The Demon Lord unclipped his cloak and let it fall, then pulled off his shirt, not bothering with the buttons. The rune scars had faded to pale pink now that the dark power no longer lived in him, and he traced one curiously. To his surprise, it glowed with soft red light, and he wondered how that was possible when he no longer had any power. He had no time to ponder the mystery, however. The screams of dying men could not be ignored. Baron Martal's furious demands echoed around the garden, despite Ellese's attempts to keep him quiet.
"My men are dying! What in Damnation is that scum-sucking pig doing?"
Bane turned to the red-faced man. "You should watch this, you might learn something."
Martal exploded with curses and slander, but fell silent when Bane drew his black-bladed dagger. Fear shone in his eyes as he watched Bane like a mesmerised rabbit. The Demon Lord drew a harsh breath, and Ellese winced. He raised the dagger, pressed it to his skin, and cut. Blood trickled down his chest, and the pain made him bite his tongue. A dozen healers dashed towards him, but Ellese's shout drove them back. Most fled, leaving only a few, the soldiers, Martal, and Elder Mother.
Bane tried to block out the pain as he carved the runes for ultimate power, starting with the top left. It seemed to hurt more than ever now that he had been purged, and a cold sweat sheened him. He sliced the angular symbol with deft strokes, blood running down his chest and soaking into his trousers. Next he cut the top right symbol, then the second left, second right, third left. Never had he cut so many, and he was losing a lot of blood. He carved the third right, six runes now oozing blood. Gritting his teeth, he pressed the dagger to the seventh rune in the centre of his chest, unused since Arkonen had cut it. It linked the other six, completing the chain that gave him as much power as the Black Lord.
Bane cut the rune, put away the dagger and reached for the empty cup, scraping the blood from his chest. When it was full, he set it aside and opened the jar of green ointment, rubbing it into the cuts. The burning paste seared the wounds and stopped the bleeding, leaving the runes puckered black scars. More crashes and screams distracted him, then he picked up the black potion and smeared it over his chest and belly. Ellese watched him with anguished eyes, and he wanted to tell her to go away, spare herself, for the worst was yet to come.
Bane remembered how he had forced Mirra to share this terrible agony, and wondered how she had borne it. The familiar floating sensation filled him, and only years of experience prevented him from grabbing something solid. The black potion opened his flesh to the dark power, breaking down the natural barriers that prevented it from invading people. Those who possessed weak barriers often became black mages. Others just became evil as the dark power corrupted their souls. Bane had learnt how to Gather without the potion, it just made it easier and quicker.
Raising his head, Bane met Martal's eyes, making the Baron flinch. Most of the people in the garden stared at him, the soldiers agog, while the healers clutched each other as they shared his pain. Ellese's eyes overflowed, her mouth trembling. Bane fixed his cold stare on Martal.
"Now watch, and learn about power, and what it costs to gain." He looked at Ellese. "You should not stay here, Elder Mother."
She shook her head, and he wondered why she would choose to share his suffering.
The Demon Lord closed his eyes as he steeled himself, filled with a mixture of loathing for what he was about to do and exultation that he could do it. Taking a deep breath, he flung out his arms and summoned the dark power, his head thrown back. It surged out of the shadows at his command, flooding into him with such sickening force that he staggered. The seven runes flared brilliant crimson, and Ellese collapsed as the pain hit her.
The healers writhed and wailed, falling to tear the grass in a frenzy of agony. Bane drew back his lips in a silent snarl as the fire was drawn into his bones, filling him with its power. His eyes turned ink black and the runes blazed crimson. So powerful was the Gather that the air filled with an unearthly screaming, like a thousand distant banshees, a howl of evil rejoicing that made the men cower and cover their ears. Martal fell to his knees, his hands over his ears, his eyes white-ringed.
Bane's jet mane lifted and bristled as whorls of dark power eddied around him, licking over his skin, soaked up like water by a desert's sand. It howled into him, and the sickness that rose in him made him sway a little. The seven runes blazed orange now, the Gather increasing as the shadows rushed into him. He lowered his arms, allowing the Gather to slow, the shadows cloaking him. Reaching for the blood cup, he measured a few drops of the black potion into it, then tossed it back in a gulp, grimacing.
