The following day, the army rested in the foothills. Mord took Mirra out of the tent at Bane’s irritated grunt, to spend the day with Benton and his companions, sitting around a campfire. Bane appeared to be in a fouler mood than usual, and glared at her until she left, his headache troubling him. She had discovered that when he had a headache he did not bother with his cruelties and torments, but preferred to be alone. She listened to the stories the soldiers swapped as she sipped hot tea and nibbled sugared fruits and cakes looted from the larders of abandoned farms and shops in the village they had passed through two days before.
The men in Benton’s group had discovered that Mirra ate no meat, and no longer offered it to her. Instead, they made a point of collecting sweets and pastries for her, which otherwise they would have scorned. The good food added to her strength a little, although her appetite remained poor.
Bane spent most of the day in his tent, but emerged in the afternoon to stroll through the army. Men, trolls and goblins fled from him. Although he stayed away from Mirra and her companions, the men watched his progress warily, their eyes full of hatred and dread. When he had once more vanished into his tent, Benton relaxed and turned to Mirra.
“I don’t know how you can stand to be near him, healer. He’s so full of evil it makes us sick.
She smiled. “He does not worry me, other than his suffering.”
“He’s a demon,” Madick asserted.
“No he’s not,” Benton argued. “Demons can’t get past the wards. He’s the Demon Lord, and evil. His soul is as corrupt as the Black Lord’s.”
“An’ what’s going to happen when the wards are all gone?” another soldier asked.
Benton shrugged. “The Black Lord will rule us, I guess.”
Silence fell as the men digested this. Mirra thought about Bane’s assurance that they would all die when the Black Lord rose, but thought it best to keep quiet. For now, they were safe. If they knew what fate lay in store for them, they might attempt to rebel and die all the sooner.
A rock howler limped over to them, and the men let him approach Mirra so she could heal his cut foot. Rock howlers wore no garment other than their thick red pelts, and their horny feet needed no shoes, usually. From time to time, members of Bane’s army came to her for healing, and she denied none, not even those whom she recognised as the perpetrators of the atrocities.
The rock howler offered her a sweet pastry in payment, which she accepted. At first, the men she healed had tried to give her looted jewels, but these she had rejected. Now they gave her only food, although some gave nothing. The first time that had happened, Benton had been enraged, but Mirra had stopped him with a gentle touch.
“Do not be angry,” she had said. “He is lost, and I require no payment.”
Benton had looked confused, and the man had snarled and stomped off.
Mirra shivered as the cold mountain wind seeped through her coat. Long shadows crept across the land as dusk fell. Soon she would have to return to Bane’s tent for the night. Stretching her hands out to the fire, she tried to absorb more heat through her palms. The silence left by the rock howler’s visit remained, the men sunk in private, morose thoughts. She gazed at the flickering flames, remembering her life at the abbey. A muttered curse from one of the men plucked her from her reverie, and she looked up to find them scrambling away from the fire.
Mirra followed their gaze, and snatched her hands back. Green and black streaked the flames. She sat frozen, staring at the sickly fire.
“Mirra! Get away from it!” Benton rasped from the shadows where he hid.
Mirra could not tear her eyes away; the awful fascination held her spellbound as the flames leapt higher, streaked with foul colours. A circle of black crept outwards from the fire, and the grass shrivelled to ash. At her feet, it stopped and crept around her.
With a dull thud, the flames leapt upwards in a column, green and yellow, streaked with purple, black and orange. The column writhed, seven feet tall, and sprouted arms and a head, vaguely man-like, only it had six arms that dripped fire. The intense evil the form emanated dazed Mirra.
Three molten yellow eyes appeared in the head, blazing like beacons. Their light fell on her, and she flung up her arms with a cry as it burnt her, her power rushing to heal the burns and block the pain. The fire demon’s eyes brightened, and a black slit appeared below them as it laughed.
“You cannot defy me for long, slut! Your powers are no match for mine.” It spoke in a grating hiss, like the sound of wood burning.
