Chapter Two
The New Kingdom
In a day, they crossed the river above the waterfall where the sixth ward had been, the demon steed’s effortless gallop eating up the land. Bane was withdrawn and morose. He tired easily, exhausted by the end of the day, and after the third day of travel, he suffered the after effects of the dragonroot. Mirra had it too, slightly, but he had consumed far more, and lay supine on the bed, racked by cramps and nausea, his head pounding. She brewed potion for his headache, but he kept vomiting it up again.
Despite her illness, Mirra tended Bane all day, fighting him at every turn. He pushed her hand away when she tried to put a damp cloth on his brow and jerked aside when she wiped the sweat from his skin. Clearly, he hated her touch and resented her ministrations, and she wondered why. The fever brought on a delirium, and he muttered in a strange, guttural tongue that made her shiver, for the savage words held a wealth of evil meaning. Towards evening, his sickness abated, the fever broke, and he sank into a peaceful sleep. Mirra lay down on a blanket, aching, but grateful that he still lived. Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was that he must have immense strength and resilience to survive all he had.
The following morning, Bane mounted the steed without ordering it to bow down, and they continued, avoiding Agden’s city. They came across a few burnt or bludgeoned corpses, and these, Bane told her, were victims of the Black Lord’s demons, hunted for sport. After they passed the city, they encountered no more bodies.
Bane’s deep voice spoke in her ear. “The Black Lord rests in Agden’s city. He will be celebrating, enjoying the pleasures of the Overworld.”
Mirra was intensely aware of his closeness, and tried to concentrate on the scenery.
Although the Old Kingdom passed swiftly, Mirra was exhausted and ravenous by the time they came to the river that divided the kingdoms. She lived on fruit and nuts in the forest, but the pickings were meagre and she longed for good food. She rationed what was left of Bane’s Underworld food, lest it run out before they reached civilisation.
The black, lowering sky depressed her, and the birds were silent, evidently unsure of whether it was day or night. After more than a week of near darkness, some sensitive plants were withered and yellow, and the lack of rain made the ground hard and dusty. The demon steed carried them across the river, able to swim the torrent with its increased powers. Water still disagreed with it, but it only balked a little at the outset and was dry the moment it stepped out.
In the New Kingdom, Bane commanded the steed to travel at a normal horse’s gallop, since its unnatural speed betrayed its true nature. He was reluctant to enter the first village they came to, but he gave in to Mirra’s pleas and guided the steed into it.
They stopped at an inn, and Mirra’s mouth watered in anticipation as she led Bane into the welcoming, lamp-lighted interior. Clean rushes covered the floor and filled the room with an earthy redolence, and a few patrons sat at rough-hewn tables, making desultory conversation.
Bane’s fierce frown made the men cast him wary looks. The innkeeper hurried over and guided Mirra to a table, clapping to summon a gaggle of maids with steamed vegetables and milk. He was obviously surprised when Bane swept aside his cloak and sat at her table.
Mirra asked that food be brought for Bane as well, and this was served far more slowly, a meat stew that he recoiled from with a look of deep disgust, and then proceeded to ignore.
Mirra sighed. “Bane, eat the food.”
He glared at her. “It is foul human slops.”
“It is this or starve.”
His nostrils flared. “It is poison to me.”
“You are going to have to accept that you are a human, whether you like it or not.”
Bane’s lip curled, and she kicked him under the table. He jumped, and fury flared in his eyes, then he subsided and picked up a spoon. Placing a tiny drop of gravy in his mouth, he tasted it. His expression remained disdainful, but he scraped the bowl clean.
She smiled impishly. “More?”
“No.”
“Foul human slops?”
“It was tolerable.”
Mirra grinned, and he regarded her stonily.
The innkeeper came over and asked Bane, “Will you be paying now, sir, or do you want a room?”
“He is with me,” Mirra said.
The plump man’s expression softened. “Really, healer, he looks like he can afford it.”
She shook her head. “No...”
Bane raised a hand and rose to his feet, looming over the stocky innkeeper. She wondered what he was going to do. This was a man who killed with a touch, and had no compunction about doing so.
