Mercy
A shriek jerked Bane from his light doze, and he sat up. The old healer who attended him cowered against the far wall, her eyes fixed on the window. Bane whipped around, following her gaze. A vampire clung to the ledge, a shadowy form against the black, roiling clouds. Bane swung his legs off the bed and faced the creature, which did its best to cringe. The healer crept to the door and fled through it.
“Lord,” the vampire croaked, “a message from the demon Jarabesh. The healer has left the rune room.”
Bane nodded. “Return to your fellows.”
The vampire left with a rustle of leathery wings, and Bane closed his eyes, opening his mind to the far-see. The Old Kingdom temple appeared in his inner vision, and he swept his gaze across it. He expanded his view, spying a new temple whence columns of black smoke rose to foul the dark sky. Still, he found no sign of Mirra, even when the entire city was within his sight, and knew the Black Lord had taken her from it.
Cursing, he searched for Arkonen, who was a beacon to the far-see. An image formed. The Black Lord stood upon a low hill, clad in a pseudo body he had often worn in the Underworld, an enhanced version of his former mortal form. Mirra stood beside him, his hand on her shoulder, her eyes wide and blank. Bane opened his eyes, rose and picked up his cloak. Ellese appeared in the doorway, raking him with a quick glance, and he frowned at her.
She shook her head. “You cannot face him now. You said it yourself, you are too weak.”
“Do not presume to tell me what to do, old woman.”
“He will kill you.”
Bane clipped on his cloak. “If I do not go, he will kill her.”
“No, he will not.” Ellese approached him, and more elder mothers crowded the doorway behind her. Bane wondered if they camped outside his door, waiting to accost him. “He will not kill her as long as he thinks he can use her against you,” she said.
“You wanted me to save her.” A wave of dizziness made him sway, a penalty for using the far-see when he was so weak.
“I still do, but you can barely stand. I thought you could save her without confronting him, but to do so now is madness. It is what he wants.”
“It is my choice.”
“No. The Overworld needs you to save it. If you throw away your life by falling into his trap, we are all doomed. Mirra will be at his mercy. No one will be able to save her.”
Bane knew she was right and hated her for it. The sight of Mirra’s suffering sparked his fury and swept away common sense and good judgement, making a mockery of his plans.
Ellese stepped closer and gripped his arm. “I will not allow you to do this.”
He tried to pull free. “You cannot stop me.”
She hung on, nodding to the women in the doorway. “We can. You cannot Move as long as we hold you, not without taking us with you, and that, I would guess, would use a lot of power.”
The healers approached, and Bane tried to avoid the two who took hold of his other arm. Others held onto them, forming a chain of hard-faced women that went right out of the door, and some of them held onto the walls or other fixtures, effectively anchoring him.
“You forget who I am,” he said. “I could reduce you all to ash.”
“But you will not. We do this for your sake as well as Mirra’s, for the sake of the Overworld and all who dwell in it. We intend to save it all, and for that, we need you.”
“Release me.”
“No.”
The Demon Lord’s eyes frosted, and Ellese feared that he would indeed incinerate them, so furious did he look. Many of the women bowed their heads when he raked them with a wrathful glance. He turned his attention to Ellese once more, and his eyes narrowed, promising retribution for their temerity. The temperature dropped, making the healers shiver. She sensed what he was about to do and dreaded it, praying she would have the strength to hang on. A surge of dark power made the healers moan and gag, and the two who clung to his arm whimpered, one sinking to her knees. Although her stomach clenched, threatening to hurl her breakfast at the back of her teeth, Ellese held on.
“Do not do this,” she pleaded.
“Then release me.”
“No.” She gritted her teeth as he let more shadows seep from him, and her stomach heaved. He was doing what she had taught him upon the chapel’s altar, letting the dark power flow out, unfocussed but controlled. It did no harm, other than to nauseate the healers and fill the room with frigid shadows that seeped into the floor. As a deterrent to being in his proximity, however, it was extremely effective. Several healers gave despairing cries and dashed out, unable to stand it any longer. One of the women who held his other arm collapsed, retching, and an older, more resolute woman took her place, ignoring Bane’s furious glare. He increased the power still more, and Ellese’s hands became numb, her stomach a tight knot.
