Saviour
Governor Predoran switched off the recorder on which he had been making a depressing report as his intercom beeped and his assistant announced that Major Ranjal was waiting to see him. Outside, columns of smoke still rose in lazy spirals from ruined parts of the city where fire fighters had succeeded in dousing the flames, while other areas continued to burn. The fleeing crowds had found shelter or transport into Bayona, and the cratered streets were empty save for fire fighters, rescue teams and soldiers. In undamaged parts of the metropolis, life had reclaimed a semblance of normality, with shops open for business and a few people buying food and essential supplies.
According to news reports, citizens were stocking up, preparing for a siege or more strife, thereby causing shortages. Some areas of Sarlan lacked power, and looters made the most of the darkness to plunder and vandalise. Predoran had ordered soldiers to restore order in those suburbs, but lacked the manpower to stamp out the crimes. The fire dome still had gaping holes in it, although repair teams had been dispatched to fix the damaged emitters. Until the dome was restored, the city was vulnerable to attack by the dangerous creatures that dwelt in the Wastes. Predoran had received numerous gloomy reports, which he used to compile an overview for President Randoman, along with a request for aid.
Predoran gave permission for the major to enter, and set aside the recorder as Ranjal halted in front of his desk. “What is it?”
“A stealth ship returning from a mission has spotted a group of people out in the Wastes, sir. They’re just beyond Minto Peak, and they’ve got army issue tents and groundsheets, but they’re civilians dressed in old-fashioned clothes.”
Predoran considered. “They must be the people the traitor Nikira left behind when she returned. Are they armed?”
“A few have swords.”
“They’re the dra’voren’s followers.” Predoran tapped his fingers on his desk. “They could be spying for him, or he might use them to attack the city.”
“There are only about fifty of them.”
“Who knows what kind of threat they pose? They might be able to use the dark power, or, at the very least, they could cause havoc in the city with guerrilla attacks. The dome is damaged and we’re cut off from Bayona, with only one destroyer and a couple of frigates.”
“And two stealth ships, sir.”
Predoran frowned. “Those people are evil, like the dra’voren, otherwise they wouldn’t follow him. Bring some in for questioning, kill the rest.”
Major Ranjal hesitated, but then nodded. “Yes sir.”
Sarjan studied the fiend, avoiding its sparkling eyes, which sent chills through him. It had taken a great deal of courage for the scientists to approach it close enough to sample its gas, using a long tube attached to a suction bulb, which turned out to be a mixture of nitrogen, carbon monoxide and sulphur dioxide. There was little else to learn about it physically, since they already knew it contained dark power. Its temperature was well below zero and its presence chilled the room. Questioning it had become a trial of wits, for its answers were evasive, and it sniggered a lot. Sarjan walked around it for the umpteenth time, formulating another question.
“How do you reproduce?”
“I do not.”
“How does your kind reproduce?”
Setiss sniggered. “They do not, either.”
“How are new fiends created?”
“We form from the dark power.”
“How is your element chosen?”
“We do not choose it,” the fiend replied.
“Then how did you come to be an air fiend?”
“By forming in air.”
“Why do you obey a dra’voren when he summons you?” Sarjan asked.
“He commands the darkness.”
Sarjan stopped to consider his next question. “Is Bane a god?”
“Yes.”
“What is a god?”
“Far more powerful than you, mortal.”
The commander resumed his circumnavigation of the fiend. “Could he destroy this domain?”
“Yes.”
“Are the others with him creators?”
“Some are.”
Sarjan jumped as the general alarm whooped through the ship and hurried to the nearest com-screen to contact the central security station. “Report!”
The security officer who appeared on the screen shouted, “It’s the dra’voren! He’s killing everyone!”
Sarjan cursed, his mind whirling with dread, despair and disbelief. This was not what he had come to expect from the mortal dra’voren. It seemed out of character, but dra’voren were liars, and he could hardly claim to know Bane all that well.
“Arm the guards with automatic guns. He can be killed with bullets.”
“Yes sir.”
“Where is he?”
“Number two mess hall.”
