Demon Lord III - Grey God (29 page)

"Yes, but I
was not completely corrupted, they were. That, according to Kayos,
is what makes me a tar'merin."

"How did you
become a mortal god? I did not think such a thing was
possible."

"I was made
one in my mother's womb, by a dark god."

Bashir looked
puzzled. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"Because he
needed me to break the seven blue wards that bound him in the
Underworld. Only a mortal could pass through the wards, and only a
god could break them."

"Kayos said
that you are young, but to use so much power you must be several
hundred years old, like them." He nodded at the cadavers.

"I am
twenty-two." Bashir's mouth fell open, and Bane continued, "As for
my using so much power..." He smiled. "What I expended here was a
trifling amount."

"You are a
youth!" Bashir burst out. "How is that possible?"

Kimera lifted
her head and frowned at Bane. "It is not."

"I started to
use the dark power when I was sixteen years old," Bane said. "My
training was... rigorous, yet I know now that what I knew then was
very little, and my powers were slight. They have developed over
the years, but I still have much to learn."

"Amazing,"
Bashir muttered.

Bane glanced
at Kimera, who seemed to have recovered somewhat from her shock.
"We should find Tygon and set out on this journey, before Vorkon
learns of the death of his mages."

Kimera rose
and straightened her blue gown, which swept the ground in graceful
folds, belted with a silver chain. "I am all right now." She smiled
at Bashir when he took her elbow.

"I can tell
you where he is. You can get there far quicker than us," Bashir
said.

"No, you are
still..." Bane sensed a channel forming beneath the mages, rising
swiftly from the Darkworld. He closed the gap between them and sent
them sprawling with a push, taking their place as the ground
grated, writhed and opened like a dark, rock-toothed maw. He sent
his power downwards to counter the draw of the Fetch, standing upon
a column of shadow. Spreading his hands as if in benediction, he
murmured two harsh words. The earth quivered and creaked, then the
maw slammed shut with a dull boom. The Demon Lord drifted down to
the ground and cut off the power, frowning at the mages, who gaped
at him.

"You have been
here for too long. We must leave."

Bashir helped
Kimera up, brushing dirt from her gown. She was pale and wide-eyed
again, Bashir looked stunned.

"Come." Bane
turned and headed for the gates, glancing back to ensure that they
followed. Bashir caught up as he pushed open the gates.

"What was
that?"

"A Fetch."

"Vorkon tried
to abduct us?"

"Yes."

Bashir gulped.
"And you..."

"Closed
it."

The blue mage
shut the gates behind them. "Are you as powerful as Vorkon?"

"No." Bane
cast him a slight, mirthless smile. "I am more powerful than
him."

"How do you
know that?"

Bane paused at
the edge of the road and looked around for transportation. "How do
you summon one of your carriages?"

"We will have
to walk back to the main road."

Bane set off,
and Bashir strode beside him, trying to match his long steps, but
was forced to trot every few paces to keep abreast.

"How do you
know?" he repeated.

"I fought him,
remember?"

"Oh, yes. But
then, why did you not defeat him?"

Bane glanced
at him, his eyes glacial. "Defeating a dark god is not easy."

"I did not
think that it was. I merely thought that, if you are more powerful
than him, you would be able to defeat him."

"I will."

"But why did
you not do it when you fought him? Why do you need our help to set
wards? Why do you not simply destroy him?"

Bane stopped
and swung around, his slanted brows drawing together. Bashir
recoiled a step, and Kimera cast Bane a nervous glance, taking
Bashir's arm.

"Enough
questions, mage. You seem to forget to whom you are speaking, and I
dislike your insinuation. Perhaps I seem too human for you to treat
with respect, but I assure you, I do not like it."

Bashir's
Adam’s apple bobbed. "Sorry, My Lord. I meant no disrespect. It is
just that people are dying, at this moment, slaughtered by Vorkon's
foul army, and I long for an end to it. You have no idea the
horrors being perpetrated on innocent people even as we
speak..."