Two more healers fled, and the rest struggled against the terrible nausea, many doubled over, their faces pale. The pain went beyond mere sickness. The dark power’s foul invasion burnt Ellese’s flesh as if fire ran in her blood. The women who held his other arm could stand no more and let go, staggering away. Bane cast Ellese an angry, triumphant smile as he jerked his arm from her weakened grip, striding out. She slumped as the evil power vanished with him, then gathered her strength and hurried after him, leaving her sisters to console each other and recover.
Ellese caught up with Bane on one of the many balconies that gave a view of the surrounding countryside. Usually it was a pleasant vista, but now she could hardly bear to look at the dying land. In the distance, a formerly peaceful snow-capped peak belched lava and black smoke, lighting the dark clouds with its red glare. Ash drifted down, blanketing everything in a grey shroud. Bane stared at the horizon, where the angry clouds seemed to touch the earth. Lightning flickered there in an almost constant barrage, the thunder reaching them seconds later, deep booms and roars that shook the ground and rattled the abbey’s windows.
Ellese knew this was the Black Lord’s location, where he waited for Bane to enter his trap.
Bane turned to face her. “Do not ever do that again, or next time I will burn you.”
She met his angry eyes. “I had to stop you, and if I have to do it again, I shall, regardless of your threats.”
“As you see, I am still here.”
“Yes.”
“And you had better pray you are right, or you will all pay.”
“You know I am right.” She moved closer, trying to read his tense face. “Mirra will be all right, although I weep for her suffering.”
“As you did when she suffered at my hands?”
She nodded. “We all did, and our prayers gave her the strength she needed to withstand it, just as they do now.”
“That which she suffered at my hands is nothing compared to what she will suffer at his.”
“I know, but the Lady will protect her and give her strength.”
Bane gazed at the distant, lightning-shot clouds, his expression grim. “She will need it.”
Arkonen rematerialised in the old temple’s rune room, furious that he had waited for almost an hour, and Bane had not come. The glowing runes on the walls brightened when they detected his presence, then dimmed as they identified him, for they were keyed to react only to Bane’s aura. When Arkonen had realised that the Demon Lord had survived the wound the demon’s spear had inflicted, he had carved two new runes with the power to identify Bane, so he could not rescue the girl.
The runes would trigger the ancient Fetch, and cast any occupant of the room into the Underworld. The Fetch would also be activated by the use of dark power to create another channel. Arkonen had created the Fetch when he had built the temple, before the goddess’ mages had trapped him below. Originally, it had been intended as a trap for the Lady, and many of her worshippers had been brought to the room and tortured to try to lure her into it. He had waited in the Underworld, so she would think it safe to enter the room and save her people, and he had intended to trigger the trap from below.
Instead, she had trapped him, a fact that still rankled. A rough shove sent the girl staggering to the bed, where she slid to the floor and curled up, pale and sick from the Move.
He swung to face the priest droge. “He did not come. Why not?”
“Perhaps he is too weak, Lord.” The droge cringed and smiled soothingly.
“He hides in that damned place like a cur! I cannot far-see him or cast an Eye upon him as long as he refuses to leave the protection of the white power. Is he healed or is he dying?”
The former priest spread his hands. “Time will tell, Lord.”
“And if he is healed, time makes him stronger.”
“But if he is too weak to fight, your army will overrun the abbey, and once the white fire is snuffed out he will be at your mercy.”
“If he is not, he will smash them again,” Arkonen fumed.
“Perhaps he is not as fond of the healer as you thought?”
“No, he is.”
“Then it can only be that he is not strong enough to face you, and your army’s attack will weaken him further. And, if he is too badly injured to fight them, victory will be yours in just a few hours.”
“Yes.” The Black Lord nodded. “But he should have been dead by now, if he had not been healed.”
“Perhaps if you sacrifice the healer, he will come.”
“He is not watching. Deliberately, I suspect. All that will do is release her from her suffering. Her soul is not yet mine. But her corruption goes apace, and it will not be too long now before she is mine. Only then will she die.”
“You are infinitely wise, Lord.”
