Dark Domain
The Demon Lord strode along the corridor that led to Governor Predoran’s office, ignoring the people who stepped from his path with startled expressions and turned to stare after him. He allowed them to see him this time so they would be convinced of his existence, lest the governor be suspected of hallucinations or insanity. Bane was fed up with the stupid man, this troublesome domain and its foolish people, which forced him to take up the shadows again when he would rather have rested from them for longer before creating the wards. The smartly-dressed woman who sat at a desk in the room outside the governor’s office jumped up with a gasp as he approached, her eyes wide.
Bane pointed at her. “Sit.”
She sank back onto her chair, gaping at him as he strode past. The double doors flew open ahead of him with a crash, and he swept into the governor’s office, the doors closing again behind him.
Predoran looked up with an impatient frown, then his eyes widened. The Demon Lord marched up to his desk, gripped the side of it and flipped it end over end out of the adjacent floor to ceiling window with a terrific crash. Glass rained down to smash on the floor and fly out into the void, and everything on the desk clattered to the floor. The governor cowered, raising his hands. Bane glared at him, fighting the dark power’s urging to kill him. The man was without honour, and, in Bane’s opinion, should not be in charge of scrubbing a floor, much less running a city. Predoran’s soul glowed sickly yellow-green, in keeping with his cowardly demeanour and obvious debauchery. He looked only a little the worse for wear, despite his city’s partial destruction, his brown suit stretched over his paunch and his greasy brown hair slicked back. His walrus moustache bristled as his mouth opened and closed in shock, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Bane swung away before the urge to kill Predoran overcame him and flung himself onto one of the soft cream chairs that surrounded a low, glass-topped table in the spacious seating area in front of the spot where Predoran’s desk had been. Bane breathed deeply to calm himself as he gazed out of the massive windows that gave a view of the city’s cratered streets and ruined buildings. The blue fire dome flickered and pulsed, the gaps in it warping as they expanded and contracted.
“I trust I now have your attention, Governor,” he said.
“Who… who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?”
“I am the Demon Lord. Perhaps you have heard of me. And I used the door, like anyone else.”
“You’re the dra’voren!”
Bane glanced at him. “I am tired of insults. Dra’voren, destroyer, abomination, dark god… I am actually trying to help you and your people, but you are all too stupid to realise it.”
Predoran bent and pushed a button on an instrument that had been on his desk, but was now on the floor, held in the room by the wires that connected it to the wall. “Security!”
“They cannot hear you.”
The governor jumped up and strode towards the doors, shouting, “Darris! Call security!”
“Your assistant cannot hear you either.”
Predoran tapped the panel beside the doors, then banged it. “Darris!”
“Those will not open.”
Predoran faced Bane, his back pressed to the doors, his eyes darting about the room in search of escape.
Bane contemplated him with deep contempt. “Why not try a window?”
“What do you want?”
“Sit.” Bane took control of Predoran and made him walk over to the sofa on the other side of the table and sink down on it. The governor stared at him, his face rigid with horror.
Bane leant forward and laced his fingers. “You and your people have caused me a lot of trouble, while I have rid your domain of four dark gods. I do not care what you think I am, but my patience is at an end. So, I am going to close the realm gate. It will open one last time when my companions and I leave, and then it will close forever. I do not care if you and your people choose to live out here, but they must be informed of what is to happen. Since last time you did not believe my warning, issued through a proxy, this time I came myself. I trust you appreciate the rare privilege of my presence.”
The governor shook his head. “You can’t force me to obey. I will protect my city and my world!”
“Actually, I can, although I would rather make you see the benefits of doing as I instruct, but I begin to suspect that I am wasting my time. You have no need to protect your world or your city from me. I have no intention of harming either of them, unless you anger me sufficiently, so the best way for you to protect them is to obey me.”
“I will not be dictated to by a dra’voren!”
“You will do as I command, one way or another.”
“And if I refuse?”
Bane sighed and gazed out of the window. “Then you are even more of an imbecile than I thought. Do you still not realise the futility of defying me? Everything you have attempted has failed, and you have suffered losses every time. That will continue to happen if you persist. You will tell your people that they have one day to return to the domain before the gate closes.”
