Dark God

Demon Lord II

Dark God

T C Southwell

Published by T C Southwell at Smashwords

Copyright © 2011 T C Southwell

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This series is dedicated to my mother.

Table of Contents

Chapter One – Dark Lord

Chapter Two – The New Kingdom

Chapter Three – The Lady’s Temple

Chapter Four – The Goddess

Chapter Five – The Purge

Chapter Six – The Gather

Chapter Seven – First Blood

Chapter Eight – The White Fire

Chapter Nine – The Dark Army

Chapter Ten – Mercy

Chapter Eleven – The Final Conflict

Chapter Twelve – Intervention

Chapter Thirteen – Aftermath

Chapter Fourteen – A Young God

Chapter Fifteen – The Dark Power

Chapter Sixteen – Atonement

Chapter Seventeen – Judgement

Chapter Eighteen – Demon Lord

Chapter Nineteen – Father of the Curse

Chapter Twenty – The Rune

Chapter One

Dark Lord

The young healer dug in the dry ground, unearthing a dusty tuber for her supper. The huge, tumbled stones of the broken ward dominated the plains where she had dwelt now for five days. When Bane, the Demon Lord, had broken this, the seventh and last ward, he had freed the Black Lord from the Underworld. Bane had believed that the Black Lord was his father until his rising, when he had mocked Bane, told him the truth, and left him to die.

Mirra had saved him with herbs that gave him strength, and had nursed him since then, gradually restoring some of his health. He had hardly ventured out of the big leather tent since that day, spending most of his time in a deep, exhausted sleep. Running a hand through her short flaxen hair, she walked back to the tent. The Underworld food Bane ate was almost gone, and the food she gathered was barely enough to feed her. Their supply of water was also running low, and the wine was finished.

Tucking the jejune tuber into the pocket of her white healer’s gown, she pushed aside the flap and entered the tent’s gloomy confines. Bane’s eyes opened, and he stared at the roof while she poured a little water into a pot to wash her supper. The slight noise seemed to irritate him, and he frowned at her.

Go and do that outside.

Mirra cast him a reproachful look as she sliced the tuber. How are you feeling today?

Awful.

Mirra concentrated on her chore, wondering when the after effects of the dragonroot would take their toll. The herb granted temporary strength, but the penalty for its use was grave. So far, he only suffered from extreme exhaustion and the aftermath of using such colossal amounts of dark power, which were bad enough. He had been too weak to stand until yesterday, when he had walked unaided for the first time since breaking the ward. His frailty infuriated him, and she had kept quiet to avoid annoying him, for his mood was constantly sour and his temper short. The Gather he had performed while breaking the ward had filled him with dark power, and its evil influence made him unpredictable and sadistic.

We must leave soon, she said. Your food is almost finished, and so is the water.

Tomorrow, he muttered.

If you are strong enough.

You doubt me?

No, of course not. But I did not mean we had to leave straight away. You have been through a terrible ordeal...

Bane sat up, his straight, steeply angled brows drawing together. Wings of jet hair fell from a deep widow’s peak to frame the sculpted visage of an angelic demon, or demonic angel, if such things were possible. He glared at her with vivid eyes the exact shade of a flame’s hot blue heart. Their intensity seemed to pierce her soul, and the nostrils of his narrow nose flared, all of which told her that his temper was fraying. His alabaster skin had not seen the sun until he had come through the world gate and entered the Land of Light. His aversion to sunlight had made him avoid it, and as a result of that, plus the effect the dark power had on it, his skin remained milk pale. The ravages of his ordeal showed in the lines of strain that bracketed his mouth, his bloodshot eyes and too-red lips.

I know what I have been through, he said. Had I been able to leave today, I would have.

She put the sliced tuber into a pot and added a little water. Good, then we leave tomorrow.

When Bane emerged from the tent in the morning, a gust of wind made him stagger, and Mirra expected him to return to his bed. Despite the lack of food and water, it would be better if he rested for longer and grew stronger. Bane scanned the horizon, and drumming hooves heralded the arrival of the demon steed that galloped towards them. Her heart thudded, then she realised that he had summoned it. The grey warhorse that had carried her here grazed in the distance, content in the golden grass.