Sarjan frowned. Bane knew the ship’s layout, so what was he doing in a mess hall? Closing the connection, he sprinted for the security station to see for himself. It was not far from the lab, on the same deck, and he reached it in a couple of minutes, bursting in. Four security officers stared at one of the screens, which showed a tall man in silver-trimmed black clothes standing in the centre of a wrecked mess hall. Long grey hair framed his chiselled features and a moustache and goatee bracketed his twisted, sneering mouth. Several eviscerated bodies were sprawled around him, and a few survivors hid behind the furniture. He blasted them with bursts of shadow, sniggering much like Setiss.
Overturned tables and chairs leapt into the air when the fire struck them, sending those who hid behind them scrambling for fresh cover. The pale grey floor bore the scars of many blasts, and blood splattered the walls and slimed the floor. The dra’voren was clearly enjoying himself, toying with his victims. The gore made the footing treacherous, causing some of the fleeing people to slip and fall. The dra’voren swept the walls with black fire, burning away drab pictures in flares of white-hot flame.
A squad of soldiers arrived at the door and took up position outside it, the leader peering around the edge. At his signal, five men ran in and fired at the dra’voren while others sought cover behind the furniture. Sarjan’s mouth fell open as the bullets passed right through the black-clad man, ricocheting off the wall behind him. The dra’voren laughed and sent several bolts of dark fire at the soldiers, who dived for cover. Three of the men fell writhing, beating at their burning clothes with blood-chilling shrieks. Two exploded in sprays of blood and guts, splattering the gory room further.
“Puny mortals!” the dra’voren roared. “Foolish human filth! You will all die! You think you can defeat me with your stupid ship? Imbeciles! Scum! I shall destroy it!”
“That’s not Bane,” Sarjan muttered.
“How can you be certain, sir?” a security officer asked. “He might be able to change his form.”
“Yes, he probably can, but that one’s not mortal.” Sarjan tapped the screen. “It’s one of the others he told us about.”
“We’re in stealth mode. How could he have found us?”
“I don’t know.” Sarjan keyed the com-link, connecting with the barracks. “Send another squad with light cannons to number two mess hall.”
“Yes sir.”
The dra’voren continued to melt furniture and kill those who fled, and the number of survivors in the mess hall dwindled as bodies piled up against the walls. Ropes of darkness twisted across the floor like huge snakes, pursuing victims with lethal efficiency. The dra’voren sent his power crawling up the walls, causing them to melt and slump into glowing pools.
The second squad raced along the corridor outside, visible through the holes in the bulkhead, and took up position behind the remaining areas of wall. They fired bolts of blue light that burnt holes in the dra’voren, who roared, raised his arms and sent a wave of shadow at the soldiers. Some tried to flee, only to be engulfed within a few strides and howl as they became human torches that ran on until they fell, thrashing.
The dra’voren guffawed. “Fools! Your puny weapons cannot harm me! I am Tolrar, Lord of Darkness! You will pay!”
Sarjan said, “I knew it.”
“Abandon ship, sir?” a security officer asked.
“I don’t think he’ll let us. At the moment he’s toying with us. He could destroy this ship in a few moments if he wanted to.”
The ship lurched, and the synchronised hum of its four generators became dissonant as one died.
“He’s found the generators!” the security officer cried.
The dra’voren poured his power through the floor, sending it out into the ship. On the security monitors, women screamed and men cursed and ran as floors became molten and gave way, sending those on them plummeting to their deaths in infernos far below. Blasts of fire ravaged barracks full of soldiers, set dormitories alight and roasted the crewmen in them. Cooks fled conflagrations in their galleys and engineers died as explosions ripped through engines.
Sarjan closed his eyes, blocking out the terrible sight, and whispered, “Bane, if you can hear me, we need your help.”
The security officer demanded, “What are you doing, sir?”
Sarjan opened his eyes. “This one is Bane’s enemy. Maybe they’ll kill each other.”
“And if he’s not, they’ll kill us together.”
“That outcome seems certain. It’ll just be over quicker.” Sarjan headed for the door. “I’m going to talk to him.”
“That’s suicide, sir.”
Sarjan stepped out into the corridor and strode along it, stumbling as the ship lurched again.