Predoran drew himself up. “No. I won’t do it. You have no right to threaten us, or close our Great Gate. It’s illegal! The courts will uphold my right to refuse your orders. Who the hell do you think you are? You may be a dra’voren, but we destroy your kind all the time, and we’ll destroy you too! You and your cronies should go back to whatever dark place you came from, and -”
Bane silenced the garrulous governor and turned his head. “Setiss, come to me.”
The air demon appeared beside him, a vague man-shape of pale mist. The governor, whose mouth continued to open and close, his expression reflecting his growing alarm at his inability to speak, jumped up and backed away, his eyes wide.
Setiss bowed to Bane. “Lord.”
“Take on a human aspect.”
Setiss seemed to swell, then shrink as he solidified into a tall, rangy man with ash blond hair, a narrow, handsome face and a short goatee. He wore a sleek, expensive-looking grey suit, similar to those worn by the locals, although considerably more stylish than Predoran’s tasteless garb. Air demons tended to be particularly vain, but the effect was somewhat spoilt by his surfeit of garish jewellery. His glittering jet eyes darted to the governor, then back to Bane.
“This is an air demon,” Bane informed Predoran. “He is under my command, and fully capable of killing you swiftly should you disobey me.” He turned to Setiss. “You will ensure this human sends all the people in this city who wish to return to the domain into it. If he does not, kill him and assume his likeness, then carry out my orders. You will not harm anyone else. Your task will end when the realm gate closes.”
“Yes, Lord.”
Bane rose and faced the governor. “If you find a way to vanquish Setiss before he can kill you, I shall destroy this city and kill everyone in it.”
“You… you can’t do that!”
“I can, and I will. You call me a destroyer, even though I am not. If you anger me sufficiently, however, I shall become one. Allow me to demonstrate.”
The floor shivered, then trembled, the movement growing to a fairly forceful shudder. The governor blanched and gripped the back of the sofa as vibrations ran through the building, causing ornaments to fall from shelves and paintings to slide askew on the walls. A deep rumble came from outside, and Predoran gawped out of the window as a distant, partially ruined building collapsed, sending up a cloud of dust. One of the huge windows shattered and fell outwards, and dust rained down from the ceiling.
“All right!” Predoran cried. “I’ll do as you say. Please stop this!”
The vibrations eased and the rumble died away as Bane said, “Use your instrument to warn the people that the gate will close tomorrow. Do it now.”
The governor went over to the communications device on the floor, keying it. “Darris, get me Major Ranjal.”
“Yes sir,” a tinny voice replied.
Tense seconds ticked past, and a sheen of oily sweat formed on Predoran’s brow as he waited, darting furtive glances at Bane and Setiss.
Another voice issued from the device. “Major Ranjal here.”
“Major, contact the press and tell them to broadcast a warning, that the Great Gate will close tomorrow, then arrange transport for anyone who wants to return to Bayona.”
“Sir?”
“Just do it!”
“Yes sir.”
Predoran straightened to face Bane. “They won’t go.”
“That is their choice, but they must have one. Some of those who choose to stay here may very well die. Setiss, if he changes that order, kill him.”
The demon sniggered. “With pleasure, Lord.”
Bane went to a broken window, stepped through it and directed his power downwards, flying back to the gate. He landed just within it and strolled through the cloud gardens to the gazebo, where Kayos and Sherinias were engrossed in their Eyes. The young goddess smiled at Bane as he flopped down on a spare couch and summoned a cup of ambrosia. He wondered what they were watching. It seemed to have captured their attention utterly. After about half an hour, just as he was considering returning to Miraculous, he noticed an increase in the volume of flying traffic as quite a few large vehicles headed out of the gate.
“It looks like the populace of the outer city has chosen to return, and Predoran has summoned more vehicles to transport his people into the domain,” he remarked.
Kayos looked up and nodded. “Not surprising. Who would want to be left in the God Realm? Even if they can survive, it would be a grim life.” His eyes flicked down to Bane. “We should use one of these vessels when we continue our journey. It will make travelling through the God Realm safer, quicker and more comfortable. Commander Nikira is willing to offer her ship.”
