Demon Lord

Demon Lord

Book I of the Demon Lord Series

T C Southwell

Published by T C Southwell at Smashwords.com

Copyright © 2012 by T C Southwell

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Disclaimer

Please note that this is the first book of a series, but the remainder of the series is not available for free.

This series is dedicated to my mother.

Prologue

Chapter One – Daughter of Light

Chapter Two – Son of Darkness

Chapter Three – The First Ward

Chapter Four – Fire Demon

Chapter Five – Earth Demon

Chapter Six – Water Demon

Chapter Seven – The Isle of Lume

Chapter Eight – The Third Ward

Chapter Nine – Air Demon

Chapter Ten – The Fourth Ward

Chapter Eleven – The City

Chapter Twelve – The Old Kingdom

Chapter Thirteen – Revelation

Chapter Fourteen – Sacrifice

Chapter Fifteen – Betrayal

Chapter Sixteen – The Sixth Ward

Chapter Seventeen – The Seventh Ward

Chapter Eighteen – Ascension of the Black Lord

Prologue

The seeress gripped the edge of her scrying glass, her brows knotting as her throat closed with horror. The acolyte who watched over Elder Mother while she was absorbed in her scrying hurried to her side and put a hand on the seeress’ shoulder.

What is it, Mother? she whispered.

Elder Mother Ellese sat unmoving, her gaze locked on the faraway event visible only to her within the glass. After several moments, she sat back and drew a deep, shuddering breath, blinking.

The Black Lord! Her voice rasped with dread, and she stared into the middle distance, stunned. The evil has finally found a way to enter this world; to break the wards that the ancient wizards set.

The acolyte’s hands bunched in her dress, wringing it. How?

A boy child, born below. He will be sent.

When will he come?

Ellese focussed on the girl. Not for a time yet. He still has to grow; to be taught about the evil powers and their use. Twenty years, if we are fortunate. We have time to prepare, at least. The acolyte sagged, and Elder Mother added, Do not look so relieved, child. You will still be here. She stood up. Send a message to all the elder mothers. We must have a meeting to plan our defence.

The girl nodded and hurried out, and Ellese crossed her study to the window, her eyes blind to the thick blanket of midwinter snow that covered the garden. Gusts wafted falling flakes into swirling patterns, brushing against the windows, sliding down to gather on the ledge. She shivered, but not with cold, for the fire that roared in the hearth warmed the cosy room with its wooden panelling and thick, woollen maroon curtains.

Her desk occupied the corner opposite the stone fireplace. The scrying glass stood on it, clear now. Tidily arranged papers occupied the desk’s corners, and an ink well and writing plumes stood at its centre. The cold light from the windows mingled with the fire’s warm glow to illuminate the myriad ancient tomes that stocked the bookshelves. The room’s normality vanished as she recalled the horrible vision she had just witnessed.

The birth had taken place deep within the Underworld, in a great cavern formed by magic aeons ago, the rock warped by the will of the god who had created it. Huge columns of solidified magma had upheld a vaulted roof of stretched, striated rock, cooled in the midst of its oozing, patterned with smears and blobs. The inner fire had shone from cracks in the walls and floor, throwing lurid light in twisted patterns. Fire demons in true form had cast green and orange light.

The demons’ chanting had all but drowned out the woman’s screams as she died on the stone altar, her belly torn open as the Black Lord had ripped the baby from her womb. The boy’s cries had stopped when the Black Lord inscribed a dark rune upon his head, and his eyes had glazed under the evil power’s influence. The Lord of the Underworld had handed the bloody infant to a minion, who had wrapped him in a cloth. By then, the child’s mother had been dead, her blood pooled on the floor.

The infant stood no chance against the Underworld’s corruption. He would be warped, moulded as the Black Lord wished, and none could save him from his fate. Ellese’s heart ached when she recalled the tiny child, slick with his mother’s blood. He was doomed to be a helpless pawn in the Black Lord’s hands. She had no doubt he would suffer terribly, but far worse than his horrific birth had been the ritual the Black Lord had performed before he had torn the infant from his mother’s womb.

A month later, the abbey’s hall thronged with old women; elder mothers gathered from abbeys all over the land. The pillar-lined, grey stone room had been built as a dining hall, but doubled as a meeting place for the Council of Elders. Sturdy tables and chairs cluttered its polished stone floor, and stained-glass windows allowed in shafts of sunlight. The tables had been pushed against the walls, and the chairs were arranged into rows where the old ladies sat, facing a polished bur wood desk.

