Free Demon Lord by T C Southwell

cannot.
He would punish you, as he did the two men who fed me when we were
on the march."
    Benton scowled, his eyes
glinting. "He's determined to torture you, yet most of us will
perish fighting his battles anyway. I say eat, and the consequences
be damned." He glanced around at his friends, most of whom looked
away, betraying their unwillingness to be punished for feeding her.
He went on, "He should be satisfied that we've tortured you, he
might not realise you've eaten. It's one thing to avoid punishment
by faking your torture, but I'm willing to risk it so you can
eat."
    "No. I will not be the reason
for anyone to be whipped and left to die. He means to torment me
anyway, there is no need for you to share my fate."
    Benton looked unhappy, and
opened his mouth to protest further, but Mirra laid a hand on his
arm and smiled. He shrugged and wandered away to sit with his
fellows, probably thinking her hunger would drive her to eat when
she could no longer bear the sight of the food. She averted her
gaze from it, determined not to be tempted. Tired from the healing
and weakened by hunger and thirst, Mirra lay down on the floor,
surrounded by the muttering men. One of them gave her a brocaded
pillow, and she closed her eyes, the gentle tug of sleep tempting
her.
    The temperature seemed to drop,
and she sat up, startled, as the men scattered, Benton knocking her
backwards as he passed. She struggled upright again, a little dazed
by the speed of events, and a shadow fell on her. Mirra looked up
at Bane. His eyes glowed as he glanced around at the men who
cowered in the corners.
    "How did you torment her?"
    Benton inched forward, his head
bowed. "Lord. We tortured another, and she felt it worse than the
victim."
    Bane's malicious smile
broadened, revealing white teeth. "Excellent, of course, you know
how to torture your own."
    Benton cowered, and Bane dragged
Mirra to her feet, his fingers digging into her arm. "Now I can
have the satisfaction of doing it myself, witch."
    Mirra shared his pain as he led
her back to the inn, biting her lip. The throngs of dead and the
black birds that hopped over the corpses were all that populated
the streets. The men and gnomes were all within the buildings,
drinking or sleeping. Most of the trolls, goblins and rock howlers,
uninterested in alcohol or loot, camped outside in the woods, where
they were more at home. A gleam of red eyes in a shady street told
her the dark creatures still inhabited the town, preferring the
deeper shadows of cellars.
    When they arrived at the inn,
Bane pushed her into a chair and tied her to it with twine. While
he was bent over her, she studied his face at close quarters,
finding it hard to believe he was human. His white skin was so
fine, smooth and matt; his long black hair gleamed like a raven's
wing. His good looks belied the tales that those who worshipped the
Black Lord were ugly, mutilated and dirty, but then, he was not a
worshipper, she surmised. No scent clung to him, and his aura of
power made her hair bristle.
    When he moved away to sit beside
a bloating corpse and sip his wine, she said, "I share your pain,
so there is no need to torture others."
    His brows rose. "My pain? Oh, so
my company is painful to you?"
    She nodded.
    "Excellent, then I will have to
arrange some more for you to share." He leant forward, rolling the
golden cup between his palms. "I am not talking about the
headaches. Those are annoying, nothing more. You see, where I come
from, I learnt to deal with a great deal of pain, even to enjoy
it." He grinned, a half snarl. "If it will hurt you too, so much
the better."
    He turned and shouted for Mord,
who appeared from the next room, crouching subserviently. Bane
glowered at him. "Fetch the potions. It is time I had a cleansing,
this foul world is softening me."
    The troll scuttled into the back
room again, and Bane stood and unclipped his cloak, dropping it
over the corpse, then unbuttoned his tunic. He stripped it off,
revealing a