Dark God (22 page)

The Black Lord was incorporeal,
but Bane was not, and, even as he realised that, a bolt of bright
fire hit him in the chest. It burnt through his skin, and he clawed
at it, pulled it out and hurled it at the shadowy form. The fire
vanished through it, and it lunged, black hands closing around his
throat. Bane tried to raise his hands to pry them loose, but found
that his arms were bound at his sides. The clawed hands tightened,
pinching off his air, and panic filled him. Arkonen's eyes appeared
in the blackness, bright with triumph, and his twisted red maw
opened under them in a shout of laughter.

Bane
gritt
ed his teeth as pain
flared from his abused throat, increasing his fear. How could he
fight something he could not grasp or strike? Then again, reason
nagged him, this was a dream, so he did not have to be solid any
more than his foe. He tried to shuck his solid form, but he had not
done it before, and had no idea how. The hands held his throat
closed, but in a dream he did not need air. Even so, he was growing
weak and dizzy, as if his sleeping body had ceased to breathe. A
faint, distant pain in his chest jerked him from the growing
lethargy, and he bent his will once more on leaving the solid
form.

Severely hampered by the fact
that his arms were inexplicably bound to his sides, he twisted and
fought, striving to free himself from the Black Lord's grip. He
recalled the sensation of rock walking, sliding incorporeal through
the stone, and impressed it upon the situation, forcing the dream
to bend to his will. He slipped free as the Black Lord's hands
passed through his neck, and drifted away. Arkonen appeared before
him, his maw curved in an ugly smile.

"You learn fast, I will give
you that."

"I am going to destroy
you."

"You cannot. I told you."

"I will find a way."

"I doubt that." Arkonen
sniggered. "There is no way. We could fight for a thousand years,
and you would not find one."

"I am a fast learner."

"It makes no difference. There
is no way."

"You should have killed me at
the seventh ward. Big mistake."

The Black Lord nodded. "I know
that now. But I have the one thing that will stop you from even
trying, stupid boy."

"The healer?" Bane shrugged.
"She means nothing to me."

"That is not how it seemed when
last we met. Then it seemed rather important to you to save her, so
much so that you almost died."

"I would not like her to be
harmed. I owe her a debt, but that will not stop me."

The Black Lord smiled. "Let us
have a truce. This conflict is pointless, a waste of time. I will
give you back your precious healer, and you stop this stupidity.
Find yourself a nice spot and do whatever it is you want to
do."

"I want you back in the
Underworld, sealed off by the wards. Then this conflict will
end."

"That is not going to happen."
His glowing eyes narrowed. "If you continue with this, the healer
will suffer."

"I am not doing this for her.
This is vengeance, for what you did to me, for turning me into a
monster, then betraying me and leaving me to die, for all the lies
and for killing my mother."

"You are not a good liar.
Certainly it is vengeance in part, but it is mostly for her. What I
did to you was raise you up. I gave you the power of a god."

"I did not ask for it," Bane
snarled.

"But you will not cast it
aside, will you?"

"Not while you remain in the
Overworld."

"Nor even if you banished me.
You enjoy the power too much."

"Only because with it, I can
cast you down."

The Black Lord shook his head,
sparks hissing from the black tresses that swirled around his
visage. "That will never happen, stupid boy."

Bane lashed
out, his arm becoming a sweep of fire that struck the Black Lord in
the chest, taking him by surprise. He snuffed out the flames, then
struck back with a bolt of blackness that engulfed Bane. The Demon
Lord swept it away with a gesture and stepped forward, reaching for
Arkonen's throat. They were equals now, incorporeal, passing
through each other, but able to strike their opponent with the
weapons their minds conjured. The struggle sapped them both, but
mostly Bane, in his weakened state. The Black Lord soon tired of
the futile conflict, which gained him nothing, and proved fairly
humiliating now that Bane had mastered it.
Deciding that more sport was to be had in the waking
world, he stepped from the dream and woke.