Nikira gazed into the pot of water, waiting for it to boil so she could prepare another cup of tea. She sat on the edge of the groundsheet in front of Sarrin’s tent, using the communal fire that was kept burning for cooking and warmth. Where the refugees found the wood for it was a mystery, and she shuddered to think that anyone ventured into the Wastes to forage for it. There could not be wood in the Wastes, though, since there were no trees. Nothing grew in it, as far as she knew. She had certainly never seen greenery on any of her missions. Perhaps Bane or Kayos had provided it.
The tedium of waiting wore on her nerves and the tasteless dry rations did nothing to satisfy her hunger. The ground was too hard for her to sleep and the view was depressing. Darkness swallowed everything beyond the drab sandy valley, and Minto Peak was little more than an outcrop of grey rock silhouetted against the blue glow of the dome city beyond it. Without Bane, no one could understand her, and communicating with signs was hard.
Several hours ago, thunderous explosions had caused everyone to run to the rock ridge and peer over it at the fleet warships that attacked the Great Gate, and the resulting retaliation of the weapons around it had been spectacular and frightening. The bolts of white light that had destroyed tracts of the city had hit the far side of Minto Peak, making her and the rest of the spectators seek cover, but none of the refugees had been harmed. Thousands of people must have perished in Sarlan City, though, and she cursed Governor Predoran, who was undoubtedly responsible for the attack. The man was an imbecile, and she hoped he had been amongst the casualties.
Excited shouts drew her attention to the edge of the camp, where people pointed at something in the sky. Nikira looked up, and her heart froze. A destroyer and two frigates approached, light guns glowing. Sarrin, Artan and Ethra talked excitedly, their expressions a mixture of trepidation and hope. Mirra moved closer to Mithran and Grem, frowning at the vessels. Nikira knew the warships were not bringing fresh supplies, as they might think, and jumped up. She took Sarrin’s arm and pointed at the ships, frowned and shook her head, then drew her finger across her throat.
“They’re coming to kill us.”
Sarrin picked up a ration pack and pointed at it, then at the ships, her meaning clear.
Nikira shook her head again. “No, those are warships!”
Sarrin glanced at Artan, who looked baffled and suspicious as he eyed the approaching ships. Deciding to lead by example, Nikira shouted in a frightened voice to get everyone’s attention and bolted for the safety of a ridge. Several women followed her lead, the rest spread out, seeking shelter nearby. Mithran took Mirra’s arm and tugged her towards the shelter of some rocks, Grem following.
Spurred into action by the crowd’s dispersal, the destroyer’s light guns spat vivid blue fire that illuminated the dim landscape like lightning, the bolts hitting the ground with vicious cracks. The crowd scattered in earnest, sprinting for rocky outcrops, but several fell as they were hit. The frigates opened fire, cutting down fleeing people with brutal efficiency. Ethra, Sarrin and Artan joined Nikira behind the ridge, their expressions grim. Ethra bowed her head and clasped her hands, speaking Bane’s name. The ships drifted down to land in the camp and doors slid open in their sides, disgorging squadrons of troops.
Bane woke with a snort and sat up, frowning. Mirra had called him just once, waking him instantly. Ethra’s prayer continued, begging his help, and he swung his legs off the couch. Kayos looked up from his Eye, cocking a brow. Sherinias, who appeared to be dozing, opened her eyes and gazed at him. Drevarin stared into space, engrossed in prayers from his domain.
“Mirra is in danger,” Bane said. “The people from the outer city are attacking those we left behind.”
Kayos sighed. “They are ever troublesome.”
Bane created an Eye and frowned at the scene in it. “I must go.”
“Sherinias will open the realm gate.”
Bane was troubled by a nagging certainty that there had been another prayer. He had not heard it, for it had not woken him, but its echoes were still there if he concentrated. He did so, and raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Sarjan calls me too. He requests my aid.”
“With what?”
“He does not say.” Bane refocused the Eye. “Tolrar is attacking the ship.”
Kayos studied the same scene in his Eye. “We may need that ship.”
“Mirra and the others need my aid urgently also, and I will not allow harm to come to my wife, though Sarjan’s peril is dire.”
“I will protect them,” Drevarin volunteered.
Sherinias tore her gaze from Kayos’ Eye to look at him. “I will come with you, Lord Drevarin.”
Bane shook his head. “I will not risk Mirra’s safety. I must go myself.”