Acolytes and young healers stood near tables covered with pots of brewing tea and platters of buttered scones and pastries. Others dashed in and out with kettles of boiling water and fresh confections, steaming hot from the kitchen ovens. An air of aged wisdom hung over the multitude of elder mothers. While most had faded eyes and frail bodies, they were still sharp of mind and tongue.

Ellese sat behind the desk and studied the sea of wrinkled faces. It bobbed and weaved, accompanied by sniffles, hacking coughs and wheezing breaths as the old women aired their infirmities, illnesses associated with age, which no healing could cure. Acolytes plied them with cups of milk or tea, balancing trays of pastries as they wound amidst the throng, summoned by snapping fingers and stopped by imperiously outstretched hands. The elder mothers muttered in a low-pitched hum, some probably discussing the topic on hand, and others doubtless just swapping gossip. Ellese sighed and rapped on the desk, drawing all eyes to her, some of which wandered past without pause. The majority of her audience were stern-faced matrons, but a few were truly ancient.

You know why we are here, she said. You all know what has happened. I ask you today for your thoughts. What are we going to do about it? Ellese spoke loudly, for many old ladies held brass trumpets to their ears and leant forward with peevish frowns. She scanned the throng.

A robust, middle-aged woman called, Rescue the child.

Ellese’s smile was bitter. Easier said than done, Merris, considering that he is in the Underworld. Are you volunteering?

A murmur swept through the crowd, mixed with a few titters. Merris glowered at her grinning neighbour, and many elder mothers whispered to their friends behind withered hands. A wizened crone stood, leaning on a gnarled stick.

Find a way to bind him when he emerges, she quavered.

Ellese nodded. A good idea. But what?

What is his nature? There must be something that will work.

He is human, Ellese said. As you all know, the Black Lord cannot break the blue wards that trap him and all his foul servants in the Underworld. But the power of the wards will not stop this boy. He will travel freely to the Overworld, and he will break the wards. The demons will corrupt him and teach him their ways in preparation for the day when he will spread his evil over the land and raise armies to lay waste to those who do not bow to him.

Another elder mother stood up. Then he will only be a black mage. What of preparing an army to capture him when he emerges?

Ellese looked down at the desk, her heart heavy. All the more obvious suggestions would be worthless, and she hated to reject each as it was spoken. He is not a black mage. He will wield the power of the Black Lord. No man will be able to stand against him. The foul creatures of the night will worship him and the dark races will follow him. The boy will be invincible by any normal means. She paused, her hands clenching. He has been born a god.

A hubbub started as the women objected to this sweeping statement, turning to each other for support. A plump, florid-faced woman shouted, Why call us here, and ask for our help, when there is no solution to this threat?

Ellese banged on the desk again, subduing the uproar a little. There is a solution. There has to be, but perhaps we are not capable of thinking of it. I had hoped one of you had been given a vision or dream, some sign from the Lady to guide us.

Silence fell as wrinkled brows furrowed, searching their memories for such a dream, and ancient eyes narrowed to inspect neighbours. Ellese scanned the assembly with growing desperation. For the last month, she had racked her brains for a solution. Surely one of these wise women knew the answer to this threat? Surely the Lady had given someone a sign, or a vision? The goddess would not abandon them in their hour of need.

A tall, angular woman at the back of the assembly rose, glancing around shyly as all eyes turned to her. A handsome healer with honey-blonde hair, she was the youngest elder mother there, barely out of her twenties. She looked out of place amongst so many grey-haired matrons, and fiddled with her silver healer’s necklace.

Ellese smiled with relief and assurance. Yes, Larris?

Larris raised her chin. I think I know what we need to do.

Chapter One

Daughter of Light

Mirra sat cross-legged on the grass in the abbey’s sun-drenched inner garden, weaving a chain of bright summer flowers. Her slender fingers twined the blossoms together, and the sun burnished her flaxen hair that hung about her face as she bent over her task. Thick dark lashes framed gentle blue-green eyes in a serene, delicately featured face.

