City of Demons (40 page)

“Let Hallmaster Adrix come forth and speak with his King!”

Adrix pushed his way to the front and yelled through the bars. “My King? Why does ‘my King' come to the Banehall with armed soldiers and bearing fire?” The voices of the Banes beside him rose in support.

“Because your King is troubled by the actions of the Banes of his city,” spoke a voice from behind the herald. The King urged his mount forward, the big black edging nervously close to the massed points of the weapons. Trax was a man of thirty or so, broad shouldered and smooth faced. Not tall, he stayed on his horse, perhaps to maintain the advantage of height.

“Your King comes before you to ask you to take up your duties, as you have for the six-hundred years since the founding of Shirath.” The voice rose to reach all the Banes in the courtyard and those looking down from the windows facing the plaza. In the torchlight, the King's armour shone and sparkled with the richness of its gilt and jewels. Trax calmed his prancing horse and continued.

“The left hand does not fight the right,” he shouted. “Nor does it act on its own.” His voice grew angry. “The people of Shirath die in their homes because you Banes forget what you owe to this city: six-hundred years of generous support! Stop trying to take powers and privileges that were never yours. Do your duty before the demons slaughter us all!”

The Herald and several soldiers near the King touched their ears and flicked away their hands as Garet had seen the Astrologer, Alanick, do in the Plaza so long ago. Born to a fear that they feared even to name, Garet realized, the people of Shirath now had to confront the possibility of facing it without the Banes. No wonder they would take up arms to try and force the Banehall to protect them again. How would they feel if they knew how helpless the Banes really were in the face of this “Caller Demon” and its ability to attack without warning?

Adrix answered the King, his voice dripping sarcasm. “Well, Trax, you speak of duty and support. Yet for six hundred years, we have died protecting the people while Kings have polished the throne with their backsides. You sleep in your beds because we leave ours to patrol the Wards. You live whole because our blood is spilled.” His voice rose to a howl. “Powers and privileges that aren't ours? Can you fight the demons, Trax? What powers and privileges do you claim that you truly deserve more than we do? From this night on, there is no useless King in Shirath! We Banes are the rulers of Shirath!”

The roar of approval from the massed Banes drove the Herald back until he stood beside the King's black horse. Trax put out a hand and grabbed the banner from him, hoisting it high above his head.

“My house is as old as this Hall!” he growled. The horse reared and the herald scrambled for safety. Dragging the bit back cruelly, Trax got the animal under control. “We cannot fight the demons, but we can fight you.” His voice rose. “We can force you to remember what you owe this city.” He wheeled his horse and called, “Force the Gate!”

The palace guards, their ranks bolstered by Duelists and now looking less decorative than fierce, lined up facing the ranks of spears and tridents. Garet saw that all they would need to do was chop down the Bane's weapons with their great swords until they could approach the gate and force it open by mass of numbers.

“Fools!” yelled Adrix at the Guards advancing in step towards the courtyard. “Any guard who attacks this Hall will face King Birat's fate!”

The rank of guards faltered and then rallied as Trax rode up behind them, shouting, “Steady! You fight for your own lives and the lives of your families, the lives these pampered, beast-born fools would throw away.” He drew his sword and swung it about his head. “Forward!”

Garet held his breath, and Adrix drew back from the gate, yelling, “Where is Farix? We need those jewels now.”

“Adrix!” a woman's voice called. The Banes looked across the courtyard to the side door leading into the gymnasiums of the east wing. Tarix was crawling out the door, pulling herself along on her elbows. “Adrix!” she called again, and the Hallmaster turned to sneer at her.

“Do you come crawling for forgiveness, Tarix? I'm afraid it's too late. I'm rather busy, and I've never had time for traitors.” He signalled two Golds to grab the Red.

The two men pulled her up and were dragging her back into the Hall when she wrapped her arms around the railing at the edge of the steps and held tight.