“Calm yourself, Bane,” Kayos said. “It is only humans who threaten them, and Mirra has your father and Grem with her. Drevarin is more than capable of protecting all of them.”
“Even so, I -”
“Mirra is in far less danger than Sarjan, and without his ship we lose an important advantage over Tolrar and his friend. You should help Sarjan. Let Drevarin and Sherinias deal with these upstart humans.”
Bane hesitated, then nodded. “Your aid would be much appreciated, Drevarin.”
“It is the least I can do, and something I can help with, at last. Fear not, I will protect your wife as if she was my own.”
Kayos said, “Go, Bane, I will keep watch. Sherinias, go with Drevarin, you will be safe with him.”
Bane dismissed his Eye, swung away, and Moved.
Sarjan peered around the blackened, melted bulkhead at a hellish scene of smoke, burnt corpses, flames and molten metal. Tolrar stood in the centre of it, his expression one of malicious glee as he guided the ropes of black power that streamed from his hands, sending them to wreak havoc throughout the ship. Sweat popped out all over Sarjan in the stifling heat, and the stench of burnt flesh, torn entrails and acrid smoke clogged his nose. The dull roar of the flames all but drowned out the choked screams of the dying. A ten-man squad waited behind him, clutching light cannons, but there was little point in sending them in to be slaughtered. Even heavily armed and armoured men stood no chance against a dra’voren.
The extractor fans battled to clear the thick black smoke that billowed from the burning furniture, and Sarjan wondered what had happened to the automatic sprinkler system. Perhaps Tolrar had destroyed the nozzles in the ceiling, which was as blackened and warped as the walls. Three surviving crewmen crouched behind an overturned table, their clothes singed and soot-smeared skin reddened. It seemed unlikely that they would last much longer, even if Tolrar did not strike at them. Sarjan had ordered the ship abandoned, but those who had reached the escape hatches had found them sealed shut, which added to the panic.
Engineers were burning holes through the hull, but that would take time, and he did not think many would escape. His resolve to speak to the dra’voren now seemed foolish when faced with the reality of the destruction of his ship, and the ease with which it was being achieved. Why would such a powerful being deign to listen to him, and what could he say that would influence him? Somehow he doubted that begging for mercy would arouse anything other than scorn in Tolrar, and his conversation with Setiss reinforced that suspicion. He was convinced that his ship and crew were doomed, and he considered calling upon Bane again, much as the idea repulsed him.
Tolrar glanced up, his face twisted with hatred, and Sarjan wondered what had distracted him. Sarjan jumped as Bane appeared right in front of the dra’voren, striding towards him. The surge of shadows that accompanied him made the fire swirl and blaze, and his cloak flared in the heat. He launched himself at Tolrar, reaching for his throat. The force of his attack sent the dra’voren crashing into the wall behind him with a terrific bang, smashing through it. The ropes of power that snaked from Tolrar’s hands dispersed in falls of shadow, and the three survivors behind the table scrambled for the door.
Bane unleashed a blast of black fire that burnt away part of Tolrar’s face, then the dra’voren seemed to melt, his remaining features smearing. Sarjan swallowed bile as Tolrar’s human face became a monstrous black visage with glowing yellow eyes and a twisted red gash for a mouth. Tolrar struggled mightily as Bane forced him against the wrecked bulkhead, bent backwards over the waist-high hole, whose sharp edge sliced into his back. A sword appeared in Tolrar’s fist, and he swung it at Bane’s neck. The Demon Lord’s hand shot up to grip Tolrar’s wrist, stemming the blow. Bane struggled to force Tolrar’s arm back, his brows almost meeting as he glared into the dra’voren’s eyes.
A soldier beside Sarjan said, “Holy shit.”
Sarjan realised that his mouth was open and closed it. Bane’s arm quivered with the effort of holding Tolrar down, and the dra’voren’s form lost more definition. They vanished with a soft thump of sucked-in air. For a moment Sarjan stared at the spot where they had been, hardly daring to believe they were gone, then he turned to the men behind him.
“Call fire fighting teams, on the double! Rescue teams! Move it!”
Men raced away, and Sarjan sprinted to the lift and rode it up to the bridge, where three frightened officers swung to face him as he stepped out.
“Damage report,” Sarjan ordered.
