City of Demons (23 page)

Marick was grinning from ear to ear as they left the gym. They ran into Dorict, still red from his battle with the sand bag, as he returned from lunch.

“Dorict!” Marick called and waved him over. “Come to lunch with us. Tarix gave us a note to eat in the kitchen and it doesn't say how many.”

Dorict's face brightened noticeably, and he fell in with them immediately. Dropping his voice, he whispered to Marick, “Did it work?”

Marick clapped his hand on Garet's shoulder and whispered back, “He was amazing! I swear that he's memorized that clawed book.”

Dorict's expression was smug. “I told you it would work. Salick knows Tarix better than either of us.” He smiled up at Garet. “Congratulations!”

“For what?” Garet asked.

Marick pulled him into a cubby hole below the staircase. Dorict followed them. The space under the stairs was just wide enough for all three to crouch together, barely.

“Don't want to stand in the halls where any lazy Gold can give us a job,” Marick said, then turned to Garet. “Why do you think Tarix was asking you all those questions?”

Garet sneezed at the dust they had raised and rubbed his nose. “She was probably deciding whether or not to let me keep reading the Demonary.” He rubbed his nose again. “I was afraid she would confiscate it, but I guess I must have made enough progress to satisfy her.”

Dorict laughed quietly, and Marick shook his head.

“You just passed your Blue Sash test, you idiot!” Marick hissed, trying hard to keep from shouting out the news. He rolled his eyes at Garet's look of incomprehension. “Part of the test is a basic knowledge of the Demonary.”

“Part of it?” Garet asked. “Then the test isn't over?” His thoughts were spinning: Farix had dropped so many dark hints about the Blue Sash tests that Garet had expected something, well, much more frightening.

Marick turned towards Dorict. “Have you talked to Salick about the physical test?”

Dorict shifted in the cramped space. “Yes. She thinks that Garet will be excused, thanks to Farix.” He ground out the name of Garet's supervisor. “That fool made it simple by excusing him from exercising with the other Blacks.”

Garet looked at him curiously. He had never heard Dorict insult anyone except Marick. The stout Bane's expression was grim, and from the noise, he seemed to be grinding his teeth.

Marick poked him in the ribs. “Don't worry, Farix's day is coming.” He saw Garet's questioning look and said, “Dorict hates Farix because he's a bully and loves tormenting the new Blacks.” Dorict nodded in agreement. Marick continued, “But Farix is also one of Adrix's followers. That's why he won't be on top forever.”

Garet's face must have kept its look of confusion for Marick, after a moment of hesitation, offered one more, cryptic comment. “You were there at Old Torrick, remember?”

The young Bane would say no more but pushed Garet out of the dark space and led him to the kitchen. Dorict trailed happily along, all his past bitterness about Farix forgotten in the anticipation of an extra meal.

Later that day, after supper, Salick came to find him. He had been sitting outside on the benches in front of the Banehall, watching two teams play kickball in one of the many sports fields in the Banehall plaza. The Demonary lay forgotten in his lap. A leather ball, as big as his head, moved back and forth across the field according to mysterious rules. Just when he was sure nothing had happened, the spectators shouted in joy or anger and the field master would throw his feathered wand into the air, signalling a goal. Garet sighed, promising himself to pay more attention next time.

In contrast to the glory of the palace and temples, and the busy commerce of the market stalls across the river, the Banehall plaza had a relaxed, playful atmosphere. The Banehall itself was imposing enough, four stories at its centre and three at the sides forming a ‘U' shaped courtyard facing the river. There was a gate of iron bars and spaced wooden timbers to defend that courtyard, but Garet had never seen it closed. The rest of the plaza was uncrowded. The people who played on the grass fields or walked among the low-pruned gardens had none of the frenzy they displayed in the other plaza. Like Garet, they had come here to relax and enjoy a crisp autumn evening. He often sat in the plaza after supper, finding it, like the rooftop, a place where he could escape the worries of his life and just think.