Arkonen dismissed him and studied the girl. The black, scaly skin had reached her elbow, and her hand was a malformed, clawed thing. It amazed him how slowly the transformation was taking place. His power was triumphing, however, and the vast amounts of dark magic now emanating from his new temple aided it. Soon enough, she would be his. She looked ill, sweating with fever as her body tried to fight the invasion of alien flesh. It would fail. Since it had taken hold, she had ceased to speak, and become dull-eyed and apathetic. He swung away and strode out.
Martal handed the spyglass to Ellese, his expression grim. They stood just outside the inner garden’s entrance at the back of the abbey, where the fortifications had been flattened by the invasion. Flat, ash-covered meadowland stretched away to distant wooded hills, visible through the drifting curtains of falling ash. Ash also covered the semi-circular mound of corpses from Bane’s battle with the dark army, masking the stench. The healers and Martal’s remaining men had dumped the corpses from the inner garden in the fire ditch beyond the earthworks.
After gazing through the spyglass for several moments, Ellese lowered it. “So, the Dark Lord sends his army back to finish us off.”
“And they will. If anything, it looks like more than before.”
“Bane will protect us.”
“In case you have not noticed, he can barely stand.”
Ellese nodded. “It does not matter, although another fight will weaken him.”
“I do not think this one can be avoided.” Martal peered through the spyglass again. “There are demons with them, as before.”
“To goad them on, force them to attack even though they fear Bane.”
The dark folk who camped on the hallowed ground stirred from their fires to stare at the approaching army. Their number seemed few compared to the horde that approached, and their glum expressions told of their trepidation. Many cast hopeful looks at the temple, clearly wishing the Demon Lord would make an appearance. Ellese doubted that they had ever craved his presence before, and almost pitied them. Mirra, she reflected sadly, would have found pity in her heart for them, but the atrocities Ellese had witnessed them commit had hardened her heart.
The distant host emerged from the forest, advancing swiftly this time. A pillar of fire appeared in their path as one of Bane’s fire demons moved to confront them, swelling from the tiny flame it had been while it waited. A lash of its eyes turned a dozen of the foremost dark people to ash, and those behind howled. Many tried to flee, but their fellows penned them in, pushing forward relentlessly as the demons behind them drove them on.
Two earth demons rose to stamp out the lives of any who came near them, their fists crushing bones and skulls with sickening thuds. The dark folk surged away from them, flowing around them like minnows around feeding sharks. Another fire demon appeared in their midst, incinerating dozens with flashes of fire and the burning lash of its blazing eyes. Screams tore the cold, smoky air, and faint, agonised cries came from the woods, where Bane’s creatures of darkness lay in ambush.
Still, the dark host poured from the forest in a seemingly endless tide, and those who eluded the demons charged towards the hallowed ground. All of Bane’s demons were now in the fray, and the Black Lord’s earthen minions sprang up to confront them. Four fire demons drifted into the battleground as flames before swelling to awesome size and ferocity as they attacked the defenders. A fire demon battled two earth demons, burning chunks from them while the earth demons tore and stamped its flames, making it darken and swirl like a wind-blown campfire. One of the earth demons slumped into a pile of soil, and Martal grunted.
“Do they destroy each other?”
“No,” a familiar deep voice said behind them.
Ellese swung around. The Demon Lord stood there, watching the battle. “They go below when they are defeated,” he explained, “but they cannot rise again for a time. Their strength is drained.”
“Of course,” Martal grumped, “such as they would not give their lives to protect an abbey.”
“They cannot destroy each other. Their retreat is involuntary. Only the Black Lord or I can destroy them.”
Martal took a surreptitious step away from Bane, raising the spyglass again. A slight smile curled the Demon Lord’s lips. Ellese turned her attention back to the battle just as a band of trolls triggered one of Bane’s traps. A flare of shadow rose in a grasping hand that snatched the entire group down, sucking in those on the edges as well while flattening those beyond them. A deep rumble shook the earth, and Ellese shivered. The sight of so much death, even if it was too distant for her to sense, sickened her, and Bane’s traps horrified her.
