T. C. Southwell

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CHAPTER FIVE (cont)

Earth Demon

When the Black Lord visited Bane's dreams that night, he was oddly subdued, not in a raging fury as Bane had expected. His fire glowed dimly, a nimbus of evil power that did not lash out as before. The mood vision for this dream was a barren grey desert dotted with stones and boulders under a lowering grey sky of swirling clouds.

"A pity Yalnebar failed," he commented.

"You broke your word, Father. There were no healers at the abbey."

"Yes. Unfortunate." The scene behind him darkened, becoming more forbidding, lit by flashes of red lightning. "Had the girl not called you, she would be dead now, also unfortunate. Why did she call you, Son?"

Bane shrugged. "I helped with Mealle."

"She seems to look upon you as her protector, interesting, do you not think?"

"She is a fool, never have I come across a more gullible, trusting human. At times she sickens me."

The Black Lord's eyes flared redly. "Does she? That is good. Then you will kill her now." The vision became yellow tinged.

"No. Tell me why I should, give me a good reason."

The Black Lord sighed, the background paling as his anger drained away. "Very well. I did not want to tell you this, but now I must, since you are being so stubborn. She is the weapon that the healers forged against you, Bane. She is the one chosen to stop you from achieving your goal."

Bane laughed. "A fine jest, Father."

"It is true." The background swirled into a mess of red and yellow.

"How can one pathetic girl stop me? She is harmless, all she does is heal the sick and injured, even those who murder her own people. She cannot possibly harm me; she even wants to help me."

The Black Lord shook his fiery head. The abstract swirling changed to a calm black sea under a huge red sun. "I do not know how she is meant to stop you, Bane; I just know that she is. Are you prepared to take the chance that she has a way to destroy you?"

"Yes. It should be interesting to see her try to kill me. I think the healers made a mistake choosing her; she is no warrior woman, just a girl, young and stupid. Do you seriously think her a threat to me?"

"Bane, I cannot force you to kill her, I ask you to, as a dutiful son."

"No. I am curious, Father, I will study her more carefully. Should I discover that she has the means to kill me; rest assured I will strike first. She is not indestructible, as I first thought, she is weak, and I could smear her like a moth."

The Black Lord sighed an exhalation of fire, and the red sun vanished, leaving only blackness. "Very well, but I shall not stop trying to kill her. Yalnebar was hurt, try not to kill anyone, Bane, they are your kin."

Bane chuckled. "If they pit themselves against me, they will get hurt. Advise them to be careful."

"Yalnebar did not strike you, Son."

"A good thing, but he was one blow from killing her."

"The witch will die, I will see to it."

When morning broke on another cloudy day, Mord came to take Mirra away as usual. Bane stopped him by raising a finger, causing the troll to freeze.

"She stays with me from now on, Mord."

As the troll bowed and backed away, Mirra turned to Bane. "Why?"

"My father has sworn to kill you, he will send more demons. The only way to stop them is if you stay with me. I have no wish to expend power and suffer headaches for your sake. No demon may manifest close to me without my knowledge."

She smiled. "So you will not kill me."

"Not yet."

That day Mirra was made to walk beside the dragon, her legs burning with the effort of keeping up. She often had to trot, and exhaustion took its toll. When, at midday, she fell and could not rise, Bane ordered Mord to carry her. The troll was immensely strong, and Mirra a small burden. His pungent smell was unpleasant, and the coarse hair on his arms and chest prickled her skin, but her leaden legs blessed him. In this fashion, they travelled on towards the sea.

Ellese sat back from the scrying glass, rubbing her temples. Tallis, who was attending her, offered a cup of water. The seeress sipped it, thinking about what she had seen, and Tallis bit her lip as she waited for Ellese to put down the cup.

"She still lives."

Tallis sagged with relief. "How does she fare?"

"Not too well, I am afraid. She was attacked by another demon, and her power is drained. Bane keeps her alive, however, he drove off the demon to save her, and I feel more confident now. Every day her power over him increases, and her weakness helps. Already he defies his father; he will not be parted from her."

"But he still does not let her help him, he still torments her."