He had a lot to think about. According to Marick, he was now a Blue, although his friend hadn't told him how he was to get a new sash. Thinking of how he had acquired the black one he now wore, he smiled and thought he had better ask Dorict instead. And there was still the matter of his physical test. He had already guessed that he could pass such a test easily, especially considering the lack of strength and stamina in the other Blacks. Since they were unlikely to pass a test that would be too difficult for him, he would pass the physical, unless Farix hated him so much that he failed them all. That thought brought a new flutter of nerves, but Dorict had hinted that he wouldn't have to take the physical exam. Garet idly thumbed the pages of the rewritten book and thought of his frail dormitory mates. No dragon-fighting heroes there. Like himself, they were depressingly normal. Whatever whim of Heaven chose Banes, it left out magnificent specimens like the ones that guarded bridge gates or swaggered about with Duelist's swords on their hips.

Then another, more unpleasant thought rose in his mind: Adrix. The Banemaster obviously hated Mandarack, and might use Garet to undermine or embarrass him. Sitting here and thinking in the quiet of the low autumn sun, he now understood what Marick had been hinting at under the stairs. There was a split in the Shirath Banehall, similar to what had occurred in Old Torrick's Hall. Adrix was obviously the leader of one group, but who led the other? Master Tarix had some similarities to the winning Master in Torrick, Corix, but in Garet's mind she didn't fit the part. She was too gentle. Could it be Mandarack? He helped force the change of power in Old Torrick, and Adrix certainly saw him as an enemy. Garet sighed. He knew that he owed more loyalty to Mandarack than any other Master. Whether he wanted to or not, circumstances were making him choose sides in this struggle, and probably suffer for his choice.

“Garet!” a voice called, stirring him from his thoughts.

He looked up and saw Salick coming towards his bench with another Bane, a Gold. It was Farix!
Why would she be bringing him to see me
, Garet wondered as he jammed the Demonary into his tunic, got up and sketched a slight bow for Farix's benefit.

Salick barely waited until she stood by Garet's side before she launched a question at the Gold. “Now did you or did you not excuse Garet from physical training?” Her voice was sharp, and Farix straightened as if being addressed by a Master rather than a lowly Green.

“I did, but what business of that is yours, Salick?” He looked flustered, and Garet realized that Salick must have dragged him from the Hall for this meeting. In the background, a cheer went up as one team put the ball through the wicker circle at the end of the field.

Salick pressed on. “By doing so, were you saying, as his supervisor, that he already met the requirements?” She crossed her arms and waited for his answer.

“No! I...” Farix replied, and then stopped. He looked hard at Salick and then Garet while he considered his response. “Yes,” he said finally, drawing out the word as if he hated its taste. “He met the requirements—barely.” With that, he turned on his heel, but Salick's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Don't forget to record that in the register.”

Farix didn't turn, but gave a short nod of his head before striding away.

Salick gave that stiff back a savage smile. “Got you!” she said in a lowered voice. She turned to Garet. “That's that. You've passed all the requirements for the Blue!” She dropped down onto the bench, and he slowly sat down beside her.

“Why did Farix agree, Salick?” Garet ran his hand through his hair and tried to put this new development into place with everything else. It didn't fit. Farix would never let him off easily, nor would Adrix.

Salick waved her hand at a pair of Banes leaving the Hall for nightly patrol. Vinir, just returned from Bangt, waved back and called something inaudible. The Red she accompanied, a short, bearded man, waited impatiently. Salick motioned her on and turned back to Garet. “If he said you weren't fit enough after letting you off the exercises, he could be accused of not training you properly.” She leaned back and turned her face to the gold-tinted clouds above the city, obviously pleased with herself. “I gave him no choice, if he wanted to remain a supervisor, and Farix couldn't live with himself if he didn't have some Blacks to boss around.”

The spectators at the kickball game cheered again and Salick craned her neck to see who had scored. “Let's go for a walk, Garet. I'm too excited to sit down.” She jumped up from the bench and strode off towards the fields, Garet following.

“Salick,” Garet asked, catching up to her, ”will Mandarack be the next Banehall Master?”

Salick stopped dead and fixed Garet with a calculating stare. “I see you've been thinking again.” Her tone was neutral. “And if he was?”