Bane scowled. “She has spoken to you about it, too?”
“No, Drevarin told me that she asked her crew to volunteer when she reclaimed her ship.”
“I have already refused her offer.”
Kayos’ brows rose. “For what reason?”
Bane hesitated, embarrassed. “She is… infatuated with me.”
Kayos’ eyes twinkled. “Ah. And you have rejected her.”
“Of course, but she is persistent.”
“Her ship can convey us safely and speedily back to Myrthran once we have rescued Ashynaria, too, and I know you and Mirra long to return home. Then Nikira can go to Drevarin’s domain or return here. Sherinias will protect her.”
Bane sighed. “I have no wish to be the object of infatuation. It is irksome and embarrassing, especially her rather heavy handed advances.”
“Come now, Bane, you can deal with a few ardent looks and a bit of overfamiliarity, should she continue to pursue the matter.”
“I do not like it, even so.” He raised a hand when Kayos opened his mouth. “I shall consider it.”
“We will not be here much longer. You need to rest from the darkness before you create the wards, and I would like to spend a few days with my daughter. I still have much to teach her.” Kayos smiled at Sherinias.
She returned it, although her eyes were sad. “I wish you could all stay, Father.”
“Perhaps we will visit on our way back,” Bane suggested.
“I would like that very much, My Lord.”
Bane dismissed his cup and rose to his feet. “I will be aboard Miraculous.”
Favour
Bane glanced up as Tryne stepped from the air a few feet away, raised his snowy wings and bowed. Mirra gasped and Drevarin looked around, his expression becoming shuttered. Bane had returned from the gazebo only half an hour earlier, to tell Mirra and Drevarin what had happened, and had been contemplating the happy prospect of casting out the dark power again once he had closed the dark realm’s world gate. Angels, it seemed, had a knack for popping out of the woodwork at the most inopportune moments. The hum of conversation from the refugees continued undisturbed, from which Bane deduced that only he, Mirra and Drevarin could see the angel.
He raised his eyebrows. “Tryne.”
“Lord. I regret my intrusion. I wish to redeem one of the favours you owe me.”
“Now is not a good time.”
“Unfortunately, it is urgent, Lord; a matter of life and death.”
“What is it?” Bane asked, curious despite his reluctance.
“Demons have abducted a priestess of Pretarin and taken her to the Underworld, using an ancient Fetch. She is a member of one of the few cults that still exist in this world. She prayed to Pretarin to save her.”
Mirra gazed at the angel with a rapt expression, and Bane knew she found them awe inspiring, even though Kayos dismissed them as a nuisance, meddlers who sometimes did more harm than good. He remembered his experience with Syrin all too well. So far, Tryne had not been as annoying, and he wondered if that was about to change now that the domain’s urgent issues had been addressed and he had time to grant favours.
“I require a name, or a face, in order to find her,” he said.
“I can provide a face.”
“How so? You cannot go below.”
Tryne shook his head. “When I heard her prayer and followed it, I witnessed her abduction. Not only did I see her face, I also know where the Fetch is.”
Bane shrugged. “So?”
“If it remains, the demons will use it to abduct more innocents.”
“I do not know if anyone in this world can be called innocent, except perhaps this priestess and others like her, but if you want me to close it, it will cost you another favour.”
Mirra poked him. “Bane!”
“What?”
“Is it so hard to close a Fetch?”
“No,” he admitted.
“So you are just being difficult.”
“I am granting the favours he has earned. There are undoubtedly many Fetches in this domain, being used for the same purpose, and hundreds of people being tortured by demons every day. I do not want to spend days closing them, and besides, they will all be sealed when the wards are created.”
She sighed and gazed at the angel again, who watched her with a hopeful expression that faded when Bane turned to him and asked, “So? Do you want it closed?”
Tryne inclined his head. “Yes, Lord; as another favour.”
Bane beckoned. “You will need to come closer for me to take this priestess’ face from your memory.”
Tryne approached and knelt at Bane’s feet, displaying the strange fearlessness angels gained once they had touched him and learnt the truth about him. Bane placed his hand on the angel’s bowed head, allowing his memories to rush in.
