“Will you save her, Lord?” the angel asked.
“You like rescuing girls, do you not, Tryne?”
“She has a pure soul, Lord, and she worships the light, although...”
“What?”
“There is something strange about her aura. Perhaps you will be able to divine what it is. I cannot.”
“All right, give me the name and image of the priest in charge of that cabal.”
Tryne hesitated, his brow wrinkling. “The priest, Lord?”
“Yes. If I am going there, I will do more than just free a girl.”
“I do not know his name, but I can show him to you.”
“That will do.”
The angel bowed his head, and Bane placed his hand upon it.
A tall, balding man in black robes stood before an altar draped with a gold-trimmed crimson cloth, his hands raised as he extolled the advantages of dark worship to a congregation of priests and commoners, who watched him with glinting, rabid eyes. Four hooded priests stood behind their leader, their faces shadowed. Braziers emitted pale smoke and torches threw dancing light on the gloomy scene.
Bane had seen its like before, in the Overworld. The view was from a high vantage, so Tryne must have been in a Channel when he had watched them. He wondered why the angel had chosen to show him this memory, since there was no sign of the girl he had mentioned.
Bane removed his hand. “How long ago did you see this?”
“I just came from there, Lord. They are preparing to sacrifice her. She only prayed for help a few minutes ago, to Lord Pretarin.”
“So, word of Pretarin’s death and Sherinias’ birth has not reached this… Lonisia.”
Tryne nodded. “Either that, or they do not believe it.”
Bane stepped away from him and summoned the shadows, which, since the corridor was bright, oozed through the walls from the gloom beyond in black strings. It sank into his flesh with its usual revolting chill, and when he had enough, he Moved, striding towards the priest as soon as he rematerialised in the temple aisle, his cloak flaring. The high priest broke off his spiel, his mouth dropping open. The congregation took one look at Bane and fell to its knees as he strode past. The priest retreated as Bane neared him, almost trampling on another who stood behind him, holding a blood cup. Apparently Bane’s scowl was intimidating.
The Demon Lord stopped several paces away. “Do you know who I am?”
The man’s head jerked from side to side, his eyes riveted to Bane. “A-a-a-a dark god?”
“I am the Demon Lord. I have cast down your master, whoever he was.”
“Lord Tolrar is -?”
“In the Land of the Dead, yes.”
“Then we will worship you, Lord! We will be your loyal -”
“Silence! I do not want black priests worshipping me.”
The priest gulped. “I-I-I thought…”
“Do not think. You are clearly ill-suited to it. You intended to sacrifice an innocent, and that offends me, so you can go to Hell.”
Bane raised a hand in a sweeping gesture, unleashing a stream of shadows that hit the priest in the chest, blackened his skin and consumed him from the inside. He gave a short shriek and tottered, then exploded with a dull thud, splattering his cohorts with blood, excrement and shredded meat. They recoiled with cries of horror, two turning away to vomit. A little gore hit Bane, and he grunted, brushing it off his sleeve.
Stepping away from the scattered bones, shredded meat, bits of cloth and pool of blood that was all that remained of the high priest, Bane glared at the other four, who had abased themselves.
“How many of you lackwits are involved in this stupidity?” he demanded.
“None of us, Lord, I swear,” a skinny man quavered, his voice muffled by his worshipful stance. “We-we-we-we-we only obeyed Gorton, who said Lord Tolrar demanded sacrifices.”
All dark gods wanted sacrifices, but Bane knew the man was lying to save himself. They had undoubtedly been doing it regularly, and they were all in on it. “Gorton was your high priest?”
“Yes, Lord.” The man’s voice cracked. “P-please don’t kill us! We didn’t want to do it, I swear!”
“You swear too much. I am displeased. With all of you!” Bane swung to glower at the quaking congregation. “You deserve the same fate as him!” He pointed at the mangled mess.
“We beg for mercy!” the priest wailed.
“Mercy?” Bane stepped closer to the trembling man. “You think I am capable of mercy? How stupid are you, precisely?”
“We beg you to spare us!”
“You are cretins! I should kill you all. I am tired of dealing with dimwits. You will disband! Return to your homes and families, if you have them. If you disobey, I will send demons to slay you.”
The priest sagged with a sob. “Thank you, Lord.”
Bane repressed the dark power’s urging to kill them all. “Do you have a name?”
“I am Ortane, Lord.” He raised his head.
“Has the girl you kidnapped been prepared for sacrifice?”
“No, no, no, not yet, Lord, I swear.”
“Stop bloody swearing. Where is she?”
“In the dungeon.”
Bane glared at Ortane, who cringed. “Take me to her, you idiot.”
The priest led the way out of a side door and down a flight of stairs into a dungeon where prisoners were kept before sacrifice and unruly acolytes probably spent a few days on a diet of oxblood and frogs. Two rows of cells flanked a broad aisle, and Ortane went to the closest, took a ring of keys from a hook on the wall and unlocked the door, opening it. Inside, a wretch in torn, dirty clothes huddled in a corner, stringy brown hair hanging from a bowed head. Bane approached the prisoner, who raised her head to stare at him with wide, frightened hazel eyes, her chin wobbling.