Ellese's concern abated as
Bane's sleep resumed its peacefulness, his frown fading. She had
almost wept with terror when he had stopped breathing, and had
ripped the gag from his mouth and thumped his chest until he
started again. Then he had spent some time twitching and muttering,
while she watched him, ready to spring into action again if he
ceased to breathe. She had no idea if her beating on his chest had
helped him in any way, but she was quite prepared to do it again.
The danger seemed to be past, but she waited for a full hour before
she rose and stretched the kinks out of her joints, leaving Tallis
to watch him alone.

Outside the abbey, she found
Martal peering through a spyglass, his expression grim. When she
joined him, he lowered it and turned to her. "Is he awake?"

"No."

"Then we are in trouble, because
unless I am dreaming, that is the Black Lord's army."

Ellese took the spyglass and
looked through it at a sight that made her breath catch. A
blackness covered the land beyond the forest. A shuffling horde of
trolls, goblins and dark creatures moved towards the temple like a
tide of death. If anything, there seemed to be more of them than
before, and now the abbey had almost no defences.

"Can you wake him?" Martal
asked.

"No."

The Baron shook his head. "There
is hardly any point in fighting. We stand no chance. We should
flee."

She lowered the spyglass. "Where
to?"

"My fortress. Even with these
few men, I can hold out far longer there, with walls to protect
us."

"How do we know that there are
not more of them between us and your stronghold? Or even if it has
not already been overrun?"

"We do not." He grimaced and
took the spyglass from her, looking to the south. "You are right.
They are everywhere."

"Then our only hope is
Bane."

"May I suggest lots of cold
water?"

"You may not."

"Pity."

"How long before they get
here?"

He shrugged. "They are not
moving very fast. A couple of hours."

"We must pray."

"I wonder why they are moving so
slowly," he muttered.

"They are afraid."

The Black Lord lifted his goblet
of wine and sipped it, his eyes sliding over Mirra. The droges had
washed her and clad her in a diaphanous gown of shimmering white
silk with slender gold straps that revealed her pale shoulders.
They had teased her shining hair into curls that framed her
delicate face and darkened her eyelids with kohl. Her blue-green
eyes watched him, glowing in the light of the torches that
illuminated the feast table. A luscious spread covered it; great
platters of cooked meat that, judging by her expression, she
suspected was human. Arkonen smiled.

"Very nice." He put down his
goblet. "Although personally I prefer brunettes. Sit." He gestured
to a chair.

Mirra obeyed, averting her eyes
from the fleshy feast.

"I have just spoken to your
beloved Bane, and he assures me that he feels nothing for you. Is
that not galling, after all you have done for him, and all you feel
for him? Such an ungrateful bastard."

He chuckled. "But then, why
should he feel anything for you? He is incapable of it, I assure
you. He is devoid of the weak human emotions you long to receive
from him. Anyway, he is going to die soon, so it is moot, I
suppose. Surprising that he has lived this long. I think, when my
army razes that abbey, he will come here for a final confrontation,
injured though he is. He will not allow the rabble to tear him to
pieces."

Mirra's heart
lifted at the news that Bane was alive, and she clung to the hope
it engendered.
She tried to
block out his gloating, lowering her gaze to her arm, where the
discolouration his touch had caused had advanced, her skin becoming
dark and scaly. Covering it with her hand, she shuddered at its
cold, hard texture. Somehow his corruption had seeped into her
flesh, and she was being transformed just as his worshippers had,
only more slowly. She wondered if that had been his intention, or
whether it had simply been an overflow of his magic. It did not
bear thinking about, and she glanced at the silent, cowled priests
who still stood like statues beside the pillars.

Arkonen
noticed her interest and grinned, revealing white, perfect teeth.
"You like my priests? Dutiful and loyal, but dirty humans all the
same. Still, they cannot help that." He sipped his wine. "Anyway,
now they are more ornamental, not grovelling on the floor
anymore. They are, of course, dead.
I turned them to stone. An interesting exercise. Most
satisfactory."