A slim, middle-aged woman with dark eyes and hair, clad in a long white robe, struggled in the grip of two brawny, bald thugs wearing silver-studded black leather outfits comprising many straps and buckles, gold chains around their necks and rings in their noses and ears. The demon deviants dragged the kicking, screaming woman into a rundown house on a dingy street, and the door slammed behind them.
Bane lifted his hand, and the angel rose and stepped back, going behind him to gaze into the Eye. Bane refocused it on the Underworld, searching for the unfortunate priestess. After several moments, an image formed of a vast chamber, its striated stone walls moulded and solidified in the midst of oozing by whatever dark god had created it. Its glassy black floor and the evil designs on its walls told him that it was close to the surface of the Underworld, most probably used as a torture chamber for humans, who would not survive in the searing heat and noxious fumes of the dark realm’s deeper caverns. In chambers such as this, dark gods watched their minions torment people, and evidently the demons had continued to practice their depravities.
Dozens of demons, some in man form, bent or crouched over writhing victims, most of whom were women and children, their faces twisted with terror and pain, mouths open in soundless screams. A lot of them were naked, while a few still wore dirty rags. Rotting corpses and skeletons were piled against the far side of the chamber, and four torches on the walls lighted the scene with garish radiance. A brown trickle down a crumbling wall fed a pool of black water that he did not doubt was too foul to drink, although the prisoners would be forced to do so if they lived long enough.
The priestess he had seen in Tryne’s memory struggled in the grip of the same two thugs, one of whom burnt her neck with fiery fingers as he caressed her like a lover, grinning. The other demon ripped her robe apart with slow deliberation, while she appeared to be shouting at them, her face twisted with hatred and rage. She certainly had a lot of pluck for a priestess, Bane mused. Under the old-fashioned robe, she wore a white trouser suit and flat-heeled boots, an odd garb for a priestess, but then, nothing about this domain or its people was quite as it should be. Bane waved the Eye out of existence before Mirra caught more than a glimpse of the scene in it.
Tryne returned to stand in front of Bane and tilted his head, his expression enquiring. “Will you help them, Lord?”
“All of them? I thought you only wanted to save the priestess?”
“I was not aware of the others. I ask that you save them all.”
Bane grunted. “Big favour. That lot will fight to keep their victims.”
“Against you, Lord?”
“Perhaps. They went to a lot of trouble to capture those people, luring them into traps or abducting them off the streets and transporting them to that abandoned house. They will not be pleased to lose them, and they know I am unlikely to destroy them. It is far easier to dismiss them. I have been attacked by demons before, although they were under the command of a dark god. For all we know, these could be, too, though. Tolrar and Scryon’s commands have not lost their potency simply because they are cast down, any more than mine do when I cast out the darkness. Rescuing the priestess would be easy, but saving all of them will take time, since I cannot Move that many simultaneously, and once I start the demons will try to kill those I have to leave behind.”
Tryne lowered his eyes. “I ask that you save as many as you can, Lord.”
Bane nodded, and the angel turned and stepped into the air. Mirra met his eyes with an anguished gaze.
“What is it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “You have already been through so much. I thought you would be able to rest for a while, and now this.”
“They are only demons.”
Her smile was weak and clearly forced. “I know they are a threat to you. I have seen them injure you on more than one occasion.”
He took her hands. “I will be all right. I can deal with a few demons, do not worry.”
“Please be careful. All it will take is a well-aimed spear in your back, like before, and you could die down there.”
“Kayos watches over me almost constantly, like a broody hen with a brain-damaged chick, and Drevarin will be watching, too. I am sure they will come to my rescue, should I need it.”
“Even so, it takes but a moment… It is dangerous.”
He hugged her, bowing his head to kiss her hair. “The only other option is to deny Tryne his favour and let those people die.”
“I would not ask you to do that, but do not underestimate demons.”
“I will not make that mistake again. I will return soon.”
Drevarin looked up. “The best place to take those people would be a hospital.”
“That would cause something of a stir,” Bane pointed out.
“But it would also show that you are helping people.”
“I do not really care what they think anymore. I have given up trying to prove myself. Why should I? No matter what I do, they see evil in it. They will probably think I took those people in the first place.”