Bane glanced at Ortane. “Get out.”
He fled, and Bane went to the stone bench at the back of the cell and sank down on it, regarding the shaking girl.
“I am not going to harm you.”
Her eyes darted to the open door. “They said they were going to cut out my heart.”
“They are a bunch of cretins.”
“Who are you?”
“I am…” Bane shook his head. He was tired of introducing himself and having people’s fear redouble at the import of his name and title. “It does not matter. I will return you to your home. Where do you dwell?”
She studied him. “You’re him, aren’t you?”
He sighed. “Probably. What ‘him’ do you mean?”
“The cretins’ master.”
“Ah. I suppose you could say that, yes.”
“Then why do you say you’re going to let me go?” she asked.
“Because I am.”
“You’re the reason I was brought here!”
“No. I did not order a sacrifice.”
“A sacrifice?” Her face twisted. “You’re that… that…”
“Yes, I know.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You do not need to. I will take you home.” Bane held out his hand. “Come.”
She shied away. “How do I know you’re not going to take me to be killed?”
He lowered his hand. “Sacrifices are washed, drugged and dressed in a sacrificial robe before they are taken to the altar. Or sometimes they are sacrificed naked. None of those things have been done to you, have they?”
“No… but that doesn’t mean you won’t.”
“True, but if you want to go home, you will have to take my hand. Or you could walk, if you prefer. They will not stop you now.”
She shifted, drawing her feet under her as if preparing to bolt. “Are you powerful?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Does it matter? Perhaps I’m just curious.”
Bane inclined his head. “I am.”
“Then… will you help me?”
“I doubt it. With what?”
“My brother.” She brushed aside her hai
r to reveal a bruised face that would have been pretty if not for a swollen nose and puffy eye. “He’s a black mage’s servant. I want to free him.”
“Of course you do.” He cocked his head, curious. “You believe in magic?”
She nodded. “And gods. I know you’re one.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your cretins told me.”
He smiled. “Actually, they were referring to Tolrar, their previous master. Most people in this world do not believe gods exist. They think I am a destroyer, although the difference escapes me.”
“Dra’voren are powerful, evil monsters.”
“Actually, they are powerful, evil gods.”
“Is that what you are?” she asked.
“A god, yes… evil… not so much. How is it that you believe in gods?”
“Religion isn’t entirely dead in this world. I belong to a church that worships Lord Pretarin.”
“Ah. Unfortunately, he is dead.”
She frowned. “How do you know that?”
“I destroyed the dark god who killed him.”
“So that’s why there’s so much evil in the world.” She stared into space, her eyes full of despair.
“Yes, but now your goddess has been born, and she will redeem you if you pray to her.”
“Sherinias is born?” She raised her eyes to meet his in a bold glance, her mien oddly bleak, considering his good tidings. “Truly?”
“Yes. How do you know her name?”
“It was foretold centuries ago, but we thought it would never happen.” Her breath caught in a sob. “We had given up hope.”
“Well, it has come to pass, thanks to Kayos.”
“The Grey God? He is here?”
“Yes.” Bane was surprised by how much she knew.
“Then we are saved… Has he come to save us?”
“No.”
She gazed at him with earnest desperation. “Will you help my brother?”
Remembering Tryne’s reference to her strange aura, Bane blinked. Her soul light was pale, but quite dim, as if part of it was hidden. He frowned. “Who did you sell your soul to?”
Her eyes widened. “I haven’t sold my soul.”
“Yes, you have. You swore a blood oath to someone, promising them your life, did you not?”
“Yes, but -”
“Who did you swear it to?”
“The high priest of my church.” She shook her head. “But I didn’t sell my soul to him. He’s a good man, honourable and pious.”
“He is a demon.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s impossible.”
“This world is rife with demons, and they are tricksters and tormenters. Doubtless he fornicates with the women in his congregation and probably holds unwholesome rituals that involve bloodletting, not so?”
“No! I’ve never… We’ve had a few high masses where blood was used to bless us, that’s all. He says virgin blood is pure and… He can’t be evil; the church is on hallowed ground!”
“Is there a white flame burning on your altar?”
“No.”
“Then it is not hallowed ground, and your priest is a demon.”
She stared at him, clutching her chest. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“You do not. Whether you choose to believe me or not is up to you. What is your name?”
She hesitated. “Stazia.”
“You are no innocent parishioner, are you? I will wager you are a priestess, are you not?”
She nodded.
“What did your demon priest tell you?”
“That the three evil monsters have been cast down, replaced by one, and we’d now have more freedom to worship Lord Pretarin.”
“By which he means more bloodlettings and evil rituals. It is easy for a demon to use a light god’s name to trick people when that god is dead. I am surprised he did not pose as a god himself.”
“He claims to be the one true prophet,” she said.
“He feared the wrath of the dark gods who dwelt here before, so he kept a low profile, but now he grows bold. When you return to your church, fill a cup with clear oil, set a wick in it and place it on the altar, then pray to Sherinias to bless your church.”