Several hundred dark folk made it onto the hallowed ground and charged the temple, howling and shrieking. Bane’s army rushed to meet them, and they came together with a sickening crunch of flesh and metal. A fierce, bloody battle broke out, which made many of the healers who watched turn away and cover their ears to block out the screams. Ellese wondered if Bane was enjoying the carnage, but his expression was unreadable. Another trap was triggered, sucking a company of goblins into the pit to be incinerated. Three earth demons snuffed out a fire demon, and two more earth demons slumped into piles of dirt.
Bane walked away, then vanished. He reappeared beyond the holy ground, in full view of the enemy. Ellese’s breath caught as he raised his arms, expecting the black fire to pour from him in another orgy of death, but instead he shouted words she could not hear. Most of the dark people stopped fighting and turned to stare at the Demon Lord, their enemies forgotten. A few continued to hack and stab at their foes, too deafened by the battle’s din to notice what was going on. A hush fell upon the battleground, broken only by the moans of the injured, as those who had not heard Bane’s words realised that something was amiss and stopped fighting to look up.
Bane lowered his arms and spread his hands in a gesture that needed no explanation. From bitter experience, they knew he could defeat them without breaking a sweat, which made their battle pointless. Only their worship of the Black Lord and their fear of his demons drove them into battle, but now an equal fear of the Demon Lord countered it. With a simple gesture, he offered them the one thing Arkonen did not: mercy. Their hesitation was momentary, born more out of confusion and the dread of being alone, then those who had pledged themselves to Bane earlier fell to their knees and chanted his name. In a spreading wave, the entire army bowed down before him, threw down their weapons and pressed their brows to the cold, blasted earth.
The demons continued to battle each other, and those that harried the army’s heels attacked all who knelt. The Demon Lord raised an arm, and the dark folk in front of him cowered. He pointed at Arkonen’s demons, and a bolt of darkness arced across the gap. It struck a fire demon in an explosion of flame and shadow, destroying it. The rest departed swiftly, sinking into the earth, or, in the case of the fire demons, into the fires from which they had risen.
Bane lowered his arm and gazed around, searching for invisible air demons while he let the vast army grovel a little longer. Then he turned and walked back to the abbey, and the dark people remained prostrated until he vanished into it. They stood up uncertainly, unsure of what to do next. Some helped the injured, while others wandered to the edge of the wood and sat, staring at the abbey, plainly stunned by what had just happened and amazed that they still lived.
Tallis took second watch in Bane’s room that night, relieving the healer who had sat with him since he had retired earlier. Since he did little but sleep and doze, recovering his strength, she wondered why he needed watching. Perhaps to serve him if he woke, or to ensure he did not slip away during the night. Certainly she would not be able to stop him, only inform Ellese of his departure. Bane had shown no inclination to leave, however, and his sleep was peaceful.
The Black Lord, it seemed, no longer attacked him in his dreams now that he was not drugged. Ellese had rebuked her for her verbal attack on the Demon Lord, reminding her of their need of his aid and ordering her never to do it again. In spite of this, she was now only allowed to watch him at night. Bane shifted and sighed, and Tallis’ eyelids drooped.
A faint, distant crash jolted her from her doze, and she straightened. Bane’s eyes opened a slit, and she held her breath, wondering if he would awaken, but they drifted closed again. She looked at the doorway, wondering what had caused the noise, torn between curiosity and duty. The sound had come from the kitchens, and, as she listened, another muted clatter reached her.
With a glance at the bed, she picked up the lamp beside her and went to investigate. The corridor’s cold floor chilled her bare feet, and she hesitated outside the kitchen door, listening. Faint scraping and grunting sounds came from within, sending shivers down her spine. She considered rousing another healer in case whatever lurked in the kitchen was dangerous, then mustered her courage and pushed the door wide.
Four rock howlers turned sharp, feral eyes upon her and froze in the act of plundering the pantry. The light from the banked hearth rimed their red fur, and a pot of flour spilt like snow across the floor. One crouched beside it, scooping it into his mouth. His black, dog-like face was almost completely white with flour, and his mouth was stuffed full. Two others munched raw potatoes, while the fourth had his hand in a jar of honey.