“Bane...” she murmured.
He asked the innkeeper, “You require coin?”
The man nodded, shifting a little under Bane’s cold glare.
Bane cocked his head. “Have you a coin?”
“Of course,” the innkeeper blustered, “but you have to pay me.”
“I merely wish to borrow it.”
The innkeeper dug under his gravy-stained apron and drew out a copper coin, which he handed to the Demon Lord. Bane cupped it in his hand, and when he opened it, a gleaming gold coin lay there.
The innkeeper gaped, and Bane enquired, “Is that enough?”
The man nodded, took the gold and walked away polishing it lovingly.
Mirra was amazed. “How long before the spell wears off?”
He reclaimed his seat. “What spell? The coin is gold now.”
“You must not use your power.”
“I did not.”
She frowned. “How is that possible?”
“It is something I have always been able to do. A mere trick.”
Mirra was about to point out that turning copper into gold was no mere trick when a commotion outside diverted her attention. A cry of pain and yell of fear made most of the patrons hurry to the door to peer into the street. A nasty suspicion prompted Mirra to go to the door and see what had happened, and Bane joined her as she tried to elbow her way through the crowd. The men parted to let him through, glancing over their shoulders when he approached, as if sensing him. She wondered if it was just his air of dominance, or his power that made their hair bristle when he came near them.
Outside, two men sprawled in the dirt, and Orriss stood, swishing its tail, where Bane had left it. One of the men held a rope halter, and Bane went over to confront him as he stood up.
“Were you trying to steal my horse?” he demanded.
The man recoiled. “No! We saw him without a bridle, and thought he was a stray.”
Mirra arrived as Bane said, “He needs no -”
“He is a very well-trained animal,” she interrupted.
The man nodded and hurried off, his partner following.
Mirra eyed the steed, wondering if Bane could command it to act like horse, too. The stallion threw up its head and cantered out of the village, scattering strolling people. The pack remained on its back, but they would not need it at the inn. When she looked at Bane, he shrugged.
“He will only cause trouble here.”
Mirra followed him back into the inn, where the crowd of onlookers had returned to their tables. After the day’s travel and big meal, she longed only for a bath and bed. Bane paused just inside the door, his eyes becoming intent. Following his gaze, she found the object of his scrutiny to be a sharp-featured man who had evidently entered the common room while they had been outside, for she did not remember him being there earlier. The man looked disreputable, but wealthy, his clothes fine and his fingers heavy with gold rings. He kept the company of a rather miserable-looking, but lovely woman, whom his presence seemed to cow. Bane’s interest in the couple surprised her. She had not thought that a woman’s plight would move him.
She glanced up at him. “What is it?”
“He is a demon.”
Mirra’s mouth fell open, and she stared at the man, trying to fathom what made Bane so sure he was one. “How do you know?”
Bane smiled and leant closer to whisper, “I am the Demon Lord.”
“Why does he seem not to know who you are?”
“He is beyond the range of my influence, so he cannot sense me.”
“I did not know you had limits.”
“I do not, but when my power is leashed it is difficult to sense that far away.”
The man was on the far side of the common room, engrossed in a conversation with a stout, well-dressed merchant. Mirra pitied the despondent woman who sat beside him.
“We must help her.”
Bane’s brows rose. “Must we?”
“You can banish him.”
“Why should I? Now that the wards are gone, there will be hundreds like him, enjoying the pleasures of the flesh in such a disguise. And if I do it here, these people will witness it.”
Mirra frowned. “We cannot let him torment that poor woman. I will denounce him then.” She started forward, but he caught her arm.
“He will deny it.”
“I am a healer.”
“Can healers detect demons?”
She shook her head. “Not like you can.”
“Then you have no proof on which to base your accusation.”
“I have enough influence to make them summon a priest, who can perform an exorcism.”
He released her arm. “As you wish.”
“What sort of demon is he?”
“Earth. A lesser demon. Very weak.”
“How can he look so human?”
“A pseudo form, like Dorel had. It requires little power to make, and, unlike her, he can do it himself.”
