Demon Lord VII - Dark Domain (12 page)

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.”

“Mirra and the
others need my aid urgently also, and I will not allow harm to come
to my wife, though Sarjan’s peril is dire.”

“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 terror, 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.

She beckoned.
“Come to me.”

The refugees
approached, trying to straighten their ragged attire and brush off
the dust that filmed them. When they were gathered around her, she
gazed at Drevarin, who stood like a beacon in the valley, drawing
soldiers and ships to him. She formed a shimmering light and cast
it high, signalling her readiness, and after a moment he ceased to
shine, rose and shot across the valley towards her. He landed
beside her, spread his hands and raised them in a sweeping gesture,
causing a shimmering blue-white shield to rise in a curving shelter
over the people. They knelt and bowed their heads, murmuring words
of gratitude and praise.