Demon Lord IV - Lord of Shadows

by T C Southwell

  "Leave me alone," he snarled.

  Bane slapped him. "Perhaps you need to be sick some more." He held out his hand, and Tygon cowered back.

  "No! I am well enough now." The prince clutched his reddened cheek.

  Bane thrust the water skin at him again, and he took it, sipping from it with a grimace. He accepted the parcel of food which Bane held out with equally bad grace, and began to eat with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner climbing the gallows.

  "Where did you go?" he muttered.

  "Kimera was attacked by a black mage."

  Tygon frowned. "Was she harmed?"

  "No."

  "What if I had been attacked while you were away?"

  "I would have returned."

  Tygon nibbled on a sweet bun. "Vorkon might have snatched me. You would not have been able to stop that in time."

  "I have set a ward in the ground here. It would have warned me of a channel forming. And aside from that, if Vorkon found out about this ward, or any of them for that matter, he would come here himself to destroy it, and you."

  "Exactly!"

  "In which case, I would have returned to fight him, and if the ward was ready, take him to the Darkworld so that you could activate it and trap him below." He leant closer. "But it is not ready, is it?"

  Tygon's eyes flicked to the ward. "No."

  "Because you were drunk."

  "I was scared."

  "You are a coward."

  Tygon looked down at the bun. "I am not a warrior. I am a poet."

  "I do not care what you are. Being spineless is not requisite for poets, is it?"

  The consort continued to eat doggedly, his eyes lowered. Bane settled beside the wall and heated the stone again, gazing at the ward. He wondered how a beautiful, courageous woman like Kyan could love such a cowardly man, even if she found him handsome. Then again, he had often wondered how Mirra could love the man who had abused her so badly, yet she did.

  The dark power dulled his compassion, but his love for his wife could evince a violent reaction from him if he witnessed cruelty to innocents, he had discovered. It reminded him of the cruelties that he had subjected her to, and he disliked such reminders. Although the evil would never again rule him as it had done when he had destroyed the wards in the Overworld, she was his only link now to the compassion that the dark power had walled away in his heart.

  By mid-morning, Tygon had recovered sufficiently to continue working on the ward, pouring blue fire into its foundations to raise it. When it stood a hundred feet tall, he stopped, and it settled back slightly once more. He looked exhausted again, but approached one of the sides and began to inscribe a rune upon it.

  Bane pondered the fact that magic appeared to be constant, since a stone ward was created in exactly the same way here as it was in the Overworld. Tygon only inscribed one rune before darkness fell, then joined Bane in the shelter of the wall, his face lined and gaunt. He ate at Bane's urging, and since there was no wine left, drank a little water. Afterwards he fell asleep, and Bane joined him. Soon he would have to face Vorkon in battle again, and he needed his rest.

  Half a day after passing a fork in the road, Shevra's ragged group spotted two supply wagons ahead, rumbling towards them. The bearded man, Imral, ran to meet them, and the drovers hauled on the reins, halting the team of six huge horses. Shevra and the rest caught up as the drover climbed down and the captain joined him, eyeing Imral with concern.

  "Where are you going?" Imral asked.

  "Dragoran."

  "That's where we're from. Don't bother, it's gone."

  The captain pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "In that case, we're going to Arbordan."

  Shevra stepped forward. "That's where I'm from. Don't bother, it's gone."

  "Goddess!" The captain ran a hand through his short flaxen hair and consulted the paper again. "Then we return home. There are no other towns on this road."

  "May we come with you?"

  "Of course. Climb aboard."

  "Thank you." She grabbed his sleeve when he turned away. "Captain."

  "Yes?"

  "Arbordan received supplies only three days ago, why would you have gone there?"

  He looked a little uncomfortable. "Standing orders. If the first town on our list falls, we go to the nearest one to it. No point it going home fully loaded after making the trip more than half way."

  "Yet now you're going back to the city. Are there are no other towns nearby?"