She studied the man again. “So he is not really dangerous?”
Bane smiled. “He could kill you with one blow.”
“But he would not dare.”
“Why not?”
“Because then he would reveal himself.”
“If you betray him, why should he care? He can return to the Underworld in an instant and re-emerge somewhere else, which is no hardship for the reward of killing a healer.”
She chewed her lip, frustrated. “There are too many people here. They would not let him.”
“No mortal can hope to match a demon’s speed.”
“Except you, I suppose.”
He inclined his head. “I have no need to enter into a physical confrontation with him. But yes, I am faster.”
“Then I shall find a priest.”
“As you wish.”
Bane returned to their table and sat down. Mirra headed for the door, then stopped, realising that leaving Bane in a crowded common room was probably a bad idea. She approached a man beside the door, who straightened and hid his ale tankard behind his back like a naughty child. After he left to convey her message to the local priest, Mirra joined Bane, staring across the room at the well-disguised demon.
Bane leant towards her. “If you take so much interest in him, he will become suspicious.”
Mirra looked away just as the man glanced in her direction. A serving wench came over, her eyes lingering on Bane, her smile flirtatious.
“Some ale or wine, My Lord?” she enquired, thrusting out a hip and placing her hand upon it.
He cast her a contemptuous look that wiped the smile from her face. “Wine.”
The girl turned to Mirra. “And milk for you, healer?”
Mirra nodded, frowning at Bane. As soon as the girl left, she said, “This is not a good time to get drunk.”
He glared at her. “I doubt your Overworld wine will do much to me, but I am not a complete fool.”
She lowered her eyes, chastened. “How do they make wine in the Underworld?”
“I have never enquired. I believe the water demons make it.”
The serving maid returned with their beverages, and Bane found the wine to his liking, judging by the way he swilled it down. His stony expression discouraged conversation, and his clipped answers made it difficult, so Mirra gave up trying to talk to him. Bane smothered several yawns while they waited, and Mirra’s eyelids drooped as she sipped the creamy goats’ milk.
When at last the priest arrived, he came to their table, casting Bane a curious look. He was mild-faced and balding, clad in a coarse, cowled white robe tied with a brown rope belt, sandals on his feet. He returned Mirra’s smile and sat beside her when she indicated the vacant chair.
“Healer, you’re very welcome in our town. How may I help you?”
The man-shaped demon now stared at Bane, and she leant closer to the priest. “The man sitting over there with the woman is a demon.”
He pulled a face. “We’ve had a few lately. Which man exactly?”
Mirra described him, nodding at the trio, and the priest followed her gaze. The sharp-faced man appeared agitated, and rose, dragging the woman.
The priest asked, “What makes you suspect him?”
“I just know, and it is not a suspicion.”
His brows rose. “You have a gift?”
“I have a reliable source of information.”
The priest looked at Bane, who sipped his wine. The man-shaped demon made for the door, towing his female companion, who hung back. To reach the door, he would have to pass close to their table, and Mirra wondered how close he had to be to sense the Demon Lord. With a tight smile at Mirra, the cleric rose and headed for the demon, confronting him halfway between his table and theirs. The man halted, scowling when the priest pointed at him.
“You will leave this place,” the cleric said. “You are not welcome here.”
The demon made a feeble attempt to appear innocent. “What did I do? I was just going, anyway.”
The man tried to sidestep the priest, tugging at the unfortunate woman, who now looked alarmed. The priest stepped into his path again, keeping his finger aimed at the demon’s forehead as if he intended to blast his brains out with a celestial bolt. Other patrons turned to watch the confrontation, many agape.
“You,” the priest stated, “are a demon.”
“I am no such thing! Who has accused me?” the man blustered. “I demand to know!”
“You have no rights here, demon.”
The priest pulled a silver flask from his pocket and began to intone the words of exorcism. The demon released the woman and thrust the cleric aside with a mighty push that sent him stumbling into a table. Mirra jumped up as the demon strode towards her, his expression murderous. The priest recovered, opened the flask and trotted after him, continuing the exorcism as he prepared to sprinkle holy water on the man.
