Dark God

by T C Southwell

  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 gritted 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.

  "What the hell did they make that from, fermented horse dung?"

  Tallis smiled. "I do not think so."

  "Well that is what it tastes like, or at least that is what I would imagine fermented horse dung would taste like."

  "Why did you abandon Mirra?" The question burst from her, and she bit her tongue, wishing it unasked.

  He frowned, his eyes becoming distant. "So that is why you are here, so you can be the first person to find out what happened."

  Miserably she nodded.

  He stared past her. "I knew I was dying. I tried to reach her. I failed."

  "Did the Black Lord prevent you?"

  "No. Although he probably would have, had she managed to get any closer."

  "Why did you leave her? Why did you not bring her with you?"

  "I tried." His eyes focussed on her. "I had to be touching her to Move her with me."

  "Oh." Tallis looked away, ashamed. If he was telling the truth, she had no right to blame him. She lifted the cup again, but he took it with a trembling hand. He swallowed a mouthful, pulling a face at its bitter taste.

  "Will you... are you going to try to save her?" she asked.

  He paused for what seemed to her an eternity, studying the murky fluid in the cup. "You do not think I will, do you?"

  "Not after what you did to her." Again she cursed her truant tongue, which spoke without consulting her brain.

  His piercing eyes impaled her. "You have no right to judge me, girl." He tried to sit up, but failed. "I was supposed to kill her, yet I have already brought her back from beyond death."

  She stared at him in astonishment, too surprised to retreat from his ire. "How...?"

  "Evidently the old woman was not spying on me at the time," he said, "or she would have told you."

  "But you tortured her."

  "Did I?" He glared at her. "You have no idea what I am capable of, do you? Had I chosen to really torture her, it would have driven her mad, and I doubt she would have survived. I treated her badly, yes. I chose to think of it as torture, but it was not. I thought she was my enemy, sent to kill me. Yet I let her live."

  "And you think that excuses it?"

  "Tallis!" Elder Mother's voice cracked from the doorway, making the young healer jump up, mortified. She bowed her head and hurried out, receiving a sharp glare from Ellese.

  Ellese turned to Bane. "Take no notice of her. She is just worried about Mirra."

  Bane shrugged and lowered his gaze to the tonic in his cup, regarding it with deep loathing. Ellese picked up the bottle and took Tallis' place beside him on the bed, topping up the cup.

  "Drink it all."

  "You jest."

  "No, I do not. The Black Lord's army approaches, you must regain your strength."

  "This stuff is more likely to poison me."

  "We do not have muc
h time."

  He shot her a resentful look and took another gulp of the tonic, his face twisting. "Dragonroot?"

  "That is one of the ingredients, with others that prevent its after effects."

  He glanced down at the pale scar on his belly, running a finger along it. "How did you do this?"

  "The Lady granted a miracle. The True Fire aided us."

  "She intends me to keep my promise, it seems."

  "Promise?"

  Bane shook his head and gulped down the rest of the tonic, shuddering when it was finished. He frowned at the empty cup, then raised his eyes, giving her the benefit of his piercing gaze. "Do you really think I am a god?"

  Ellese hesitated, taken by surprise, then inclined her head, giving up any idea of prevaricating. It was probably time he knew. "Yes. I do not think it; I know it. Arkonen made you one before you were born. I watched him do it. He had to, for no ordinary mortal could wield the amount of power you do, nor would they be able to control demons as you can. You would not have the power to destroy a god, as you do, unless you are one."

  He lay back, closing his eyes. "I do not feel like a damned god."

  "You almost died."

  "Gods do not die."

  "Mortal ones do."

  Bane snorted, looking deathly tired, his skin still pale. Shadows of weariness lurked under his eyes. She took the empty goblet and moved to the chair, wondering what promise he had made to the Lady. Mirra's peril filled her with anguish, not only because of her love for the girl, but because of how Bane might react if she perished. He was unpredictable in the extreme. Only half an hour passed before a young healer appeared in the doorway, her wide eyes seeking Ellese.