City of Demons (25 page)

The trailing poles were dragged back and forth, ringing hollow notes as they struck against other posts. He grabbed the nearest pole to keep it from disappearing into the forest of awnings. The net pulled against him, but weakly, as if the creature could not get any purchase in its escape.

He looked back. “Salick, I've got it. Hurry!” But instead of Salick, Vinir appeared beside him, a raw scrape on one cheek and her long braids unravelling. She grabbed the other pole. “Haul it in!”

Together, they pulled back on the poles, dragging the net towards them. It came slowly, decorated with bits of broken furniture, torn matting, and a chipped teapot caught by its spout and sloshing its contents onto the roof.

“Pin it!” Vinir gasped. She pushed the end of her pole down on the writhing mass of cords. Garet copied her, though he probably caught more net than demon with his pole.

“Careful!” called a deep voice behind them. Relict, the Red who had called from the roof, stepped up between them, an axe held two-handed over his head. Searching for a target, he chopped a half-dozen times into the net. At least some strokes must have found the mark, because the net stopped twisting, and Relict's weapon dripped a dark liquid from its edge. Salick limped up beside them, one hand pressed hard against her side. “Is it dead?” she gasped.

Vinir dropped the pole. She threw a supporting arm around Salick who cried out in pain. “Salick,” she asked, “are you injured badly?” She turned to Relict. “Master, Salick is hurt!”

Relict stood up from checking the corpse of the demon. He hurried over to examine Salick. She bit her lip as he felt her side. “It's her ribs,” he said. “Cracked, I think, not broken.” He smiled at the injured Bane. “Heaven shone on you tonight, Salick.” She gave him a weak nod, sweat standing out on her forehead.

Relict turned to Garet. He looked at him for a moment before speaking. “You're Garet, aren't you?” he said, and then, not waiting for an answer, continued, “Vinir has told me about you.” He clapped a hand on Garet's shoulder. “No wonder you did so well!”

“Master!” Vinir reminded him. She was supporting Salick, trying not to cause her more pain.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “Garet, take Salick back to the infirmary. Ask the guards for help if she can't walk.” He looked back to Vinir. “We'll take care of this.” He pointed at the motionless net with the blade of his bloody axe.

Vinir nodded quickly in agreement, her braids unravelling further. “Take good care of her, Garet,” she said, transferring the shaken young woman to his shoulder.

As he half walked, half carried Salick down the courtyard steps, he heard Relict say softly to Vinir, “You were right about him.”

The walk back to the Banehall was slow, but Salick refused to be carried. With a look of grim determination on her face, she limped along, one arm around Garet's shoulders. When they arrived at the Banehall, most of its occupants were already in their rooms for the night.

The infirmary was located on the main wing's lower floor, close to the training gymnasiums. It was a large room of many beds, most occupied by elderly Banes, but some by victims of training accidents or unlucky encounters with demons. The man in charge was a non-Bane in his middle years named Banerict, a soft-spoken man with a greying beard who quickly confirmed Relict's guess about cracked ribs, and motioned Garet to put his charge on the nearest empty bed.

“Don't worry, young man,” he said. He took a tray of long bandages from a cupboard and set it beside Salick's bed. “Salick will be up and around in two days, although she might not be chasing demons for a while.” She smiled at his small joke but then grimaced as he eased the sash off over her head. He directed Garet to pull off her boots while he carefully removed her vest.

Garet stood there, uncertain of how to help. Banerict looked around and suggested, “Maybe you could inform Master Mandarack that his apprentice is not too badly injured?”

Garet looked at the bandages and realized that Banerict wanted to wrap Salick's ribs, a procedure that would require him to remove her shirt. Hurriedly leaving the room, he made his way to the section of the main wing that housed the Masters' rooms. He knocked on Mandarack's door once and then paused, suddenly afraid of disturbing the old Bane. Banerict had been preparing for bed himself when Garet had half-carried Salick into the infirmary. But his concern was unnecessary as the door opened promptly to show Mandarack wide awake and still dressed.