Tallis, who sat beside her, picked up her garland and resumed her work. This morning, at the celebration for Mirra’s sixteenth birthday, she had watched Mirra opening her gifts, wondering how happy she would be if she knew what was in store for her. Everyone knew but Mirra, and that seemed so unfair. The secrecy puzzled her, for surely it would be better if Mirra could prepare for what lay ahead? She contemplated the wreckage she held and sighed again, trying to weave a bright yellow daisy into the disaster.

Ellese watched the girls from her study window, which overlooked the garden in the centre of the abbey. Her eyes stung as Mirra crowned her friend with the daisy chain. Girlish giggles wafted in through the open window on the warm summer air. How she wished things were different.

The Black Lord’s human weapon, Bane, had emerged from the Underworld two years ago, and those unfortunate enough to have seen him had said that he was now about twenty years old, an estimate she knew to be accurate. The moment he had set foot above ground, an army had gathered around him. First to join were the dark creatures that inhabited the entrance to the Underworld, through which Bane had emerged.

The enormous cave, fanged with pillars of rock, gaped at the blasted lands around it from the side of a solitary crag rising unnaturally out of a plain far to the north. The cavern was large enough to accommodate two cities within its bounds, and its denizens had built a metropolis of mud and stone that filled almost half of it. Within its dim confines, generations of grims, wights, night crawlers and vampires had lived and died, awaiting the Black Lord’s rising.

The dark power that emanated from the Underworld in a foetid exhalation had killed all life for leagues around, and only petrified forests stood sentinel on the barren plains. Any human who had ever dared to set foot in the cavern had been torn apart and devoured. The dark creatures ventured out only at night to hunt, preying on the animals that dwelt beyond the dark power’s influence. No human lived within a hundred leagues of the cave, for to do so was certain death.

The monsters had braved the sunlight to leave their sanctuary and follow Bane. As he had moved away from the cavern, hordes of goblins, trolls, rock howlers and gnomes had rallied to him, all the Black Lord’s worshippers. They had emerged from their underground warrens and mountain caves in droves to enlist, armed with their simple, brutish weapons. Finally, humans had joined his foul mob, swelling its ranks to thousands. Every criminal, vagrant, bandit, mercenary and outcast had flocked to his banner, drawn by the promise of riches and conquest. His army had already conquered several fiefdoms, and, as it did, more joined, some from fear, others from greed, until a huge horde of rabble now marched behind him.

With this, he swept across the Overworld in an unstoppable tide, slaughtering all in his path. Armies fell before his advance like wheat before a scythe, and those that fled were hunted down without mercy. Tales of torture, rape, mutilations and wanton atrocities preceded him; descriptions of his cruelty sickened all who heard them. The stories told of his complete lack of mercy, or any other human emotion. Apparently he revelled in death and destruction and laughed at his hapless victims’ suffering. Ruined towns and fields of rotting dead lay strewn in his wake, breeding dread diseases that afflicted the few survivors, who then spread it throughout the land. Whole towns had died without ever seeing the Black Lord’s army, defeated by the sickness Bane had unleashed.

King Margorah, ruler of the largest kingdom in the Overworld, had fought Bane’s army to a bloody standstill in a three-day battle that had laid waste to vast tracts of land and two towns. When at last Margorah had realised he faced defeat, countless dead had paved his retreating army’s path as the dark creatures hunted within his camp each night until he had reached his citadel. There, the dead had gathered in mounds at the foot of his walls, yet still he had refused to accept defeat, determined to fight to the last man. After five days, Bane had grown bored and razed the fortress with black fire, killing all within it with a single stroke of power.

Lesser rulers, barons and lords, had fallen to the rag-tag horde in a few hours, overrun by sheer numbers. Although Bane’s army had dwindled with each encounter, it had soon swelled again with fresh worshippers and fortune-seekers. Towns in his path had been abandoned as their residents fled in a desperate bid to save themselves. All mankind feared the coming of Bane, whose name was whispered with deep loathing and dread.

For three weeks, the roads past the abbey had been clogged with fleeing people carrying bundles on their backs and children on their hips, driving their few livestock before them. More affluent people rode in wagons or carriages; mostly wealthy ladies whose husbands had sent them away to doubtful safety, servants and flunkies dancing attendance. Their lordly spouses remained to gird their armies for futile war, grist to Bane’s mill of unending bloodlust. All would flee until they reached the sea, then there would be nowhere to go. As they huddled in the coastal towns, the Underworld’s army marched closer, bringing with it the death their flight had only delayed. Doom had settled over the land like a dull miasma, belying the bright spring days that should have been joyous.

