Demon Lord III - Grey God

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Demon Lord III - Grey God Page 18

by T C Southwell


  "I feel well enough," he said, and Kayos shook his head in censure at his tone. Mirra started to rise, clearly intending to relieve Tarris of her chore, but Bane held up a hand and she sank down again, biting her lip. Mithran and Grem averted their eyes, which Kayos suspected was because they knew of his dislike for being the centre of attention.

  Bane held out his hand to Tarris. "Bring me the cloth."

  The priestess put the bowl down and dipped the cloth into the hot water, wringing it out and offering it to him with downcast eyes.

  The Demon Lord took it, noting that her hands trembled. He wiped his face, then handed it back. She replaced it on the tray and picked up the bowl of broth again, returning to his bedside. Bane looked up at her and took the bowl.

  "I do not bite, Tarris."

  She flushed. "No, My Lord, of course not."

  "Then why are you shaking?"

  Tarris clasped her hands, biting her lip. "I - I do not know, Lord."

  "I see." Bane tasted the broth, finding it rich and good.

  Tarris handed bowls of porridge to the trio who sat on the floor, receiving nods and smiles. After standing irresolute for a moment, she sat down on the empty chair, facing Bane, to his surprise.

  "How were you injured, Lord?"

  "He skewered me with his sword." Bane gestured to his flank with his spoon, dripping gravy on his trousers.

  Tarris jumped up to fetch the cloth, but he raised a hand. "Leave it. Sit."

  She sank down again. "Is the wound bad, Lord?"

  "It was, but Kayos healed it."

  Tarris cast a shy glance at the Grey God, who appeared to be lost in thought, then turned back to Bane. "Did you also injure Vorkon, Lord?"

  "Several times, but since he is dead it had little effect on him." Bane eyed her. "Will you do something for me, Tarris?"

  "Anything, Lord."

  "Stop calling me 'Lord'."

  "Yes, Lord." She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. "Sorry."

  Bane smiled, turning his attention to his bowl of broth once more. Tarris was surprised to see that the gravy spot on his trousers had vanished. After only a few more spoonfuls, Bane handed the bowl back to her, and her face fell.

  "Is it not to your liking?

  "It is fine, I am just not hungry."

  "You should eat more, to build up your strength."

  Bane shook his head. "I have had enough."

  "You have hardly eaten any."

  "Are you going to argue with me, Tarris?"

  "Lord Kayos said you must eat."

  "Lord Kayos can go and jump in a lake." Bane frowned, and she put the bowl down on the table, then collected the tray and left.

  Mirra looked up. "You should try to eat some more, Bane."

  He wagged a finger at her. "Do not start."

  "You know I am right."

  "That does not mean I am going to do it."

  Bane lay back down on the bed and closed his eyes. Tarris brought him two more meals that day, but did not try to engage him in conversation again or argue when he did not finish the food.

  Shevra looked up from the frayed trousers that she was darning, meeting her mother's eyes. Andira sat opposite, sewing a patch onto one of her husband's shirts, and also paused, listening. Outside, a faint cheering grew in volume as more voices joined in.

  Shevra jumped up. "The supply wagons!"

  Dropping her sewing, she raced to the door, yanked it open and ran out into the street, where a glorious sight greeted her. Two huge wagons rumbled into the town, each drawn by a team of six massive, beautiful horses that drooped with fatigue. The drovers chivvied the tired beasts along the last stretch of their journey to the town square, and Shevra ran after them. The wagons halted, and the crowds gathered around, eager for news and supplies, many of the men pulling small carts.

  Everyone had stopped what they were doing to greet the long overdue wagons, which was not much, anyway. Shevra elbowed her way to the front as the smartly dressed soldiers jumped down, silver weapons slung on their hips. Only one wagon carried supplies for the town, the other was for the soldiers' equipment and rations, since the journey from the city took two weeks. A platoon of weary, footsore troops followed on foot.