An officer glanced at his screen. “Fires on decks two through six, one generator burnt out, internal structure compromised on decks three, five and seven. Casualties unknown.”
“Are we still in stealth mode?”
“No sir, we exited automatically when number two generator failed.”
“Land the ship. We’ve got to go back into stealth.”
“Yes sir.” The pilot ran his hands over his console, tapping keys.
Sarjan paced up and down, frowning. The dra’voren had found them while they were in stealth, so what good was it? Perhaps he should fly the ship somewhere else, but would that help either? How had the dra’voren found them? Luckily they were back in Bayona, so there was no danger from hostile forces, but the presence of a stealth ship would draw unwanted attention from civilian authorities. Sarjan had chosen to park in a fairly remote farming region, a meadow bordered by forests, so the ship’s presence might go unnoticed for a while, although the smoke that must be pouring from its vents would give away its position. Then again, if a civilian fire fighting and rescue crew found them it would be a good thing.
The coms officer looked up. “Sir, I’m receiving reports that the escape hatches are opening now.”
“Evacuate all non-essential personnel. Send emergency crews to the damaged decks and engineers to fix the generator.”
“We’re not abandoning ship, sir?”
“No, we can still save her.”
The man frowned. “What if that dra’voren comes back?”
“Then we’ll be in trouble, but I think he’s a bit busy right now.”
Tolrar roared with rage as he and Bane rematerialised in the light realm, the white power eating into his exposed dark form in a flare of brilliant blue. Bane gritted his teeth, his arm aching from the strain of holding Tolrar’s sword at bay, his other hand bunched in the dark god’s tunic. Tolrar clawed at Bane’s wrist guard, gouging it. The Demon Lord increased his Gather, five runes burning under his shirt, and Tolrar’s struggles grew fiercer, his sword inching toward Bane’s neck.
Tolrar Moved, and the dark realm’s searing gloom appeared around them, crazed with glowing crevasses. The dra’voren’s droge body reformed, and a dagger appeared in his left hand. Bane released Tolrar’s tunic and seized his wrist, foiling his attempt to stab him in the neck. He shed the excess fire that filled him, which he had been loath to do in the light realm, directing it into the rock beneath him in a black river.
Tolrar growled guttural words, and four earth demons shot up behind Bane, their fists raised. He scattered them to dust with a burst of power, summoned some of his own to counter any others that Tolrar called upon, and Moved. They rematerialised in a field, and Bane unleashed a burst of fire that burnt away part of Tolrar’s head and exposed his dark form to the sunlight. Tolrar cursed, and his droge shell reformed over the damaged area, then seven demons shot up from the soil and attacked Bane. His own rushed to protect him, and a demonic battle began as they pounded each other with huge gritty fists.
Bane became aware of people running away with shouts and screams of terror, and realised that they were in some sort of park. He had sought an open area, but in this domain finding a place with no people was hard. Tolrar strived to free his wrists, and Bane sent a surge of black fire through his hands, burning away Tolrar’s appendages and part of his head. The dark god howled and Moved back to the dark realm, taking Bane with him as he renewed his hold upon his foe’s tunic with a lightning-fast grab.
Drevarin flew over a rocky hill and swooped into the valley beyond, Sherinias at his side. The ships had taken to the air again to strafe the ground with bolts of blue fire, sending people running from their hiding places. The ships’ powerful spotlights illuminated the landscape with pools of radiance, exposing those who hid in the shadows. Squads of troops in crimson uniforms fanned out from the camp in search of prey.
Drevarin glanced at the young goddess. “Bring them together while I distract the soldiers.”
Sherinias floated towards the ridge, where frightened people peered over the rocks. Drevarin landed in the centre of the camp, his grey-clad form almost invisible in the gloom, spread his arms and unleashed the white power. It burst from his skin with a warm tingling, transforming him into a radiant being, and the soldiers turned to gawp at him in astonishment.
His glow chased away the darkness, and the dull valley became a place of wonder as rainbows formed around him. The ships broke off their attack and flew towards him; the soldiers converged, shouting and firing their silver weapons. The blue light tickled where it struck him, making him smile. The soldiers soon realised that their weapons were ineffective, however, and switched to the kind that fired solid projectiles. Drevarin formed an air shield, and the missiles stopped as they struck it, hanging in the air. While more effective against him than the blue fire, the tiny projectiles could not injure him significantly either, but the impacts would be painful and the tiny wounds would require power to heal.
