Demon Lord Read Online Free PDF Page A

kill, for they did not even
try to flee. He never doubted his father, but many things had
confused him over the years.
    Like all the painful ceremonies
he had been forced to undergo, which the Black Lord had told him
were to give him the ability to wield the dark power. Demons had
cut him, collected his blood, mixed it with potions and fed it to
him. Bane had vomited for days, and his father had railed at his
weakness. This had confused him, for no one else in the Underworld
had blood, or underwent the ceremonies. When he had questioned his
father, the Black Lord explained that he had been created a certain
way, so he could go to the Overworld and break the wards.
    Bane flung the empty bowl out of
the tent and lay down, stretching out on the hard cot. His lithe,
powerful physique was also a gift from the Black Lord. Bane had
undergone years of forced labour; useless, strenuous tasks that
made his body bulge in odd places. True, he was strong, but he had
hated the labour. He had broken rocks and dug new tunnels, which
his father could create with a flick of his hand, while demons
watched and sniggered as he sweated. That had stopped when he
mastered the dark power. He smiled. His father had been pleased
with him when at last he had been able to wield the power. After he
had destroyed Yangarra, the demons ceased to torment him, and life
had been good. Still pondering, he fell asleep.
     
    Mirra dug in the vegetable
garden, taking care not to harm any of the fat earthworms she found
there. She had seen no one in two days. That did not surprise her,
although she had expected some wounded soldiers and was
disappointed that none had come her way. The deer came at her call,
but seemed more nervous than usual. They stayed only long enough to
snatch the sweet bread she gave them before vanishing into the
woods once more.
    Birds answered the call of
spring, raising chicks in scruffy nests and tree holes, filling the
woodland with their lilting song. Her only patient had been a
starling with a broken wing. A mere moment's work, although still
satisfying. The squirrels brought her nuts and a badger left tender
roots outside her door each night as tokens of their friendship.
For someone who had grown up in a crowded abbey, however, the
peaceful forest was a lonely place.
    Mirra looked up at a flash of
movement amongst the trees, hope buoying her heart. A young hind
limped from the woods, her eyes wide and fearful, and Mirra hurried
over to her. The deer trembled and panted as Mirra examined her,
and the animal's pain tingled through her. Mirra gasped when she
found the black arrow that protruded from the doe's haunch, and
raised a hand to her mouth in shock. The infliction of such pain
upon an innocent animal horrified her, and she realised that the
purpose of the shaft had been to kill the doe. She had never heard
of such a thing, since the healers ate no meat. She could not
fathom the reason for killing such a beautiful creature.
    Mirra still had much to learn
about the world, however, so she set aside her dismay for now,
certain that some logical explanation would be forthcoming in the
future. Her healing power flowed as she pulled the arrow painlessly
from the wound, which closed without a scar. The doe nuzzled her,
then trotted away, ears twitching. Mirra returned to her garden,
humming. She enjoyed helping humans and animals. It filled her with
a warm glow.
    The birds ceased their
carolling, and strident warning calls rang out. A flock of wood
pigeons that had been feeding in the glade flapped for the safety
of the trees. A squirrel chittered a warning and vanished into its
hole in the spreading oak tree beside the garden. Mirra looked up
again as a misshapen man emerged from the trees, followed by three
others. Black eyes darted in their wizened, nut-brown faces. Hairy
ears protruded at right angles to their heads, and bulbous noses
overhung slack-lipped mouths. Worn clothes, soiled with mud, hung
ill-fitting on pot-bellied bodies.