The demon swept up an ale flagon and hurled at the priest, hitting him in the chest. Once again, the cleric recovered and pursued his quarry towards Mirra and Bane as he spoke the words of banishment. Mirra backed away, and, as the man came within a few strides of him, Bane rose to his feet. The man’s eyes flicked to the Demon Lord and widened, which, Mirra guessed, meant that he had just crossed the invisible boundary and sensed Bane’s power.
His jaw dropped. “You!”
The priest flung a stream of holy water at the demon, and, at the same moment, Bane flicked his fingers and murmured, “Begone.”
Mirra sensed the tiny frisson of cold power, and the demon vanished, leaving a cloud of settling dust. The priest gaped at it, and the demon’s erstwhile companion fainted, causing a commotion as patrons shook themselves from their stupor to help her. The priest’s eyes rose from the pile of dust, seeking Bane, who sat down and picked up his wine cup.
A hubbub started as patrons talked and rushed about, some leaving, others gathering to discuss the event, a few tending to the comatose woman. No one seemed to have noticed that Bane had had anything to do with the demon’s banishment, except the priest, who approached the Demon Lord, his gaze intent. Mirra took his arm and guided him to his chair.
His eyes never left Bane’s face. “How did you do that?”
Bane sipped his wine. “I did nothing.”
“Yes, you did. I didn’t banish him, and I’ve never seen a demon vanish so fast.”
“Perhaps he decided to leave of his own accord.”
“No.” The cleric shook his head. “He was banished, and he seemed to recognise you.”
“How could he?” Mirra asked. “And besides, what does it matter? The fiend is gone.”
The priest tore his gaze from Bane to study her. Horror blossomed in his eyes, mixed with disbelief. “It cannot be... You... You’re...” His gaze flew back to Bane. “You’re...”
Mirra placed a hand on his arm and raised a finger to her lips when he glanced at her.
The priest became agitated, staring at Bane. “He’s...”
“My friend,” Mirra said.
Bane snorted, casting her a scathing glance.
“He’s...” The cleric gulped, and the silver flask slid from his grasp and clattered onto the table. Bane picked it up and examined it, then opened it and poured a little holy water onto his palm. He tested it with a finger, then closed the flask and set it down, unconcerned by the drops of sacred water on his skin. Mirra tightened her grip on the priest’s arm to gain his attention.
He turned to her and whispered, “What’s he doing here?”
She shook her head. “It is best you do not know.”
He glanced furtively at the patrons. “If they find out... there will be pandemonium.”
“I know. That is why it is a secret.”
The priest leant away from Bane. “You did banish the demon.”
Bane shrugged. “Yes.”
“But they must think it was you.” Mirra indicated the inn’s patrons with a flick of her eyes.
“Yes, of course. But why...?” The cleric shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“The Black Lord has risen in the Old Kingdom, and he has cast the Demon Lord aside. It was he who told me of the demon’s presence here.”
His agitation increased. “What are you doing with him? Is he here to destroy us?”
Bane’s lip curled, and he looked away.
“No,” Mirra said. “He is going to help us.”
Bane snorted again.
“All the wards are broken?” The priest seemed to have difficulty taking it all in. “We’re doomed?”
“No, we are going to defeat the Black Lord and put back the wards.”
“Goddess! How?”
“With Bane’s help.”
“Him?” He pointed a shaking finger at Bane. “He broke them!”
“And he can restore them.”
“Goddess preserve us!” He made the sign of the Lady, staring at Mirra, then studied Bane again before shaking his head. “I must go. I have to pray.” He stood up, his eyes riveted to the Demon Lord, who sipped his wine in an unconcerned fashion.
Mirra rose too, still holding his arm. “There is nothing to fear. Tomorrow we will be gone.”
“Yes, yes, good.”
The cleric hastened to the door, ignoring the patrons who sought to thank him for banishing the demon.
Bane said, “He will betray me.”
Mirra sat down again. “I think not.”
“Let us hope not, or we will waken to find the town empty tomorrow.”