“The people you save will not, though,” the light god said.
“Then they will say I commanded the demons to take them and torture them.”
“If you had, why would you rescue them?”
Bane shrugged. “To make them think I am not evil?”
“Even after they see you fight the demons to free them?”
“They will dismiss that as a false display to dupe them.”
Drevarin sighed and inclined his head. “You are probably right.”
Bane rose and walked away before he Moved. He rematerialised in the gloomy chamber, turning to scan it. The sensations that had been missing from the Eye rushed in, stifling heat, screams and a nauseating stench. Demons in man form raped women and tortured men, fire demons in true form burnt children. Dozens more men were chained to the walls, forced to watch. The demons had abducted whole families, and sniggered at the helpless husbands who shouted insults in a vain attempt to protect their wives and children by making the demons angry enough to torture them instead. Insults did not anger demons, however; the men’s verbal abuse only amused them. This was the sort of sport demons enjoyed the most, although tormenting people in the mid realm, disguised as family members or loved ones, was also high on their list of entertainment. Many took one look at Bane and fled, and he gestured at the rest.
“Begone!”
The remaining demons slumped into piles of soil or vanished in flares of foul fire, while air demons simply ceased to be, and a water demon collapsed into a pool of vile liquid. The presence of a water demon was somewhat surprising, as they were rare, and usually did not leave their element. They were the cause of many shipping accidents and had their sport with people who frequented the sea or lakes. Perhaps in this domain, with its flying transport, they had been forced to seek sport on land due to a lack of accessible targets in their element.
Bane surveyed the prisoners, most of whom had purer spirits than most he had encountered in this domain, except for several droges, whose more diffuse, dark red souls made them easy to spot. The fact that some were victims was no surprise, and a few furtive droges, former torturers, crept towards a door in the far wall, apparently hoping to escape his notice. Whoever the demons and droges who used the chamber served, the droge victims belonged to another dark god and were therefore fair game. The droge torturers raced for the exit when they realised that they had been spotted, bellowing in alarm. Bane spoke the harsh, whispery words that rescinded their forms, and they collapsed into pools of grey sludge with despairing wails. He doubted that the droge victims would thank him for sending them below again, however. While he had released them from their pain, he had also consigned them to the Land of the Dead until a dark god granted them another form, if that ever happened.
The human prisoners crawled towards each other and huddled together, staring at him with white-ringed eyes in dirty, tear-streaked faces. The priestess regarded him with shock, horror and loathing, being the only one who seemed to know what he was. She clasped her hands to pray again, probably now to be saved from him. Little did the others know that they owed their redemption to her faith, even if her god was dead. Bane summoned a fire demon, and men cowered, the women and children whimpering when the demon emerged from one of the smoky torches and bowed to Bane.
“Lord,” it said in a grating hiss.
“Jentaru. I am the Demon Lord. Provide light, and go and stand over there.” He gestured to the far side of the room.
The demon became a pillar of flame, brightening the chamber considerably, and moved away from the filthy wretches who blinked and squinted at it, then Bane. In the additional light, he made out a cage against the wall beside him, in which a dozen children clung to each other in a weeping group. He went over to it and touched the bars, and the black metal oozed into pools on the floor. The children ran to men and women in the crowd, who embraced them with glad cries. Three youngsters remained, staring at Bane with wide, scared eyes. They had undoubtedly watched their parents tortured to death.
“I am here to free you,” he told the prisoners. “Stand up, if you can, and gather in groups of twenty in the centre of the chamber. Help those who cannot walk.”
“Do not believe him!” the priestess cried. “He is a dark god! He lies! He will take you somewhere horrible, or kill you!”
Bane cursed under his breath and muttered, “Here we go again.” He raised his voice to address the throng. “I am not going to harm you. There is not much time. If you remain here the demons will return and kill you.”
“You are the darkness!” the priestess shouted. “Lord Pretarin will cast you down!”
“Pretarin is dead.”
“You killed him! You have doomed us all!”
Bane shook his head, annoyed, but schooled himself to patience. “No, I did not.”
“I know what you are. I can see it! You use the shadows!”