The demon steed stopped and reared, shaking its fiery head, cascades of bright yellow flame swirling about its neck. It appeared to be formed from lava, its glowing hide dappled with cooler dark spots that changed constantly. Bane had summoned the Underworld creature from a fire several weeks ago to serve him, and his summoning still bound it. He glared at it, a small, bitter smile curving his lips. The steed bowed to him, lowering itself to its knees so he could climb onto its back. He started towards it, but she caught his arm.

You are still too weak, she said. You should to rest a little longer.

Do not tell me what to do.

You will kill yourself if you do not regain your strength.

I have a score to settle, and I do not take orders from the likes of you. We are leaving now, whether you like it or not. He jerked his arm from her grip and walked to the fiery stallion, climbing onto its back with some effort.

She turned to call the grey horse, but Bane said, Leave him be. I must travel fast. He cannot keep up.

Mirra gathered up his possessions, packing away the stiff, heavy tent while he waited atop the steed. She passed the bundles up to him, and he placed them behind him, then held out a hand.

Mirra hesitated, repelled by the stallion’s dark fire. Bane’s eyes flicked to the beast, and its emanation vanished. She took his hand, and he helped her up in front of him. Her hands sank through the flaming mane, finding purchase on the stallion’s glowing neck. Its silken hide was no warmer than a normal beast’s, despite the appearance of heat. It was like touching the smooth embers of a tepid fire, and the contradiction of her senses made her stomach squirm. Bane sat stiffly, clearly resenting her presence, even though she was there at his behest. Then the demon steed sprang forward at his silent command, and she forgot all in the exhilaration of the ride.

The ground blurred beneath the stallion’s flying hooves as they shot across the grasslands at an incredible speed, the wind ruffling her hair. Within moments, they passed the place where the dark army had camped, the ruins of the seventh ward already on the horizon. The army was gone, scattered by the Black Lord’s rising. Only flattened grass and charred areas where they had built their fires remained, flashing past as the demon steed skimmed over the grass.

By evening, they reached the mountains’ foothills, entering the coniferous forest that clothed the slopes. They had traversed in one day the same distance that had taken ten when the troll army had slowed them. The steed stopped, and Bane slid from its back and sank to his knees. Mirra dragged the bundle from Orriss’ back and struggled to erect the tent, for it resisted her efforts to bend it to her will.

Bane waited on a log, but she knew he was too weak to help, even if he wanted to, which she doubted. When at last the tent was up, she made a fire to heat his food, then helped him inside and onto the folding bunk. She gave him the food and waited while he ate it, to ensure he did.

Leaving him to rest, Mirra searched the forest for a pool and found a tiny one amongst some rocks, fed by a rivulet. She knelt beside it, studying her reflection. Her short flaxen hair was a ragged remnant of her former long tresses, which had been hacked off during her first encounter with Bane. Dust filmed her delicate features, and her blue-green eyes were weary. The horrors she had witnessed as Bane’s prisoner had banished the joy of her childhood. Her face was gaunt from the hardships she had endured, giving her a waifish air, she thought.

She leant forward and called, Elder Mother!

After several moments, Ellese’s face blossomed in the water, her eyes sorrowful, anxiety and dread lining her elderly, careworn features. Mirra. I am glad to see you, child. You have done well, saving Bane.

He is terribly weak, Mother. He cannot fight the Black Lord. It would kill him.

I know. You must take him to the Goddess’ Temple. We will meet you there. Bane must be cleansed and healed before he can wield the power again. And you must hurry. Already the Black Lord wreaks havoc in the land, and the clouds block out all the sunlight.

That is far. We are still in the Old Kingdom. How will we manage it?

You have the demon steed.

Mirra nodded. I will try, Mother.

Good. Also, you must stop Bane eating the Underworld food. It corrupts him. And do not let him use the dark power. It could kill him now, and then we are all doomed.

His food is almost finished, so he will have to eat normal food soon, but preventing him from using the power will be difficult.