"Patience, my dear Tallis, this will come in good time, if all goes well."

Tallis shook her head. "Already two wards are broken, and he marches unhindered to the next one."

"The Earl of Timon raises an army, but I will advise him not to fight Bane, he will lose. His land lies in the Demon Lord's path, and he is determined to face him. Even now he marches to challenge him. The Earl is old; he does not understand what Bane is. No one can stand against him, our only hope is Mirra."

"It seems a fragile hope."

"Do not underestimate her, Tallis, she will succeed."

Tallis rose and paced the shabby room of the seaside inn where the healers had taken shelter. The white flame of the Lady burned in a small oil lamp on the mantel, and she bowed her head to it.

"How much longer will we stay here, Elder Mother?"

"Only a few more days, dear." Ellese wrapped her scrying glass in a thick cloth. "Then we will journey to the sea coast abbey, to join our sisters there. Some of the older sisters require rest. Go now and tell all our sisters to meet in the common room, I will speak to them shortly."

Tallis left, and Ellese turned to gaze out of the window at the drab day outside. Beyond the cold, deserted beach, gulls wheeled and squalled, diving for fish in the wind tossed sea. Small boats bobbed on the waves as fishermen struggled to haul their daily bounty from the grey depths. As Bane neared the coast, the weather grew grimmer, and now only occasional shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds. She hoped that the abbey up the coast still received some sun; her healers needed the power that they could only get from direct sunlight. Many sick and injured queued outside the inn, but the healers were growing weak. Now all but the mortally ill were given only herbal treatments.

Ellese thought back to the time when Mirra had been conceived. Larris's dream had seemed ridiculous, many Elder Mothers had scorned her suggestion that it was a sign from the Lady, and at first it had been rejected. But when no one could come up with a better idea, or received any sign, it had been reconsidered. Putting it into practice had not been easy. Much power was needed to make it work. First, a young healer had volunteered to be the mother of the child, knowing that her daughter would never know her, nor would she be allowed to raise her. A man had been put into a deep sleep and brought to the abbey.

Ellese remembered Mirra's father well. A handsome, golden haired youth, a perfect choice. He never knew that something had been taken from him while he slumbered, and woke unharmed where he had fallen asleep. Had anyone told him that he had sired a daughter that night, he would have been most surprised. When Mirra's mother had informed them that she did indeed carry a daughter, the real plan had been put into action. The girl basked in the sun every day; she drank only pure spring water and ate the best foods. She was excused from all work, taking long, leisurely walks in the gardens for exercise.

When the foetus was firmly established in her womb, she travelled to all the abbeys in the land. At each one, the healers laid their hands upon her belly and poured their power into the child. Prayers were chanted in every chapel, candles lit for the unborn girl, the saviour of the land. No healer shirked the task of giving power to the child, nor shaping her with their gifts. Few healers had the gift of speaking to animals; fewer still could speak to trees and plants. Although many could heal themselves, few could do it well. Ellese herself gifted the child with the ability to scry, though this was one talent that had lain dormant. Each one had poured their love forth with their power, ensuring that Mirra was born with an innate love for all things, and judged no one.

Mirra's upbringing had been a miracle, her birth, glowing with golden power, had set awe in the hearts of those who witnessed it. Ellese took charge of the baby as soon as she was weaned, her mother sent to a far away abbey. Everyone who came into contact with the child was strictly instructed on how to behave around her. Never did Mirra see an argument; never was she shouted at or scolded. Her childhood was filled with peace and laughter, and she flourished, her joy and goodness shining from her clear blue eyes.

Ellese remembered her dread for the fragile girl, hating the day when she would be placed in the path of the Demon Lord. When Bane had emerged from the Underworld, Mirra was just fourteen, too young for the task. For two years Bane had ravaged the land unopposed, until it became clear that time was running out, he would overrun the land and destroy the wards before Mirra was eighteen. For the first two years he had merely conquered, amassing a mighty army, then, shortly after acquiring Mirra, as if she was the catalyst, he had started breaking the wards.