Again he raised his arms in the final discipline of the Gather, and the shadows rushed into him once more. Bane stood at the centre of a mighty whirlpool of power, his flesh burning as more and more soaked in. He gritted his teeth, fighting to hold the Gather and fill himself with power until he could contain no more.
As he reached his limit, shafts of searing pain lanced his eyes. He cut the Gather and leashed the power within him, holding it in when it tried to flow out again. Bile stung his throat, and his outstretched hands clenched. With a soft curse, he fell to his knees, doubling over to retch.
When the nausea abated, he raised his head to look at Martal. Ellese straightened, her expression anguished. Bane stood up, glaring at the baron, who scrambled to his feet and backed away.
"Now I could kill you with a touch, and perhaps I will, for the insults."
Ellese rose her feet. "No, Bane."
His eyes flicked to her. "Do not tell me what to do, old woman."
The battle sounds around the temple had died down, as if the trolls and goblins sensed something amiss within. Bane advanced on Martal, and Ellese whispered to another healer, who dashed off. Martal retreated, holding out his hands in useless supplication.
"Do not beg," Bane grated. "Begging sickens me."
The seven runes glowed as he stalked the Baron, enjoying the man's terror. He allowed a little black fire to escape his fingers, the shadowy flames licking over his skin.
"You see what real power is? The power to destroy, to terrify, to bend others to your will. Grovel, you worthless piece of dung." The Baron fell to his knees, and Bane's twisted smile broadened. "I had almost forgotten how much fun this is."
"Bane!"
The Demon Lord's head jerked up, turning in the direction of the cry. Mirra ran towards him, calling his name again in a frightened, urgent voice. His gaze flicked around the ruined garden, seeking the reason for her fear, and, finding none, he frowned. Mirra slowed to approach him a little uncertainly.
"Bane, do not hurt him."
The Demon Lord glanced down at Martal, surprised that he was the reason for her distress. Stepping away from the Baron, he turned to her, but she recoiled, and he realised that black fire still licked his hands. He leashed it, and she came closer, stopping before him. After a moment's hesitation, she took his hand. A sigh wafted around the garden as dozens of people let out pent breaths.
Mirra gazed up at him, ignoring the glowing runes. "Your eyes are black."
"As is my soul, right now."
"No, never that. You are good, deep down."
"The eyes are the windows to the soul. What you see in them is the truth."
Mirra lowered her gaze to the runes, placing her other hand on his bloody chest. The intensity of the corruption within him must have made her stomach clench, he surmised, but she bore it without showing her discomfort. The screams of dying soldiers outside made her raise her head to gaze up at him once more.
"You must go."
Bane nodded, and she released his hand, bending to pick up his shirt and help him don it.
"I asked you not to come."
"I know, but Ellese was afraid you were going to hurt Martal."
Bane snorted. "I was only going to singe him a little. He annoys me. Am I not allowed any fun?"
"Not at the expense of others."
Ellese watched them with a tight throat,
marvelling at Mirra's courage. She had braved so much to earn the Demon Lord's affection - a feat most had thought impossible. Once won, Bane's affection was well worth having, she mused, since his attachment to Mirra was the only reason he was going to save the Overworld, something even he did not realise, or at least, refused to admit to himself. Mirra handed him his cloak, and he clipped it on. They regarded each other, then she touched his cheek in a gesture of forlorn affection, her expression sorrowful.
"Be careful. Promise me."
A splintering crash came from the end of the garden as one blow of a mighty battering ram smashed down the gates. Twenty brawny trolls staggered into the inner courtyard, carrying the massive tree trunk with which they had just flattened the gates. They dropped their vast weapon and reached for the battle-axes strapped to their backs. A host of howling trolls thundered over the fallen gates on their heels. They swung broad-bladed axes, their eyes alight with bloodlust. Martal roared orders at his few remaining men, many of whom were wounded, and they rose manfully to meet the enemy.
