Demon Lord by T C Southwell Page B

stomach
clenched at the sight and smell of the terrible stuff.
    "What is the matter, witch? Do
you not like the food?"
    She met his eyes. "I do not eat
flesh."
    "Ah." He chuckled nastily. "I
knew that, of course. But you will eat it now, for Mord made it
especially. You would not want to hurt his feelings, would
you?"
    "No, but I cannot eat this."
    "You can, and you will."
    "No." She shook her head.
    Bane's fist hit the table top
with a terrific bang, making the crockery, and Mirra, jump. "You
will obey me!"
    Mirra looked down at her
twisting hands. "I cannot. I am sorry."
    The Demon Lord smirked and
turned to call out of the door flap, "Mord, bring me the man who
helps her."
    Fear clutched her heart. "No,
please do not hurt him."
    "Then eat your breakfast, you
ungrateful girl."
    Mirra stared at him, not
understanding his wish to torture her. No one had been cruel to her
before, and she wondered why it pleased him so. Her hands wound
together in an agony of vacillation at the terrible choice that he
forced her to make. Mord arrived outside the open flap with two
more trolls, who dragged the hapless Benton.
    The soldier stared at the Demon
Lord with abject terror, then his gaze flicked to her. Mirra
cringed under his pleading gaze and picked up her fork. Her hand
trembled as she looked at the dead remains on her plate, longing to
jump up and flee. Bane smirked, his eyes sparkling. When she
continued to hesitate, unable to bring herself to touch the food,
he gestured to the waiting troll.
    "Beat him."
    "No!"
    Mirra speared a piece of meat
and thrust it into her mouth. She forced herself to chew it and
closed her mind to the taste of dead flesh. Bane chuckled and made
her eat every scrap, keeping Benton on hand so that she could not
refuse. When the ordeal was over, he rose and flicked his fingers
at the waiting trolls, who released their prisoner. Mirra fought
the sickness that churned her stomach until Benton was safely away,
then reeled out of the tent to vomit. Bane's laughter followed her,
filled with sadistic satisfaction. He walked away to mount the red
dragon, leaving her weak and shaking, trying to spit out the last
of the foul taste.
    Benton returned to find her
sitting forlorn on the ground, while Mord packed away the Demon
Lord's tent. She gulped the water he gave her, washing away the
last of the oily taste. As soon as she was able, she followed the
tramping horde from the vale in which they had camped, Benton
beside her. He gave her some bread, but the rest of his supplies
consisted of dried meat, the troops' staple ration. Still, with
that and the water, her strength returned somewhat, and she only
required his help a little.
    Each night, Mord took her to
Bane's tent, where she slept beside his bed. At times he woke her
when he tossed and turned, but for the most part he ignored her.
Only when he used her for his sadistic pleasure did he pay her any
attention. He forced her to eat meat almost every day, and once he
made her drink wine until her head spun and she vomited.
    Mirra endured it in silence, and
his enjoyment dwindled, since she gave him no satisfaction with her
meek acceptance of his cruelty. Sometimes she would weep at night
for his twisted soul and all the innocents he had slaughtered.
Outside, the lupine howls of hunting dark creatures and the distant
screams of their prey echoed. None ventured near the Demon Lord's
tent, and after a while the blood-chilling sounds no longer jerked
her into shivering wakefulness.
    Each day, Bane's army swallowed
up the land. They marched like a disease over fields and through
picturesque towns, leaving ravaged ruins and trampled mud in their
wake. The dark creatures followed in the forests' dimness, and
ventured out only when they were forced to cross open stretches.
Although they frightened and horrified her, Mirra pitied the
twisted beasts as they shuffled, limped and crawled to the safety
of the next forest. The sky remained grim and grey, but even its
pale light