City of Demons (16 page)

Mandarack was grim. “Come with us.” Dorict and Marick also followed, both clearly shaken.

Salick and Garet knew better than to ask and fell in with the shivering Blues behind the Banemaster. A trail, smashed through the berry bushes a hundred paces from where they had stopped, led from the road towards a copse of greyish-green poplars.

Garet knelt down and touched a dark stain on the dirt. His finger came away red. The old man looked grimly at the stain and led them through the smashed bushes, his shield held clear of the thorns. Before he followed and despite Salick's jibe, Garet picked up a good-sized stone to put in his tunic pocket. He had little faith in his ability to use the hatchet against any of the demons listed in the Moret's book, but at least he was sure of his skill with a rock. Fifty more paces brought them to the dusty island of trees. A body lay hidden in the brambles just in front of the poplars. It was a young man, a few years older than Salick, dressed in a blue tunic. His throat was cut in three precise parallel curves from just under one ear to the other.
Too precise and knife-like for a bear
, Garet thought,
and too big to be any other natural beast
. There was no doubt in his mind as to what had done this. The man's eyes were wide and staring, as if he still felt a horror of the demon that killed him.

Garet's stomach twisted, and he savagely fought to control himself. Salick's lips were pressed and her cheeks pale. Mandarack waved them into the poplars and stood in the centre of the small grove, his shield braced against a tree and his eyes looking down at a second corpse, this one clad in the clawed remnants of a black tunic and a shredded gold sash.

“Cassant!” Salick cried. She sobbed and stabbed her trident into the ground. “Oh, Cassant! Master, how could this be? Cassant was a Gold. How could he be killed?”

Mandarack's voice was harsh. “Any Bane can die beneath a demon's claws, Salick, even a Gold, even a Master, but something else disturbs me even more than the death of someone from our Hall.” He slid the shield off his arm and kneeling, gently turned the corpse over. “See here, the back is where the killing blows landed. There are little but scratches on the front of his body.” He slipped the shield on again and said quietly, perhaps to himself, “Why did he not face the beast?”

Could the demon have crept up on him? But before Garet could ask Mandarack, he remembered the gut-wrenching effect of a demon's approach. The Gold would have felt the demon long before he saw it. How could it have attacked him secretly from behind?

“Garet,” Mandarack's sudden call brought his attention back to the Banemaster. “I think you have some skill in tracking animals. Check the trail and tell me what you see.”

Garet followed the smashed passage through the bushes carefully, but most of the tracks belonged to him and his companions. Only one or two stretches showed the running strides of other feet. While casting along the sides of the trail he spotted a glint of metal beneath the bushes. It was a long spear. A hook of bright metal swept back from where the point joined the shaft, the Bane's weapon perhaps. He carried it back to the others.

“Master,” he said when he rejoined Mandarack by the entrance to the poplars, “two people ran quickly down the trail.”

“Ran?” asked the Bane, his eyes holding Garet's and demanding confirmation.

Salick stared at him, mouth open.

Garet nodded. “Yes, sir, and quickly too. The prints are far apart and the dirt is thrown back for a good distance at each step.” He paused to slow his breath. “I saw a scuffed track behind them; something clawed the ground, but what it was isn't clear.” He held out the spear to the old man. “And there was this.”

Salick leaned close to Mandarack's ear and whispered urgently.

“No,” he replied clearly. “I do not know why a Bane would run, Salick, or drop his weapon. But we must find out.” He turned to Garet. “Keep the spear for now, lad. You might need it before we can leave this place.” Garet handed his hatchet to Marick and gripped the unfamiliar weapon tightly in both hands.

The five Banes half carried, half dragged the corpses of the two men to the road and laid them in the back of the cart. The horses shied away from the smell of the blood, making the cart jitter and sway.

Mandarack closed the eyes of the young man and slipped his hand into the shield again. “Dorict, Marick, stay here with the cart,” he instructed. “Do not try to fight anything that might appear. If you are attacked, cut the horses loose. They might draw off the demon and allow you to escape. Make your way back to Old Torrick if we are separated. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Master,” cried Marick, his face white, “but what will you and Salick and Garet be doing?”