Bane’s army was just a hundred miles from the abbey now, and Ellese knew the time had come for Mirra to fulfil her destiny. She had been raised within the abbey’s protection, and knew nothing of Bane. Sheltered from the world’s wickedness and taught only of its beauties, she had grown up a happy, laughing child, innocent in a profound manner that sometimes made her seem simple, until a person gazed deep into her eyes and found the utter serenity there.

Ellese watched Tallis present Mirra with a lopsided garland, then they jumped up and ran into the abbey, trailing giggles. She turned away, sighing. She had never doubted Larris’ vision, but, as the tales of horror reached her, she worried. Still, she could not put it off any longer. Tomorrow; it had to be done tomorrow.

The silence that greeted Mirra in the breakfast hall the next morning surprised her. A sense of doom hung in the air, and her smile faded as she headed for her seat beside Tallis. Many acolytes sent her timid smiles, their eyes sliding away. Her friend was intent on her porridge, and Mirra spooned hers with keen appetite.

Why is everyone so quiet today?

Tallis shrugged. You are to see Elder Mother after breakfast.

What about?

Ask Elder Mother.

After breakfast, Mirra ran to Ellese’s study, bouncing in with a grin as Ellese turned from the window. The sadness in the seeress’ eyes stopped Mirra’s rush to hug her, and she advanced slowly, her smile fading.

What is wrong with everyone?

We are all a little sad.

Why?

Ellese sighed. Because today you must leave us and go out into the world. You are sixteen now, and I know normally girls leave at eighteen, but you are ready. It is time.

How wonderful! Why is everyone sad?

Because we will miss you, of course.

I shall miss you all too, but I have always wanted to see the world.

And so you shall, my dear. Ellese became brisk. So, when you have packed, the cart will be waiting to take you to your new home. We have a lovely place in the woods for you.

Thank you, Mother! Mirra flung her arms around the old seeress’ neck and kissed her on the cheek. Ellese patted the girl’s back, appearing sadder than Mirra thought necessary at her leaving.

Now, now, child. Ellese disentangled herself. Go and get ready.

Mirra skipped along bright corridors to the grey cell that had been her home for the past sixteen years. A narrow bed, small table and two cushioned stools furnished it, and it seemed poky and uninviting now that her mind was full of visions of a little thatched cottage nestled in a forest glade. She packed her few possessions into a worn leather bag, and, with a last look around at the drab chamber, ran to tell Tallis. She found her friend in the vegetable garden behind the abbey, pulling weeds from cabbage rows. Flowering fruit trees hemmed the garden and graced the warm air with their heady scent, and birdsong offset the dull rumble of wagon wheels on the road.

Mirra pounced on her friend, laughing. I am leaving, Tallis! Is it not wonderful? I am to have my very own house, in the woods, just as I have always wanted.

Tallis hugged her back, her soft brown eyes a little moist. That is... wonderful, Mir.

Mirra hardly noticed her friend’s sadness; she was too excited at the prospect of becoming a true healer. She bounced around, avoiding the plump cabbage heads. In two years your turn will come. It will be marvellous! I shall heal sick people, and animals too.

Tallis looked down at the wilting weeds she held. Yes, you are so good at it. I will never be as good as you.

Nonsense, you are just as good as me, and much better at cooking and sewing.

Mirra glanced around at the sound of footsteps to find Ellese approaching. The grey-haired seeress seemed to have aged in the last day, and her smile was tired.

All ready, Mirra?

Yes. She picked up her bag. Can Tal come with us, just to see?

Ellese inclined her head. Of course she may if she wishes.

Mirra turned to Tallis, who smiled and nodded.

The retired plough horse pulled the wagon beside the refugee-clogged road, his iron-shod feet clopping. The people walked in grim silence, their eyes scared and despairing. They pushed barrows piled with their possessions and drove bellowing livestock. The rumble of wheels mingled with dogs’ yapping and the wails of tired children who stumbled amongst the trudging people.

Mirra smiled and waved, and a few peasants responded half-heartedly. The desolation in their eyes and the misery that hung over the throng puzzled the young healer. Dust clung to the people’s sweat-streaked faces, and drovers goaded footsore oxen that bawled in protest. Some had pulled off the road to huddle around campfires, warming food for hungry children and resting exhausted beasts. Mirra sensed their fatigue in her bones, and a frown wrinkled her brow.