The Demon Lord snorted. A light priestess was too certain of her conviction to be swayed with words, and usually she would have been right. He stepped towards the three orphans and held out a hand. “Come.”
The priestess shrieked, “Monster! Leave them alone!”
Snatching up a stone, she hurled it at him, and he ducked, shooting her an irritated scowl. Her bravery surprised him, but, considering her situation, she probably thought a quick death at his hands was better than a lingering, horrific one, as she expected. He did not want to have to fight the people he had come to rescue, however, and if she continued to rant she might sway them. He took control of her and replaced her dread with gratitude and the certainty that he was there to rescue them.
She sagged and turned to the others. “I was wrong. He is here to save us. Trust him.”
Seeing an opportunity to spread the word of Sherinias’ birth, he beckoned to her. “Come here.”
The priestess ran forward to kneel at his feet, bowing her head. “Lord!”
“When you return to your church, inform your fellows that Pretarin’s daughter has been born, and now rules this domain. Her name is Sherinias.”
“Praise the light, Lord!” She raised a face twisted with joy and worship.
“Go,” Bane said. “Help the children.”
The priestess went over to the three orphans and ushered them towards the rest of the prisoners, who watched her with wide eyes, clearly unsure of what had just happened. Bane estimated that there were close to a hundred and fifty people in the chamber, and a group of twenty was the maximum he could Move at once. Despite the priestess’ words, the rest of the prisoners did not appear to know the significance of his distinctive appearance, or his ability to banish and summon demons. In this instance, the fact that they did not believe in gods was a boon, since they discounted the priestess a madwoman, despite their recent experience with demons. Had they all been convinced of his evil intentions, the task would have been almost impossible and taken far too long to achieve.
The prisoners hobbled forward, some helping their weaker fellows. Women wept and clutched wailing children, and the chained men held out their hands, pleading to be released. The dark power’s influence expunged Bane’s pity for them, and he did not bother to fight it. He just wanted the onerous chore over with. He approached the chained men and touched the duron manacle around the first man’s neck. It shimmered and parted, and the prisoner stumbled forward to join the rest. Bane walked along the wall, freeing all the men, then turned to the groups. As he did, a fire demon rushed out of one of the torches and shot towards the prisoners.
Bane said, “Begone!”
The demon vanished with a flare of sickly light, and the people gasped in shock, a few giving half-hearted screams that tapered off into whimpers. The fire demon’s attack meant that Bane did not have much time, however. He summoned Jentaru again, then closed his eyes and opened his mind to the far-see, locating a medical centre. Stepping towards the nearest group, which included the priestess, he held out his hand.
“Hold onto each other,” he instructed, and then addressed the nearest man, one of those he had freed from the wall. “If you want to leave this place, take my hand.”
The man hesitated for only a moment before he grasped Bane’s hand. He Moved. The effort of Moving so many people dragged at him like a great weight, and it seemed to take longer than ever before: several moments of cold darkness before the aseptic white décor of a hospital appeared around him. The people doubled over and retched, some collapsed and writhed, clutching their stomachs. Alarmed shouts came from the white-clad medical personnel who populated the corridor, but then they approached to help the former prisoners. The man who held Bane’s hand released it and stepped back, staring at Bane as he struggled not to vomit.
The Demon Lord Moved back to the chamber and approached a second group. Four earth demons shot up from the floor, raising gritty fists. Bane dismissed them, but the problem with banishing the demons was that each time he did it he dismissed Jentaru as well, plunging the chamber into gloom. Summoning the fire demon again, he held out his hand to a woman at the edge of the closest group. She seized it, and the people clung together. Now that they knew they might be slaughtered while they waited for him to return, they grew more desperate. Some of the people in the other groups tried to join the one he was about to Move.
“Get back!” he said. “Wait your turn!”
“They will kill us!” a man cried.
Bane addressed the fire demon. “Jentaru, protect them.”
Bane Moved again, releasing the woman’s hand in the hospital corridor, close to the first group, which nurses and medics tended. When he returned to the Underworld chamber, another group of people rushed towards him, and Jentaru battled two fire demons, barely holding them at bay. The fresh corpses of several women and children lay on the floor, burnt to death, and a few man-shaped ashen shapes indicated that others had met a quicker demise from fire demon eyes.
