delight. Mirra
prayed that he would escape, but a tile cracked under his foot and
he slipped, plunging to the street with a sickening thud. The rock
howlers moaned in disappointment, then went off in search of other
entertainment.
Bane grunted and tugged her
forward again. Mirra turned away when he paused to watch terrible
atrocities being performed, the pain making her sick. Churches were
desecrated, the Black Lord's worshippers using their altars as
sacrificial tables. Blood ran like water in the gutters, twisted
bodies clogged the streets and thronged in houses where people had
sheltered. Human troops staggered drunkenly through the streets,
draped with booty and singing raucous songs.
Trolls gathered in muttering
huddles to munch piles of looted meat, uncaring of whether it was
smoked, cooked or raw. Goblins and rock howlers thronged the
rooftops, gibbering with glee. Gnomes, like their human comrades,
gathered in empty inns and drained their cellars. In the deepening
dusk, the dark creatures skulked in the shadows, many crouched over
writhing victims as they fed. Mirra shivered when she passed these
beasts, sensing their hungry, hateful eyes upon her. The town stank
of blood and death, a sickly smell that clogged her throat and
brought a bitter taste to her mouth.
Bane chose an inn to settle in,
and Mord attended him with cowering subservience. Rough tables
stood on a rush-covered floor, some overturned by the struggle that
had taken place here earlier. Once this had been a cosy village
inn, its whitewashed walls hung with cheerful paintings and bright
curtains at the windows. Now it reeked of death, the pale rushes
blood-stained and the curtains ripped. Corpses lay where they had
fallen, their faces stretched with fear and pain.
Bane tied Mirra to a table in
the corner, not bothering to loosen the bonds on her wrists. Mord
brought his master the drug that eased his headache, which had
already started to build behind Bane's eyes. Sweat sheened his
skin, and a deep frown wrinkled his brow as he waited for the troll
to prepare his supper. This was simply a matter of decanting the
foul sludge from the cauldron in which it was transported and
heating it over a fire. She watched him eat, her stomach clenched
with revulsion. Bane did not remove the bodies that littered the
inn, but left them where they lay, unless they got in his way,
whereupon he kicked them aside.
When his duties were done, Mord
vanished. Bane drank from a flagon of wine, celebrating his victory
in silent solitude. This was just one of many victories, and a
minor one at that, for he had not known defeat. This was the first
ward that he had broken, though. His solitary existence saddened
Mirra, who remembered how much fun it was to chat and joke with her
friends at the abbey. Bane sank into an intoxicated stupor, his
eyes growing dull as he mulled over the day. She did not attract
his drunken rage, and he slumped over the table.
Bane dreamt
vividly of the Black Lord in all his dark, fiery glory, his yellow
eyes burning with triumph. A wave of pleasure washed through Bane,
the Black Lord's reward. The vision behind
him was a smooth red desert glowing under a crimson sun. It
reflected his good mood, flicking out to be replaced by swirling
red and yellow.
The Black Lord spoke in a soft,
deep voice. "Soon we will rule the world, just you and I, son. The
human rabble must be eradicated, and only demons will walk in the
Overworld."
"But Father, they will not like
the bright light up here. I find it hard to bear."
The Black Lord chuckled. "You
think I will leave the world as it is? It will be changed to suit
us, son, never fear.
Bane nodded.
"Why have you not killed that
damned girl?" Black streaks appeared in the swirling
background.
"She will die of thirst within
a few more days."
"Excellent. I am well pleased,
son. Now break the second ward, and I shall be even more pleased
with you." The Black Lord smirked, and the vision brightened as
prayed that he would escape, but a tile cracked under his foot and
he slipped, plunging to the street with a sickening thud. The rock
howlers moaned in disappointment, then went off in search of other
entertainment.
Bane grunted and tugged her
forward again. Mirra turned away when he paused to watch terrible
atrocities being performed, the pain making her sick. Churches were
desecrated, the Black Lord's worshippers using their altars as
sacrificial tables. Blood ran like water in the gutters, twisted
bodies clogged the streets and thronged in houses where people had
sheltered. Human troops staggered drunkenly through the streets,
draped with booty and singing raucous songs.
Trolls gathered in muttering
huddles to munch piles of looted meat, uncaring of whether it was
smoked, cooked or raw. Goblins and rock howlers thronged the
rooftops, gibbering with glee. Gnomes, like their human comrades,
gathered in empty inns and drained their cellars. In the deepening
dusk, the dark creatures skulked in the shadows, many crouched over
writhing victims as they fed. Mirra shivered when she passed these
beasts, sensing their hungry, hateful eyes upon her. The town stank
of blood and death, a sickly smell that clogged her throat and
brought a bitter taste to her mouth.
Bane chose an inn to settle in,
and Mord attended him with cowering subservience. Rough tables
stood on a rush-covered floor, some overturned by the struggle that
had taken place here earlier. Once this had been a cosy village
inn, its whitewashed walls hung with cheerful paintings and bright
curtains at the windows. Now it reeked of death, the pale rushes
blood-stained and the curtains ripped. Corpses lay where they had
fallen, their faces stretched with fear and pain.
Bane tied Mirra to a table in
the corner, not bothering to loosen the bonds on her wrists. Mord
brought his master the drug that eased his headache, which had
already started to build behind Bane's eyes. Sweat sheened his
skin, and a deep frown wrinkled his brow as he waited for the troll
to prepare his supper. This was simply a matter of decanting the
foul sludge from the cauldron in which it was transported and
heating it over a fire. She watched him eat, her stomach clenched
with revulsion. Bane did not remove the bodies that littered the
inn, but left them where they lay, unless they got in his way,
whereupon he kicked them aside.
When his duties were done, Mord
vanished. Bane drank from a flagon of wine, celebrating his victory
in silent solitude. This was just one of many victories, and a
minor one at that, for he had not known defeat. This was the first
ward that he had broken, though. His solitary existence saddened
Mirra, who remembered how much fun it was to chat and joke with her
friends at the abbey. Bane sank into an intoxicated stupor, his
eyes growing dull as he mulled over the day. She did not attract
his drunken rage, and he slumped over the table.
Bane dreamt
vividly of the Black Lord in all his dark, fiery glory, his yellow
eyes burning with triumph. A wave of pleasure washed through Bane,
the Black Lord's reward. The vision behind
him was a smooth red desert glowing under a crimson sun. It
reflected his good mood, flicking out to be replaced by swirling
red and yellow.
The Black Lord spoke in a soft,
deep voice. "Soon we will rule the world, just you and I, son. The
human rabble must be eradicated, and only demons will walk in the
Overworld."
"But Father, they will not like
the bright light up here. I find it hard to bear."
The Black Lord chuckled. "You
think I will leave the world as it is? It will be changed to suit
us, son, never fear.
Bane nodded.
"Why have you not killed that
damned girl?" Black streaks appeared in the swirling
background.
"She will die of thirst within
a few more days."
"Excellent. I am well pleased,
son. Now break the second ward, and I shall be even more pleased
with you." The Black Lord smirked, and the vision brightened as
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