"I think not."
"Let us hope not, or we will waken to find the town empty tomorrow."
As soon as Bane had finished his wine, she asked the innkeeper for two rooms and baths, then followed him up the creaky staircase to a poky room whose only redeeming feature was its cleanliness. The bathroom was at the end of a short corridor, and she soaked in a steaming tub for nearly an hour, to emerge refreshed and revitalised. Before going to bed, she decided to check on Bane. When she knocked and entered, she found him sitting on the bed, staring into space. He turned to regard her.
"What do you want?"
"Just to see if you are all right. I have finished in the bathroom. Are you going to bathe?"
"No. I have no liking for water."
"But you will feel better. It is nice to be clean."
"I am clean," he retorted.
"I know," she admitted, looking puzzled. "How do you do it?"
Mirra thought that he would rebuke her for questioning him, as he usually did, but he said, "The dark power burns all dirt from my body."
"I see." She perched on the end of the bed. "Why do you dislike water?"
"All Overworld fluids repulse me. There is not much water in the Underworld, and that is confined to the caverns where the water demons dwell. Even so, it is not like the water up here. It boils constantly, and is filled with sulphur."
"But you have to drink it," she pointed out.
"I have never drunk water." He looked scornful, then added, "Except for your potion."
"What do you drink then?"
"The wine my fa... the Black Lord sends me."
"What is it made from?"
He sighed and leant back against the headboard. "You ask too many questions. I dislike answering them."
"I have noticed. Do you not know?"
He frowned. "You are becoming impertinent. Do not think that because I am going along with your plans for the moment, for the sake of revenge, that I will allow this sort of rudeness from you."
Mirra shrugged and rose. "Very well, keep your secrets." She turned to leave, pausing in the doorway. "But have a bath. I recommend it. I think you will find it as enjoyable as the food."
Leaving him to make up his mind, she returned to her room, eager to enjoy a good night's sleep. For the first time in months, she slept on a soft bed, clean and well fed.
In the morning, Bane ate a gargantuan meal of bacon, eggs and toast, and Mirra smiled at his appetite. He was regaining his strength rapidly, and the good food would speed his recovery, as well as reduce the Underworld's influence.
They left the village and rode on through a gloomy countryside under a dark sky. The people looked sullen, depressed by the constant darkness and the adverse effects it was having on their crops. Their new troubles preoccupied them, and they seemed to have forgotten the Demon Lord's march across their land and the slaughter that had accompanied it. They came upon several villages still repairing the damage Bane's rampage had caused, but the people appeared to be more concerned about the strange weather. Perhaps they thought that the other trouble was over, and the Demon Lord had made his home in the Old Kingdom, Mirra reflected.
That had to be why no one recognised Bane, even in his distinctive garb. They could not believe that the Demon Lord would be riding through the New Kingdom on an ordinary looking horse, accompanied by a ragged healer. Most people did not know that the Black Lord had risen, since he remained in the Old Kingdom, enjoying his new domain. They did not understand the significance of the dark, lightning-shot clouds. Lightning strikes had started many fires, and the lack of rain allowed a cold wind to fan the flames and spread the fires over broad swathes of land. Many farmers had lost entire crops to the wildfires, while others had had their herds scattered and decimated.
Two days after they left the inn, ash began to fall, blanketing the land in a grey shroud. It puzzled Mirra, and Bane's silence became palpably pregnant behind her, which told her that he knew what was causing it. When they dismounted at the end of the day, she turned to him. His eyes slid away from her curious gaze as he bent to unpack the tent.
"Bane, what is causing this?"
He scowled at the tent. "The Black Lord is causing the fire to rise from the Underworld."
"How? Why?"
"The dark power is making a mountain spout ash and fire somewhere. It is part of the transformation."
She looked up at the falling ash. "This is going to make life very unpleasant."
"That is his intention."
"Does he know you still live?"
He straightened and turned to frown at her. "Of course."
"Then why does he not try to stop you?"