“Listen to me,” she screamed at the Banes massed behind the defenders. Many turned to look at her. “Shame!” Tarix yelled at them, her voice shaking with effort. “Shame on us all! Adrix has twisted six-hundred years of honourable service into a crown for his own swollen head, and you help him set it there!”

Several Reds and Golds lowered their heads at this criticism, but the Hallmaster merely laughed.

“A swollen head, eh? Let's see how yours feels when I drop a necklace of demon jewels around it. Even a Bane can't stand that forever!” he observed, and signalled the Golds to pry her off the railing.

Marick tried to run back to the ladder, but Garet grabbed him. “Wait 'til we know where they're taking her,” he told him. The young Bane resisted for a moment, then nodded. He jabbed the point of his shield into the snow and looked back down at the courtyard.

A Red grabbed Adrix's arm. “You threaten to necklace a fellow Master?” he cried.

Adrix shook him off, shrieking in his fury, “Yes! And anyone else who defies me.”

The Red stumbled back in shock, his spiked club dropping from his hand.

From above, the watchers could see a space begin to clear between two sets of Banes, those who followed Adrix and those who now feared what he might become. The Red who had questioned Adrix pulled several other Masters aside and spoke urgently to them. Steel rang on steel as the Guards attacked the forest of points arrayed against them.

“Heaven's shield,” Vinir whispered. “Do you feel it?”

None of the others needed to ask what it was they were supposed to feel, for a great tide of demon-fear began to wash over them. Garet crawled shakily to the other side of the roof and peered over the side. A large party of Banes approached the side of the Banehall, making for the kitchen yard entrance below their perch. As they got nearer, Garet could see their stiff movements and jerky steps.
How many jewels do they have
, he wondered, fighting against more fear than he had ever felt in his life.

He groped his way back to the others. Vinir was breathing hard, mumbling over and over, “Fear is outside. I build a wall.” Dorict and Marick clung to each other, their breath ragged. Salick's eyes were dark with her inner battle. The fear filled Garet's stomach. He tried to push it out with his breath, but there was always more pushing in. His eyes watered and the very moon seemed to tremble in the sky. And then it was gone.

Salick collapsed beside him, gasping. Garet pulled her up into his arms, afraid the mental attack would start again. Vinir coughed and retched beside them.

“Wh-what happened,” Salick stuttered. “Is it the demon, the one we saw near the old Temple?”

“No!” cried Marick. The young Bane stood beside the parapet, looking down into the courtyard. “It's something much, much better.”

They pulled themselves up beside him and looked down. Mandarack stood on the Banehall's steps, holding Farix by the collar. The young Red had his hands tied behind his back and looked terrified. Relict stood nearby, one of Andarack's silkstone boxes in his hand. Behind and beside them, arrayed on the steps leading from the door to the courtyard, stood many of the Banes who had suffered during Adrix's reign as Hallmaster. Garet saw Pratax and Bandat on the lower steps, tridents pointed at the man who had tried to demote them. Even the Records Keeper, Arict, roused from her sleep by the jewels' horror, stood in the group, her nightcap still on her head and a rusty spear in her hand.

“The King!” Salick whispered. She pointed beyond the gate.

No guard stood in the light of the dropped torches. The royal banner lay on the ground among the litter of abandoned swords and spears.
Adrix was right
, Garet thought. The jewels did drive them away. But how had Mandarack escaped to capture them? Below them, the old Bane spoke to the crowd.

“This Master,” he said, pushing Farix down the stairs, “and others, have betrayed the honour and history of this Banehall to aid his own mad ambition.”

As Farix stumbled down the last steps, Pratax reached out and tore off his red sash. The young man tripped and rolled to the ground at Adrix's feet.

“There will be no necklacing of Kings or Banes tonight, Adrix,” Mandarack said, his eyes steady on the glaring Hallmaster. “Let those who wish to return to their duties stand with us.”

Many of the Banes in the middle of the courtyard and some from the line at the gate moved slowly over to stand beside the steps.

