her shoulders.
"Where do you
come from?" the man enquired.
"Abardon."
"It's
fallen?"
Shevra nodded,
pulling the blanket closer. "Gone. Destroyed."
The man
glanced at his fellows. "That's where we were going. No point now,
I suppose."
"No. Go to the
city."
He nodded, and
the plump woman thrust a chunk of journey bread into her hands. She
tore at it. "Thank you."
"Are you the
only survivor?"
"No, there
were others. They're probably a day behind me. We were saved by a
dark god."
The man
frowned. "A dark god."
"Yes."
"Saved
you?"
"Yes. He
destroyed the dark army."
"Vorkon?" The
man looked sceptical. "I think you've been through a grave trauma,
lass."
"I'm not mad,
and it wasn't Vorkon. He's called Bane, the Demon Lord."
"I've never
heard of such a god. Perhaps it was a black mage?"
She smiled,
shaking her head. "No. He destroyed an entire dark army with a
single stroke of magic."
"Why would a
god destroy his own army?"
"It wasn't his
army, it was Vorkon's."
"So he's a
rival?" The man glanced at his fellows again, who looked grim.
"There are now two dark gods battling for this world? We're doomed
for sure, if that be the case."
"No, you don't
understand. He saved us. He told me so. That's why he came."
"So he's a
good dark god." He smiled. "If there was any sun, I'd say you'd
been out in it for too long, girl."
"You don't
have to believe me, but that's what happened."
"All right."
He nodded and rose to his feet. "Can you walk?"
Shevra stood,
clutching the blanket, and the plump woman put an arm around her
shoulders as the group headed back the way they had come, towards
the city.
Bane did not
Move directly to the seventh ward, instead, he reappeared several
leagues away, so that if Vorkon sensed his power, it would not give
away the ward's location. That left him with a long, cold walk,
which he did not enjoy. When he arrived at the ward, he found the
prince consort slouched behind the barrier, clutching a wine skin.
In his terror at being left alone, he had consumed his entire
supply, and on an empty stomach to boot. He looked up with a
lopsided grin when Bane loomed over him, and held out the almost
empty wine skin.
"The great god
returns! 'Ave a drink!"
Bane growled
and bent to grip Tygon's collar, yanking him to his feet. "You
worthless piece of human dung. You are weak! A coward!"
Tygon plucked
at Bane's hands. "You left me to die, you bastard!"
"I am tempted
to kill you myself!"
"You cannot,
you need me! And I needed a drink!"
"I hope you
enjoy it coming up as much as you did it going down."
Tygon scowled
at him, bleary-eyed. "What do you mean?"
Bane allowed a
little dark power to flow from his hands, and Tygon went green,
then bent over and vomited, bringing up copious amounts of sour
wine.
"That," Bane
murmured, releasing him and walking away in disgust.
"You bastard,"
Tygon groaned, coughing and gasping as he retched. When the bout of
sickness had passed, Tygon sat blank-eyed, his face pinched and
drawn. Bane was tempted to summon a large amount of cold water and
dump it over the prince, but considering the freezing wind, decided
that it might not be advisable. Instead he dug in the consort's
pack until he found a flask of water, then knelt beside him and
held it out. Tygon scowled at him and tried to knock it from his
hands with an ill-aimed blow.
"Leave me
alone," he snarled.
Bane slapped
him. "Perhaps you need to be sick some more." He held out his hand,
and Tygon cowered back.
"No! I am well
enough now." The prince clutched his reddened cheek.
Bane thrust
the water skin at him again, and he took it, sipping from it with a
grimace. He accepted the parcel of food which Bane held out with
equally bad grace, and began to eat with all the enthusiasm of a
prisoner climbing the gallows.
"Where did you
go?" he muttered.
"Kimera was
attacked by a black mage."
Tygon frowned.
"Was she harmed?"
"No."
"What if I had
been attacked while you were away?"
"I would have
returned."
Tygon