  The plump, middle-aged mayor, resplendent in his chain of office, forged through the crowd to meet the captain. Shevra wriggled closer to listen to what they said.

  The captain saluted. "Sorry for the delay, sir."

  "You're a welcome sight, Captain. What was the problem?"

  "A broken axle. We will need the services of your blacksmith to repair it properly, once the wagon is off loaded."

  "Of course. We'll repair it while your men rest."

  "Thank you, sir."

  The mayor turned to the throng of eager men at the front of the crowd, whose job it was to off load and distribute the supplies. "All right, get to work."

  Men swarmed over the wagon while others unhitched the horses and led them away to the barn where they would be brushed, fed and watered. Hay and feed was off loaded from the second wagon for them, and the soldiers' tents were pitched around the town square. The tired troops and drovers relaxed, some talking to friends amongst the towns folk, sharing long-awaited news. A young, round-faced soldier approached Shevra, holding something behind his back. She had spoken to him on two earlier trips, and he seemed to like her. He smiled as he stopped before her, blushing.

  "I brought something for you."

  "Thank you."

  His smile widened. "You don't know what it is yet."

  "I'm sure it's wonderful, whatever it is."

  "It ain't much. We're not paid a lot, and we're not allowed to bring stuff." He shuffled his feet.

  "Are you going to show me what it is?"

  He nodded and held out a clay pot, which held an amazing green and pink object. Shevra gasped, staring at it.

  "What is it?"

  The young soldier's smile faded. "It's a flower plant."

  "A flower ... plant." Shevra murmured, reaching a tentative hand towards it. "May I touch it?"

  "Sure, it won't bite."

  Her fingers brushed the soft green leaves and fleshy stem, then stroked the satin petals of the pink flowers. A strange, heady fragrance came from it. "It's alive."

  "Yes, of course."

  "Of course." Shevra's eyes stung, and two tears escaped to run down her cheeks.

  "Don't cry, it's supposed to make you happy, not upset you."

  "I am happy. It's so beautiful. I've never seen anything like it before."

  The soldier looked uncomfortable, glancing around at the crowd of women and children who had gathered to stare at the plant. "Yeah, I don't suppose you have, living out here in this hell hole. It won't live for long, but I thought you might like it."

  "I do! Thank you, Marik." Shevra reached up to kiss him on the cheek, startling him.

  "Here, take it." Marik thrust the plant at her. "Put some water in the pot when the soil gets dry. It might live for a week or so."

  "It's going to die?" Shevra looked horrified.

  "Of course, there's no sun here."

  "Then you must take it back, so it can live!"

  "There's plenty more in the city."

  Shevra shook her head. "Even so, I can't be responsible for its death."

  "It's just a plant."

  Shevra brushed a tear from her cheek. "Look around, Marik. There's nothing alive here except for us, and when you come, your horses. Nothing. Not even a blade of grass. I've never seen grass, I've only heard of it. This is a miraculous, precious living thing, a creation of the goddess. I can't let it die."

  "Well I'm not carting it all the way back to the city. If you don't want it, I'll throw it away."

  "No!" Shevra clutched the precious plant. "I'll try to keep it alive."

  "It won't live here."

  "Then I'll... treasure it while it lives."

  "Goddess, next you'll be giving it a bloody funeral!" Marik turned and stomped off.


  Shevra gazed after him, and the crowd shuffled closer to stare in awe and wonder at the plant, reaching timid hands towards it. Shevra let no one else touch it, but ran to find her mother and show her the wondrous thing that she now possessed.

  Andira gazed at it in awe, stroking its leaves, as did her father when he returned with their supplies. Its fragrance soon filled the shabby house, and Shevra placed it in the centre of the kitchen table where all could admire it.

  Many people visited to see it, bringing their children, and elders came to nod and smile at the pleasant memories that it seemed to evoke. After supper Shevra left the plant in the care of her mother and returned to the square to seek Marik, feeling that she owed him something in return for his gift. On the way she met Derrin, who promptly followed her, asking questions. At sixteen, he was still a gawky boy, but had the promise of becoming a tall, handsome man one day.