I know, but you can do it. He will listen to you now, as long as you are tactful. Hurry to the temple. I will be watching over you, my dear.

The seeress’ face faded, and Mirra filled the water skins before going back to the tent, where Bane slept like the dead, not stirring at her entry. She checked his pulse and found it a little fast, but his forehead was cool.

The next day dawned cold and gloomy, with scudding black clouds hurrying across the sky on their mission to block out the sun. The sharp chill made her breath steam and her nose numb when she ventured out of the tent to build a fire and heat Bane’s food. He was sunk in a bitter gloom almost as black as the sky, and picked at his breakfast. She sat on the floor beside his bed, chewing a sweet root that was her meal.

Bane, I spoke to my elder mother yesterday, after you fell asleep, and -

He frowned. How did you do that?

Oh, in a pool in the forest. She is a seeress, and so am I, it seems.

I suppose she spies on us, just as my – the Black Lord did.

She watches us, yes. She is very concerned about you. She wants me to take you to the Goddess’ Temple in the New Kingdom, so she can heal you.

His eyes roamed over her face. Are you mad? After what I have done, she will want to strike me down.

No, she understands. You are our salvation now.

I destroyed the wards. Now you want me to save you?

Yes.

He snorted. Why should I?

Because the Black Lord left you to die, and we saved you. Because he used you, betrayed you, abused your trust. Because you are human, and this is your world.

I have no liking for it.

She smiled at his sullen tone. Because I asked you to?

Bane’s eyes narrowed, then he shrugged. I do not much care if she strikes me down. I will go to the Land of the Dead, as my... as the Black Lord intended.

Then he will have truly won. We will have to be careful. She hesitated. You must not use the power.

Telling me what to do again?

She sighed. It almost killed you last time. Next time, it will. Use the demon steed, and if demons attack, banish them. That uses no power, right?

Very little.

Can the demon steed look like an ordinary horse?

His smile wrung her heart. Now that the wards are broken, it can do many things.

We must use caution. Many would like to kill you if they recognise you. Tell it to look like a normal horse when we return to the New Kingdom.

What use am I to you, if I cannot wield the power?

You must be cleansed and healed, then you will be able to use it again. For this, we must go to the Lady’s Temple.

You make it sound like I am dirty.

She shook her head, pitying him, but striving to hide it. He would only be insulted. You have been corrupted, and you have an illness that the Black Lord intended to kill you. The healers can cure it, but first you must be purged of the dark power, or the healing cannot work.

Bane eyed her, and she thought he was going to ask a question, but then he put aside his empty bowl and rose, stretching. He headed for the steed, which bowed for him to mount. Mirra’s soft call made him stop and turn.

You are stronger now, she said. Help me pack up the camp, please.

Bane looked startled, as if her request was outlandish, and she realised that servants must have waited on him all his life. He opened his mouth to protest, or perhaps refuse, then closed it. He dismantled the bed and packed it away, then the tent, his expression thunderous. She surmised that to him, this was servant’s work, and he resented it.

Mirra packed the cups and bowls, then rolled up the blankets. Bane scowled at the demon steed, which tossed its head and pranced, but transformed into a mundane horse, a sorrel, with a chestnut hide, a star, two hind socks and flaxen mane and tail. Mirra marvelled at the silent commands Bane used to control the steed, wishing she could perceive them. The steed’s reaction spoke volumns of its dislike for donning the illusion. Bane helped her to lift the heavy pack onto Orriss’ rump, where the steed’s will held it in place, she assumed.

Chapter Two

The New Kingdom

In a day, they crossed the river above the waterfall where the sixth ward had been, the demon steed’s effortless gallop eating up the land. Bane was withdrawn and morose. He tired easily, exhausted by the end of the day, and after the third day of travel, he suffered the after effects of the dragonroot. Mirra had it too, slightly, but he had consumed far more, and lay supine on the bed, racked by cramps and nausea, his head pounding. She brewed potion for his headache, but he kept vomiting it up again.