"He does not know what I plan to do."
"You mean he does not think you will fight him."
A slight smile curled his lips. "No."
"Because he knows you will die if you try."
"He probably believes that, as you do."
"But you do not."
Bane swung away and shook out the tent with a savage jerk. "I do not particularly care."
"But I do. You want revenge, do you not? I know you do not care what happens to the Overworld, but surely you want to defeat him, punish him for what he did to you?"
"I tire of your impudent questions."
Mirra sighed and turned away to do her chores. His reluctance to speak about the Black Lord, or himself, frustrated her. At least he had diversified his refusal from the simple command he had used before.
The next day they continued their journey through an ash-blackened land, with more still falling. What was happening to her world saddened Mirra. Already it looked to her like something from the Underworld. The demon steed galloped tirelessly, but was forced to slow for natural hazards, such as forests.
They were trotting through a thicket of snake wood saplings when a band of dirty, ragged men emerged from the trees. They bore signs of harsh living and hard fighting, brutality etched on their scarred faces. They carried rusty swords and daggers, chipped axes and clubs. Some wore torn chain mail or dented armour probably scavenged from battlefields, and streaks of rust reddened their filthy clothes. An older man with greying hair and a broken nose stepped forward as Bane stopped the demon steed, glaring up at them.
"Hand over your valuables!" he cried, brandishing a rusty sword.
Mirra glanced back at Bane, laying a hand on his arm in an attempt to forestall any use of his power. He jerked away, shooting her a brief glare before glowering at the bandit again.
Deducing that Bane was not about to do anything rash, Mirra turned to the bandit leader. "We have none."
The greying bandit stepped forward, showing brown, rotting teeth in a foul leer. "Now then, healer, we mean you no harm, but his lordship looks like he's got coin."
"He does not."
"We'll just see about that. Get down."
Mirra slid off, and Bane dismounted when she tugged on his leg. His face was set in a mask of disdain, the sneer that curled his lips reaching his eyes. Although he towered over the bandits, his youth was obvious amongst so many seasoned warriors.
Mirra whispered, "Do nothing. Let them take what they want."
"Why should I?" he growled.
"Because we do not want to fight them. It is not worth it."
"They disgust me."
"Do not use your power."
"Stop telling me what to do."
The bandits pulled the pack off Orriss and went through it, finding little of value. They recoiled from Bane's potions and ointments, wrinkling their noses in disgust. Having established that the pack was worthless, they advanced on Bane. Mirra did not interest them, since healers never carried valuables, but Bane, with his well-cut clothes and air of superiority, did. The Demon Lord watched their approach with deep contempt, his arms folded.
Mirra stepped into the bandit leader's path. "He has nothing. I will show you."
Mirra turned and lifted Bane's cloak, revealing his snug-fitting tunic and trousers, with no
money pouch in sight. He glared at her, and she knew that her impudent liberties with his person infuriated him. The bandit scowled, unwilling to admit defeat.
"He's got a money belt under his clothes then."
She shook her head. "Nothing."
"I'll see for myself, healer."
Bane tensed as the man approached, and Mirra was forced to step aside, praying that Bane would heed her advice. He unfolded his arms, and the brigand took the dagger that hung on Bane’s belt, then pulled open his tunic, exposing the rune scars. The bandit stepped back with an oath.
"Lady Mother! Who did that to you, lad?"
Bane smiled. "My father."
"He should be whipped. Was it some sort of ritual?"
"No, he just liked to inflict pain."
The man shuddered, retreating. "You've got nothing I want. Go on your way, but we'll take the horse."
The Demon Lord shrugged. "Take him."
Orriss stood docilely while the bandits tied a rope around its neck and led it away, melting back into the trees. Mirra gathered up their scattered belongings while Bane refastened his tunic, then he helped her to stuff equipment back into the bag.