For a breathless moment no one moved, then the floury howler bared his teeth and advanced in a threatening manner. Tallis stood frozen, certain that she should run but unable to move. The rock howler flattened his ears and cringed, whimpering, and the other three cowered. Released from the spell, Tallis turned to run and fetch help, but collided with something exceedingly hard and recoiled.
Bane stood in the doorway, his eyes chips of ice as he surveyed the howlers. He rubbed his chest where the flame of her lamp had licked his bare skin during their collision, for, although he had donned his shirt, he had not fastened it. The fire had not burnt him.
“Thieves,” he said.
Tallis glanced back at the howlers, noticing that they were emaciated, ribs ridging their thick red pelts. They continued to eat with desperate hunger, two of them now shovelling flour into their mouths. Bane stepped around her to approach the creatures, which cowered and whined, wolfing the food at a faster rate. Knowing they were about to be chased from their feast, they seemed determined to get as much food into their stomachs as they could, and she pitied them. Afraid that Bane was going to burn them to a crisp, Tallis caught his shirt.
“Wait. Do not hurt them. They are hungry.”
“I know that,” he said. “And if they are not stopped, we all will be.”
“No, we have enough to share.”
Tallis jumped when one of the rock howlers spoke clearly in a gruff, raspy voice.
“Lord, we hunger. We have no food. All is dead.”
She had not thought rock howlers could speak, and found the hoarse words oddly chilling.
Bane turned to her. “Rock howlers do not eat meat. You cannot possibly feed them all. There are hundreds, maybe thousands of them. They will starve eventually.”
“Then send them back to their homes. Surely they will find food there?”
“I doubt it. Almost all the vegetation is dead now.”
“They may have stores.”
The floury rock howler made a soft fluting sound. “We do.”
“The Black Lord’s demons will hunt them,” Bane said.
Tallis nodded. “But some will survive, especially if they split up. If they stay here, they will all starve.”
Bane turned back to the howlers, who continued to stuff food into their mouths even as they watched him fearfully. The one with the honey jar sucked the sticky sweetness from his hand, then stuck it in the pot again.
The Demon Lord ordered, “Leave tomorrow then. Return to your warrens.”
The four prostrated themselves. “Thank you, Lord,” one rasped.
“Take some food,” Tallis said, “and tomorrow we will bring you more for your journey.”
The howlers’ eyes flicked to her, gleaming, and Bane snorted. “They eat a lot.”
“We will give them what we can.”
“Do not make promises you cannot keep, healer. Your elder mother may not be so generous.”
“She will.”
Bane frowned at the thieves. “What do the others eat?”
“Our people starve. The others eat the dead,” the floury howler said.
Tallis’ stomach heaved. “Goddess.”
Bane smiled. “I thought as much. At least you will not have to feed them too.”
She gulped. “What will they do when they run out of bodies?”
“Kill the injured, sick and weak.”
“That is horrible.”
“They are hungry.” He shot the howlers a hard glance. “Get out.”
With a scurry of paws, the howlers left through the window at the far end of the kitchen, several potatoes and the pot of honey vanishing with them. Bane yawned and raked a hand through his hair, then returned to his room, Tallis padding behind him.
In the morning, Tallis made her report to Elder Mother, explaining what had caused the mess in the kitchen. When she finished, Ellese rose and went to stare out of the window at the blackened landscape that brooded under the roiling clouds, illuminated by the glow of the distant volcano and occasional flashes of lightning. Ash still fell in a whispering rain, blanketing everything with greyness.
Ellese said, “So, you pity these creatures, yet you cannot forgive Bane, although what they did was worse.”
“They cannot be blamed. They only did as he ordered.”
“And he obeyed the Black Lord.” Ellese sighed. “I am loath to give those monsters our food, but you are right, we must.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“You will oversee its distribution.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Ask Bane to help you. The others will try to take it. We do not want a war breaking out between them.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Ellese turned and nodded, dismissing her.
