking lines of borders and rivers.
"There must be seven wards," Bane said as he studied the map. "The first one should be here." He pointed to a place at the top of the map.
Tygon frowned at the spot. "The Rathgarian Wastelands. A terrible place, My Lord. Icy tundra swept by cold winds."
"Four more must be arranged in a pentagram, thus." Bane sketched the shape with a finger, ignoring the sour prince. "And two in the centre, linked with the others, like so."
Shrea picked up a writing implement and marked the points that Bane had indicated, then joined them with lines, forming a giant, pentagonal shape with lines running to the two central points within it.
Bane nodded. "Yes."
Tygon studied the markings. "That puts the second ward in the mountains of Millaran, and the third in the city of Ishkarad. That is in Vandin, and they are not our friends. A blue mage there would be in grave danger, for they abhor magic."
"They are at Vorkon's mercy too, and plagued by demons as you are now."
"Even so -"
"It must be created there, whether they like it or not."
Tygon wilted under Bane's cold gaze. "Yes, My Lord. But the Rathgarian Wastelands are many hundreds of leagues to the north; it will take months to get there."
"You will not be walking."
"Even on horseback..."
"I will take you."
Tygon looked like he wanted to run. "Yes, My Lord."
"Look." Shrea indicated a spot on the map. "The seventh ward will be right here in Avadorn."
"That is actually the first ward, but will be created last," Bane said. "The seventh is the one that you will create, Tygon."
The consort looked puzzled. "But that will be the first."
"They are named in the order of their power, not of their creation. The most powerful is the seventh."
"This one could be a problem," Shrea said, scrutinising the location of the second ward. "It is in the middle of a river."
"It does not have to be exact."
"Then the third ward does not have to be in Ishkarad?" Tygon looked relieved.
"Moving a ward location to avoid a river is one thing, but for a bunch of people?" Bane shook his head. "That ward, which is actually the fifth, will be in Ishkarad."
"My Lord, they are atheists. They will stone the mage to death."
"I will not let them."
"Of course, My Lord."
Bane shot Tygon an impatient look, irritated by the man's subservience. Shrea distracted him, deliberately, he suspected.
"Will you be taking all four of us to our destinations, My Lord?"
"Obviously."
"Then I will be going to the mountains of Millaran, and Bashir to Ishkarad. Kimera will go to..." She glanced at the map. "Rith Forest."
"What is your mastery?"
"Links, My Lord."
"And Bashir and Kimera?"
"Illusions and Runes."
Bane nodded and turned to Tygon. "You have made your preparations?"
He hesitated. "I did not know where I was going."
"Then you had better find some warm clothes. I will Move Kimera first, then Bashir and Shrea."
Tygon headed for the door, where he almost bumped into Bashir, who bowed and stepped aside to allow the consort to pass, then entered, followed by Kimera. They carried bundles of provisions and were dressed in hardy, warm clothes, looking nervous and a little excited. Bane turned to Kimera, who shrank from him when he held out his hand.
"Take my hand."
She glanced at Bashir and swallowed. "Now?"
"Yes."
"Where are we going?"
"Rith Forest."
Kimera touched his fingers as if expecting to be burnt. Bane took hold of her hand and pulled her closer.
"This will be unpleasant for you."
Kimera opened her mouth, and he Moved. They reappeared in a forest of vast, spreading dead trees hung with the rotting remnants of flowering vines and withered orchids. The air had undoubtedly once been filled with heady scents and birdsong, but now smoke and silence tainted it. The mantle of ash covered a thick carpet of leaves that crackled underfoot, and patches of black, shrivelled ferns thrust through it, their dry leaves whispering in the slight breeze. The web of bare branches overhead dulled the red glow from the clouds further, making it even gloomier. He released Kimera, who fell to her knees and vomited. The touch of the dark power was always worst the first time, he mused, walking away to gaze around at the scenery. It must have once been pretty, for a mid-realm, but lately he had found himself longing for the dark caverns of the Underworld again.