"I once led
just such an army, and perpetrated such horrors myself."

Bashir
blanched. "Of course. Forgive my stupidity. You do not seem so
evil."

Bane strode
towards the bustling thoroughfare again, and Bashir hurried after
him. "You are not, are you?" he persisted, to Bane's annoyance. "I
mean, you would not do those things now, would you?"

"No."

Kimera tugged
at Bashir's arm. "Leave him be, Bashir."

They reached
the busy road, and Bane stopped at its edge, glaring at the passing
carriages. Bashir halted beside him, patting Kimera's hand. "No, I
will not, my dear. He just saved our lives twice, yet he thinks
himself evil. No man, or god for that matter, should think so
little of himself if it is not true, and I do not believe that it
is."

Bane pinned
him with an icy glance. "What are you, some sort of head
doctor?"

"As a matter
of fact, I am. I council people who suffer from illnesses of the
mind, bad dreams, or who have suffered at the hands of others."

Bane snorted.
"The first twenty years of my life were a bad dream, and I have
suffered more than you can imagine, but I do not need your help,
Bashir. I am what I am, and you know what that is. I think you
overestimate your abilities if you think that you can convince a
dark god that he is not evil."

"But how can
you be, if you fight for the light?"

"Summon a
carriage," Bane said, "or I shall stop one myself, and its owners
will not enjoy the experience."

Kimera stepped
into the road and raised her arm to flag down a passing carriage
that was empty save for the driver, and it pulled over to the side
of the road. She dragged Bashir aboard, and Bane followed, sitting
opposite them again. The blue mage gave the driver the name of
their destination, and the carriage hummed away from the kerb.
Bashir opened his mouth, and Bane raised a finger, making him
hesitate.

"Enough. I
will silence you if you persist."

"You can do
that?"

"Yes."

Bashir glanced
at Kimera, who shook her head, then settled back in frustrated
silence. They headed across the city, passing through a poor
quarter where houses jostled together in a dreary huddle, and
simply clad people thronged the streets. Beggars sat in dirty
doorways, holding tin cups out to passing strangers. Bane was
disappointed to find poverty in this city, his estimation of it
dropping. Although their plight was not as bad as some that he had
seen, it seemed more reprehensible in such a rich metropolis. He
turned his thoughts to the Fetch that had formed in the gardens,
considering its implications.

The black
mages must have informed Vorkon of their intention to slay Kimera
and Bashir, but he had not turned his Eye upon them. The Fetch
could only be formed from the Darkworld, which meant that Vorkon
had been below at the time, and so had known of the death of his
mages when their souls had joined him. Doubtless the mages had told
him who had slain them, and he had formed the Fetch in vengeance,
trying to snatch Bane's new allies from under his nose.

Chapter Fifteen

Saviour

They crossed
several intersections and moved into another affluent area,
stopping before a paved compound. Tall, square buildings with lots
of windows surrounded it. They disembarked, and Bashir paid the
driver, then led Bane to the spiked iron gates guarded by two
soldiers.

"These are the
barracks," he explained.

The guards
snapped to attention when Bashir reached the gates, and pulled one
open for him to enter, eyeing Bane. He followed Bashir towards a
door in one of the four storey buildings. Another pair of guards
saluted the blue mages and opened the doors, and they entered a
broad, plain hall with an odd flat ceiling. It appeared to be
merely a gathering place, with bare, white-painted walls and a
smooth stone floor. A group of about two dozen soldiers stood
together in the far corner, idly chatting, while two officers
waited nearby. All wore dark blue uniforms with flexible armour,
the officers denoted by thin lines of silver on their collars and
cuffs.

Tygon paced in
a circle in the centre of the hall, his hands clasped behind his
back, while Shrea watched him from a few paces away. He looked up
at the sound of their footsteps, his tense, worried expression
relaxing into a hesitant smile. Bashir trotted ahead to meet
him.

"What
happened?" Tygon demanded of the blue mage. "What took you so
long?"

"It was
amazing, my prince. We had to wait some time for the evil ones to
appear, and ..."