Mirra experienced the same sickness that Bane’s power caused, but the demon’s fire burnt as his had not. The stink of charring flesh assailed her, and her ears rang with the demon’s grating laughter. Regaining the ability to move, she crawled away, but it formed legs and stepped out of the fire.
“You cannot run from me, human!”
Her strength waned, and she slumped onto the charred grass as her healing power drained away. A shadow fell on her, bringing blessed relief, and she looked up.
Bane stood facing the demon. “Mealle,” he murmured, and the demon’s eyes dimmed. “How nice of you to visit. I did not think you would be able to yet, with only two wards broken.”
The demon stepped back, shrinking slightly. “The Black Lord sent me. My powers are weak still. He ordered her death, and you have failed to obey him.”
Bane turned to look at Mirra. “Is he so worried about a puny human female? I wonder why? She is my toy, Mealle, not my father’s. I will decide what happens to her. She affords me a little amusement at the moment. When I tire of her, I will kill her.”
“You dare to defy the Black Lord?” Mealle’s eyes brightened, but their baleful glare did not appear to worry Bane.
“I do not deny my father. I will obey him, when I am ready.”
“He ordered you to kill her now.”
Bane shook his head. “I have done everything he has asked of me, but in this trivial matter I choose to please myself. He wants the people who stand against him to suffer, and she does, all the time. Why should I grant her the release of death? She will not go to his kingdom. She is a healer. I will corrupt her, then he will be able to torment her too.”
The fire demon seemed mollified. “I understand. Your thinking is sound. I do not know why your father craves her death so much, but I will tell him what you said. Perhaps he will understand too.”
Bane smiled coldly, his eyes bright in the elemental’s lurid light. “Good. Now, begone!”
Mealle’s black mouth rounded as it vanished in an implosion of air, leaving a sulphurous smell.
Bane looked down at Mirra again. “Get up.”
Shakily she stood, offering a timid smile. “Thank you, Bane.”
He scowled. “For what? Denying you an end to your suffering? Are you too stupid to see that the demon was the one who did you a favour?”
“No. I do not want to die.”
Bane leant closer. “That is good, witch, because you will not until I kill you, and by then you will be begging for it. But even then it will not be a favour. You will become my father’s toy after me.” His slow, cruel smile made her cringe inwardly. “No healer has ever descended to the Underworld. You will be the first, and my father will enjoy having you. It will be an achievement for me, to send a healer down.”
Bane towed her back to his tent and flung her down, fastening her rope to a peg. She knew the futility of trying to escape. It would only cause one or more of the men to suffer.
As he sat on the bed, she asked, “Why did you dismiss the demon?”
Bane’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I did not have to?”
“It looked so surprised. It would have left on its own, would it not?”
He smiled. “Yes, he was about to.” His smile vanished. “I do not want the likes of Mealle up here. This is my war, and until three more wards are broken, I do not expect to have them bothering me. By banishing him, I ensured he cannot return for seven days.” A satisfied look settled on his features.
“It is also unpleasant, humiliating for him.”
Mirra nodded, her eyelids drooping from the exhaustion of her ordeal. She lay down, longing for sleep, but Bane gripped her arm and pulled her upright, his pain pulsing through her.
“I have not finished with you, witch. Why does my father want you dead?”
She shook her head, bewildered. “I do not know.”
“Why can I not hurt you physically?”
“You can!”
“No. I could kill you, break your neck, throttle you, drown you, but you do not bleed, or bruise, and your bones do not break.”
“I am a healer.”
“I have killed witches, and they bled, bruised and died like any other,” he said. “My power burnt them, but you did not feel it, and even Mealle had trouble. Do you not know that the eyes of a fire demon should reduce a human to ash, instantly? One eye should cook you very quickly, and he had three on you.”
“I do not know. It did burn me. It would have killed me. Elder Mother says I am exceptional. That is why she sent me out early.”
He pushed her away. “Really. So you are just a very powerful witch. That had better be all you are.”
Mirra nodded timid assurance, and he seemed to lose interest and unclipped his cloak. She waited while he removed his boots and lay down, pulling the blanket over himself, then she curled up on the cold floor.