“Begone!” Bane shouted as the group reached him and grabbed his arms and clothes, clinging to him. He wanted to shake them off, but time was running out. He summoned Jentaru and Moved to the hospital again. Wrenching free of the grimy hands that gripped him, he shoved the people away and Moved back to the Underworld chamber. This time, Jentaru battled four earth demons while a fire demon moved amongst the fleeing prisoners, slaying them with fiery fists and searing eyes. Bane dismissed them, and the people surged towards him.
“Form groups!” he bellowed. “If you do not, I shall not return!”
The prisoners halted their dash and obeyed, the men ushering the women and children, who wept with abject terror, into groups to be taken before them. Jentaru could not hope to keep them all safe for much longer, Bane knew. He needed help. Avoiding the grasping hand of a woman on the outskirts of the closest group, he murmured the words of summoning and the names the dark power provided.
Fire demons blossomed from the torches and bowed to him, earth demons rose from the floor with gritty grating sounds, and the people wailed afresh, drowning out Bane’s words.
“Be silent!” he shouted. “These are mine. They will protect you.” He swept the fifteen demons he had summoned with hard eyes. He did not have time to name them. “I am the Demon Lord. You will protect these people. Nothing else.”
As the demons bowed, he took hold of the woman’s hand and Moved.
Mirra sat beside Drevarin and gazed into the light god’s Eye. Mithran, Grem, Artan, Sarrin and Ethra stood behind her, watching over her shoulder. The sight of Bane saving people filled her with pride and joy, tempered by dread that he would be hurt. It made her realise why Kayos prized him so much and longed for his aid. No one else could do what he did. Those who would could not, and those who could would not. Only he could and would. Much as she missed her home, and Bane while he was away, moments like these made up for that somewhat.
Bane had rescued about eighty people now, and those left behind cowered against a wall while the demons he had summoned fought off attacks from others. They stood in front of the prisoners, holding back the demons that sought to slay them. Two of Bane’s earth demons slumped, defeated, and others stepped into the gaps they left. Several enemy fiends pushed past the defenders, which went after them, trying to prevent them reaching the prisoners. Earth demons became partially molten as fire demons burnt them, and three charged a fire demon together and crushed it between them, snuffing it out. The scene became increasingly chaotic as more demons entered the chamber and the battle escalated.
Behind her, Artan muttered, “Armorgan’s teeth!”
Bane reappeared and took the hand of a man in the group closest to him. Mirra feared that a demon would attack him in the midst of the confusion, for it was impossible to tell the ones he had summoned from the attackers. Nor could he dismiss them now, since summoning more would take too long. Demons poured into the room. Not much time remained before they defeated his minions.
Bane vanished and returned within moments, and a fire demon struck him from behind as he appeared, sending him sprawling. Ethra squeaked and Mirra stifled a gasp and clasped her hands to hide her tension. Mithran put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He understood how she felt, as did Grem, having the same concerns, and his solid presence was always welcome.
Bane turned and raised an arm, and a black fire poured from his hand, struck the demon and snuffed it out in a blaze of sickly flame. Bane rose to his feet and spread his arms, ignoring the people who gathered around him, holding out their hands. Dark power streamed from his palms and struck a number of battling demons, destroyed them and reduced the number of enemy fiends considerably. She wondered how he knew which were which, but was glad he did.
When Bane returned to the torture chamber once more, only a few burnt corpses and his demons populated it, the aggressors having fled, their aim thwarted. His hip smarted a little from his fall, and about twenty people had perished in the conflict, but he had taken approximately a hundred and thirty to the hospital. Only five of his demons remained, and he dismissed them before Moving to the dilapidated house he had seen in Tryne’s memory. The front door flew open ahead of him as he strode up the steps, and he followed a short hall to a door that led into the basement.
Anything evil or occult always seemed to reside in cellars, basements or caves, he reflected. Sure enough, when he reached the bottom of the steps, a guardian rune became visible to him in the gloom, marking the concealed entrance of the Fetch. An unwary person could trigger it by stepping too close to the rune, and the demons had probably merely chucked their victims at it, then followed them down. He made a series of gestures, speaking the words of unmaking.