The demon steed returned half an hour later, with no rope on its neck and no sign of the bandits. As Bane went to mount it, Mirra noticed, with a start of surprise, that his dagger was back in its sheath on his belt. She wondered how that was possible, but there were a great many things about Bane that remained a mystery, and she shrugged it off as unimportant. They rode until dusk, then set up camp for the night. Bane pitched the tent, and Mirra cooked a thick stew of briar lentils and lune beans for supper. As soon as it was ready they retired to the tent to escape the ash. Mirra sat on the floor as usual, and Bane lounged on the bed, spooning the vegetable stew with a bland expression. He did not seem to care what he ate, so long as it did not poison him.
Considering the foul concoction he had been raised on, that did not surprise her. Only the scrape of spoons broke the silence. Bane remained taciturn, either from a complete lack of social graces or an utter paucity of interest in speaking to her. Probably a bit of both, she mused. If anything, he had grown more silent since the Black Lord had risen, and she wondered if that had something to do with it.
"Bane, what is it like in the Underworld?"
"I already told you. Hot, dry and dark."
"Did the Black Lord really cut those runes?"
He nodded. "Yes."
"Why?"
"So I could use the power."
"What else did they do to you?"
A short silence fell, then he muttered, "Many things."
"Like what?"
Bane sighed, glancing at her. "Like making me drink things that made me sick, taunting and tormenting me, chasing me when I was too young to fight back. They made me break rocks and dig tunnels."
"But they thought you were the Black Lord's son. How could they do that?"
"He said that it was to make me strong, but I will hazard that he did not really mind."
"No, I suppose not."
Bane continued to eat, his dour expression discouraging further enquiries.
The next day was predictably dark, with thick black clouds hurrying overhead and ash falling in a steady rain. The demon steed galloped over ash-covered meadows, then slowed to enter another forest. Mirra clung to the stallion's mane, leaning forward to avoid unnecessary contact with Bane, more for his sake than hers, since he was the one who disliked being touched.
Unfortunately for him, she was almost sitting in his lap, so some contact was unavoidable. She liked being so close to him, even though his touch made her shiver, but had no doubt that he did not enjoy the situation. She wondered why he made her sit in front of him, when Dorel had sat behind. Perhaps it was because of the packs that took up most of the stallion's rump, or because he did not want her clinging to his waist, as the droge had. Another possibility was that he did not want her to suffer the effects of the dark power, and after some consideration, she decided that must be the reason. She shivered when she recalled how he had killed Agden, and tried not to dwell on it.
To distract herself from the deadly power of the man who sat so close behind her, she thought about the robbers they had encountered the previous day, pitying them. They could have been men who had once followed Bane, and were now outcasts from their communities, forced to live in the forests and steal for a living. The fact that they had not recognised him, even after seeing the rune scars, made that unlikely, however. From the gossip in the towns they had passed through, she had learnt that since Bane's march through the New Kingdom, outlaw bands had become rife. They were men with no homes or families, deserters from defeated armies, and his own men, footloose and bloodthirsty.
As if to confirm her thoughts, the demon steed dug in its hooves and stopped. It reared and whinnied a warning as dozens of ragged, mounted men boiled from the trees and closed in from all sides. A man with a club hit Bane from behind. He fell, rolling several times in the ash, and Mirra slid from the stallion's back as he knocked her sideways. He tried rise to his feet, but his attacker was already beside him, and a kick sent him sprawling. Dirty hands grabbed Mirra, and the demon steed lashed out with teeth and hooves. The men attacked it with swords and knives, not noticing the tiny flames that licked from the wounds in the stallion's glossy red hide before it galloped away.
Bane clasped his ribs, while Mirra struggled in the grip of a stocky, bearded brigand. The leader, a gaunt man with a long white scar down his cheek and a patch over one eye, swaggered over to Bane. As with the previous band, the men wore soiled finery and battered armour, their weapons rusted and worn. Bane tried to rise, but the bandit pushed him down with his foot. Bane's eyes glinted with fury, and Mirra prayed that he would keep his temper and his power leashed. The bandit squatted down and searched him, coming away empty handed. The men searched the pack again too, with identical results.
