Demon Lord VII - Dark Domain
Page 9
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.”
“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 t
error, 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.