Bane thrust Mirra behind him and raised his arm. A sweep of black fire lashed into the trolls like a giant, shadowy scythe. Hundreds fell screaming as their flesh and hair burnt away, exposing bones and boiling eyes. Some leapt into the air and exploded in sprays of offal and gore, splattering those behind them with excrement and shredded meat. Bane gestured again, a negligent flick of his hand, and the fire lashed out in a stream of burning shadow, killing many more even as they howled in terror and tried to flee. Ellese’s stomach churned as the black power flowed past her.
The trolls fell over each other in their eagerness to escape the garden, and the attack became a rout as the army turned tail and fled. Bane's fire followed them, causing those it touched to leap into the air with agonised shrieks and burst into flames. Many more exploded with dull reports, splattering their gibbering comrades with entrails and blood. Some were overcome with terror and fell to the ground, curling into balls as they waited for death.
Bane’s fire spared none, and Martal's soldiers scrambled away from the carnage with cries of horror. Smoke rose from the fallen, writhing bodies that littered the ground, and horrible, bubbling screams rent the air. Only a few trolls escaped through the gates, throwing down their weapons to sprint towards the safety of the distant forest. The rest of the army, knowing the cause of the trolls' flight, surged away from the temple in full retreat.
Bane lowered his arm and let the fire die, the inner garden now strewn with hundreds of blackened corpses. Mirra stared at the carnage, a hand over her mouth, unable to hide her distress. Healers hated killing, even if it was to save themselves, and to see it performed on such a scale, with such ease, and in such a revolting fashion was enough to sicken even hardened soldiers. No one had ever seen the power of a dark god, much less used in this fashion.
Martal's men were ashen-faced, and many of the young acolytes had fainted. The only one who appeared to have enjoyed it was Bane, but when he turned to look at Mirra, his smile vanished and his exultant expression evaporated as he realised how his action had distressed her. He swung away, his cloak flaring as he strode through the sea of corpses and out of the smouldering ruins of the gates. Mirra called out to him, but that only made him quicken his pace.
Ellese went to the stricken girl and gathered her into a warm embrace. They watched Bane walk away, occasionally blasting the distant, fleeing forms of trolls and goblins. The Demon Lord had utterly routed the Black Lord's army, which feared its former master as much as its present one, and with good reason. Mirra clung to Elder Mother and wept.
"It is not his fault. The dark power makes him like that."
"I know, my dear."
"Goddess, he must win, Mother. Tell me he will win."
"Hush, my dear. Of course he will win. He fights for the good now, much as he dislikes it, and he is a god. He will win for your sake, because, although he would deny it, even to himself, he loves you."
"Does he?" Mirra looked up with sudden hope and surprise. "How do you know?"
"I am not blind, dear child. Why else are you the only one who can approach him with impunity when he is filled with the black power? Only you can sway him, touch him without fear. You saved him, pulled him from the evil path, steered him back from the brink of destruction to sail into the sunrise. You are the only reason he is going to save our world.
"Rejoice, child, the Demon Lord will return for you. He will survive for you; win for you. You are what binds him to life, for he has something the Black Lord does not, the most powerful force of all. Love."
Chapter Seven
First Blood
A bitter taste soured Bane's mouth as he left the temple, Mirra's anguish goading him. The Black Lord had turned him into a monster and sent him to destroy the wards and doom his people. He had stolen him from his parents and killed his mother. Bane had a lot to be bitter about, and Arkonen was to blame for it all. Now the Lord of the Underworld would pay. He would have to face his creation, whom he had endowed with his power. How sweet Bane's vengeance would be. He would make the Black Lord rue the day he had conceived his plan to break the wards that bound him.
Bane headed towards the confrontation with a purposeful stride, the Gather having restored his strength. Mirra's distress at his use of the power so close to her disquieted him, reminding him of the atrocities she had suffered at his hands. The distant, fleeing trolls and goblins made him smile. So much for the Black Lord's army. They stood no chance against him, nor would they return to threaten the healers. Their terror would sustain their flight for many leagues.
Reaching the belt of trees that marked the edge of the temple grounds, he summoned the demon steed. By the time it arrived, he was beyond the hallowed ground, waiting for it. As Orriss bowed to him, a bolt of lightning struck the ground mere yards away. The flash of fire it caused turned into a rush of sickly flames as a fire demon manifested. It swelled until it loomed over Bane, its three eyes opening to pin him with their yellow glare.