Some of Martal’s soldiers volunteered to carry the sacks of flour and potatoes out to where hundreds of rock howlers waited. As soon as the men dumped the bags, the howlers rushed to tear them open and devour the flour. Tallis was dismayed when they fought over the food, clawing at each other and shrieking, trampling much of the precious flour into the ash. Bane had not yet made an appearance, and her shouted orders fell on deaf ears. Worse, the trolls and goblins approached, muttering darkly as they watched the howlers feed. The men carried bags of potatoes out and dumped them, and half the howlers raced to rip them open. At least the potatoes would not be wasted in the ash, but the melee ensured only the strongest ate.
A small, skinny howler staggered from the fracas and collapsed, keening in a high, nasal whine. Tallis had not expected this. She had thought they would take the food with them and eat it on the journey, or at least divide it up equally amongst themselves. Desperate to at least distribute it fairly, she tried to wade into the mob and fetch some for the weak howler and others like him, thinking the howlers would let her. Many dirty hands ejected her forcibly from the fray with as little consideration as they had shown the weaker members of their species. She stumbled back and sat down in the ash, jarring her tailbone. The trolls and goblins shuffled closer, their eyes on the feeding howlers, their lips wet.
“No!” Tallis shouted. “It is not for you, only for them!”
The trolls and goblins growled, and she cast a desperate glance at the temple, where several healers watched with patent disapproval, and the men bearing the next load had stopped. Tallis turned back to stare at the sea of dark people that surrounded the temple, for whom the food that was available would be less than a mouthful each. If they entered the fray it would be a disaster, and bloodshed would be inevitable. The howlers made up only a fraction of the army, and even for them the food was pitifully little. The trolls and goblins advanced menacingly now, closing in on the two squabbling knots of howlers.
They halted, their eyes focussing on something behind her, and from their expressions she knew who it was. Bane strode past her, and the dark army retreated, except for the howlers, who seemed oblivious to everything but the food they so desperately needed. The Demon Lord halted beside one of the struggling groups, and those on its outskirts spotted him, sidling away.
“Stop this,” he said.
The bulk of the combatants froze, watching him as they munched the food, while others moved away, their cheeks stuffed with potatoes and flour. Those who had not managed to reach the food gazed at Bane hopefully.
He turned to Tallis. “Tell them what you will. They will obey now.”
Tallis stood up, brushing ash from her dress as she addressed the howlers. “Each of you take one potato and a handful of flour, then go and wait over there. Those who have already eaten go there now.”
Tallis indicated an area away from the trolls and goblins, and some of the howlers moved away from the food, shooting her dark looks.
A troll stepped forward and bowed to Bane. “Lord, we hunger too.”
Bane glared at him, making him cower. “You will eat the dead, as you have been doing. They do not eat meat. They take nothing from you, and you will take nothing from them.”
“Foul meat, Lord,” the troll whined.
“But food, nonetheless. Hunt, if you have no stomach for it.”
“The game is gone, Lord.”
“Do as I say.”
The troll scuttled away, and the rest retreated. The howlers took food and moved away as they had been instructed, enviously watching the others collect their share. Now that order had been restored, the soldiers brought another load of food and dumped it on the ground to be ripped open and shared out amongst the weaker howlers. They wolfed it down before joining their fellows, undoubtedly because it would have been stolen from them otherwise. A bag of sour green cider apples was greedily snatched up, and several loaves of stale bread were ripped apart eagerly. All the howlers showed signs of starvation, but so did the trolls and goblins. Tallis pitied them, silently praying that the Lady would save them and bring them into the light.
Bane soon grew bored with the proceedings and vanished into the abbey, but, despite his absence, the feeding continued in an orderly manner. When the howlers had consumed the last of the food, they headed for the forest. All that remained of their meagre feast were torn bags and a trampled area. Every trace of flour was gone, along with a good deal of ash.
The Black Lord frowned at the crouching earth demon. The news of Bane’s easy triumph enraged him, and its manner did not tell him whether or not the Demon Lord was still injured, although his continued existence made Arkonen suspect that he was healed. The wound had certainly looked fatal when Bane had received it. He dismissed the demon and paced around his temple, various ideas presenting themselves, only to be rejected. Sending demons to terrorise and slaughter the populace would have no effect on the Demon Lord, who cared nothing for them. Since threats to the girl would not lure him out, not many options remained. Arkonen could send a mortal assassin to the temple, but he doubted that a mere man would succeed in killing Bane.