Despite her illness, Mirra tended Bane all day, fighting him at every turn. He pushed her hand away when she tried to put a damp cloth on his brow and jerked aside when she wiped the sweat from his skin. Clearly, he hated her touch and resented her ministrations, and she wondered why. The fever brought on a delirium, and he muttered in a strange, guttural tongue that made her shiver, for the savage words held a wealth of evil meaning. Towards evening, his sickness abated, the fever broke, and he sank into a peaceful sleep. Mirra lay down on a blanket, aching, but grateful that he still lived. Her last thought before she drifted off to sleep was that he must have immense strength and resilience to survive all he had.

The following morning, Bane mounted the steed without ordering it to bow down, and they continued, avoiding Agden’s city. They came across a few burnt or bludgeoned corpses, and these, Bane told her, were victims of the Black Lord’s demons, hunted for sport. After they passed the city, they encountered no more bodies.

Bane’s deep voice spoke in her ear. The Black Lord rests in Agden’s city. He will be celebrating, enjoying the pleasures of the Overworld.

Mirra was intensely aware of his closeness, and tried to concentrate on the scenery.

Although the Old Kingdom passed swiftly, Mirra was exhausted and ravenous by the time they came to the river that divided the kingdoms. She lived on fruit and nuts in the forest, but the pickings were meagre and she longed for good food. She rationed what was left of Bane’s Underworld food, lest it run out before they reached civilisation.

The black, lowering sky depressed her, and the birds were silent, evidently unsure of whether it was day or night. After more than a week of near darkness, some sensitive plants were withered and yellow, and the lack of rain made the ground hard and dusty. The demon steed carried them across the river, able to swim the torrent with its increased powers. Water still disagreed with it, but it only balked a little at the outset and was dry the moment it stepped out.

In the New Kingdom, Bane commanded the steed to travel at a normal horse’s gallop, since its unnatural speed betrayed its true nature. He was reluctant to enter the first village they came to, but he gave in to Mirra’s pleas and guided the steed into it.

They stopped at an inn, and Mirra’s mouth watered in anticipation as she led Bane into the welcoming, lamp-lighted interior. Clean rushes covered the floor and filled the room with an earthy redolence, and a few patrons sat at rough-hewn tables, making desultory conversation.

Bane’s fierce frown made the men cast him wary looks. The innkeeper hurried over and guided Mirra to a table, clapping to summon a gaggle of maids with steamed vegetables and milk. He was obviously surprised when Bane swept aside his cloak and sat at her table.

Mirra asked that food be brought for Bane as well, and this was served far more slowly, a meat stew that he recoiled from with a look of deep disgust, and then proceeded to ignore.

Mirra sighed. Bane, eat the food.

He glared at her. It is foul human slops.

It is this or starve.

His nostrils flared. It is poison to me.

You are going to have to accept that you are a human, whether you like it or not.

Bane’s lip curled, and she kicked him under the table. He jumped, and fury flared in his eyes, then he subsided and picked up a spoon. Placing a tiny drop of gravy in his mouth, he tasted it. His expression remained disdainful, but he scraped the bowl clean.

She smiled impishly. More?

No.

Foul human slops?

It was tolerable.

Mirra grinned, and he regarded her stonily.

The innkeeper came over and asked Bane, Will you be paying now, sir, or do you want a room?

He is with me, Mirra said.

The plump man’s expression softened. Really, healer, he looks like he can afford it.

She shook her head. No...

Bane raised a hand and rose to his feet, looming over the stocky innkeeper. She wondered what he was going to do. This was a man who killed with a touch, and had no compunction about doing so.

Bane... she murmured.

He asked the innkeeper, You require coin?

The man nodded, shifting a little under Bane’s cold glare.

Bane cocked his head. Have you a coin?

Of course, the innkeeper blustered, but you have to pay me.

I merely wish to borrow it.

The innkeeper dug under his gravy-stained apron and drew out a copper coin, which he handed to the Demon Lord. Bane cupped it in his hand, and when he opened it, a gleaming gold coin lay there.

The innkeeper gaped, and Bane enquired, Is that enough?

