City of Demons (27 page)

“Not only the Banehall,” Garet said. Salick turned to listen. “Haven't you noticed that the people of the city are treating the Banes differently?” he asked.

Salick shook her head. “Aside from these walks, I rarely get out into the wards anymore. Mandarack has me searching through the records.” She grinned at Garet. “So if I start shouting at you, I'm not angry, it's just a habit I've picked up from talking to Master Arict.”

Garet smiled, remembering the old Master and her poor hearing. “Well, they are. Marick is trying to show me the Wards.”

Salick stopped, her hands on her hips.

“Only on the Temple days,” he hastily added.

Salick nodded and resumed her walking. “I suppose it's a good idea. Most children who come to the Banehall already know the general layout of the city, and their home Ward as well as they know their own fingers.” They stopped and sat at their favourite bench, a wide stone seat surrounded by fragrant, trailing junipers.

“I'm just concerned by your choice of guides,” she continued tartly. “I'm sure Marick knows every wine shop and alley in Shirath, but that's not all you need to know!” She leaned back, her hands behind her back for support and looked over at Garet.

“What else do I need to know?” Garet demanded. “And who else would be my guide?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

“I suppose I should,” Salick replied casually. “I'm almost done with the Master's research, so we can start tomorrow, after lunch, if,” she added slyly, “you can give up a session or two of inflicting pain on yourself with that menace you call a weapon.”

“I think I could,” Garet replied, smiling. “I don't have much in the way of studies right now.” This was true. At Marick's and Dorict's insistence, he had already “corrected” the two Blue Sash texts,
The Rules of the House
and
The Tactics of Demons
. The process of rewriting them had made them familiar enough for Tarix to test him on that knowledge. She had so far withheld approval for him to start on the Green Sash books. He looked curiously at the young woman beside him and asked, “What were you looking for in the records? Maybe I can help you search.”

Salick sat up straighter. “No, I don't think you can, at least not without Master Mandarack's permission.” She brushed invisible dust off her new sash. “I'll have it done by tomorrow afternoon, anyway.” The late autumn air was calling forth clouds of steam from their breath and they soon returned to the Banehall, arms wrapped around themselves for warmth.

By the next day, Garet's leg was much better. Dorict had helped him wrap it in cloth strips soaked in an herbal concoction provided by Master Tarix. She often tended to minor training accidents herself, rather than send an injured Blue to the infirmary. Marick claimed it was because she cared so much for her students. Dorict, however, was of the opinion that the Training Master was afraid the physician would order one of them to take a day or two off from training.

Garet waited for Salick in the entrance hall, near the passage leading to the Master's rooms. Looking down that corridor, he saw Salick speaking with Mandarack. He gave her a slip of paper that she tucked into the top of her boot.

“What did Master Mandarack want?” Garet asked as they passed through the gates. The plaza was quiet in the middle of the day; many of Shirath's citizens were out gleaning the last of the late crops or driving the herds to graze off the stubble of the already-harvested wheat fields before the snows came. Salick didn't answer for a moment. When they had walked some distance from the gates of the Hall, she rounded on him furiously.

“Don't you have any sense?” she hissed. “I thought you were more clever!”

“I can be clever,” he said quietly, “if I know what's going on!”

Salick looked around. The only people close enough to hear were a trio of old men diligently arguing a point in their lawn-bowling game. She waved him further into the plaza before continuing.

“Mandarack asked me to take a message to his brother,” she said, her voice still low, “and to keep my eyes open and report back to him on what's happening in the city.”

“So this trip was only a blanket to cover your mission for Mandarack?” He couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“Yes. No!” Salick said, and then stopped to turn and face Garet directly, hands on her hips. “The Master asked me to do this after I told him of our plans.” She tapped the leg that hid the letter. “This must be important. We both know the situation is getting worse in the Hall.”