Kimera took several minutes to recover from the Move, drinking from a flask to settle her stomach and wash the taste from her mouth. He waited until she got shakily to her feet and looked around, clearly dismayed.
"Here? But there is nothing here but trees. I need stone."
"Then find some. It does not have to be on this exact spot. Find what you need and use it."
She nodded, and he turned away. "Wait!"
Bane swung back. "What is it?"
"What if... Vorkon finds me? Or his mages?"
He shrugged. "Pray."
"To the goddess?"
A faint smile curled his lips. "No. To me."
"I do not know if I can do that."
"It is easy, just speak my name and beg my aid. I will come."
"I worship Drayshina."
"I did not tell you to worship me. Pray or die. Your choice." Bane swung away and Moved.
The three mages recoiled when he reappeared in their midst. Tygon turned green and pulled out his handkerchief, pressing it to his lips in a foppish manner that set Bane's teeth on edge. Bashir stepped forward.
"I cannot go to Ishkarad. They will kill me."
"You can and they will not," Bane said. "I tire of this carping. Do you wish to save your world or not?"
Bashir gulped. "Of course we -"
"Then do as I say. In my world, five of the seven blue mages died setting their wards. Are you prepared to make the same sacrifice?"
Bashir glanced at Tygon, who was ashen-faced. "Yes."
"Good. With my help, it should not come to that. But you should be prepared to give your lives, or you are useless to me."
Tygon turned away, clutching his crumpled handkerchief, and Shrea took his arm in a comforting gesture. Bane cast him a contemptuous look, and then turned to Bashir.
"There is no time to waste."
Bashir picked up his bundle of provisions and took Bane's proffered hand with only a slight hesitation.
They reappeared in a dingy side street populated by beggars and scrawny children, and Bashir doubled over, retching. Bane made them invisible as he glanced around, waiting for the mage to recover. The city's predominantly brown hue made a nasty first impression. It appeared to have been built entirely from brown bricks, capped with steeply slanted grey slate roofs.
Its only claim to beauty of any sort was the delicate iron filigree that edged the tall roofs and the intricately designed spires that tipped them. Litter lay strewn about the dingy alley, and the dull walls were streaked with grimy black streaks. A fire wall surrounded the city, but it did not seem to be as effective as Avadorn's. Grey clouds hid the sun and hung over the dismal city like a shroud. Bashir straightened and gulped from his flask, grimacing.
Bane glanced at him. "You said these people do not believe in magic, yet they use the blue power. They too must have mages."
"No, My Lord." Bashir looked up at the shimmering walls of blue fire that held the darkness at bay. "The machines that create the city walls run entirely by themselves. They use a method of perpetual flow, and are far too powerful for a mage to supply. These people must have spies in our cities, or else they bought the technology from one of our inventors."
Bane g
runted and set off down the alley, heading for the busy street beyond, and Bashir followed. Horse-drawn carts and wagons clattered along the stone roads, and horseless vehicles rumbled amongst them, puffing foul blue smoke. Bashir sweated, glancing around at the people who walked past without seeing them.
He cast a puzzled look at Bane, who said, "No, they cannot see you."
The mage looked relieved. "Marvellous."
"What manner of carriages are these?"
Bashir frowned at a passing vehicle, wrinkling his nose. "They use a foul liquid for fuel. That is all I know about them."
Bane looked around. The populace seemed predominantly middle class, their clothes simple and dull, and their expressions listless. The women wore scarves over their hair, and the men were all bearded. Bane disliked the place, finding it dreary and depressing. He set off down the street, Bashir a pace behind. Several times he narrowly avoided collisions with the lethargic people, once stepping back and trampling on Bashir's toes.
"What are we looking for, My Lord?" Bashir enquired after they had walked a fair distance.
"A quiet place, an empty building, perhaps."
"A cellar?"
"That would do. A temple or church would be ideal."
Bashir shook his head. "These people do not believe in gods."