  "No. This area is now uninhabited." He swung away and strode back to the second wagon, shouting orders to the drovers.

  They turned the wagons with some difficulty, and Shevra climbed aboard with the refugees, finding a pile of the rough cloth that was sent to the villages. She made a nest in it, settling down for some much needed sleep within the security of the wagon train and its escort.

  Chapter Three

  Fate

  The next day Tygon continued to work on the runes, carving them with his fists as he had the ward atop the monolith. The work was not as exhausting as raising the ward, and he seemed to recover some of his strength. Bane dreaded another cry for help that would force him to leave again. Bashir, sealed within his room, was reasonably safe, as was Shrea, in the remote mountains.

  The warlock had stumbled upon Kimera by chance, he suspected, since the creation of her ward did not entail the use of the blue power, and would not, until its activation. Vorkon's search for Kayos distracted him, and the Grey God was proving to be a valuable decoy once more. As yet, Vorkon had not cast his Eye on this remote and inhospitable place, probably because he did not expect to find anything of interest out here. As long as Vorkon did not suspect that a trap was being laid for him, it was safe.

  By mid-afternoon, Tygon had finished the last four runes, which were far smaller than the pentagram. He joined Bane behind the wall, looking tired but triumphant. When Bane offered him some food, however, he shook his head.

  "I feel sick."

  Bane held his hand out just above the ground, discovering that the dark power that rose from it was stronger, chilling his palm.

  "Vorkon speeds up his destruction of the Lightworld."

  Tygon looked alarmed. "The cities?"

  "Doubtless they are getting darker. Your machines will not be able to hold this much dark power at bay for long. Drayshina's fall has allowed him to speed the corruption of the Lightworld, since she can no longer use her power to help your people."

  "Do something!"

  "I can do nothing until you finish the ward."

  The prince mage looked anguished, then jumped up and strode the monolith, summoning his power. He poured it into the blazing cracks, and after several minutes, the ward began to rise again. Bane leant back against the barrier, pleased that Tygon had found something that inspired him to work harder. The red glow faded from the clouds, but Tygon continued to pour his power into the slowly rising ward, sweat running down his pinched face. The edges of the monolith grated as it rose, setting up a dull, monotonous grinding. An hour after dusk, Bane rose and went over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. The mage's eyes opened, but he did not stop his work.

  "Leave it now, continue tomorrow," Bane advised.

  "I cannot," the prince growled through gritted teeth. "I have to finish it."

  "You will perish before you do, if you do not rest and eat."

  "I cannot eat anyway."

  "Stop now, or I will make you."

  Tygon wilted, the defiance draining out of him in the face of his inability to defy Bane. Lowering his hands, he let the twin streams of blue light dwindle and die. The ward settled back, then steadied, and the consort's knees buckled. He sank down on his haunches, staring into space with dull eyes. Bane dragged him into the lee of the wall and slapped his face a few times to rouse him from his stupor, casting a shield around him to keep out the dark power. When his eyes had regained their focus, Bane handed him some food and the water flask, and Tygon picked up a pastry.

  "I
do not feel sick anymore. Has the dark power stopped rising?"

  "No, I am shielding you from it."

  Tygon sighed, taking a bite of the pastry. "There seems no end to what you can do. I suppose you could restore this world, if you chose?"

  "Not exactly. I can undo what Vorkon has done, that is all."

  "Then why not stop him from doing this?"

  Bane shook his head. "It would be pointless. Two dark gods locked in a struggle for supremacy would achieve nothing. If one of us eventually triumphed, it would be centuries from now, and then the vanquished would not perish."

  "I thought you were more powerful than him?"

  "I am. But it would still be pointless, even if I was assured of victory in the end, since it would not destroy him."

  Tygon ate in glum silence, then lay down and fell asleep, his exhaustion complete. He looked older and thinner, his cheeks sunken, his eyes dark ringed and new lines bracketing his mouth. Bane wondered how horrified his lovely wife would be when next she saw him, and how old he really was, since blue mages, like their black counterparts, lived for many centuries. His personality had changed too, and although still cowardly, he had found a new font of strength with which to create the ward, gifted to him by his concern for his wife.