  "Where are you going?" he demanded.

  "To find Marik."

  "Why?"

  "Because I want to."

  "Is he your beau now?"

  Shevra cast him a frown. "No."

  "He gave you a plant."

  "So?"

  "So that means he likes you."

  "What do you know about it? You're a child." Shevra walked faster.

  "I know plenty!"

  "You only think you do."

  "Are you going to dance for him?" Derrin trotted to keep up.

  "Perhaps. But if I do, it will be for all the soldiers."

  "Maybe they'll throw you some coppers, then you'll have a plant and you'll be rich."

  She laughed. "Perhaps."

  "If Marik likes you, maybe he'll take you to the city with him."

  "I won't go without my parents."

  "I suppose not."

  They arrived at the town square, where the soldiers loitered around a roaring bonfire, talking. There was little else for them to do, since their rations did not include alcohol, and the food was only dry biscuits and salted meat. Most of the town's young girls were already there, trying to ingratiate themselves in the hope of gaining a ticket to the city. The soldiers were cautious, but enjoyed the company and the flirting. Shevra searched for Marik, and Derrin spotted a girl whom he liked and darted off after her. She found Marik on the far side of the fire, staring into it. He jumped up when she stopped before him, looking flustered.

  "Shevra!"

  She smiled. "I want to give you a gift, Marik. In return for the plant."

  He gulped. "You do?"

  "Yes. Sit down."

  "But we're... we're not supposed to..."

  She looked puzzled. "Not supposed to what?"

  "You know..."

  "Accept gifts? Don't worry, it's not something you'll have to carry back to the city."

  "I know."

  "How could you know what it is before I've told you?"

  He sat down. "So tell me."

  "I'm going to dance for you."'

  "Oh." A look of relief, mixed with disappointment, flitted across his face. "But there's no music."

  "That's all right, I don't need it."

  Shevra smiled and stepped closer to the fire, then gestured. A flame leapt from it and hovered in the air before her.

  "Goddess!" Marik recoiled. "You're a fire dancer!"

  "Yes. You didn't know?"

  "No."

  "It bothers you?" Shevra knew that some people were superstitious about fire dancers.

  "No, it's all right."

  "Good."

  Shevra raised her arms in the first slow, graceful motions of a fire dance. The flame split into many small ones, which circled her in a weaving pattern. She bent with a sweep of her arms, and the flames followed her movement, leaving bright trails in the air. Her hands wove intricate patterns, and the fire spiralled around her in a stately dance of brilliance. The soldiers watched her leap and spin, weaving a radiant web.

  The men began to clap in time to her dance, and she moved into a more difficult discipline, causing the flames to multiply, then wink out in a series of sweeping trails, like comets. She wove patterns in the air and swept gouts of flame from the fire, hurling them high. All the while she leapt and spun, the fire following her every movement. The men watched entranced, all save a few who muttered darkly and were elbowed into silence by their fellows. She swept her hands through the flames, making them swirl and flare, allowing them to lick her skin in a hot caress.

  Shevra performed a last twirling leap, then stood still, guiding the fire in brilliant patterns with broad gestures. Finally she let her hands fall to her sides, and the flames settled into a stately circle around her head, like a fiery crown. She made them drift upward, allowing them to shrink to tiny sparks, then snuffed them out. The troops burst into enthusiastic applause, and she turned to smile at Marik as the men drifted away. He smiled and clapped, but his brown eyes were sad. She knelt beside him.

  "What's wrong?"

  He shook his head, turning to stare at the fire. "You're so beautiful and talented, and I'm just a soldier."

  "What does that matter?"

  "Are you looking for a one way trip to the city?"

  "No! I will not leave my parents."

  "Then why are you trying to impress me?"

  "I'm not. This was simply a gift, in return for the plant." Shevra frowned. "You're far too suspicious, Marik, and you're wrong."

  "Look, I understand. No one in their right mind would want to live here."