“Shethar herrin traveth, vantar morril. Eskareth!”
The guardian rune quivered and lost its shape, its shadows dispersing. Without the trigger rune, the Fetch would never open again.
The encounter with demons made his longing to cast out the dark power again stronger than ever. His powerful urge to murder the governor and lack of sympathy for the demons’ victims confirmed his increasing need for a break from its influence. Even though the priestess’ assertion that he was the darkness was wrong, he was becoming more like it with every day that he continued to carry it and use it. He wanted to close the dark realm’s world gate first, though, and the Sources, thereby reducing the amount of shadows pouring into the mid realm. Perhaps now would be a good time to do that, then he could relax for a while before he created the wards. Turning away, he Moved.
Bane rematerialised in front of the dark realm’s gate and gazed up at it, remembering the time, long ago, when he had emerged from the Underworld through just such a portal. That one had been formed from grey, beaten iron, crudely ornamented with demonic symbols, streaked with rust and dotted with blobs of metal that had escaped Kayos’ dreamtime hammer. Such slipshod workmanship was understandable, given Kayos’ age and the number of domains he had created. Pretarin, apparently, had taken more care with his creations, probably due to his relative youth. This world gate was sleek obsidian, and would have been beautiful if not for the evil designs upon it and the river of shadows that flowed through it. This domain was rife with power, Bane mused, since both world gates had been standing open for centuries, pouring light and shadow into it.
Stepping up to the right-hand gate, he ran his fingers along its edge, sparking a soft red glow within the stone, as if his touch made it molten. The reaction was to his power, and what he was. Only a god could command a great gate. The realm gate had a light inner surface and a black outer surface, denoting the neutrality of its power, even though white wards protected it. Always, there was balance. The dark realm’s gate had no wards or runic symbols around it, and he recalled that the one in Myrthran had opened when he had approached it and closed behind him. How, then, was he supposed to close a world gate that had been left open? The dark power offered no aid, and he glanced around for a clue. The wind keened in the crags and showers of dust sifted down the cliffs to the canyon floor. There was no life for leagues around this gate.
The place was eerie, and made him shiver. He almost laughed at his reaction: being unnerved by a long-abandoned gate. Its neglect did not surprise him. No one tried to get into an Underworld if they had any sense. The dark power’s lack of assistance was odd, though. It usually provided the answers to his problems when it was to do with the darkness.
He retreated a few paces, raised his hands and spread them towards the gates, muttering, “Drokath.”
Bane brought his hands slowly together, but the huge doors merely shivered. He studied them again, puzzled. Normally, these gates were always closed, just like the other great gates. They opened on command and closed of their own accord, so Torvaran had forced this gate to remain open, just as he had done to the realm gate, but how?
Bane made a languid, beckoning gesture. “Frotharth.”
Five shadow runes shimmered into visibility within the doorway. So, a dark command, a glamour to conceal them from a god’s sight, and more. Only one commanded the gates to stand open, one cast the glamour, and the other three formed a trap. Anyone who attempted to step through the gate would be transported somewhere, but he could not discern the destination. Doubtless a deep pit or magma river, neither of which would harm him, so the trap was intended for creatures of the light, or mortals. Given the curious, meddling nature of the people who dwelt in this domain, probably many unwary explorers and archaeologists had fallen foul of Torvaran’s trap over the centuries. Bane was tempted to step into the snare and find out if any of its victims had survived, but the chances of that were slim to none. Perhaps they would be released when he destroyed the runes, but then they would be trapped in the Underworld.
Dismissing their plight as inconsequential, he made the gestures and spoke the words of unmaking again, as he had just done in the cellar. The runes shivered and seemed to burst, the shadows that formed them sinking into the rocks. Bane spread his hands towards the gates again. “Drokath.”
The mighty doors swung inwards as he drew his hands together, their lower edges scraping across the scree that had fallen into the canyon over the centuries they had stood open. The dark realm’s world gate closed with a hollow boom, a flare of shadows sealing it.