City of Demons (26 page)

“When I registered him two months ago, Master Arict, you yourself chose the symbols “night bird” and “wave” to spell out his name.”

The Records Master grumbled and thumbed through the thick pages of the book.

Garet knew that the writing symbols could be used to sound out names, which rarely had a symbol of their own. His mother had said that was because few names had a meaning in the shared language of the North and South, so one could only borrow symbols, each of which had its own meaning, for their sound. His mother had chosen “stream” and “fall leaf” for his name, two symbols with similar sounds to the ones Arict had picked. Garet didn't think it was worth the trouble to correct the three Masters, especially if he would have to yell.

Arict found the page and dragged her bent finger down the entries until she stopped on his name. Garet, who had quietly come up to the table, saw that it listed the date he had arrived, his age, and that he was a Black Sash. The other entries on the page had much more information. Garet could see Ward numbers, parents' names, even the comments of different Masters.

Mandarack examined the entry. “Farix, the Gold in charge of Garet's training, was supposed to list his completion of the physical requirements,” he observed.

“He sent a note,” Arict said, pushing aside several leaves of paper to pull out a scrap with Farix's precise writing covering one side. She picked up a brush, inked it, and made an entry in the space below Garet's name. ‘Physically fit,' she wrote and looked up at Tarix, the inked bristles dripping slightly on the page.

The training Master leaned forward on her crutches and took the brush. She wrote ‘Passed basic knowledge' in a bold hand beside Arict's spidery symbols. Tarix looked questioningly at Mandarack, but he shook his head slightly. The weapons Master shrugged and continued writing. “There!” she said, straightening up and twisting around to face Garet. “You are officially a Blue. Come to training tomorrow after breakfast and we'll deal with the rest of it then.” With a word of thanks to Arict and a nod to Mandarack, she limped out of the room. Garet saw that only one of her legs touched the ground as she walked, the other was twisted at the knee and ankle so that it hung swinging in the air.

“Get some rest,” Mandarack said, and putting his good hand between Garet's shoulders, pushed him gently towards the door.

As if I will sleep
, thought Garet, as he went back to the Black Sash dormitory for the last night. The hunt for the Glider Demon, Mandarack's unsettling talk, and on top of it all his concern for Salick's injuries chased each other within his tired skull
. I wonder
, he thought, adding one more worry to the mix,
if I will ever have a night when I can lay down my head with nothing in it but sleep?

Life as a Blue was a vast improvement. Blues did not have a dormitory supervisor to approve, or more likely disapprove, their every action. They lived with two or three others of their rank on the upper floors, mainly under their own supervision. When Marick had told him this during one of their roof top training sessions, Garet had looked at the younger Bane suspiciously.

“Doesn't that give certain Banes,” he paused significantly, “more opportunities for getting into trouble?”

Marick had shaken his head sadly. “Not at all. In fact, it's easier to fool a Gold than a fellow Blue,” he replied. “And I'm afraid that the lack of supervision means that revenge is often swift and painful,” Marick said, then added in a forlorn tone, “In the case of innocent Banes, that revenge can be totally unfair!”

Garet had laughed, knowing that however many beatings Marick had received, they were not equal to the trouble he had caused.

The young Bane had been waiting for him at the door of the Black's dormitory when he returned from the Records room. He chided him for his lateness while Garet hurriedly packed his few belongings. Marick bundled up his bedding and led him up to the third floor of the Hall's west wing. There, in a room that reminded Garet strongly of the one they had appropriated in Old Torrick, Marick dropped his blankets on a freshly turned mattress and said, “Now we'll have some fun!”

Over the next few weeks, Garet spent a considerable amount of energy avoiding Marick's plans for fun, all of which involved schemes to irritate his superiors. The only ones, besides Mandarack of course, who seemed safe from his proposed pranks were Salick, whom he feared, Vinir, whom he seemed to like, and Tranix, whom he worshipped. The weapons trainer could do no wrong in Marick's eyes, and any Blue who complained about her after a hard training session was likely to wake up in the middle of the night drenched in cold water, or in the morning with their pants missing.

Garet also came to admire the no-nonsense Master. She drove him hard to improve his skill with the training staff, and soon moved him with a select few of the other Blues on to more complex weapons. Marick, who had also advanced, was given a shield-sword by Tranix, after a long lecture to the young Bane on how to use his speed and “trickiness” to his advantage in a battle. Marick listened, eyes wide and drinking in every word. Garet had never seen him so dedicated to anything other than mischief. Marick later took to practicing with the shield every moment he had to himself, causing Dorict, who had not advanced, to threaten to kick him out of the room just to save his neck from a misjudged swing.

The larger Banes received hooked spears or tridents, and Garet expected one of these weapons, since, being older, he matched the height of any of the others. Tranix saved his weapon for last. While the others watched, gingerly holding their own new weapons, the Master, in her chair today, pulled a square leather case off her desk and pushed herself over to Garet.

“It took me a long time to decide on what to assign to you, Garet,” she said. “I spoke with Master Mandarack about your confrontation with the Shrieker at the Temple, and he praised your speed and agility.”