  "Oh, so now I'm either crazy or a liar?" She jumped up. "This is my home." Spinning on her heel, she raced away, dodging between the troops.

  "Shevra!"

  Ignoring his shout, she ran home, where she sat at the kitchen table and gazed at the plant, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. How unfair he was to assume that she was seeking a ride to the city, either as a stowaway, or as his bride, which was the only way she would be allowed to travel there. She liked him, but he was not a marriage prospect. Perhaps it was not such an unfair assumption, considering all the girls who were trying to worm their way into the soldiers' affections for that very reason. She was not like them, however, she was a fire dancer, and she had her pride.

  Shevra became aware of a growing nausea, and chills ran down her spine. She thought that she might have caught a cold, or overdone the dancing, then she realised that it was neither. Clutching her stomach, she stumbled to the door and retched, bringing up her meagre supper.

  The floor and walls gave off a nauseating chill, and the shadows seemed to thicken in the room's corners. Tottering back to the table, she climbed onto it with shaking legs, her stomach heaving. Dra'Nith were rare, but lately they had become more frequent, and more intense. She crouched on the table, hugging her knees as she fought the nausea and a growing headache that pounded at her skull.

  Andira appeared in the doorway and hurried over to her, climbing onto the table beside her and embracing her. Moments later her father joined them, and the family huddled together, drawing comfort and warmth from each other as the air became colder and the dark power thickened. Her parents were similarly stricken with nausea, but she was sensitive to the dark power, and for her it was worse. Tears of misery forced their way under her eyelids and slid down her cheeks. Her father prayed to the goddess for aid in their dark hour.

  Shevra opened her eyes to gaze at the plant, drawing comfort from the presence of something that had been born of the light, and carried the golden touch of the legendary sun in its bright green leaves and pink petals. A sob clogged her throat. The fragile leaves were blackening at their edges, curling slowly.

  "No!"

  Shevra pulled away from her mother's arms and scooped up the plant, cradling it against her as she sought to protect it from the dark storm. It continued to blacken and curl, dying in her arms, and her mother wept with her, stroking her hair. The flower petals shrivelled and dropped off one by one, falling like tears onto her pale arms, then the blackened leaves followed them.

  By the time the n
ausea faded and the air warmed as the shadows leaked away, the plant was nothing more than a brown, withered stem. She sat and stared at it with desolate eyes while her father went to check their stores in the loft, where it was kept to protect it from the dark power that rose from the ground. His curses made Andira bow her head and groan.

  "The grain's been spoilt. This will be another lean month."

  "It's getting worse," Shevra whispered.

  "The goddess will protect us."

  "She hasn't done much so far."

  "Have faith, she will. Come, let's get some sleep, it's late."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blue Council

  The next morning, the town’s folk gathered in silence to watch the supply wagons depart, only two horses pulling the empty one, since four of them had died during the shadow storm. The remaining beasts were wild-eyed and skittish, fighting their bits and foaming at the mouth. Shevra stood in the doorway and watched them pass, not waving as she usually did, since no one else was, either. The town was steeped in gloom again, because half of the supplies that the wagons had brought were now spoilt, and the people faced more hunger before the next ones arrived.

  Shevra helped her mother around the house for the rest of the day, then went for a walk down to the lake in the afternoon. Derrin sat on the bank, venomously hurling stones into the still water with vicious flicks of his arm. He scowled at her when she sat beside him.

  "What do you want?"

  "Someone to talk to, perhaps?"

  "I'm not good company right now."

  She sighed. "Who is?"

  "Our entire supply was spoilt. My uncle had not stored it in the loft before the storm hit." Derrin's father had died several years ago, a victim of the dark power, which had made him go mad and try to murder several people before he was killed.

  "The mayor will issue you more from the community supply."

  "Most of that was spoilt too. Even the horses that died can't be eaten, their flesh turned rotten." He threw another rock.

  "Poor things. The plant died too."

  "That's a shame. My mother keeps saying that the goddess will save us, but when?"

 

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