As soon as Bane 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 the short corridor, and she soaked in a steaming tub for nearly an hour, emerging 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.”
“I know,” she admitted, 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 sulphurous.”
“But you have to drink it.”
“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 sent 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 breakfast 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 rode on across the gloomy countryside, whose inhabitants appeared 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 bloody rampage across their land. They came upon several villages still rebuilding, 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 he would be riding across the New Kingdom on a horse, accompanied by a ragged healer. No one knew the Black Lord had risen, since he remained in the Old Kingdom. They did not understand the significance of the dark, lightning-shot clouds. Lightning strikes had started many fires, and the lack of rain allowed the wind to spread them over broad swathes of land. Many farmers had lost entire crops to 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. “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.”
He 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 went 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 across 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 undergrowth. 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 commanded, 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 scowling at the bandit again.
Deducing that Bane was not about to do anything rash, Mirra turned to the bandit leader. “We have none.”
He leered, revealing rotten teeth. “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 trouser leg. His face was 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?”
“Because we do not want to fight them,” she said. “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, wrinkling their noses. 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 glowered at her, and she knew that her impudent liberties with his person infuriated him.
The bandit scowled. “He’s got a money belt under his clothes then.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I’ll see for myself, healer.”
Mirra was forced to step aside, hoping Bane would heed her advice. He tensed as the man approached, unfolding his arms, and the brigand took the black-bladed dagger, examining it with a puzzled frown. He hissed and swore when he sliced his finger testing its edge, and tucked it into his belt. He pulled open Bane’s tunic to search for the money belt he suspected him of having, and stepped back with an oath, staring at the rune scars.
“Lady Mother! Who did that to you, lad?”
“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 we want. Go on your way, but we’ll take the horse.”
The Demon Lord shrugged. “Take him.”
Orriss allowed the bandits to tie a rope around its neck and lead it away, melting back into the undergrowth. Mirra gathered up their scattered belongings while Bane refastened his tunic, then he helped her stuff equipment back into the bag.
The demon steed returned half an hour later. As Bane went to mount it, Mirra noticed that his dagger was back in its sheath. She wondered how that was possible, but there were a great many things about him that remained a mystery, and she added it to the list.
They rode until dusk, when they 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. She sat on the floor as usual, and he lounged on the bed, spooning the stew. He did not seem to care what he ate, as long as it did not poison him.
Considering the foul concoction he had been raised on, that did not surprise her. He 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 aloof 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 following 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 neck, 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 was sure he disliked the situation. She wondered why he made her sit in front of him, when Dorel had sat behind. Perhaps 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 shuddered 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, 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 outlaw bands had become rife since Bane’s march across the New Kingdom. They comprised homeless men with no families, deserters from defeated armies, and his own troops, footloose and bloodthirsty.
The demon steed halted and reared, whinnying as dozens of mounted men boiled from the forest and closed in on all sides. A thud behind Mirra told her that one of them had hit Bane, and he knocked her sideways as he fell. She slid off too, and Bane’s attacker arrived beside him as he tried to rise to his feet and sent him rolling in the ash with a kick. Many rough hands seized Mirra, and the demon steed reared again as several bandits dismounted and surrounded it, trying to capture it. Orriss broke through the cordon and galloped away.
Mirra struggled in the grip of a stocky, bearded brigand. A gaunt man with a long scar down his cheek and a patch over one eye, who seemed to be the leader, 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 sit up, but the bandit pushed back with a boot on his chest. Bane’s eyes glinted as the man squatted 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 dress with cynical eyes. “A healer, hey?” He held out a brawny arm wrapped in a rough, blood-stained bandage. “Heal this.”
She shook her head. “I cannot.”
“I knew it. 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 bandit looked around at his men. “Let’s have some fun, boys!”
Bane sat up, brushing ash from his tunic, and glared at her. She could have sworn there was hatred in his eyes, and wondered why. He cocked a brow in mocking enquiry as the men pulled at her dress, and she shook her head. Bane rose to his feet, but the bandits ignored him. Evidently they had dismissed him as a threat, since he was an unarmed youth.