“Will Mardon let me do that, if he’s a demon?”
“Does he stand guard at the altar constantly?”
“No, but he never seems far away. He always appears whenever I enter the church.”
“He has set wards, then,” Bane said, “and, since he owns your soul, he can make you do whatever he wants. He also knows where you go, but I suspect he does not have the courage to enter the temple of a dark god to retrieve you.”
“Can you help me?”
“Given that I am a dark god, what do you think?”
“Perhaps I should ask if you will, then.”
“Indeed. But I am here now, and it will take but a moment. I will have to touch you, though.”
Stazia licked her lips and nodded, but still flinched when Bane placed his hand on her chest, over her heart. He closed his eyes. The silvery tether on her soul, and the dark shroud that engulfed it, shivered when he bent his will upon it, held fast for an instant, and then shattered. At the moment of its shattering, Bane learnt the name of the demon who had cast it. Mardonar. As usual, he used a name similar to his true appellation; demons lacked imagination. Without the shadow shroud, Stazia’s soul shone with pinkish-yellow purity. Bane opened his eyes and removed his hand. She gasped and swayed, her eyes overflowing. He wondered what it was like, to have your spirit freed; probably pretty good. She would be able to experience joy, hope and true faith again.
The Demon Lord said, “Torakesh ere Mardonar.”
The torch on the wall flared as a demon rushed out of it, taking on a fiery man-shape. Stazia whimpered and shrank away from the demon’s heat, shooting Bane an alarmed glance.
“Do not be afraid,” he said. “He is under my command now.”
Mardonar bowed. “Demon Lord.”
“So, you know my name. Assume the man-form you used to trick this girl.”
The fire demon swirled and solidified, taking on the aspect of a spare, white-robed priest with a solemn face, bald pate and glittering black eyes.
Bane looked at Stazia and gestured to the demon. “Your priest: the fire demon, Mardonar.”
She gaped at Mardonar. “Why…? Why have you summoned him?”
“A little vengeance is in order, I think, and you need your brother saved. He will do it.”
“How?”
“He is quite capable of killing a black mage.” Bane addressed the demon. “You will obey Stazia in all things, and never harm her, or ask or order anyone or anything else to harm her. You will protect her, and seek out black priests and warlocks. When you find them, you will order them to give up their evil ways. If they refuse, you will kill them. You will not venture onto holy ground seeking defeat and release. That is all.”
Mardonar bowed again. “As you command, Demon Lord.”
Bane rose to his feet and said to Stazia, “That should sort out your problem. Just do not order him onto hallowed ground, or you will lose his services. If you wish to be rid of him, however, that is the way to do it.”
She managed a timid smile, which her swollen cheek pulled askew. “Thank you, Lord. Your name will be praised in my church, and all others, once the tale of your goodness reaches them. I shall see to it that it does.”
“I do not want my name chanted. Do not, if you wish to please me. You may leave now. No one will harm you.”
Stazia climbed to her feet, clutching her ribs, which, Bane guessed, were as bruised as her face. She darted a sidelong glance at Mardonar, who followed her to the door, and she raised a hand before vanishing through it. Bane pondered what he had done. Giving a summoned demon to a mortal was dangerous. Stazia could abuse the power that controlling a dark entity gave her, but, judging by the purity of her soul, she was unlikely to take advantage of her newfo
und power. More likely, she would want to be rid of him, and order him onto hallowed ground once he had killed the warlock and freed her brother.
One fire demon would probably be able to intimidate or kill all the black priests in the domain in a few weeks or months, but the warlocks posed a threat. It took a lot of invocations and rituals for black priests to summon or banish a demon, and only a little less effort for warlocks, but there was a chance that one would banish Mardonar. Bane summoned three more fire demons and two earth demons and ordered them to hunt dark worshippers and shadow wielders too, just in case.
Bane Moved back to the ship and continued on his way to the bridge. The brief detour had only taken about half an hour, but he had achieved quite a lot, thanks to Tryne’s request. Retribution was ready. The refugees were installed in cabins, and Nikira’s crew of volunteers had reported for duty. They had been allowed to return to their homes to prepare for their journey, say farewell to loved ones or invite them to come along if they wished. Only seven wives, one brother and two husbands had agreed to join the quest. Sherinias had ordered the Oracle to transport them all aboard, and they had been plucked from their homes one by one in flashes of light.
A few crewmen and women hurried past, some nodding to Bane, out of respect, he assumed. He was glad they seemed to have become accustomed to his presence, although most still wore guarded expressions and gave him a wide berth. Two officers exited the lift as he reached it, and when he entered, three crewmen who had been heading for it stopped. He smiled and pressed the seventh deck button. The bridge was a hive of subdued activity as the ops went about their duties, and the ship approached the realm gate. Bane stood in the gloom at the back of the room and observed the scene in the main screen. Kayos, Sherinias and Drevarin stood within the gate hall, waiting for Retribution and saying their goodbyes.
“Stop fifty yards from the gate,” Nikira ordered.
When Angels Fall (Demon Lord) Page 28