“Come in, Garet,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for Black Sashes to call on Masters so late in the evening. Garet entered and Mandarack waved him to one of a pair of chairs flanking a small side table. There was little other furniture in the room: a narrow bed, a small shelf of books, and a tiny writing desk. The room had no window. Garet wondered if the spareness of the room was another sign of Adrix's disfavour or merely a reflection of Mandarack's disciplined personal habits.

When they both were seated, Garet blurted out the reason for his visit. Mandarack listened and quietly asked, “Was Salick badly injured?”

“No Master,” Garet replied, “but Banerict says that her ribs are cracked and she'll be off her feet for two days.” He paused as Mandarack rose and took two cups down from the bookshelf. He filled them with steaming liquid from a teapot on his desk. Garet asked the Bane, “Master, Salick called Banerict ‘physician.' What does that word mean?”

Mandarack handed Garet his tea and paused, probably, Garet thought, to judge how much other information he would need to make sense of any explanation. Another reminder of his ignorance.

“In the North and among the Midlanders, there are few large concentrations of people. That, of course, is changing in the Midlands.” He sat down in the other chair and sipped his tea.

Garet took a sip as well. He was surprised to taste something familiar, mint and strawberry leaves, the same tea his mother had served the Bane months ago in their rough cabin.

Mandarack put down his cup, the thin china clinking on the stone top of the table. “If people in those places are injured or ill, a man or a woman skilled in healing is called, even if they must come from a distant place. These healers pass on their knowledge to their children, or perhaps to an apprentice, but they work in isolation with no healer sharing her knowledge with another.” He waved a hand at the walls of the room, indicating perhaps the city beyond. “In the Five Cities, healers learn from each other. They study together in special schools, write books of their skills, and train any student who shows promise in the healing arts. The Palace of Shirath holds one such school. If you graduate from that school, you are called a physician, one who heals the body.” He looked at Garet to judge his comprehension.

Garet nodded. “Such men and women would be very valuable in the Midlands and the North,” he suggested.

“And indispensable in the Banehall,” observed Mandarack, taking another sip. “Tell me of the Glider Demon.”

Garet described the battle, stopping now and then to answer the Bane's request for more details. When he had finished there was a silence in the small room as Mandarack pondered this information.

“The idea of a net was intelligent. Gliders are rare, and I doubt anyone now living in Shirath has experience with them, but Master Relict is a resourceful Bane.”

Garet recalled the brief comment on Gliders in the Demonary. This type of demon was said to be half the size of a large Shrieker with flaps of skin stretching from their forearms to their back claws. According to the book, this allowed them to slide like a falling leaf through the air. The size of its jewel was not mentioned, but Garet thought it would be rather small, as the fear he had felt had not even matched that produced by the Basher.

He looked over at Mandarack and found him still deep in his thoughts. Something he had said earlier still confused him and he decided to use this opportunity to continue his education about Shirath.

“Master,” Garet asked, “are there other schools?” He waited until Mandarack turned to him before he continued. “I mean, physicians have a school, and I suppose the Banehall is a school as well, but are there other workers in the city who have this,” he paused, looking for the word, “training?”

Mandarack smiled slightly. “Yes. My brother has a school of what he calls mechanicals, people who make and repair machines.” He rose and poured himself another cup of tea from the pot on the desk. It was the same size and shape as the one Garet had seen caught in the net earlier that night. “There are also schools for scribes and stewards, those who assist the lords in running their wards and the King in running the city.” He sat down again. “The Duelists also run a school of sorts to train bodyguards for trade missions.”

These new facts ran together with all the other facts in Garet's head, forcing a familiar frustration to the surface. More questions. Why didn't the Banehall have scribes and stewards when they had a physician? Who helped ‘run' the Hall? He slapped the arm of the chair, the noise loud in the small room. “I'll never understand this city!”

“No, I don't suppose you will,” Mandarack replied. “At least, not like one who was born here. Everything will always be new to you.” He observed Garet closely.