The Black Lord rose and
sauntered over to the nearest priest, pulling back the hood that
hid the man's face. Grey stone was revealed, formed into the
perfect semblance of the visage it had once been. Arkonen patted
the statue and pulled its hood up again, then returned to the
table. Stopping beside her, he pulled her hand away to expose the
scaly patch on her arm.

"Ah yes, that is coming along
nicely. It will not be long before it is all over you." He gave a
mocking parody of a horrified shudder and returned to his seat,
chuckling.

Flopping down, he frowned and
brought his fist down on the table with a terrific crash, making
the crockery leap into the air and two goblets fall to the floor
with a shrill clatter.

"Speak!" he thundered in a voice
that shook the ground.

She gulped, raising her eyes to
his. "Why?"

"Why what? The scales? For fun,
why else?"

"Everything."

"Fun, amusement, power, not
necessarily in that order. Yet it all palls, it really does. No one
to appreciate it; snivelling humans; tedious demons. Do you know
how tedious demons are? Amazing. No conversation at all, no
culture. No one like me. I am unique, and that is lonely."

He leant
closer. "I was not always evil, you know. Nine hundred years in the
Underworld will do that to you
, though. If your precious Lady would show herself in
defence of her world, now that would be fun. But she will not, so
it is no good praying to her. Do you know why? Because she is
afraid of me!"

He sat back,
picking up the goblet. "Hell, she is even afraid of Bane, stupid
boy that he is. He is tedious too. Have you noticed? He is almost
as bad as a bloody demon. No conversation at all, just glares and
sneers. Used to annoy me like crazy. I longed to snuff him out,
damn, but I did. Came close a couple of times
, too. Now he is gone to the healers, and they
cannot help him, because they have no power."

Arkonen slugged back a deep
draught of wine. "You are not much of a conversationalist yourself,
healer. I do not know what Bane saw in you, if anything. Perhaps
the other entertainment will be better."

The Black Lord clapped his
hands, and a throng of naked dancers ran in, several brawny men
with drums and flutes accompanying them. They performed a
hip-thrusting dance, female droges pairing with muscular,
over-endowed demons in an orgy of carnal lewdness. Mirra averted
her gaze from their obscene gyrations, which were far worse than
those performed by the dancers who had entertained Bane.

The Black Lord watched them
avidly, licking his lips, giving her a rare insight into the
workings of his mind. It made her shudder. The dancers, however,
were only the entrée to Arkonen's foul feast of erotica, for soon
human women were brought in to provide sport for the demons. Their
screams made Mirra long to plug her ears, but Arkonen kept an eye
on her, and she knew that if she did he would only stop her.
Instead, she sent a silent prayer to the Lady.

Chapter
Nine

The Dark Army

Tallis sat up with a jerk
when Bane's eyes opened, elation dispelling her lethargy. She sat
frozen while he gazed at the roof, then his eyes drifted down to
her, and slight frown furrowed his brow. Her first impulse was to
run and fetch Elder Mother, but she quelled it, remembering the
tonic that waited on the table. He tugged at the ropes that bound
his hands, his frown deepening.

"Untie me."

Tallis leapt up to fumble with
the knots. "We had to bind you for your safety. You were injuring
yourself." She found that she was almost gabbling, afraid he would
think they had tried to imprison him.

Bane rubbed his wrists while she
worked on the ropes about his ankles, still looking annoyed. His
slight effort seemed to cost him dearly, and his hands shook when
he lowered them to his sides again, closing his eyes. Tallis
grabbed the bottle of tonic and poured some into a cup, bringing it
to his side.

"You must drink this. It will
make you stronger."

Bane's eyes opened and studied
the cup. "More foul potions?"

"No, it is a tonic, that is all.
You lost a great deal of blood, that is why you are so weak."

"Weak?" His mouth curved in a
bitter smile. "I can hardly move."

"I will help you." She sat
beside him, cup in hand.

"I must be
ill. Even you are not afraid of me
anymore."

Placing the
cup on the bedside table, she helped him to sit up, pushing pillows
in behind him. He
disliked
her ministrations, judging by his glare. She picked up the cup and
held it to his lips, but the first taste made him grimace with
intense disgust.