Garet's response was immediate. “I think it would be a great improvement.”

Salick smiled. “I agree, but I also think that newly tested Blues, or even Greens for that matter, shouldn't be saying such things in public.” She turned slowly and continued her walk, now a relaxed stroll around the plaza.

The game had finished and the winners were consoling the losers while the spectators paused to discuss the finer points of the match. Garet wished he knew the rules better, so that he could play it himself, though thinking about it, he had yet to see any Bane, young or old, taking part in the various games of the plaza.

Salick led him into one of the gardens between the fields. Lacking the delicious scents of the summer, the gardens were now mainly a treat for the eye. Birch and maple trees, restricted to a cramped life in clay pots, showed off their new fall colours. Garet felt as if he were moving through a miniature forest. Salick ran her hand lightly along the tops of the trees as she walked.

“These trees are so small,” Garet said.

“Hard to hide a Basher in them,” Salick replied.

When they came to a secluded place, Salick said to him, in a lowered voice, “Garet, I know that you think about what you see, so you must know what is going on in the Hall.”

Garet paused before answering. Adrix's treatment of him when he arrived and Tarix's obvious dislike of the Banemaster were only two clues as to what was happening. Lately, the head table had become a mirror of the conflict, with Adrix's supporters crowding around him at the centre and his opponents pushed out to the ends. Garet had also observed that some masters would not speak to each other in the halls, and he had heard Golds cursing each other for following a Master on the opposing side.

“I know that there's a split in the Hall, Salick,” he finally answered, “but I don't know what's causing it.” He ran his hand along the top of a nearby maple in unconscious imitation of Salick. “Is it because Adrix is such a cruel person?” The red leaves felt smooth against his palm.

Salick picked up a fallen leaf from the ground and absently rubbed it against her cheek. When she saw Garet staring at her, she stopped and said, “This is something people do in Shirath.” She held up the dry leaf. “All the age of your skin goes into the leaf, and you'll never get wrinkles.” She dropped the leaf, reddening.

Garet had the sense to stay silent.

One hand firmly clasping the other behind her back, Salick continued walking and explaining. “Adrix is cruel, but that's not why so many are against him. Usually the other Masters can control a Hallmaster if he or she gets too arrogant, but Adrix has proposed something that has won him the support of at least some Masters.” She paused in her speech while a young couple, holding hands and whispering to each other, passed by. The yellow of the girl's tunic was ablaze in the slanted light as she laid her head on the young man's shoulder and laughed. Salick watched them walk away, her expression unreadable.

When they were out of hearing, she continued. “Adrix is using this sudden appearance of demons in the Midlands and their increase in Old Torrick to press for more power here in Shirath.” Coming to another stone bench, she sat down. Garet remained standing, looking down at her.

“Well don't just stand there!” she said crossly. “Sit down! You look like a tree waiting to be pruned.”

Garet sat, wondering what had made her so irritated. “I'm sorry, Salick. Please go on. How can Adrix increase his power?”

“Not just his,” Salick corrected, “but ours as well.” She looked at the open gates of the river wall. Over the hump of the centre bridge, they could see the top floors of the Palace. “Adrix wants the King to cede him power over trade and the Ward courts, the two most important things the King does. Without those powers, Trax might as well go back to being just another lord.”

“Why would Adrix want these powers?” Garet asked, suddenly very aware of Salick's nearness, the red tinge the sunset gave to her yellow hair, the curve of her jaw above her tunic's collar. He swallowed and looked away.

“He wants to peel the years back,” she said, her voice soft again. “For a hundred years after the demons came, the Banehalls had much more power and privilege than the lords or the King.” There was a soft scuffing sound as she swung her foot back and forth on the paving stones. “But the Banehalls eventually found it easier to let the nobles run the commerce and courts so that we could concentrate on killing demons. That division of power has worked fairly well for five hundred years.” The sound of her foot stopped, and her voice tightened. “Now Adrix is making all sorts of ridiculous demands on the King. And Trax is not the kind of man to stand by and see his power disappear!”