She turned to Ellese. Where do they all go, Mother? Why are they so sad?

Ellese looked away. They go to the sea.

Whatever for? They are all so tired.

To feed the fishes, Tallis said, and the seeress shot her sharp, warning glance.

Because they must, Elder Mother stated, her tone discouraging further enquiry on the subject.

Mirra thought about that, then shrugged it off. Her nature was too serene to be bothered by mysteries. She accepted things on face value, and if Ellese did not wish her to know, she was content to remain ignorant.

Instead, she gazed at the meadows and shady woodland. The carolling of birds in the hedgerows was audible over the steady rumble of wagon wheels and tramp of feet. The lush countryside basked beneath a warm blue sky in peaceful splendour, abuzz with busy insects and flitting birds. In some fields, placid cattle grazed, their bells clanking as they munched the grass. By contrast, the winding road clogged with human misery made a dismal outlook, and she wondered afresh why these people chose to make such an arduous journey to the sea when they should be planting the season’s crops and tending their farms.

Over the next three days, the throngs dwindled until the trio of healers encountered only a few footsore stragglers following the churned, dung-spattered road. Beside it, crops ripened unattended in the fields and ploughs lay abandoned on the rich earth as if the farmer had simply unhitched his team and walked off, leaving the valuable implements to rust. In empty towns, litter clogged the gutters, collapsed stalls spilt rotting fruit into the roads, and smashed pottery crunched under the cart’s wheels. Precious, but useless items lay strewn amongst the rubbish. Children’s toys, cheap baubles and ornaments had apparently been cast aside to lighten the loads people carried. Clearly this had been an exodus, and Mirra wondered who she would heal if everyone had left, but presumably they would be back, otherwise Elder Mother would not have brought her here. Ravens and crows gathered on the rooftops, raucous spectators to mankind’s downfall.

Why has everyone left in such a hurry, Mother? Mirra asked.

Ellese shook her head. You will find out soon.

Tallis’ eyes were haunted as she gazed at the empty houses, where dry washing flapped on the lines. Mirra wondered why this strange exodus was such a secret, especially since Ellese and Tallis seemed to know what had happened. She found their reticence a trifle vexing, and the situation somewhat disturbing, spoiling her happiness.

When they arrived at a thatched cottage set in a leafy forest glade, it was all Mirra had ever dreamt of having. It consisted of two rooms and an outhouse, with white-washed stone walls and a freshly turned vegetable plot at the back. Nearby, a bubbling spring fed a pool in the midst of mossy stones. Ellese inspected it with an air of satisfaction, nodding and smiling.

Mirra enthused over her new home while Ellese unpacked her supplies and Tallis lighted a fire, preparing tea. Ellese smiled at Mirra’s delight at the simple abode, wishing this was nothing more than a routine placement. The abbeys took in girls with talent and trained them to be healers. A village that needed a healer applied to an abbey, and were usually sent a youngster, whom they undertook to house and feed in return for her services. The lack of a welcoming crowd to greet a new healer was abnormal, however, and the desolation of the nearby village boded ill for anyone who stayed here. Usually, healers were highly respected, and in no danger of mistreatment, even from the likes of robbers and bandits. Their simple sleeveless white gowns and silver necklaces marked them, keeping them safe in their solitary abodes.

Not from Bane and his army, however. Already, three abbeys had fallen beneath his troops’ tramping feet, the healers and their pupils slaughtered in horrible ways. The tales of rape, torture and burnings were enough to turn a healer’s blood cold. No one in their right mind would willingly settle in the path of that fate. Ellese feared for Mirra, but this was as it had to be. The girl rearranged the few items of furniture, chattering about her first customers, and Ellese hoped she had done the right thing. She whispered a prayer to the goddess, begging her protection for this innocent girl.

That night at dinner, Mirra put down her spoon and looked at Ellese with a determined air. What is it really, Mother? Why have the people left?

Ellese sighed, knowing she could prevaricate no longer. She had to offer some explanation, even if it was incomplete. There is a war, my dear. They flee from an invading army, trying to find safety.

Oh. Mirra stared at her spoon. I am to heal soldiers, then.

You must help any who need it. That is our way.