“Then why did you bring me here?” Garet asked. “You could have left me at Bangt, to be trained by the Masters there, maybe by Boronict. At least I knew something of the Midlands and might have been of more use there.”

Perhaps some bitterness born of the humiliations he had suffered since arriving in Shirath coloured his tone, for Mandarack's lips twitched into his dry, small smile.

“We had a conversation like this once before,” Mandarack said. “Then, I said I could try to change something for you, but here, any change is difficult.” He leaned forward and put his good hand on Garet's arm. “For six hundred years, we have created rules and habits to keep a balance in this city. We each have our role in Shirath, forced into it by the continual threat of the demons. But on the whole, it's a balance that has served us well. We have survived to create a society undreamed of by our ancestors.” He stood and pulled up his bad arm behind his back and began to pace slowly from the bed to the door and back again. “If Banfreat, our Hall's founder, could walk the streets of Shirath today, he would marvel at the theatres, the libraries, and the great mass of humanity housed within this city.”

Theatres, libraries: more words Garet did not know. His sigh passed unnoticed by the pacing Master.

“And yet, Garet, this success may be our undoing.” He paused in his slow strides to face the young Bane. “You know that the situation with the demons has changed, perhaps forever, although Master Adrix claims it is but a temporary problem.”

Garet nodded. “Demons now appear together and some cannot be tracked by the fear they send out.”

“Simple facts that turn our world upside down, I am afraid.” He started to pace again. “Yes, I fear that we will not be able to survive this change in our circumstances.”

“But that is your duty,” Garet said and then hurried to explain his answer when the old man stiffened. “I mean, you and the other Masters will find a way to deal with it, like bringing all the Midlanders into towns like Bangt, and putting Corix in charge of Old Torrick's Banehall.”

“Perhaps,” Mandarack replied, “but the demon we met at the temple may be a change beyond our ability to adapt.” “Why, Master?” Garet asked.

“Because it may have the ability to control other demons, to work with them for our destruction,” Mandarack answered softly. “In the marketplace of that ruined town, we were attacked so that Salick could be lured into a trap—a trap that you managed to break open. The Shrieker attacked us at the other demon's bidding.” His pacing became more determined. “And do we even know how many demons the one you drove off can control—one, two, an army?”

Garet took a breath. He saw the reason for Mandarack's concern. The thought of facing many demons, all attacking at once, and perhaps coordinated by some evil intelligence was daunting. He shook his head.

“But that still doesn't explain why you brought me here instead of leaving me at the new Hall in Bangt,” Garet said to the old Bane, hands gripping the arms of his chair. Would he get an answer? Did Mandarack think he deserved one?

Mandarack relaxed his stance and sat again.
He looks tired
, Garet thought.

“I brought you here because I thought we would need you here,” Mandarack said. He waved away Garet's attempt at another question. “No, I don't expect you to fully understand yet. But you are a Bane that can see the Banehall from the outside, without the burden of those six hundred years of Shirath tradition.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “That is a unique ability. When whatever disaster is coming arrives, your observations may be vital to our survival.” He opened his eyes again and rose slowly from the chair. “The hour is late, but we have one more task to complete before we may sleep tonight.”

He opened the door and left the room. Garet gulped down the rest of his tea and followed. Mandarack's conversation had sent a thrill of anticipation through him. The thought of some great change coming to the Banehall was welcome. But that joy was tempered by the fact that Mandarack seemed to dread this change.

It was a short trip that ended in the Records room, a dusty office that stood beside the Hallmaster's suite. The door was open and Garet followed the Master inside. Tarix, leaning on her crutches, was standing by an old woman and shouting in her ear.

“Garet!” she said, her voice rising. “That's right, Garet! I want to register his change of sash!”

The woman, a faded red sash around her vest, shook her head and pulled down a heavy book from the shelf behind her head. “What symbols does her name use?” she asked querulously. Tarix yelled, “His name!” but looked nonplussed. Mandarack stepped up to answer.