Garet nodded. Adrix's rules were concentrating all the power of the Banehall in his own hands. He had lately sent a formal message to the king, delivered by an embassy of his supporting Masters, demanding a reply to the list of changes he had sent at the beginning of the fall. The King had not yet replied to those demands. The skin on the back of Garet's neck prickled, and feeling eyes on his back, he turned quickly to see the old men looking at them, shaking their heads and muttering.

Salick followed his gaze. “What you said last night was true.” The old men turned back to their game. “People are treating us differently. I always felt that the citizens of Shirath, well, ‘owned' me.” She looked to Garet to see if he understood. Seeing his questioning look, she continued. “I mean they were proud of us, like parents who depend on their children for support.” She shook her head. “We were their children. Now they look at us as if they are the children, and we Banes are their parents,” she said. “Angry parents.”

Garet thought this over. Salick was right. Walking in the plazas, or watching people deliver food and stores to the Banehall, he sensed a resentment aimed at anyone wearing a Bane's sash.

Both were now silent, wrapped in their concerns as they walked together, shoulders nearly touching, up over the centre bridge and into the Palace plaza. Garet couldn't help but notice how crowded that plaza was, in contrast to the Banehall side. The stalls in the market were bustling with activity. Rows of worshippers lined up before the temples, and the Palace gardens were full of richly dressed people enjoying one of the last fine days of the year.

Salick led him through the gardens towards the Palace. They passed some workers raising an awning over one of the stages that were used by anyone from musicians to astrologers. She shook her head. “Why would anyone set up a theatre when it's so cold at night?” she asked the air around her.

A theatre. Dorict had explained to him that storytellers in Shirath acted out their tales on a platform, like children playing out their stories in the street. He had not yet seen such a thing, but he hoped they were better than the regular storytellers he had once set so much hope in. After much pressing, Marick had taken him to a small courtyard surrounded by wine shops and bakeries. There, a storyteller had been spinning his tales for a small, indifferent audience. He was an older man, his blue tunic stained with wine and Heaven knew what else. His words were so mumbled and slurred that Garet could not make any sense of his tale. The story had eventually dissolved into belches and then snores and the activity of the courtyard had continued without noticing.

Marick had wrinkled his nose at the smell of the old man. “There's only a few of these solitary tellers who are worth listening to. The best are in the theatre troupes.” He had then pulled Garet out of the courtyard, anxious to be about his own business.

“If they're so bad, why do they keep at it?” Garet had asked. He pulled away from Marick's hand to turn back towards the courtyard. The old man was slumped against the wall, half slid off his stool.

“Avoiding real work, I guess,” Marick had answered, with reluctant admiration.

“Do you think we could see this theatre?” he asked Salick as she skirted the east wing of the Palace to get to the Ward gates beyond.

“If we have time.” She hesitated and then continued, “Garet, I have a personal errand to do as well.” She looked at him to judge his reaction. “I hope you don't mind; you'll still get to see more of the city.”

“Not at all,” he replied. He was feeling more and more like an afterthought.

They approached the gate for the Palace Ward, directly behind the main wing of the Palace. From the maps Marick had shown him, he knew this Ward was much smaller than the others, and unlike them, did not stretch as far as the outer wall of the city. Marick informed him that it held the warehouses needed by the King's trading missions and housing for his retainers and servants. A full five Palace guards, breastplates and helmets brilliant in the sun, eyed them as they passed. Garet wondered if he imagined the disapproval in their gaze.

“So many now,” Salick said, mostly to herself. She looked back at the guards and shook her head.

She turned to the right and skirted the edge of the small plaza common to all the Ward entrances. A lane led them between the wall and a row of narrow, brightly painted townhouses. After a short walk, they came to an angled compound and a small, open gate. Inside, in a triangular yard formed by the intersection of the ward and plaza walls, young men and women lounged on benches, talked, shouted, and practiced with their quick swords.