Next to the ridge, Sherinias allowed a little white power to infuse her skin, making it glow just enough to draw the attention of the people who hid amongst the rocks. They gazed at her with desperate, pleading eyes and clasped their hands, making her smile with delight at her first taste of reverence.
She beckoned. “Come to me.”
The refugees approached, trying to straighten their ragged attire and brush off the dust that filmed them. When they were gathered around her, she gazed at Drevarin, who stood like a beacon in the valley, drawing soldiers and ships to him. She formed a shimmering light and cast it high, signalling her readiness, and after a moment he ceased to shine, rose and shot across the valley towards her. He landed beside her, spread his hands and raised them in a sweeping gesture, causing a shimmering blue-white shield to rise in a curving shelter over the people. They knelt and bowed their heads, murmuring words of gratitude and praise.
Drevarin said, “Arise and be at ease. No harm will come to you.”
An elderly light priestess stepped forward. “Lord Drevarin, I am overjoyed to see you again.” She hesitated. “Where is Lord Bane?”
“He is busy, Sarrin. I offered to assist.”
“Thank you, Lord.” Sarrin bowed to Sherinias. “Lady Sherinias, we are honoured to meet you.”
The young goddess smiled. “It gladdens my heart to meet mortals who honour my brother and treat him as he deserves.”
“He saved us all.”
A blonde girl in a white dress approached, flanked by a middle-aged man and a younger grey-eyed warrior, who chivvied people from her path.
“Is he all right?” she asked Drevarin.
“Yes, My Lady.”
Sherinias said, “You must be my brother’s wife. I was somewhat surprised to learn that he has a wife, but also pleased. You must indeed be a special person to have won his heart, and it brings me joy to meet you, My Lady.”
“I am likewise delighted to meet you, Lady Sherinias.” Mirra inclined her head, then introduced the middle-aged man beside her, who bore a resemblance to Bane.
Sherinias’ smile widened as Mithran bowed low, his ears reddening. “His flesh father. How wonderful! He is indeed a youth. I am pleased. He takes after you a little.”
“He looks more like his mother, Lady,” Mithran replied.
Mirra introduced the grey-eyed warrior, and Sherinias turned her smile upon the handsome man, who bowed. “So Bane has a mortal friend, too. My brother never ceases to surprise me.”
Drevarin glanced up as the ships arrived and strafed the semi-transparent dome, which brightened where the blue fire struck. The people tensed at the futile bombardment, but soon relaxed, turned to each other with murmurs of wonder and cast Drevarin grateful smiles.
Bane Moved to the light realm again. Sweat beaded his brow and blood oozed from a cut in his shoulder and another on his chest where Tolrar’s dagger had slipped past his guard. The dark god was cunning, but not much of a fighter. Bane unleashed another torrent of black fire with his free hand, which burnt away part of Tolrar’s droge shell and made him writhe and howl as the light attacked him.
Bane drew off the shadows that formed him, gripped his left wrist and blocked the swings of his sword, which were, for the most part, ineffectual. Either Tolrar still thought he could win, or his beast god friend was awake. Bane’s breath came in harsh gasps as he strived to hold onto Tolrar and keep the dagger and sword at bay, fatigue taking its toll. When fully fit, he was a match for a droge, but his mortality became a disadvantage the longer he struggled and the more tired he became.
Each time Bane seemed on the brink of triumphing, Tolrar dipped into his surprisingly large reserves of power and Moved. This time, however, he appeared to be too weak. He growled as his form shrivelled, eaten away by the light, unable to regenerate it as long as Bane drew off his power. He tried to wrench free, and the dagger sliced into Bane’s forearm, making him grimace and twist Tolrar’s arm until it bent.
Bane countered another slash of the dark god’s sword, but Tolrar’s strokes had lost their power, and he dwindled. He cast away his weapon and reached for Bane’s throat with long clawed fingers, and the Demon Lord seized Tolrar’s arm. Tolrar roared, dragging Bane around as he strived to break free, for perhaps without the burden of his foe, he could still have Moved.