“We hunt,” the old Bane replied shortly. Before he led Salick and Garet back down the trail, he turned and told Dorict, “If we do not return by evening, light the lanterns and start back to Torrick. Ask Hallmaster Corix to send as much help as she can.”

Dorict nodded nervously and clutched at the reins to quiet the shifting horses.

The three Banes, Mandarack in the lead and Salick bringing up the rear, quickly retraced their steps to the poplar trees. The brambles caught at the shaft of the spear in Garet's hand, until Salick's whispered, “Hold it up, you fool!” He blushed and raised the weapon above his head.

At Mandarack's direction, Garet and Salick circled the grove looking for clues as to where the demon had gone. Salick found some blood on a patch of dry moss, and Garet was able to make out enough scrapes and scuffs to lead them to the north end of the grove.

The tracks went lightly through the brambles, though here and there, the soft earth showed a full print.

“Master,” Garet called softly, “come and look at this.” He was crouched between the bushes above a set of prints. A nearby spring had seeped into the soil and softened it to the consistency of porridge. Two sets of tracks were clearly pressed into the earth. Both were of long, narrow feet whose claws cut thin lines in the dirt at each step.

Mandarack lowered himself carefully and examined the tracks. Salick hovered nervously.

“Master,” she asked, “did the demon pass here twice?”

Mandarack scanned the trail. “No,” he said. The point of his shield hovered over the marks. “See there where the larger tracks cover the smaller set, while here it's the smaller set on top.” He pushed himself up, using the shield as a support. “There were two demons, Shriekers I believe, on this trail, travelling together.” He tapped the shield lightly against his boot to knock the dirt from its tip.

Salick stared at him, open-mouthed. After a moment she swallowed and tightened her grip on the trident.

Garet scanned ahead. “Master,” he said, “why can't we feel them? Are they too far away?”

“I don't know,” Mandarack replied softly, turning his head this way and that as he had on the night he had detected the Basher. “It's almost as if...” His voice trailed off.

No noise broke the silence for a long minute, then Mandarack spoke again, “Salick, what do you feel from the direction of the setting sun?”

The shadows of leaves made crisscross patterns on her face as she swivelled towards the low sun and closed her eyes.

“Nothing, Master.” A pause, then: “But it feels...dead!” “That is what I sense. Not a feeling, but the absence of all feeling.”

Garet had been trying to sense anything in the same direction and came to the same conclusion. It was like closing your eyes and turning from sunlight to shade. Something was missing, although he had no clear idea of what it was.

He opened his eyes. The trail led west to the ruins he had seen beyond the temple. Mandarack followed his glance.

“That is the old temple market. It was never dismantled, but is mostly in ruins now. Stay close to me.” He moved carefully towards the jumble of walls and collapsed buildings. Salick and Garet exchanged quick glances and followed.

The market had once been a large walled compound which, like the market of Old Torrick, was ringed with stalls and buildings. The wall itself had been breached by weather and time in several places, and few of the shops had more than two walls left upright. The three Banes crouched just inside the market wall, behind a half-collapsed tea house and listened. Now no bird sang, no animal called. But still there was no sense of fear. The only sound was the brush of branches from the overgrown, ornamental trees against the walls. At the Master's signal they slipped between the shops and looked out into the compound.

The remains of buildings and galleries crusted the inner walls, leaving only narrow alleys between them. What walls were left were covered with faded paintings and deep carvings of the constellations.
That's why these buildings weren't torn down to help build the road
, Garet thought; they were too holy to be disturbed by anything but time. A substantial building, boasting a complete front wall, but no roof, dominated the north end of the compound. Between it and the ruined gate to the south lay nothing but cracked flagstones and a dry fountain.