  Shouts of alarm, bellowed orders, and the clatter of galloping hooves woke Shevra. The wagon bounced and swayed. Crawling from her warm nest, she peered over the edge of the cart and gasped. The huge horses careened along the road at a full gallop, the drovers cracking their long whips over the beats' sweating backs. The platoon of troops that had been following on foot was now mostly aboard the second wagon, throwing supplies off to lighten its load.

  A number of men also crowded aboard her wagon, and the group of refugees were huddled together in the middle of it. The soldiers hurled bags of precious grain over the side, most of which burst when they hit the road. The reason for their flight pounded in their wake, a throng of dark creatures that moved with many weird, shambling gaits, keeping pace with the wagons. Most of the soldiers in the second wagon fired their weapons into the pursuing horde, and many fell under the barrage of blue light, their writhing forms swallowed up in the cloud of ash behind the wagons.

  The wind whipped Shevra's hair into her face, and she brushed it from her eyes as she stared with horror at the creatures that pursued them, drawing a little comfort from the fact that they seemed unable to catch up. It was just a question of who tired first, however, them or the horses. A foul oath came from the drover behind her, and she swung around to find him and his assistant hauling on the reins.

  Another army of dark creatures and vicious looking men dressed in scarred armour and filthy clothes blocked the road ahead. The horses slowed to a trot as they passed a belt of dead trees, and a makeshift fortified camp came into view just beyond them. Two more supply wagons stood in the middle of it, and a platoon of soldiers crouched behind a low wall of mud spiked with sharpened stakes. Workmen toiled to dig the ditch deeper and raise the mud wall, refugees that the other supply train had picked up, she suspected.

  "Over there!" the captain bellowed, directing the drovers to head for the camp.

  The drovers whipped the lathered horses back into a canter, and they rumbled towards the camp. Some of the workmen pulled aside a barrier of felled trees to allow them entry, and as soon as the wagons entered the camp, the captain ordered the soldiers off. They ran to join their fellows behind the mud wall, firing streaks of blue light at the surging, howling host that faced them. The drovers hauled the horses to a skidding stop in the trampled mud, then leapt down to run to the wall and help with the fortifications.

  "All able bodied men to the trench! Use whatever you can find and dig!" the captain shouted.

  Four of the refugees in her group jumped down and ran to obey, leaving the women, children, and a few elderly or injured men. Shevra jumped down and hurried over to the captain, standing behind him and staring at the black tide of death that faced them.

  "Can I help?" she yelled over the din.

  He swung around, raking her with a glance. "Are you a mage?"

  "No. I'm a fire dancer."

  "A fire mage?" He shook his head. "No use to us. We need someone who can recharge our weapons."

  "I can throw fire."

  "Just stay out of the way, girl."

  Shevra re-joined the refugees beside the wagon, who watched the battle with wide, fearful eyes. Imral had gone to help dig the trench, and she stood beside the motherly woman, who shot her a despairing look and took her hand in a sweaty grip. The dark army attacked the camp in waves of roaring, sword swinging death, and the soldiers' blue light cut down hundreds.

  The volleys barely slowed the attack, which washed up against the fragile defences like a dark wave, meeting more hot blue light and sharp swords. Screams rent the air as dark creatures and men were burnt, torn apart or impaled upon swords and lances in a gruesome carnage. Shevra's bile rose as the stench of burnt flesh and torn entrails wafted from the battle front, mixed with the tangy scent of fresh blood. She turned to the refugees, many of whom wept with terror.

  "We must pray!"

  A woman nearby shook her head, her face pinched with dread. "The goddess cannot help us. We've prayed for years and it's never done any good."

  "Then don't pray to her. Pray to the Demon Lord."