Bane increased his Gather, all seven runes flaring yellow under his shirt. Tolrar shrank, his roar becoming faint and torn. The last shreds of his shadow form clung to his ruddy soul, too tenuous for Bane to hold, and he spread his hands to take control of the remnants. All he had to do was crush Tolrar’s soul and he would be destroyed, yet he hesitated. After the ordeal of destroying Torvaran, he had no wish to gain more foul memories. Closing his hands, he released the soul, and it shot down through the clouds, drawn back to the dark realm.
The Demon Lord panted clouds of steam, aching in the aftermath of using the dark power and still filled with that which he had Gathered from Tolrar. His wounds hurt, but he had escaped with fewer injuries than ever before. His muscles throbbed and jumped after the strain they had been under during the battle. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, letting the tension seep out of him. A frisson of dark power made him look up and spin around as the jaws of the beast god closed upon him. Its lower teeth tore into his belly and its top jaw smashed down on his head. Darkness blotted everything out.
Kayos stared at the monstrous beast, his heart gripped by cold dread. It swung Bane high and smashed him onto the ground with a sickening crunch of breaking bones. For an instant the Grey God was frozen with horror, then he leapt at the beast god and seized its tail, making it lash and hiss. Its sibilant words reached him, filled with hatred and fury at the defeat of its friend, swearing vengeance. Its head swooped towards him, its neck curving close to its flank as it sought the invisible enemy that clung to its tail, dragging him closer. Kayos Moved, seeking the only place where a dark god could be defeated without Bane.
Senior Containment Technician Erton fidgeted at his station in Miraculous’ containment room, wishing Commander Sarjan had ordered the contechs to abandon ship along with the rest of the non-essential crewmembers. Being a member of the skeleton crew made him uneasy. He knew what the dra’voren had done to the ship, although the containment room had escaped unscathed, which made no sense. Surely the dra’voren should have destroyed it first, since it posed a threat to him?
The ship had landed, and the generators idled, barely audible, while rescue crews searched the ravaged decks for survivors, engineers repaired the generator and damage control teams extinguished fires. Erton saw no point in a containment crew remaining on station. There was no chance of capturing any dra’voren when the ship was so badly damaged. The events of the past few hours gave him much to discuss with his two fellow contechs, who watched a vidscreen that showed rescue teams pulling survivors from the wreckage.
“Did you see what happened when that other dra’voren arrived?” the junior contech enquired.
Erton nodded. Just about everyone must have seen it on the internal monitors, since most had been watching the first dra’voren destroying the ship, and he had been no exception. “Bloody amazing. He almost shoved that bastard right through the wall.”
“I’ve heard that he’s like us, but if he is, how the hell can he be so strong?”
As the other contech opened his mouth to comment, several alarms went off at once, making them jump. Erton looked at his scanner screen, where a vast black form filled the shredder room.
“Shit! Dra’voren!”
Erton smacked the stunner button, and a thud shivered the floor. He activated the generators with shaking hands, his stomach knotted. If the generators did not react fast enough, the dra’voren might wake, and it was so large he was unsure of how effective the stunner had been, or would be, should he have to use it again. If he miscalculated the necessity, it could vanish in a blink, and now it knew about the ship. He scowled at the data screen’s readouts while the generators’ faint hum rose in pitch and increased in volume as they came online. The other two contechs gaped at the huge reptilian creature that filled the shredder room. In fact, it overflowed it, Erton noticed when he glanced at the scanner screen again. It only had three legs, and parts of its torso, neck and tail were missing.
Its head was squashed against its flank, as if it had been trying to reach its tail when it had arrived, and it was now packed into the room. He could only surmise that the missing bits were embedded in the walls, roof and floor, or protruded from the hull and into the surrounding rooms, although not into the containment room. Whatever had sent it must have dematerialised it, as the trap did.
With one generator offline, the reliability of the other three was compromised, for they were designed to work in unison. Since the ship was landed and visible, three would be sufficient for a shred, but only just. Erton tore his eyes from his data screen, where readouts tracked the slow rise of the generators’ power, and stared through the shredder room window. Glossy black scales pressed against the armoured glass, each one edged with crimson.
The mid-rank contech muttered, “What the hell is that?”
“Some sort of giant lizard?” Erton hazarded.
“It’s a dra’voren?”
