alive. His eyes were glacial when he raised them to meet
hers, so she assumed that he had had no great change of heart, but
was here at Mirra's insistence. Mirra had succeeded where Ellese
had failed. No matter. She nodded at the girl.
"Good. We have little time.
Come, Bane."
The Demon Lord stepped around
Mirra and followed Ellese along the short corridor to his cell.
There, she once again held out the loincloth. He took it, his face
hard.
Unable to stifle her curiosity,
she asked, "What happened?"
"None of your damned business,
old woman."
Bane's harsh tone startled
Ellese. It was unusually virulent, even for him. He had the look of
a man who had been to the gates of Hell, except he had been born
there, so such a journey would hardly constitute an ordeal for him.
Whatever he had been through, she deduced that it must have been
the most exquisite torture. Resolving not to ask again, she left
him to change, and waited outside.
While she stood in the hallway,
pondering Bane's foul mood, she realised what it was about him that
had changed. He looked older. The lines of his face had hardened
and deepened, and his youthful beauty had given way to the strongly
chiselled features of a mature man. She frowned. Mirra had skipped
into the abbey bursting with happiness, which made her suspect that
whatever had happened to Bane, the girl knew nothing about it. She
resigned herself to ignorance with a sigh.
Bane emerged wrapped in his
cloak, presumably because it was chilly, or perhaps for modesty's
sake. Ellese sympathised, but at least it would be warmer in the
chapel, where the fires had been burning all day.
Healers lined the chapel,
standing around the walls like so many white-robed statues, their
heads bowed, hands clasped in worship. Bane eyed them, reminded of
the priests at the Black Lord's temple. This time he was the
sacrifice, and something deep within him rebelled at the idea. He
stopped, and Ellese turned to him, raising iron-grey brows.
He nodded at the healers. "Is
their presence necessary?"
"I am afraid so. Their prayers
will be needed."
Bane walked on, his high-arched
feet padding on the smooth floor. Ellese detoured around the
eternal flame, moving behind the altar. When Bane followed her, he
found that the back of the altar was sloped, rising at an angle to
the floor, short chains with shackles at its top corners. It stood
around seven feet high, and anyone chained to it would be
spread-eagled against the cold white marble. He shot a suspicious
look at Ellese, who smiled with gentle assurance.
"It is not used for sacrifices.
At times we use it to heal the very sick, or to cleanse black
magicians, that is all."
He glanced around. "Where is
Mirra?"
Bane's use of the girl's name
surprised Ellese, but she hid it. "I thought it would be better if
she was not here. It will be painful for you, and, therefore, for
her."
For a moment his guard slipped,
and she glimpsed a look in his eyes that twisted her heart. The
lost, forlorn look she had not seen on him since he had been a
small boy in the Underworld. A look that spoke of agonies already
suffered, dreading more to come. His expression was shuttered again
in an instant, and he gave a harsh snort.
"It seems you will all have your
turn, first the Black Lord, then..." He looked away. "Now you."
Ellese wondered again what he
had been through while he had been away from the temple, but reined
her curiosity. "Do not worry, we did not save you to kill you
now."
"Mirra saved me, not you."
"I was the one who told her to
give you the dragonroot."
Bane glared at her. "She was the
one who persuaded me to take it."
Shrugging off
the cloak in an angry, impatient gesture, he let it fall. Ellese
could not help the way her eyes flicked over him, and his lip
curled. The Demon Lord's broad, muscled shoulders tapered to slim
hips and powerful legs. Alabaster skin lay taut over the lean,
sharp-edged muscles on his chest and hard ridges of his belly. Rib
ridges nestled
hers, so she assumed that he had had no great change of heart, but
was here at Mirra's insistence. Mirra had succeeded where Ellese
had failed. No matter. She nodded at the girl.
"Good. We have little time.
Come, Bane."
The Demon Lord stepped around
Mirra and followed Ellese along the short corridor to his cell.
There, she once again held out the loincloth. He took it, his face
hard.
Unable to stifle her curiosity,
she asked, "What happened?"
"None of your damned business,
old woman."
Bane's harsh tone startled
Ellese. It was unusually virulent, even for him. He had the look of
a man who had been to the gates of Hell, except he had been born
there, so such a journey would hardly constitute an ordeal for him.
Whatever he had been through, she deduced that it must have been
the most exquisite torture. Resolving not to ask again, she left
him to change, and waited outside.
While she stood in the hallway,
pondering Bane's foul mood, she realised what it was about him that
had changed. He looked older. The lines of his face had hardened
and deepened, and his youthful beauty had given way to the strongly
chiselled features of a mature man. She frowned. Mirra had skipped
into the abbey bursting with happiness, which made her suspect that
whatever had happened to Bane, the girl knew nothing about it. She
resigned herself to ignorance with a sigh.
Bane emerged wrapped in his
cloak, presumably because it was chilly, or perhaps for modesty's
sake. Ellese sympathised, but at least it would be warmer in the
chapel, where the fires had been burning all day.
Healers lined the chapel,
standing around the walls like so many white-robed statues, their
heads bowed, hands clasped in worship. Bane eyed them, reminded of
the priests at the Black Lord's temple. This time he was the
sacrifice, and something deep within him rebelled at the idea. He
stopped, and Ellese turned to him, raising iron-grey brows.
He nodded at the healers. "Is
their presence necessary?"
"I am afraid so. Their prayers
will be needed."
Bane walked on, his high-arched
feet padding on the smooth floor. Ellese detoured around the
eternal flame, moving behind the altar. When Bane followed her, he
found that the back of the altar was sloped, rising at an angle to
the floor, short chains with shackles at its top corners. It stood
around seven feet high, and anyone chained to it would be
spread-eagled against the cold white marble. He shot a suspicious
look at Ellese, who smiled with gentle assurance.
"It is not used for sacrifices.
At times we use it to heal the very sick, or to cleanse black
magicians, that is all."
He glanced around. "Where is
Mirra?"
Bane's use of the girl's name
surprised Ellese, but she hid it. "I thought it would be better if
she was not here. It will be painful for you, and, therefore, for
her."
For a moment his guard slipped,
and she glimpsed a look in his eyes that twisted her heart. The
lost, forlorn look she had not seen on him since he had been a
small boy in the Underworld. A look that spoke of agonies already
suffered, dreading more to come. His expression was shuttered again
in an instant, and he gave a harsh snort.
"It seems you will all have your
turn, first the Black Lord, then..." He looked away. "Now you."
Ellese wondered again what he
had been through while he had been away from the temple, but reined
her curiosity. "Do not worry, we did not save you to kill you
now."
"Mirra saved me, not you."
"I was the one who told her to
give you the dragonroot."
Bane glared at her. "She was the
one who persuaded me to take it."
Shrugging off
the cloak in an angry, impatient gesture, he let it fall. Ellese
could not help the way her eyes flicked over him, and his lip
curled. The Demon Lord's broad, muscled shoulders tapered to slim
hips and powerful legs. Alabaster skin lay taut over the lean,
sharp-edged muscles on his chest and hard ridges of his belly. Rib
ridges nestled
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