Mirra nodded and ate her vegetable stew. This she would accept, Ellese knew, for Mirra had been taught that none would harm a healer. The gravity of the situation seemed to sober the girl somewhat, however, and she finished her dinner in silence.

The next morning, the seeress and Tallis left after many hugs and kisses. Mirra smiled and waved in the doorway as the cart rattled away down the road. As soon as they were out of sight, Tallis gave in to the tears that had been threatening all morning. Ellese put her arm about her, patting her back.

She will be all right, Tallis. Do not weep. The goddess will protect her.

Chapter Two

Son of Darkness

Bane strode through his army, which camped in a rolling meadow that had once been covered with wild flowers. Now it was a vast tract of trampled, muddy grass dotted with cooking fires and tents. The horde stretched from a bordering forest to distant woodland, split into its tribal groups. Wood smoke fouled the air, along with the stench of the crude trench latrines on the camp’s outskirts. As Bane approached, trolls, gnomes, men and rock howlers scuttled from his path, opening a broad swathe around him, like a shoal of fish avoiding a shark.

They were having another ceremony on the hillock just ahead. Chanting and drumming carried on the misty dawn air. The horizon had lightened only slightly, and the night chill lingered. His head pounded with the drumming, which had woken him from a restless sleep and put him in a foul mood. His long black cloak, lined with crimson satin, swept the ground. The gold designs on his black tunic glinted in the glow of the many fires that lighted the ghoulish scene. Shadows seemed to trail him, as if his presence darkened the very air around him. Anger boiled in him as he reached the knoll. The chanting died away and the drums fell silent with a discordant thud. He surveyed the scene. A naked woman was lashed to a boulder, smeared with blood and other bodily fluids. She had been dead for some time, but that did not prevent the horde sporting with her.

Bane sneered, Been having fun?

Nervous nods answered him. He stepped towards the drummer, who abandoned his crude instruments and dived into the retreating crowd. No member of the horde would come within five feet of Bane; they knew him too well. He kicked the drums, sending them bouncing into the throng with a flat boom.

Bane glared at them, making them cower further from his ire. His deep voice lashed out like a barbed whip. You think my father enjoys these things? Do you think he listens to your pathetic prayers? What makes you think he will grant power to a pack of fools raping a dead woman? He has no time for gobbledegook! He wants blood! Death! Souls to torture! He paused to let that sink in, then added, And you will not disturb my rest with your infernal racket!

Dead silence, broken only by the shuffling of retreating feet and paws, ensued. He swung to face those behind him, causing them to surge back with gibbers of terror. Today, you kill! You drink blood! You torture, maim and make them suffer! You burn, pillage, loot! That is what he wants!

A muted growl of assent greeted this. Bane flicked a finger at the corpse. You will not waste your time with corpses. Use a live woman, or go without! She cannot suffer, you fools!

Bane spun, and a dozen gnomes ran for their lives. Ignoring them, he marched back to his tent, a half league away. Removing his cloak, he flung it over the folding chair and unbuttoned his tunic’s high collar. The headache beat at his skull even though the annoying drums had stopped. He groaned as he sank onto his bed, rubbing his temples in an effort to relieve the pain. Why did his father allow him to suffer like this?

He cursed and shouted, Mord!

The troll entered warily, his black face a picture of trepidation.

Bane said, Make my potion! Hurry!

Mord scuttled out, and Bane clutched his throbbing head. The headaches had started when he was sixteen, and had mastered the great arts of magic. The more he used it, the worse the headache that resulted. At first they had been mild, a mere irritation, but now they annoyed him immensely, making his life a misery at times. His father, the Black Lord, had been unsympathetic, blaming it on his weak human body. Maelle, a fire demon, had given him the drug that soothed it, but warned him not to take too much. The demon’s sly grin had angered Bane, and he had tested the potion on a human captive before taking it himself. He knew better than to trust a demon. He tried to take the potion as little as possible. Only when the pain became unbearable did he resort to it. He had not used the dark power since yesterday, and the pain had been building since then.

Mord returned with the infusion, setting it gingerly on the table before scuttling out again, to wait within call. Bane slugged back the foul-tasting brew, then threw the cup out of the tent flap and lay back. His father was well pleased with his work so far. His visits to Bane’s dreams had been full of praise and encouragement. The army had grown and advanced, almost unimpeded by the puny forces sent against it.

The Overworld had no great monarch to unite it. The land was split between many nobles, barons and lords, petty kings