The man nodded, took the gold and walked away polishing it lovingly.

Mirra was amazed. How long before the spell wears off?

He reclaimed his seat. What spell? The coin is gold now.

You must not use your power.

I did not.

She frowned. How is that possible?

It is something I have always been able to do. A mere trick.

Mirra was about to point out that turning copper into gold was no mere trick when a commotion outside diverted her attention. A cry of pain and yell of fear made most of the patrons hurry to the door to peer into the street. A nasty suspicion prompted Mirra to go to the door and see what had happened, and Bane joined her as she tried to elbow her way through the crowd. The men parted to let him through, glancing over their shoulders when he approached, as if sensing him. She wondered if it was just his air of dominance, or his power that made their hair bristle when he came near them.

Outside, two men sprawled in the dirt, and Orriss stood, swishing its tail, where Bane had left it. One of the men held a rope halter, and Bane went over to confront him as he stood up.

Were you trying to steal my horse? he demanded.

The man recoiled. No! We saw him without a bridle, and thought he was a stray.

Mirra arrived as Bane said, He needs no -

He is a very well-trained animal, she interrupted.

The man nodded and hurried off, his partner following.

Mirra eyed the steed, wondering if Bane could command it to act like horse, too. The stallion threw up its head and cantered out of the village, scattering strolling people. The pack remained on its back, but they would not need it at the inn. When she looked at Bane, he shrugged.

He will only cause trouble here.

Mirra followed him back into the inn, where the crowd of onlookers had returned to their tables. After the day’s travel and big meal, she longed only for a bath and bed. Bane paused just inside the door, his eyes becoming intent. Following his gaze, she found the object of his scrutiny to be a sharp-featured man who had evidently entered the common room while they had been outside, for she did not remember him being there earlier. The man looked disreputable, but wealthy, his clothes fine and his fingers heavy with gold rings. He kept the company of a rather miserable-looking, but lovely woman, whom his presence seemed to cow. Bane’s interest in the couple surprised her. She had not thought that a woman’s plight would move him.

She glanced up at him. What is it?

He is a demon.

Mirra’s mouth fell open, and she stared at the man, trying to fathom what made Bane so sure he was one. How do you know?

Bane smiled and leant closer to whisper, I am the Demon Lord.

Why does he seem not to know who you are?

He is beyond the range of my influence, so he cannot sense me.

I did not know you had limits.

I do not, but when my power is leashed it is difficult to sense that far away.

The man was on the far side of the common room, engrossed in a conversation with a stout, well-dressed merchant. Mirra pitied the despondent woman who sat beside him.

We must help her.

Bane’s brows rose. Must we?

You can banish him.

Why should I? Now that the wards are gone, there will be hundreds like him, enjoying the pleasures of the flesh in such a disguise. And if I do it here, these people will witness it.

Mirra frowned. We cannot let him torment that poor woman. I will denounce him then. She started forward, but he caught her arm.

He will deny it.

I am a healer.

Can healers detect demons?

She shook her head. Not like you can.

Then you have no proof on which to base your accusation.

I have enough influence to make them summon a priest, who can perform an exorcism.

He released her arm. As you wish.

What sort of demon is he?

Earth. A lesser demon. Very weak.

How can he look so human?

A pseudo form, like Dorel had. It requires little power to make, and, unlike her, he can do it himself.

She studied the man again. So he is not really dangerous?

Bane smiled. He could kill you with one blow.

But he would not dare.

Why not?

Because then he would reveal himself.

If you betray him, why should he care? He can return to the Underworld in an instant and re-emerge somewhere else, which is no hardship for the reward of killing a healer.

She chewed her lip, frustrated. There are too many people here. They would not let him.

No mortal can hope to match a demon’s speed.

Except you, I suppose.

He inclined his head. I have no need to enter into a physical confrontation with him. But yes, I am faster.

Then I shall find a priest.

As you wish.