There was a murmur from the assembled Blues. Rumours of the strange battle had been circulating among the lower ranks for months. Many refused to believe that two demons had been seen together, or that a mere Black had anything to do with defeating them. Garet felt their eyes on him, as they re-evaluated him in light of this confirmation. Tranix cleared her throat to get his attention again.

“Your abilities and your experience,” she stressed the last word, “have convinced me to let you practice with a particularly difficult weapon, one that will take all your concentration and effort to master.”

She had then pulled a coil of rope out of the bag and Garet groaned inwardly. It must be one of the hooked ropes that hung at the back of the training hall, behind the sand bags. Marick had told him that this was the very first weapon they had trained with, even before moving on to the simple training staff. Someone snickered behind him, and Garet realized that he wasn't the only one to recognize the weapon.

Tranix paused in her action, pinning with her hard, blue eyes the girl who had laughed. She then slowly drew the rest of the weapon out and several Blues, Garet included, gasped. There was no triple hook on the end of the rope. Instead, one end was connected to a heavy iron weight, studded with short spikes. The other end was tied to a short hafted weapon of some kind. Taking the wooden handle in his hand, Garet realized it looked familiar. Turning it over, he knew where he had seen it before. It was like a smaller version of the rock pick he had used to break stone on the farm. The metal head of the one he now held had two sides: one was a point a hand and a half long, shaped like a bird's beak, though more curved, and the other side was shorter, a squared snout of metal coming quickly to a heavy point. He hefted the thing. At least this was lighter than the tool he remembered, and its short handle would give him some control.

Tarix picked up the other end of the rope, letting the spiked weight dangle. “I hear that you are a master at throwing rocks.” Marick grinned, leaving no doubt as to the source of her information. “This weapon requires both speed and accuracy.” She smiled grimly at him. “Or the wielder is likely to be its first victim.”

After that morning, Garet received special instruction in the rope-hammer, as Tarix called it, in the grey hours before breakfast. He would often come late to the table, sweating and bruised. Marick, who had managed only a few training cuts, was sympathetic, in his own way.

“Don't worry, Garet,” he said one morning as Garet groaned into his seat, holding his elbow. “All you have to do is beat yourself with that Bane-killer in front of any demon we encounter and Dorict and I will attack the beast while it watches in amazement.”

“If you don't cut my head off swinging your own weapon!” Dorict sourly observed. His lack of fitness and poor coordination had kept him at the training staff level with a crew of new Blue Sashes. Garet resolved to take him up to the roof to practice, as Marick had done for him. He didn't like the thought of the quiet boy, who was always ready to patiently answer his questions about the Banehall and the City, being left behind.

Marick didn't answer. He was staring open-mouthed at the front of the dining hall. Mandarack had just entered and was walking to his usual place at the end of the high table. Salick followed him, and, with a start, Garet realized what had caught Marick's attention.

Salick was wearing a gold sash!

She followed Mandarack to his place at the table, laying down some papers she had been carrying for him. Stiff as a spear and her eyes straight forward, she walked back past the whispering Masters, and under the unfriendly eyes of Master Adrix, to sit at the end of the Gold table. The nearest Golds shifted away, perhaps mindful of Adrix's displeasure. Salick silently began to tear off a piece of bread, ignoring the empty chairs around her. She loosened up, though, when Vinir and a few other Greens came over to slap her back and offer congratulations.

“That must be the fastest promotion to Gold in the history of the Hall!” Marick whispered. “Not that she doesn't deserve it. If a fool like Farix can wear the Gold, why shouldn't someone who has some sense?”

Neither Dorict nor Garet bothered answering the question. The glares coming from Adrix and his party were eloquent enough. Garet hoped he wouldn't single out Salick in the same way he had humiliated Garet on his first night in the Hall. The Hallmaster, however, did not attack Salick directly. His reply came, instead, in the form of a new rule.

Farix read out an announcement that night at supper.

“By order of the Hallmaster, all promotions will be first submitted for his approval from this day forth.” Farix's voice had broken slightly on the last part, and Adrix motioned him to read it again. When he had finished, the flustered Gold sat down, the paper still clutched in his hand. There was silence in the hall, as much among the Masters as the lower ranks filling the long tables.

Garet saw Master Relict look over at Vinir, sitting forlornly with the other Greens, all hope of a quick promotion to Gold probably crushed in her. Relict sat back and stroked his beard with one hand while drumming on the table with the other. Seated beside him, Mandarack reached over to quiet the drumming fingers and spoke softly to him.

“Not all the Masters will approve of this. Even Adrix's toadies might think twice,” Marick observed. The meal was completed in an unnatural silence.

As a Gold, Salick's training was solely at the discretion of her Master. She often had the time to stroll in the gardens of the plaza after supper and would sit and talk with Garet when she met him on these walks. Two weeks after her promotion, they were walking among the small trees, now mostly bare of leaf, talking of the changes in the Banehall.

“Adrix is a fool,” Salick said bluntly. “He alienates the King with his demands, and he splits the Banehall with his petty rules!” She slowed to wait for Garet to catch up. He had grazed his shin with the spiked ball at practice and had a noticeable limp. Master Tarix had denied him the use of the padded armour used by some Blues lest he rely on it and become less careful. As a result, each new skill he developed with the rope-hammer was accompanied by a new set of bruises.