The leader turned to Mirra, raking her tattered robe with cynical eyes. "A healer, hey?" he sneered, raising a brawny arm wrapped in a rough bandage stained with brown blood. "Heal this."
Mirra shrank back. "I cannot."
"I knew it." His eyes gleamed. "You're no healer. You're just disguised as one."
"I have no power. There is no sun."
"Sun's only been gone a few days."
"I have had many to heal. It used up my power."
His grin revealed crooked, stained teeth. "I don't believe you."
"Please!"
The man who held her clamped a filthy hand over her mouth, and the leader looked around at his men. "Let's have some fun, boys!"
Bane sat up, brushing ash from his tunic, his cold eyes fixed on Mirra. She was sure there was hatred in them, and, as the men pulled at her clothes, he cocked a brow in mocking enquiry. She tried to shake her head, but her captor held her too firmly. Bane rose to his feet, but the bandits ignored him. Clearly they had dismissed him as a threat, since he was unarmed and only a youth. Mirra struggled harder as he raised a hand and traced one of the runes on his chest.
"Leave her," he commanded.
The men stopped tugging at her robe and turned to look at him in surprise. His expression was contemptuous, and his pale eyes raked them with an icy glance. Mirra jerked free of the hand over her mouth.
"Bane, no!"
He ignored her. "Let her go, and I may let you live."
The one-eyed man laughed. "Hark at him! Shut yer gob, boy!"
Bane's eyes frosted, and Mirra cringed. The Black Lord had called him 'boy', and that he did not appreciate it was obvious. Dread squeezed her heart, for he seemed in imminent danger of using his power. Why else had he traced a rune scar?
Desperate to stop him, she cried, "Do not do it, Bane. You will die!"
The one-eyed man guffawed. "Too right he will, girl. With my sword in his guts."
Drawing a rusty cutlass, he walked towards the Demon Lord. Bane watched him, his expression confident. As the bandit leader neared him, Bane pu
lled open his tunic to reveal the rune scars, one of which glowed dull red. The outlaw stopped, his mouth dropping open, and the hands that held Mirra relaxed. She crawled away from the stupefied men, who gaped at the Demon Lord. Bane's eyes locked with the bandit captain's, and the man gulped.
"What are you, a black mage?"
"No. Something far worse than that, human filth. Would you like a demonstration?"
The man stepped back. "No."
"Unfortunate." He rubbed the red mark that blossomed on his ribs. "You have to pay for this."
Bane turned his head, and Orriss stepped from the trees in response to his silent command. The demon steed stood revealed in all its otherworldly glory, from its smouldering flanks to the leaping flames of its mane and tail. It snorted fire, and its silver eyes glowed. The brigands cowered, whimpering, and some crept away into the forest. The captain threw down his weapon and scuttled away from Bane, as Mirra had seen so many men do in the past, then fell to his knees and prostrated himself.
"Demon Lord!"
Bane glared at him. "You dared to strike me. You abused my property."
The man yammered, "I - I didn't know, Lord, I swear!"
"Indeed. You would have to be a monumental fool to attack me, would you not?" His smile widened, becoming colder than Mirra would have believed possible. He was enjoying this, she realised. The demon steed pawed the ground, and the outlaws gibbered.
Bane's smile vanished. "My demon steed is hungry."
The bandit captain grovelled. "Please, Lord, I beg for mercy! We'll do anything you say, just spare us!"
A pang of anxiety went through Mirra as she realised that Bane had no intention of letting these men go. They had offended him, struck him, and he was not accustomed to allowing such an insult to go unpunished. Too many demons had hurt him in the Underworld, and he had learnt that the only way to prevent such abuse was to strike back with deadly force. She walked over to him, and his eyes flicked to her, filled with fury.
"Let them go, Bane."
"Why? They would have raped you, and probably killed me if they could."
Dark God Page 3