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sword.
    Mirra glanced back at Bane,
laying a hand on his arm in an attempt to forestall any use of his
power. He jerked away, shooting her a brief glare before glowering
at the bandit again.
    Deducing that Bane was not about
to do anything rash, Mirra turned to the bandit leader. "We have
none."
    The greying
bandit stepped forward, showing brown, rotting teeth in a foul
leer. "Now then, healer, we
mean you no harm, but his lordship looks like he's got
coin."
    "He does not."
    "We'll just see about that. Get
down."
    Mirra slid off, and Bane
dismounted when she tugged on his leg. His face was set in a mask
of disdain, the sneer that curled his lips reaching his eyes.
Although he towered over the bandits, his youth was obvious amongst
so many seasoned warriors.
    Mirra whispered, "Do nothing.
Let them take what they want."
    "Why should I?" he growled.
    "Because we do not want to fight
them. It is not worth it."
    "They disgust me."
    "Do not use your power."
    "Stop telling me what to
do."
    The bandits pulled the pack off
Orriss and went through it, finding little of value. They recoiled
from Bane's potions and ointments, wrinkling their noses in
disgust. Having established that the pack was worthless, they
advanced on Bane. Mirra did not interest them, since healers never
carried valuables, but Bane, with his well-cut clothes and air of
superiority, did. The Demon Lord watched their approach with deep
contempt, his arms folded.
    Mirra stepped into the bandit
leader's path. "He has nothing. I will show you."
    Mirra turned and lifted Bane's
cloak, revealing his snug-fitting tunic and trousers, with no money
pouch in sight. He glared at her, and she knew that her impudent
liberties with his person infuriated him. The bandit scowled,
unwilling to admit defeat.
    "He's got a money belt under his
clothes then."
    She shook her head.
"Nothing."
    "I'll see for
myself, healer."
    Bane tensed as the man
approached, and Mirra was forced to step aside, praying that Bane
would heed her advice. He unfolded his arms, and the brigand took
the dagger that hung on Bane’s belt, then pulled open his tunic,
exposing the rune scars. The bandit stepped back with an oath.
    "Lady Mother! Who did that to
you, lad?"
    Bane smiled. "My father."
    "He should be whipped. Was it
some sort of ritual?"
    "No, he just liked to inflict
pain."
    The man shuddered, retreating.
"You've got nothing I want. Go on your way, but we'll take the
horse."
    The Demon Lord shrugged. "Take
him."
    Orriss stood docilely while the
bandits tied a rope around its neck and led it away, melting back
into the trees. Mirra gathered up their scattered belongings while
Bane refastened his tunic, then he helped her to stuff equipment
back into the bag.
    The demon steed returned half an hour
later, with no rope on its neck and no sign of the bandits. As Bane
went to mount it, Mirra noticed, with a start of surprise, that his
dagger was back in its sheath on his belt. She wondered how that
was possible, but there were a great many things about Bane that
remained a mystery, and she shrugged it off as unimportant. They
rode until dusk, then set up camp for the night. Bane pitched the
tent, and Mirra cooked a thick stew of briar lentils and lune beans
for supper. As soon as it was ready they retired to the tent to
escape the ash. Mirra sat on the floor as usual, and Bane lounged
on the bed, spooning the vegetable stew with a bland expression. He
did not seem to care what he ate, so long as it did not poison
him.
    Considering the foul concoction
he had been raised on, that did not surprise her. Only the scrape
of spoons broke the silence. Bane remained taciturn, either from a
complete lack of social graces or an utter paucity of interest in
speaking to her. Probably a bit of both, she mused. If anything, he
had grown more silent since the Black Lord had risen, and she
wondered if that had something to do with it.
    "Bane, what is it like in the
Underworld?"
    "I already told you. Hot, dry
and dark."
    "Did