"They are fools." Bane spotted an imposing building further down the street. "Would that have a cellar?"
"That looks like a prison, My Lord."
"No good. Too many closed gates. What about the one next to it?"
"That might be an administration building."
They entered the building, narrowly avoiding two men who strode out of a doorway ahead of them. Bane marched down the drab halls, some of which a coat of white paint cheered, glancing into cramped, dull offices where sleepy clerks scratched in parchment books. He opened several doors, finding more offices and clerks, who must been mystified by the doors that opened and closed by themselves. At the end of a long, narrow corridor, he found an empty room. A narrow barred window let in a little light, and dust lay thick on the floor. Bane nodded with satisfaction.
"This will have to do."
Bashir looked doubtful. "What if someone comes in? This place is full of people."
"No one will enter." Bane turned to the door and waved his hand, and a brick wall replaced it.
"An illusion?"
"No."
Bashir set down his pack. "And if Vorkon finds me?"
"Pray."
The mage inclined his head. "Of course."
"I will return when the seventh and sixth wards are set."
Bashir opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Bane Moved.
Chapter Two
Mage Prince
Bane reappeared in the map room, where Shrea and Tygon sat at the table, waiting. Shrea rose and picked up her bundle, her slender form clad in a thick fur coat. Bane held out his hand, and she took it without hesitation, to his surprise.
The cold mountain wind cut through his cloak, and he released Shrea's hand, glancing around. An icy wind swept the barren, inhospitable rocky slopes, and patches of dirty grey snow sheltered in the crevasses. The dark clouds seemed closer, and silent lightning flickered through them. Two peaks away, a volcano spewed glowing lava down steep slopes, smoke and ash flying past on the wind. Shrea straightened from her bout of sickness, her face pale, and pulled her coat close, shivering.
Bane turned to her. "Find a good place, a cave would be ideal."
Shrea nodded and scanned the slopes, the wind tearing at her straight brown hair.
"If you need me, pray," Bane said, and she nodded again.
Bane returned to the map room, where Tygon paced the floor, his bundle clutched in his arms. He stepped back when Bane appeared, his already pasty face becoming ashen.
"I do not think I can do this," he whimpered.
"You have no choice."
"I do. You cannot make me. Let Shrea create the seventh ward, she is almost as powerful as I am."
Bane shook his head. "If you will not do it, I will take your wife."
"No. Please."
"Then you must."
"I cannot."
Bane gave an impatient snort and strode over to the cringing mage prince, taking his arm in a crushing grip. Tygon yelped, and Bane Moved, reappearing on flat, icy tundra that stretched away in all directions as far as the eye could see. Tussocks of dead brown grass poked through a layer of dirty frost, and a chill wind tugged at his cloak. Dark clouds raced overhead, and the air stank of sulphur. He released Tygon, who dropped to his knees and retched. When he recovered, he raised his head and glared at Bane, the icy wind making his eyes water.
"I will freeze!"
The Demon Lord gestured, and a curved wall of rock shot up from the ground with a grating crack, towering over them. Tygon stumbled into its lee and stood shivering, chafing his arms and blowing on his hands.
"Goddess, what is that stench?" He clamped a hand over his nose.
"Begin," Bane growled.
"Why do you not do it? You have more power than any of us."
"A black ward would not mesh with the blue ones, as you should know, and Vorkon will sense my power if I use too much."
Tygon glanced around. "Why here?"
"Because this is where it must be." Bane glared at him. "Now get on with it."
The consort squatted next to the wall and fumbled with his pack, extracting two pots and a book. He opened a pot and sniffed it, grimacing, then began to page through the book, the pages riffling in the occasional gusts of wind that came around the barrier. Bane watched him with growing disgust, snorting when he dropped the book and almost fell over trying to catch it. Bane leant against the wall, folding his arms as the blue mage bumbled ineffectually with his condiments.
"If you take long enough," Bane growled, "Vorkon will find us, and this plan will fail."