“Leave her,” he commanded.
The men stopped tugging at her gown and turned to him.
Mirra said, “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 he obviously hated it. Dread chilled her heart, for he seemed in imminent danger of using his power.
She cried, “Do not do it, Bane. You will die!”
“Too right he will, girl,” the bandit leader said, “with my sword in his guts!”
Drawing a rusty cutlass, he advanced on the Demon Lord, who watched him with a supercilious air. As the man neared him, Bane pulled 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 Bane.
The bandit leader asked, “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.” Bane rubbed the red mark on his ribs. “You have to pay for this.”
Bane turned his head, and Orriss emerged from the woods, revealed in all its otherworldly glory. It snorted fire, its silver eyes aglow. The brigands retreated, white-faced, and some crept away into the forest. The leader threw down his weapon and fell to his knees.
“Demon Lord!”
“You dared to strike me. You abused my property.”
“I-I didn’t know, Lord, I swear!”
“Indeed. You would have to be a monumental fool to attack me, would you not?” Bane’s smile was 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 steed is hungry.”
The one-eyed man cried, “Please, Lord, I beg for mercy! We’ll do anything you say, just spare us!”
Mirra experienced a pang of anxiety as she realised that Bane had no intention of letting these men go. The last lot had only annoyed him, but this bunch had struck him, and he was not accustomed to allowing such an offence 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 stepped closer to him, and his eyes flicked to her.
“Let them go, Bane.”
“Why? They would have raped you, and probably killed me if they could.”
“It does not matter.”
“I do not have to use the power. Orriss can do it.”
“It is not that. They have been punished. Let them live.”
His hands clenched. “I am sick of your self-righteous prating. They struck me!”
“Let them go.”
His fist rose, and then he spun away. “Damn you.”
She turned to the grovelling bandit. “Go, quickly.”
Mirra had never seen men move so fast. In a moment, only the wind’s soft sighing and the whisper of falling ash disturbed the wood’s peace. Bane stood with his back to her, his shoulders stiff. She gathered up their belongings and put them back in the pack, then went over to him.
“What would killing them have achieved?”
“Satisfaction,” he growled.
“It was unnecessary. They were already terrified.”
He snorted. “They deserved it. They are scum.”
“Even they can be redeemed, given the chance. How did you make the rune glow?”
He looked down at it. “This? Easy. It requires no power. It is merely activated, like so.” He traced another rune, making it glow. “It is just to limit my use of the power. The more I activate, the more power I can use, although if I need more, the others will become active on their own.”
“Have you ever used seven?”
“No.” He rubbed the scar at the centre of his chest. “Not since my... the Black Lord cut it.”
“Can you stop them glowing?”
“Of course.” He looked down at the scars, and the glow faded, then his eyes flicked up to her again as he fastened his tunic.
She smiled. “Thank you for letting them go.”
He shrugged. “You asked.” A frown furrowed his brow. “Actually, you ordered, which I do not appreciate.”
“Does it matter to you, what I want?”
He eyed her. “I suppose so.”
Mirra placed a hand on his arm, and he stood still, for once. “Why?”
“I suppose... I owe you my life.”
“And I owe you mine.”
He shifted. “What of it?”
“The debts are cancelled. What is the real reason?”
“You know perfectly well. Your damned spell.”
“And you ought to know by now that there is no spell.”
“Ought I?” He swung away. “Whether I do or not is none of your damned business.”
Bane strode to the steed, picked up the pack and flung it onto the stallion’s back, then mounted, frowning at her before holding out his hand. Orriss resumed its normal horse aspect, and they set off again.
As they rode, she pondered his strange mood swings and lame argument, wondering what was the matter with him. He seemed defensive, almost confused, but perhaps it was the odd situation in which he now found himself and the pain of the Black Lord’s betrayal. He still did not trust her, but found himself with no choice now, unless he rejected her advice as lies and went after the Black Lord alone. She wished she understood him better, but, since he hated to be questioned, he remained a mystery. Despite his harshness towards her, his confusion wrung her heart.