He nodded. “According to the scanners.”
“How the hell did it get in there?”
“I don’t know, unless that mortal dra’voren sent it.”
“Could he do that?”
Erton shook his head. “How should I know?”
Commander Sarjan strode in, followed by three officers, and approached Erton. “What triggered the alarms?”
The senior contech nodded at the window. “That.”
Sarjan’s eyes widened. “Where did that come from?”
“No idea, sir.”
“Well don’t just sit there, shred it.”
“Yes sir.” Erton tapped keys and read the information that scrolled up the screen. “Power output is only at eighty-nine percent.”
“Do it.”
“Sir. Lodestones activated. Shredding.”
The generators’ hum changed to a deep throb, and several minutes passed without any apparent effect. Erton made minor adjustments, trying to boost the power in the shredder room, but once a shred had been initiated, the output could not be increased significantly. He wondered if the dra’voren was too large to be shredded, and whether its bulk prevented the light guns from spinning. Then, to his relief, flickers of blue light appeared along the top of the window.
On Erton’s scanner screen, grey areas streaked the creature’s solid black bulk. The shred was taking a long time, and he feared the dra’voren might wake before it was destroyed. Glancing at the clock, he pushed the stunner button again, and another shudder ran through the floor. The blue light at the top of the window grew brighter as it ate away at the monster, shredding its form while the lodestones drew off its power. A tense silence filled the room as the beast dwindled until the window was filled with blue brilliance, and Sarjan donned his dark goggles. On the scanner screen, the blackness dwindled to remnants, and when it was a solid green, Erton switched off the light guns.
“Shred complete.”
Sarjan stared through the window as the blue light died away, his brows drawing together. A man lay on the far side of the room in an awkward huddle, his crimson-lined black cloak soaking up the pool of blood that spread from him. His legs were bent at odd angles, and jet hair hid his face.
Realisation hit Sarjan like a bucket of ice water. “It’s the mortal dra’voren.”
His second in command, Ferid, went to a console. “I’ll call a squad. We’ve only got light guns.”
“No.” Sarjan swung around. “I gave my word.”
“He’s a dra’voren!”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t break my word, to anyone.”
“Need I remind you about what happened to Commander Nikira?”
“Need I remind you that he saved us from the one who was destroying the ship?”
Ferid frowned. “What do you intend to do with him then, Commander? He’s badly injured. He won’t survive without our help. Hell, he might be dead already.”
“He hasn’t harmed us, and I swore an oath.”
“You didn’t swear to help him.”
“What if he is what he said? What if he’s good?”
“A good dra’voren?” Ferid asked in a disbelieving tone.
“He said he’s not a dra’voren. Damn it, he saved us! He helped us shred three dra’voren, and gave us a droge and a fiend to study.”
“He probably did it to gain our trust.”
Sarjan leant closer. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have him as a friend than an enemy.”
“I’d rather have him dead, Commander.”
“What if he doesn’t die? I swore not to kill him.”
“Then he can’t complain.”
Sarjan shook his head. “He saved the ship because I asked him to. I owe him. We all do. If not for him, we’d all be dead and the ship destroyed.”
“And if we save him, he may still kill us all.”
“I don’t think so.”
Sarjan went to the shredder room door and tapped in the unlock code. The door slid open, and he hesitated on the threshold, reviewing his decision as he gazed at the unconscious man who had filled him with such dread before. He was harmless now, but what would he do when he woke? Would he be grateful they had saved him or scorn Sarjan for keeping his word, as a dra’voren would? If he was dead, would the other dra’voren return and destroy the ship? What had happened to Tolrar? Had Bane lost the battle, and where had the monster that had arrived with him come from? Putting aside his misgivings, he approached Bane, crouched beside him and felt for a pulse in his neck. He glanced back at the officers who stood in the doorway.
“He’s alive. Get a medical team in here, on the double.”
“All the teams are busy with our men,” Ferid said.
“We can spare one. Now, Ferid.”
“Yes sir.”
Ferid passed the order on to the senior contech, who opened a com-link with the hospital to request a medical team. Sarjan gazed down at Bane again, wondering if he had made the right decision. Evidently the dra’voren was badly injured, for the blood that seeped through his shirt now spread from the edges of his cloak.