Duelists
, Garet thought. Why would Salick come here? Was this Mandarack's task, or her own? The rasp of thin steel blades sliding over each other echoed off the high walls, but all quieted and died out as the duelists noticed Garet and Salick standing inside the gate. There was much muttering and dark looks among the knots of men and women. The pairs who had been kicking up the dust of the yard with their sparring now lowered their swords and joined their fellows against the walls. Salick stiffened her back.

There's something different about them
, he thought, looking at their sullen, staring faces. Perhaps it was their attitude. He had seen a few duels in the months since his arrival, especially on his travels with Marick. But at the time, it did not seem to have anything to do with him or the Banehall.

“Why do they hate us?” Garet whispered to Salick.

She whispered back without turning her head from those staring eyes. “Part of it is the fight between Adrix and the King. The other part is older and harder to explain.” She paused for a moment and deliberately turned away to face Garet, her back towards the Duelists.

“They play with swords and risk their lives in silly duels, but they all know that if a demon came into this place, all their skill, all their swords would be useless.” Her lips twisted in a tight smile. “Every time they see a Bane's sash, they are reminded of how brittle their courage really is.”

As Garet tried to puzzle this out, he saw Salick's cousin, Draneck, detach himself from a group of his companions and walk reluctantly up to them. Salick, seeing Garet's gaze, turned to face her cousin.

“What do you want, Banes?” Draneck asked in a loud voice. “I don't think you're welcome here.”

Salick scowled at him, but Garet suddenly realized what had changed about the Duelists: the young man, and all the other men and women in the yard were wearing sashes! A narrow band of purple cloth, edged in red, cut across Draneck's chest and held the sheath of the sword bumping at his hip.

“Draneck,” Salick snapped, “what under Heaven are you wearing?” She pointed at the sash.

Draneck smirked. “Do you like it? It's a favour from the King.” He turned and waved a hand, indicating everyone else in the yard. “His majesty wished to recognize the loyalty,” he stressed the word, “of the Duelist's Guild.” He touched the sash. “King Trax even allowed us to wear the royal colour.”

“And the red?” Salick asked tightly.

“For our willingness to shed our blood for the King,” a new voice replied. Another Duelist, followed by several others at a short distance had joined Draneck. With a shock, Garet recognized the leader as the young, long-haired man that Draneck had fought in the Temple plaza, Shoronict. Now the taller man draped his arm around Draneck's shoulder and faced the Banes. “Surely the Banehall's demands don't include keeping all the colours for themselves?”

His friends laughed and Garet noticed that most of the duelists had gathered behind Draneck and Shoronict. He stepped closer to Salick and tried to look confident.

“Draneck,” Salick said, ignoring Shoronict and the men and women grouped behind him. “Your father asked me to tell you that it's time you returned home, time that you left these games and took up your duties.” She looked around the small yard with disdain and several Duelists lowered their own eyes in response. Shoronict merely glared and stepped forward.

Draneck grabbed his arm to stop him from advancing on the Banes. His tone was cold. “Tell my father that this is my home now. If he thought this was a passing fancy, he is mistaken.” Several of his friends nodded their heads and murmured in agreement. Draneck's voice rose. “Tell him that, unlike the Banes, I know my ‘duties'.” He was yelling now, his face red and the muscles of his neck standing out. “And unlike you Banes, I serve the people of Shirath, and the King!”

The duelists exploded into cheers behind him, and Garet took advantage of the chaos to pull Salick out the gate and down the lane. The noise continued behind them, coalescing into a chant: “Our swords for the King! Our swords for the King!”

Salick allowed herself to be guided back to the Ward's main gate before she pulled away from Garet's grasp. Clearly shaken, she strode out of the Ward and kept walking until she found an isolated bench in the cold shadow of the Palace. She sat down, and Garet was surprised to see tears running down her face.

“Uncle will be so upset,” she said, brusquely wiping her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. She looked up at Garet and sighed. “He raised me, after my...father...became a...” The word ‘father' seemed to trip up her speech, and she spat it out after a moment's struggle. She shivered in the shade but made no move to leave the bench and return to the sunnier parts of the plaza. Garet sat quietly beside her.