Shaking her head, Ellese turned from the window and descended the creaking stairs to the common room, where the sisters waited, seated at the rough tables that served the inn. Their faces turned to her, pale and gaunt, drained of power and life itself, their eyes dull with despair. They awaited news of Mirra, and Ellese made her report clipped and concise, leaving out the distressing details.

At the end, many looked more downcast, while others appeared hopeful, depending on their natures. Ellese held their attention.

"We must help her, sisters. We must prepare another golden pearl."

A gaunt woman seemed to cringe. "We have so little, Mother."

"I know, but we must do this for her, she is our hope, even if some of us perish, as Balia did, we must help her. Anshee will call one of her wild winged friends to carry the pearl. Any who gather power will donate it, all healing will stop."

A groan went around the room at this, for the healers hated to turn away the sick.

Elder Mother shook her head. "If Mirra fails, we will all die, and healing some now will only provide more for him to torture. We will do what we can for them with herbs and potions, use the skills taught to ungifted midwives and doctors. We must try to make the pearl in the next few days."

Heads nodded around the room.

Bane dismounted from the red dragon and regarded the beast with disgust. It could not stand the forced marches and his weight on its back; it was a weak, Overworld animal. In two years he had used up three of the beasts, and this one was now finished too. Dragons did not eat well in captivity, and liked being ridden even less. The red dragon was fading, its colour paling, the fierce glow dimming from its eyes. It no longer attacked the trolls that fed it, but lay listlessly, eating little. He had to goad it constantly to keep up the appearance that it was still a strong, fierce beast.

Two wards were broken, and two demons had already manifested on the surface. It was time for a new mount, one that befitted his status. He looked over at the pale golden girl, who sat on the ground where Mord had deposited her, watching him. This would make her suffer, and he smiled at the prospect. She would be terrified by his new mount, and it promised entertainment. The red glow of the sunset threw deep shadows across his face as he pondered his idea, weighing the benefits against the resulting headache. His mind made up, he turned to the cowering troll.

"Mord, build a fire, a big one."

The troll bowed and scurried away, an action ill suited to his huge shambling form. Bane's tent was put up by two other trolls. He preferred to be served by trolls, they were big and strong, and they also seemed the least afraid of him. When it was done, he stood before it and directed Mord, who had returned laden with firewood, making him build the fire close to the tent. He noticed the men gathering in the shadows, and smiled again. Many would probably flee in terror this night, but that did not bother him. His only regret was the headache that this would give him.

When a large fire roared lustily, Bane glanced around, making sure that the girl was nearby, noting her position. She sat as close to the fire as she could, enjoying the warmth. She probably thought that he had built it for her comfort, the stupid girl. He strolled over to her, and she looked up with a smile, her eyes filled with trusting gratitude. She did think it was for her. He managed to keep the smirk off his lips.

"Warm enough?"

"Yes Bane, it is lovely."

Bane nodded. "I want you to sit right here, get nice and warm."

Her smile widened, lighting her face. Bane turned away, chuckling to himself. He stood before the fire, basking in its hot caress, allowing the flames to almost lick at his clothes. It could not harm him; the dark power protected him now as it had done in the Underworld, where any Overworld creature would perish within moments from the terrible heat, without the protection of the Black Lord. Once Bane had mastered the dark magic, he had no longer needed his father's protection.

Raising his arms, he began a short chant, no more than a few words of command, spoken in a harsh, guttural tongue. The dark power burned as it was invoked, bringing its familiar pain and nausea. He lowered his arms as it coursed through him, empowering the summoning. The girl stared at him, her eyes wide with trepidation, then her gaze was jerked to the flames as they changed colour.

A ring of black crept outward from the fire, crisping the grass to ash. The red-gold flames changed to deep crimson, shot with black and green as they flared, and men scrambled away into deeper shadows. The girl sat motionless, like a startled rabbit, her eyes riveted to what was forming in the fire.

A delicately chiselled head rose from the flames, and a massive neck took shape, flowing with a brilliant mane of yellow fire. Eyes of molten gold glared, and flared nostrils snorted flame. The Demon Steed pranced in the fire, small hooves scattering burning coals as it manifested, becoming real. It stepped from the flames; eyes glowing, neck arched proudly, and Bane gave it its first silent command.