Bane glanced
around as a glimmer of light caught his eye. Syrin stood a few
paces away, her hands folded before her in a regal pose, her wings
framing her form with glowing white feathers. Bane stopped and
faced her, shooting a glance at the blue mages, who were engrossed
in Bashir's story, and did not appear to have noticed her.

"They cannot
see you, can they, Syrin?"

She smiled.
"No, Demon Lord. Only you can."

"What do you
want?"

"The help of a
dark god, it would seem."

He frowned.
"You helped me, so therefore I must help you?"

"Not must, but
perhaps should."

"Why should
I?"

"For your own
sake, perhaps. Maybe to find out whether a dark god is capable of
an unselfish act?"

He walked
closer, and she did not retreat, but neither did she look
particularly comfortable at his proximity. "Why would I care?"

Her smile
faltered. "Indeed, Demon Lord, a fair question. And not what I was
expecting. But if you do not, why are you helping this domain?"

"Perhaps on a
whim."

"You would
risk your life to save strangers, on a whim?"

"Do you
presume to know my mind?"

Syrin gestured
with a graceful wave. "No, certainly not. But I do not believe that
you do it on a whim. I believe that you have compassion. You may
even consider that an insult, but it is not intended as such.
Rather, it is a compliment, in my opinion. The dark power has no
compassion, does it? It scorns such goodness, yet you have it. Does
that mean that you have mastered the evil within you?"

"I am
tar'merin. What does that tell you?"

"That you have
a good soul."

"You have seen
into my past, yet you do not know why I choose to do this?"

She smiled
again, a little sadly, and refolded her hands. "No. I can only
judge your actions, Demon Lord, and draw my conclusions. Your wife
is a good person, and she influences you greatly, but can her
influence conquer the whispers of the evil you carry?"

Bane noticed
that the blue mages' conversation had stopped, and glanced around
to find them staring at him with varying degrees of bemusement and
puzzlement. They turned away and began talking again.

"Now they
think I have taken leave of my senses," he said.

Syrin giggled.
"No, Demon Lord, they think that you are communing with some
amazing celestial being."

"Perhaps you
should get to the point."

"Very well.
Are you capable of an unselfish act?"

"I cast down a
dark goddess to allow Drayshina to flee this domain."

"Why?"

He shrugged.
"It was right."

"So you did it
to prove that you could, or for your own satisfaction, perhaps. To
possess the kind of power you do must be heady indeed, but would
you use it for no other reason than to help others? Are you capable
of doing good for its own sake?"

"I know you
are capable of annoying me."

She smiled,
her slanted eyes tilting further in her inhumanly perfect face. "I
know. Will you answer my question, Demon Lord, or do you not
know?"

"You do not
know me as well as you think, Syrin. Freeing this domain benefits
me nothing. I do it to end the suffering of these people. You
cannot see into my heart, can you?"

"Alas, no. I
only know you are filled with sorrow, but most people who dare to
meet your gaze will know that. Was your agreement to free this
domain truly an act of compassion, or because you wish to triumph
over another dark god?"

"Ask what you
wish of me, and you will get your answer, will you not?"

Syrin inclined
her head and spread her hands. "Many leagues from here, one of
Vorkon's dark armies, which a black mage leads, has attacked a
town. People are dying, suffering terribly at the hands of the foul
horde. Will you save them?"

She raised her
eyes to meet his, a challenge in their clear, glimmering blue
depths. The dark power within him sneered at the thought, prodding
him to ask why he should, what was in it for him, and he frowned.
Its influence had increased significantly after the battle with
Vorkon, for every time he used it, its grip on him tightened, and
his disliked the way it made him feel.

"Does the dark
power rule you, Demon Lord?" she murmured.

"No."

"Then prove
it."

He glanced at
the mages, finding them watching him surreptitiously again. They
looked away quickly. "I have to -"

"It will take
but a moment, with your powers."

"They are
vulnerable -"

"You can use
time."

His brows
rose. "I have not tried that."