"Mealle, how nice of you to drop by," Bane said.
Mealle's dark maw curved in a foul smile. "The Black Lord awaits you eagerly, Bane, he asked me to tell you so."
"Does he really? More likely he is too scared to come himself, so he sent you as a sacrificial lamb, for me to vent some of my rage on. Does he hope to placate me with a few demons?"
Mealle's fire brightened and flickered. "He urges you to forget the dirty humans and join him. He was hasty in his decision to cast you aside."
Bane smiled. "So, he is even more afraid than I thought. I shall enjoy destroying him."
"He raised you. He was a father to you all your life. How can you turn your back on your own kind?"
The Demon Lord's smile vanished. "You are not my kind, and he was never my father. He stole me, tormented me, befouled me with his power, mutilated and twisted me, then betrayed me. I long for his destruction."
Mealle shrank a little, his yellow eyes dimming. "Yet you ride a demon steed and wield the power he gave you. If you fight for good, why do you use his power still?"
"Because I can. He cannot take that away, and his mistake shall be his end."
The demon drew itself up, swelling to loom over Bane again. "Then you will die. None can defeat the Black Lord, not even you."
"As if you care. You were foremost amongst my tormentors, offering friendship, then betraying me at every turn. You will pay."
Bane raised a hand, but the demon vanished with an inrush of air, leaving a sulphurous stench. Amused by the fiend's cowardice, Bane mounted and urged the demon steed towards the Black Lord. The clouds roiled overhead, darkening the sky to a dim Underworld glow, and lightning ripped the air with harsh cracks followed by rolling rumbles of thunder. The cold wind had died with the Overworld's struggle, and the still air reeked of smoke and corruption. In the distance, the lurid light that shone through the cracks that crazed the land illuminated the clouds.
Black smoke rose from yawning pits, adding to the gloo
m and making it hard to breathe. Orriss' hooves drummed across the dying land, and the wind of its passage whipped Bane's cloak out behind him, tugging at his hair. Crisp brown grass turned to ash beneath the demon steed's hooves, settling in a grey shroud over the corpses of birds and woodland beasts. The winged creatures fell from the sky like feathered rain, killed by the Black Lord's corruption as it consumed the land.
The ground turned to lava, and Bane had mere instants to protect himself before he plunged in. Black power surged through him as the molten stone closed over him. The lava slowed Orriss' progress, and the heat pressed against Bane's shields. His lungs heaved with the instinctive need to breathe, but he quelled it as he flowed through the rock. He urged the demon steed to rise, but it was unable to find purchase on the liquid stone. Still, there were limits, even to the Black Lord's power. Its hooves struck rock, and it heaved itself upwards.
They traversed the wall of a pocket of lava, rising towards the surface. Bane exulted at the lack of pain. His senses warned him, and he turned his head as a second demon steed appeared, colliding with Orriss in a slow-motion impact that forced Bane to grip Orriss' fiery mane. The second demon steed slashed at Orriss, its neck arching with slow grace as Orriss turned to meet it with equal torpor. Bane unleashed a lash of fire, forcing the second demon steed to veer away. The other stallion screamed silently, partly burnt away, and sank into the redness.
Again Bane urged Orriss to rise, and the demon steed plunged sluggishly up the sloping rock. Bane fed his hatred as they struggled from the trap, stoking the flames with fresh rage. Images of his brutal treatment of Mirra flitted through his mind, atrocities he had committed in the Black Lord's name, influenced by his depravity.
The demon steed emerged from the lava unharmed, as did Bane. He looked back as the glowing pool vanished. With a smile, he ordered Orriss onwards. While he had been below ground, Arkonen's use of the dark power had caused the wind to rise once more, and it howled with the Black Lord's fury. Lightning crackled all around Bane, turned away by his magic. Dead trees thrashed in the wind, lashing him with bare branches, gnarled wooden claws tearing at him. Vivid flashes illuminated the landscape with painful brilliance, throwing everything into stark relief darkness swallowed it again. It seemed as if night had fallen, for no glimmer of light came through the clouds now.
Dark God Page 12