Tygon leapt up. "Then why do you not destroy him? You are a damned dark god, fight him! Because of your cowardice, I have to freeze in this hell hole!"
Bane's eyes narrowed, and he resisted a strong urge to slap the shivering prince, who, in his opinion, was a blithering idiot. He forced himself to remain still. "Get on with it, or I will leave you here for him to find."
"It is not fair!" Tygon was almost weeping. "I am a prince! I should not have to do this."
"And I do not have to do this at all. I can leave this domain, and all of you, to die under Vorkon's rule."
Tygon sniffed, wiping his nose on his handkerchief.
Bane stepped closer. "My patience wears thin."
The prince retreated a few steps, then put the handkerchief away and appeared to find some resolve. Dragging the rich furs in which he was clad closer, he stepped out into the wind and gazed around, his eyes narrowed. Bane had already looked within the earth and found a suitable fault, but it took Tygon several minutes to find it. He muttered, then returned to his pack and took out a pot. Going back to the patch of ground where the ward would take shape, he opened the pot and poured blue powder onto the ground, shuffling around in a rough pentagram. The wind whipped the powder away, blowing it into his face and making him cough. By the time he had finished, his face was liberally sprinkled with blue spots.
Bane settled down in the shelter of the barrier to wait, leashing his power into his bones so that a hound would be less likely to find him. Tygon continued to work, muttering and sniffing. He placed polished stones at the corners of the pentagram, which was forty paces to a side, not as large as the one in the Overworld had been, but big enough to make Bane wonder if he was capable of raising it.
By the time dusk fell, he had ripped out most of the tough grass within the pentagram to expose the bedrock, his exertions warming him. He cast many resentful looks at Bane, clearly envious of the dark god's inaction, but even he knew that Bane could not help him without tainting the ward. Bane found a loose rock and brought it to the shelter of the wall, using a little dark power to heat the stone. When it
became too dark to work, Tygon joined him, eating some food and drinking strong wine from his flask, while Bane conjured a cup of ambrosia to sip.
"Why do we have to stay here?" the prince demanded.
"Because every time I use my power, there is a danger that Vorkon will sense it."
Tygon wiped his nose, which the cold had reddened, and gazed at the cleared area in front of them. "How long would it take you to create a ward like this?"
Bane shrugged. "A few minutes."
"Then why do you not create all of them?"
"Vorkon would sense it immediately, and it is useless unless he goes into the Darkworld. I cannot fight him and raise the ward at the same time."
"I suppose not. Even gods have their limits, then."
"We cannot split ourselves in two, no."
Tygon scowled at the darkness, which lacked the twinkle of stars or a silver moon. "I will never be able to sleep in this cold, on this hard ground. And this stench!" He grimaced.
"Then you will be very tired tomorrow."
Tygon glanced at him. "You have no compassion, do you?"
Bane was silent for several moments. "As a dark god, not much."
"When are you anything else?"
"When I cast out the power."
"And then what do you become?"
Bane shrugged. "A neutral god, I suppose."
"A powerless one? A mere mortal?"
"Not powerless. I use the blue power, and the small gifts that are a god's own, and do not require any power other than that of my mind."
Tygon looked intrigued, and held out his hands to warm them on the rock. "How small are those gifts?"
"I command the elements."
"That does not sound so small."
Bane smiled, his fingers stroking the stone, keeping it warm with his power and warming his hands on it at the same time. "Compared to what I can do with the dark power, they are."
"Why would you want to cast out your power then?"
"To regain my compassion, perhaps."
"But -"
Bane raised a hand. "Enough questions."
Tygon fell silent with a sullen look, and, after a lot of squirming, grass evicting, grunting and muttering, managed to make himself comfortable enough to fall asleep. Bane sat for a while, disliking the necessity of remaining in this cold, bleak place to guard a snivelling blue mage. Eventually he set a warning ward and curled up next to the hot stone, casting himself into a light sleep.
Demon Lord IV - Lord of Shadows Page 2