The possibility of opening a gateway and sending an army of his worshippers from the Old Kingdom occurred to him, but if Bane offered them mercy, the Chegdhin would undoubtedly go over to his side too, and there were not many of them left, anyway. If his dark army had only succeeded in snuffing out the Holy Fire, the temple grounds would have ceased to be hallowed and the healers would have been at his demons’ mercy. Bane might have been able to protect some of them, but most would have perished, and Bane would have nowhere to hide.
Arkonen walked to the massive doorway and gazed up at the black clouds, above which the sun shone, and, somewhere in its ethers, the Lady’s realm hung like a shining jewel. That was his next goal, once the destruction of the Overworld was complete and Bane defeated.
“I will find you, Lady of Light,” he promised. “I shall conquer your realm too, and you will bow to me. You will walk in darkness with me, and I shall be your master. You will spend the rest of eternity as my slave. So shall you pay for what you did to me. Bane cannot defeat me. He is but a weak human, not worthy to be your weapon. A foolish choice, Lyriasharin. He will fail.”
He paused, as if expecting an answer, then smiled and re-entered the temple.
Mirra lay curled in the corner of the rune room, shivering. Her jaw was clenched to stop her teeth chattering, and she barely clung to sanity. The horror that crept up her arm shredded the serenity she had always possessed. Her peacefulness was being stripped from her, baring the bones of her mind and the inner fears she had not known resided there, hidden under a thick blanket of faith.
Nothing seemed certain anymore. The doubts that had plagued her when Bane had broken the seventh ward seemed trivial now. Did the Lady truly love her? Would the goddess let her perish in this blighted place, her soul corrupted by the foulness that crept through her blood? Would she be cast down into the Underworld to dwell amongst demons, a servant of the Black Lord? The doubts gnawed at her, becoming certainties. Bane was not going to rescue her. He cared nothing for her. Why should he, when she was just an insignificant girl, and he was a god?
Her fingers slid over the cold, hard scales that sheathed her arm to the elbow, an oily sheen on their shiny blackness. Something slowed its progress up her arm to a crawl, and it was not her power, for she had none. All that remained then was her last shred of faith, a thin and weak thing now, yet she sensed that if she gave it up, she would be transformed in the blink of an eye. That in itself was enough to make her cling to it with as much fervour as she could muster, for she did not want to become a monster.
Ellese knelt with her sisters in prayer, their soft chanting echoing around the ravaged chapel. The chanting was a ritual liturgy, a repetition of love and faith for the Lady, designed to strengthen her. It ended, and the healers sat back on their haunches for a brief rest of silence.
The eternal flame in the Goddess’ Temple was growing dimmer, and it was not the only one. Ellese had received disturbing reports via winged messengers from many other abbeys, all saying the same thing. All across the Overworld, the white fire in the chapels dimmed, sending alarm into the hearts of the healers who sheltered within the Lady’s power. Although they too knelt in fervent prayer day and night, desperate to strengthen the goddess with their faith, the eternal flames still shrank.
Ellese jumped at a gentle touch on her arm, and turned to find Tallis beside her.
“Why do the flames shrink, Mother?” Fear shone in her eyes. “Is the Lady dying with her world?”
“No.” Ellese patted the girl’s hand. “Never believe that. I believe the Lady is embroiled in a struggle of her own, and it drains her. She will not abandon us.”
“What does she struggle for? Bane’s soul?”
“No. That can only be given to the light, not taken by it. I think it is another soul that she fights for. A precious one.” Ellese paused, blinking. “It is Mirra’s.”
Tallis gasped, and her eyes sparkled with tears. “Goddess!”
“Pray, child, as you have never done before. Give her the strength she needs.”
Tallis bowed her head, and the chant began again.
Bane stood just beyond the temple walls and gazed at the thick, swirling clouds that blocked sun. Above them, the Lady strived to thin their impenetrable shroud, but the Black Lord held them in place. He was winning, for no shred of green lingered in the blackened land. The trees bore only withered brown leaves and a blanket of ash hid the grass. The plants’ demise was not merely due to the lack of rain and sun. It had only been just over a month since the Black Lord’s ascension. The dark power now rose from the ground in foul waves, killing all vegetation. Around the temple, the white fire within the chapel held it at bay, but the hallowed ground shrank with the flame.