  "The dark god you spoke of? Are you mad, girl? He will destroy us even quicker than those beasts, unless you seek a swift end?" The woman glanced at the battle. "Which might be a wise choice."

  "I think he will save us, but which ever you believe he will do, it's better than being torn apart by them."

  "He might not answer at all," an old man yelled.

  "In which case, we're no worse off than we are now. But if there's a hope that he will save us, as he did in my town, we have to try."

  The woman nodded, glancing around at her friends. "She's right. It can do no harm. It will either lead to a swift end or nothing will happen at all."

  "You don't know that he'll kill us quickly," the elderly man protested. "He might use us for sport!"

  "Then you don't have to pray, but let those who still have hope join me in prayer, or I'll do it alone," Shevra stated.

  "You could doom us all!"

  Shevra gestured towards the battle. "We're already doomed. Here is a chance for salvation. Take it!"

  The woman nodded, her face grim. "How do we pray to a dark god?"

  "The same as Drayshina; call his name and beg his aid." Shevra walked over and took the woman's hands, gazing deep into her frightened eyes. "Help us, Demon Lord."

  The woman shivered, but closed her eyes and repeated the words. Soon others joined in, and a chant began, rising to a shout.

  On the barren plains, the new day dawned colder. Black sleet fell in slanting sheets, driven by the endless wind. Tygon shivered and crouched over the warm stone, reluctant to leave the shelter of the wall. The cold also gnawed at Bane's bones, and he wondered if his face was as reddened as the prince's. He had a bad feeling about the day; something told him that it boded ill. Tygon plucked up the courage to venture out into the freezing wind, and set to work raising the ward again. The deep, grinding rumble of its passage shivered the earth, as if it too felt the cold. It towered a hundred and fifty feet high now, the runes fifty feet above the ground.

  It had risen another twenty feet when a cry of terror came in Bane's mind, jerking him from his reverie. He jumped up, casting a glance at Tygon, who was oblivious to him, all his concentration upon the rising ward. He probably would not notice Bane's absence, and although he was reluctant to leave with the ward so close to completion, Bashir's cries for help could not be ignored. If he Moved through time upon his return, there would be no risk, except of discovery, and it was almost time to find Vorkon anyway.

  Bane Moved, reappearing in the small, dusty room. Bashir stood with his back pressed against the wall, beating at his robes, his eyes wide and his face pale.

  "Snakes!
Snakes!" he screamed.

  Bane strode over to him and clamped a hand over his mouth, stifling his cries. "Be quiet. There are no snakes."

  Bashir's bulging eyes met his, then dropped to the floor again, widening further, and he continued to beat at his legs. Bane glanced around the room, but found no air demon in it, and no sign of any dark force. Yet something was in Bashir's mind, filling it with an illusion of snakes, of which the mage was clearly terrified. He placed his other hand on Bashir's brow and closed his eyes, seeking the source of the illusion.

  Bane found a silvery thread of consciousness interfering with Bashir's, and cast his mind along it, out over the drab slate roofs to a room on the top floor of a tall building. A man lay on a couch, his pinched, sly features stretched in a gloating smile. A minor earth demon, terrorising others to amuse itself. Bane cast himself into the demon's consciousness and filled it with an image of a true dark god, his hands raised to strike. At this range, he could not use the dark power. The demon's eyes flew open, and he gave a horrified shriek, leaping off the couch and racing out of the room.

  Bane became aware of Bashir's struggles again, and released him. The mage leant against the wall, gasping, his eyes still wide, flicking around the room in search of the illusory snakes that had disappeared.

  "Goddess! What was that?"

  "A bored demon."

  "An illusion?"

  Bane nodded.

  "Goddess!" Bashir ran a hand through his thin hair. "It was so real! A master of illusion should not be vulnerable to that sort of attack."

  "A demon is a far more powerful illusionist than you will ever be. It is one of the tools that they use to torment people."

  "So it was not one of Vorkon's?"

  "No. You were a random victim."