The Steed turned to the girl, advancing on her with mincing steps, flames jetting from its nostrils. The witch stared at it, wide eyed and frozen with terror. With a roar, the stallion reared over her, burning hooves almost grazing her face, smashing into the grass beside her. She scrambled away from it, raising an arm to ward off its flames as her skin blistered, healing slowly. Silently he urged the Steed closer, and it lowered its head to breathe fire on her, searing her. She screamed, whether from pain or terror, it was music to his ears, but her next cry was not.

"Bane! Help me!"

Cold flashed through Bane like a lance of ice, startling him. His mental command made the stallion leap away, tossing its head, eyes glaring rage. He glowered at the girl, furious that her cry had sparked such a strange reaction in him. He strode over to her as she crawled towards him, holding out a hand, which Bane slapped away.

"You simpleton! Do not call out to me for help!"

She glanced at the Steed with wide eyes. "It was trying to kill me."

"Perhaps one day I will let it. I summoned it, and I control it."

The witch paled even more. "You told it to attack me?"

Bane laughed, his humour restored by her hurt, disbelieving expression. "You are here for my entertainment, stupid witch. When I have no more use for you, I will kill you. Do not ask for my help again!"

The girl looked forlorn, and he spun to face the Steed. It was the one he wanted, Drallis, one of the more powerful Steeds, a mighty Underworld creature. It lowered its head in a deep bow, and he smiled with satisfaction. Tomorrow he would ride in style, even if slowed by the pace of the men. The sooner he could do away with the rabble, the better.

Bane issued his second command, pointing at the chained dragon. The Steed's eyes flared, and it leapt at the hapless Overworld beast. Bane grabbed the girl and dragged her closer, so that she would suffer with it. The dragon woke from its exhausted sleep at the approaching thunder of the Steed's hooves, rearing up, mouth agape to reveal its armament of white teeth. The Demon Steed tore into it with pounding hooves, and it fought back valiantly, but was no match for the stallion. Razor sharp hooves flayed its scaly hide, cutting through it like butter. The Steed's fiery breath seared it, making it thrash against the chains, clawing and tearing at the Steed with sharp teeth. The touch of the stallion's flesh only brought the dragon more pain, and it roared in anguish.

Bane shared his attention with the writhing girl, who gasped and whimpered. As the dragon died, she cried out with it, tears streaking her face. When only bloody pulp remained of the beast, the Steed began to eat, tearing at the meat. The witch vomited, and Bane flung her away in disgust, surprised when she fled into the darkness. He gestured at Mord to bring her back, moving away from her mess. Well satisfied with the night's amusement, he retired to his tent, flinging himself down on the bed.

Only one thing spoiled it, and that was his reaction to the girl's cry for help. He should have ignored it, not been chilled by it, as if in sudden fear. The headache was starting, and he shouted for Mord. The troll appeared, pushing the girl into the tent, and then vanished again to fetch his potion. Bane glared at the shivering witch, whose short, ragged golden hair straggled around her pale face, her grass-stained robe damp with dew. She huddled in the corner, her face buried in her knees. Bane eyed her sourly. This creature was going to kill him? Impossible. His father had to be wrong this time. She was as helpless as a baby, and little more than a child.

Mord appeared with his potion, and he drained the cup, flinging it out for the troll to pick up. After a while the pounding in his temples eased, fading to a dull ache behind his eyes. He reached over and cuffed the girl, making her look up.

"Do not run away from me again, or I will put chains on you."

"I am sorry, it was just so awful. The poor dragon."

"Poor dragon," he sneered. "It was meant to be awful, lackwit, I enjoy seeing you suffer. Why else do I keep you? Do you think that I like you?" He gave a harsh laugh. "I tire of telling you, when you get boring, you die."

Bane flung himself back onto the bed, wearied by his use of the power; the ache behind his eyes a constant reminder of its ill effects. The girl curled up on the floor, and he closed his eyes.

Chapter Six