“That would be the Market Master's building,” breathed Mandarack, pointing with his chin to the north. “The blank feeling lies in that direction.” Now, Garet could easily feel the wrongness of that dead area.

Salick must have felt it as well, for she wrinkled her nose at the large building as if it held something foul.

Mandarack turned to face them. “If the demons are both here,” he said slowly, “they might seek such a shelter for a lair.”

“You're not sure, Master?” This burst out of Garet without thought. But a panic filled him at Mandarack's uncertainty. If the Banemaster was not sure, what chance did they have?

Salick's hand clawed at his shoulder, and her voice whispered harshly in his ear, “Keep quiet, idiot! No Bane has ever faced two demons before. Not even the greatest. Demons never appear together!”

They moved inside, hugging the shop wall and keeping low to take advantage of the piles of stones and the long shadows cast by the wall. The overhanging trees shaded the inside of the Market Master's ruined mansion. Each remaining window was a blind eye staring out into the still-bright square. As they crept along, Garet could feel the dread growing in him. The dead feeling was gone. Even with his new techniques of self-control, he could barely force himself forward. Was this the effect of the demons or of his loss of faith in Mandarack's limitless knowledge? He looked across at Salick. Her skin was pale and beads of sweat dotted her upper lip and forehead.

At least I'm no worse off than she is,
thought Garet, and the thought calmed him enough so that he could push the fear down and hold it in his belly. The ease with which he accomplished this told him that it was mainly his own doubts he fought. They were at the last tumbled shop before their goal now. At least twelve running paces separated them from the nearest window. Something clicked on the stones to their left. The old Bane waved them up to crouch beside him. He whispered his instructions, his voice so low that Garet had to read some words from the movement of his lips to get the entire message.

“Garet and I will go through the front entrance. I think we will be attacked by at least one of the demons right away. They are close. Salick, you go through the far window on the right and make your way to the entrance from the inside. If both demons are attacking us, you can come out and pin one down with your trident. If you are attacked inside the building, defend yourself until I can assist you.” He saw their understanding and stood up. “Now, Garet.”

Three paces behind and with the spear held ready, Garet followed the old Bane at a slow trot across the intervening space. As they approached the entrance, an arch of stone long empty of any hinge or door, Garet caught a glimpse of Salick's dash to the far window.

The Bane stopped a few paces from the door and held up the shield. There was a scuttling. Mandarack set his feet and called to Garet, “To the side now, boy. Careful with the spear!”

A red blur came out, not from the door, but from the crushed walls to the left of the building. It was a Shrieker, claws lifted and whistling its horrible cry. It charged straight at Mandarack, only to be batted away by the upraised shield. The old Bane swung to face the demon, and again Garet was reminded of the movements of a bird. The Master froze into the terrible stillness of a river heron, metal beak raised to stab the thing that scampered back towards him. The shield cut downwards, but only chipped the flagstones as the beast changed direction at the last minute, charging Garet.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Garet yelled and launched himself, spear first, at the demon. It swerved around the point on all fours, tearing out more chips of stone as it dug in its claws for traction. Garet swung the point wildly after it, but succeeded only in unbalancing himself, and he dropped to one knee. The creature turned and was running at him again. Mandarack shouted something that Garet could not understand. As the creature approached, claws held out, the only thing he could think to do was to fling the spear cross-wise at it, so that the middle of the shaft caught the demon on its knees. With a squawk, the thing tripped and rolled completely over Garet, its claws whisking past his ears.

Mandarack was as taken aback as the demon and belatedly swung at the beast as it rolled, ball-like, past his legs. The demon untangled itself just before it hit the stone stairs of the building and scuttled around Mandarack, just out of reach of the shield, to attack Garet again.

Without thinking, Garet rolled to the left, and came to his feet in a crouch as the demon streaked by, missing him by inches. It turned, barely staying upright in its speed, and leaped at him. Without hesitation, Garet rolled under the flying body of the beast to come to a crouch behind it. Finding itself clawing air instead of its intended victim, the demon twisted around and shrieked its frustration.