Bane returned to their table and sat down. Mirra headed for the door, then stopped, realising that leaving Bane in a crowded common room was probably a bad idea. She approached a man beside the door, who straightened and hid his ale tankard behind his back like a naughty child. After he left to convey her message to the local priest, Mirra joined Bane, staring across the room at the well-disguised demon.

Bane leant towards her. If you take so much interest in him, he will become suspicious.

Mirra looked away just as the man glanced in her direction. A serving wench came over, her eyes lingering on Bane, her smile flirtatious.

Some ale or wine, My Lord? she enquired, thrusting out a hip and placing her hand upon it.

He cast her a contemptuous look that wiped the smile from her face. Wine.

The girl turned to Mirra. And milk for you, healer?

Mirra nodded, frowning at Bane. As soon as the girl left, she said, This is not a good time to get drunk.

He glared at her. I doubt your Overworld wine will do much to me, but I am not a complete fool.

She lowered her eyes, chastened. How do they make wine in the Underworld?

I have never enquired. I believe the water demons make it.

The serving maid returned with their beverages, and Bane found the wine to his liking, judging by the way he swilled it down. His stony expression discouraged conversation, and his clipped answers made it difficult, so Mirra gave up trying to talk to him. Bane smothered several yawns while they waited, and Mirra’s eyelids drooped as she sipped the creamy goats’ milk.

When at last the priest arrived, he came to their table, casting Bane a curious look. He was mild-faced and balding, clad in a coarse, cowled white robe tied with a brown rope belt, sandals on his feet. He returned Mirra’s smile and sat beside her when she indicated the vacant chair.

Healer, you’re very welcome in our town. How may I help you?

The man-shaped demon now stared at Bane, and she leant closer to the priest. The man sitting over there with the woman is a demon.

He pulled a face. We’ve had a few lately. Which man exactly?

Mirra described him, nodding at the trio, and the priest followed her gaze. The sharp-faced man appeared agitated, and rose, dragging the woman.

The priest asked, What makes you suspect him?

I just know, and it is not a suspicion.

His brows rose. You have a gift?

I have a reliable source of information.

The priest looked at Bane, who sipped his wine. The man-shaped demon made for the door, towing his female companion, who hung back. To reach the door, he would have to pass close to their table, and Mirra wondered how close he had to be to sense the Demon Lord. With a tight smile at Mirra, the cleric rose and headed for the demon, confronting him halfway between his table and theirs. The man halted, scowling when the priest pointed at him.

You will leave this place, the cleric said. You are not welcome here.

The demon made a feeble attempt to appear innocent. What did I do? I was just going, anyway.

The man tried to sidestep the priest, tugging at the unfortunate woman, who now looked alarmed. The priest stepped into his path again, keeping his finger aimed at the demon’s forehead as if he intended to blast his brains out with a celestial bolt. Other patrons turned to watch the confrontation, many agape.

You, the priest stated, are a demon.

I am no such thing! Who has accused me? the man blustered. I demand to know!

You have no rights here, demon.

The priest pulled a silver flask from his pocket and began to intone the words of exorcism. The demon released the woman and thrust the cleric aside with a mighty push that sent him stumbling into a table. Mirra jumped up as the demon strode towards her, his expression murderous. The priest recovered, opened the flask and trotted after him, continuing the exorcism as he prepared to sprinkle holy water on the man.

The demon swept up an ale flagon and hurled at the priest, hitting him in the chest. Once again, the cleric recovered and pursued his quarry towards Mirra and Bane as he spoke the words of banishment. Mirra backed away, and, as the man came within a few strides of him, Bane rose to his feet. The man’s eyes flicked to the Demon Lord and widened, which, Mirra guessed, meant that he had just crossed the invisible boundary and sensed Bane’s power.

His jaw dropped. You!

The priest flung a stream of holy water at the demon, and, at the same moment, Bane flicked his fingers and murmured, Begone.

Mirra sensed the tiny frisson of cold power, and the demon vanished, leaving a cloud of settling dust. The priest gaped at it, and the demon’s erstwhile companion fainted, causing a commotion as patrons shook themselves from their stupor to help her. The priest’s eyes rose from the pile of dust, seeking Bane, who sat down and picked up his wine cup.