Refugees from nearby towns converged on the Goddess’ Temple, bringing with them a few scrawny goats and sheep, which the trolls and goblins eyed hungrily. The glum, hollow-eyed people camped as far away from the dark army as they could, setting up tents or sleeping under their barrows. Their livestock consumed the yellow grass, bawling their misery as they dug in the ash. Soldiers from the abbey wandered amongst them to guard them, receiving grateful smiles and an occasional cup of mead from a farmer’s cherished flagon in payment.
Bane turned his head, scanning the horizon, then something closer at hand caught his eye. Four trolls crept towards the human camp, their postures furtive. Two young children played in the ash only a few yards ahead of them, oblivious to their danger. Bane wondered if one of the soldiers would spot the trolls before it was too late. The dim twilight hid their hulking forms, however, and only Bane’s enhanced vision enabled him to see them clearly.
The foolish children’s prospective demise did not bother Bane, even though the healers would not like it, or the people. He did not care about their outrage either, although this incident would spark others like it as the dark folk grew hungrier. Mirra would not like it, though. The thought of her brought a familiar stab of pain in his chest. Her pleading eyes haunted him, full of tenderness and pain, shared equally between himself and his victims, which had driven him into fits of rage because it affected him so much. She would not want the children to die.
The trolls were less than two yards from their intended victims when Bane Moved. He rematerialised almost on top of them, and they recoiled with grunts of terror, falling in the ash. The children screamed and ran, retching at the touch of the power. Their cries brought several people running from the human camp.
Bane pointed at the grovelling trolls. “Look at me.”
They twisted their necks and blinked at him, their eyes flinching.
“You touch one human, and you will die. Or even a goat.”
“We hunger, Lord,” the largest troll whined.
“Then eat each other. I will cook one of you now, so the others may eat. Which of you will it be?” Bane’s finger swept over them, and they whimpered.
“No, Lord! We won’t touch the humans. We swear it!”
“If you do, I will know,” Bane lied. “And I will know who it was, then he will be cooked for the rest.”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Not even a goat. Now go!”
The trolls galloped away so fast they raised a cloud of ash in their wake, and their fellows in the dark army muttered. Bane turned, surprised to discover that he had a human audience as well. Six people, two of them soldiers, stood there. A woman clutched the two children. They all backed away a few steps, save the soldiers, who were a little braver. One bowed awkwardly.
“Our thanks, Demon Lord,” he said. “We didn’t see them.”
“Obviously.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“No, it will not.”
One of the villagers said, “I too, wish to thank you, err... My Lord.”
Bane cocked a brow. “That is not necessary.”
“Oh, but it is. These are my sons.” The man indicated the thin boys.
Bane shrugged. “Keep them close to you.”
The man nodded and forced a pathetic smile. Bane started to turn away, and the woman cried, “When will you save us? When will you fight the Black Lord?”
The men gaped at her, and one leapt to clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Be silent, woman!” her husband rasped, then glanced at Bane. “I apologise, My Lord.”
“Let her speak,” Bane murmured.
The man released her, but she looked too scared to speak now that Bane’s attention was focussed upon her. He sighed and gazed at the landscape again, then back at the villagers. The falling ash rimed their hair and soot smudged their faces. Their eyes held a deep despair tinged with faint hope. The sounds from the human camp and the dark army’s muttering ceased as all watched the confrontation. Even the beasts were quiet, and, with the absence of birdsong or wind, the terrible hush of a dead land enwrapped the world. Only the healers’ faint chanting broke it, rising and falling like a funeral dirge.
Bane looked down at what the children had been playing with. A dead, desiccated white dove, its wings spread in tragic beauty, the falling ash already covering it once more. Somehow, it reminded him of Mirra, so fragile and vulnerable, killed by the touch of dark power. She was not dead yet, but she would be soon. He raised his gaze to the woman again, and glimpsed a glint of green in her eyes, sensing someone else looking out at him through them.
“When?” she whispered into the hush.
“Soon.” Bane turned and strode away.