A hubbub started as patrons talked and rushed about, some leaving, others gathering to discuss the event, a few tending to the comatose woman. No one seemed to have noticed that Bane had had anything to do with the demon’s banishment, except the priest, who approached the Demon Lord, his gaze intent. Mirra took his arm and guided him to his chair.

His eyes never left Bane’s face. How did you do that?

Bane sipped his wine. I did nothing.

Yes, you did. I didn’t banish him, and I’ve never seen a demon vanish so fast.

Perhaps he decided to leave of his own accord.

No. The cleric shook his head. He was banished, and he seemed to recognise you.

How could he? Mirra asked. And besides, what does it matter? The fiend is gone.

The priest tore his gaze from Bane to study her. Horror blossomed in his eyes, mixed with disbelief. It cannot be... You... You’re... His gaze flew back to Bane. You’re...

Mirra placed a hand on his arm and raised a finger to her lips when he glanced at her.

The priest became agitated, staring at Bane. He’s...

My friend, Mirra said.

Bane snorted, casting her a scathing glance.

He’s... The cleric gulped, and the silver flask slid from his grasp and clattered onto the table. Bane picked it up and examined it, then opened it and poured a little holy water onto his palm. He tested it with a finger, then closed the flask and set it down, unconcerned by the drops of sacred water on his skin. Mirra tightened her grip on the priest’s arm to gain his attention.

He turned to her and whispered, What’s he doing here?

She shook her head. It is best you do not know.

He glanced furtively at the patrons. If they find out... there will be pandemonium.

I know. That is why it is a secret.

The priest leant away from Bane. You did banish the demon.

Bane shrugged. Yes.

But they must think it was you. Mirra indicated the inn’s patrons with a flick of her eyes.

Yes, of course. But why...? The cleric shook his head. I don’t understand.

The Black Lord has risen in the Old Kingdom, and he has cast the Demon Lord aside. It was he who told me of the demon’s presence here.

His agitation increased. What are you doing with him? Is he here to destroy us?

Bane’s lip curled, and he looked away.

No, Mirra said. He is going to help us.

Bane snorted again.

All the wards are broken? The priest seemed to have difficulty taking it all in. We’re doomed?

No, we are going to defeat the Black Lord and put back the wards.

Goddess! How?

With Bane’s help.

Him? He pointed a shaking finger at Bane. He broke them!

And he can restore them.

Goddess preserve us! He made the sign of the Lady, staring at Mirra, then studied Bane again before shaking his head. I must go. I have to pray. He stood up, his eyes riveted to the Demon Lord, who sipped his wine in an unconcerned fashion.

Mirra rose too, still holding his arm. There is nothing to fear. Tomorrow we will be gone.

Yes, yes, good.

The cleric hastened to the door, ignoring the patrons who sought to thank him for banishing the demon.

Bane said, He will betray me.

Mirra sat down again. I think not.

Let us hope not, or we will waken to find the town empty tomorrow.

As soon as Bane finished his wine, she asked the innkeeper for two rooms and baths, then followed him up the creaky staircase to a poky room whose only redeeming feature was its cleanliness. The bathroom was at the end of the short corridor, and she soaked in a steaming tub for nearly an hour, emerging refreshed and revitalised. Before going to bed, she decided to check on Bane. When she knocked and entered, she found him sitting on the bed, staring into space.

He turned to regard her. What do you want?

Just to see if you are all right. I have finished in the bathroom. Are you going to bathe?

No. I have no liking for water.

But you will feel better. It is nice to be clean.

I am clean.

I know, she admitted, puzzled. How do you do it?

Mirra thought that he would rebuke her for questioning him, as he usually did, but he said, The dark power burns all dirt from my body.

I see. She perched on the end of the bed. Why do you dislike water?

All Overworld fluids repulse me. There is not much water in the Underworld, and that is confined to the caverns where the water demons dwell. Even so, it is not like the water up here. It boils constantly, and is sulphurous.

But you have to drink it.

I have never drunk water. He looked scornful, then added, Except for your potion.