Adrix grabbed a Gold from the remaining defenders and twisted him to face Mandarack. He waved the others to follow. “We will cleanse our own Hall before we deal with the King.” He pushed the Gold forward and turned to pull others up. “Kill them! Kill them all!” he screamed.

Mandarack came down the steps, signalling his followers to stay back. He faced the young man, who pointed a spear at the old man's throat, and spoke a single word, “Choose.” Mandarack bore no weapon nor made any move to defend himself.

The Gold looked at him.

“Do it!” screamed Adrix. He pushed the rest of his ragged line forward.

“Forlinect!” Tarix cried.

The Gold looked at her. The Training Master still clung to the railing, though now only to remain upright. The two Golds who had tried to remove her had moved to Adrix's defense. Her face was smeared with blood, and one eye was swollen shut. She looked at Forlinect out of the other eye and waited.

He looked at her and then back to Mandarack. Ignoring the screaming Hallmaster behind him, he dropped his spear into the slush of the well-trodden snow. Without a word, he walked over to Tarix and pulled her upright, an arm around her waist for support.

More spears and tridents followed as Bane after Bane dropped their weapons and ranged themselves on the steps behind Mandarack. The few remaining loyal to Adrix backed away as they saw the numbers now against them. The Hallmaster glared at Mandarack and cursed him, spittle falling from his mouth.

“You clawed cripple!” he snarled. “I should have dealt with you at the beginning of this.” He twisted his neck and saw how few and how frightened were his followers.

Mandarack stepped forward, leaving his supporters farther behind, to face the Hallmaster in the middle of the courtyard. On the roof, Salick gripped the parapet and whispered, “Careful, oh Heaven, please be careful!”

Garet looked around for a weapon that would reach Adrix if he decided to attack Mandarack. The tridents were useless for throwing with any accuracy, his rope would not reach that far, and neither Marick nor Dorict carried anything that would serve. He cast desperately about the roof for something useful. Below them, the mass of Banes stood unmoving, paralyzed by the confrontation between the two Masters.

Adrix's breath came in huge gulps, his florid cheeks were a deep red, and Garet wondered if the man would survive his own rage. With an incoherent roar, the Hallmaster scooped up the club the protesting Red had dropped and charged Mandarack.

Salick screamed and below, Pratax and Bandat, shocked out of their paralysis, started to run forward to protect Mandarack, but the distance was too great. Relict was flying down the steps and Tarix was pushing at the Gold when they all stopped. Adrix fell to the ground, clutching his knee and howling in pain.

The Banes on the roof spun to look at Garet. He was still twisted from the throw, his fingers stretched as if reaching out to the man on the distant ground. Beside Adrix lay the fragments of the silkstone Lord Andarack had given Garet a thousand years ago that same night.

Dorict fell to the roof in astonishment and relief. Vinir stood staring down, trident dangling from her hand and the blanket and cloak in a forgotten pile at her feet. Salick knelt, her head on the parapet, face covered with her hands. Only Marick seemed to retain the power of speech.

“Garet! How did you...” he squeaked. The young Bane stumbled over to where Garet was slowly straightening, eyes still on the moaning figure on the ground. Marick touched his outstretched hand in wonder. “That was amazing,” he said simply, and then with a whoop of delight, ran for the ladder.

Garet saw Mandarack raise his arm in salute to him, but he made no motion in return. The screaming Hallmaster had been lifted from the ground and was being carried noisily into the Hall. Tarix had also disappeared and in a moment, only a few stunned Banes were left in the courtyard, to be herded inside by Arict's rusty spear and antique curses.

His mind still some distance from his body, Garet slowly turned his face up to the moon, and saw its thick crescent bright against the black sky. He felt arms come around him and heard Salick's voice.

“You did it! You saved him,” she whispered fiercely in his ear.

He could feel her body shaking and drew his arms in around her, suddenly aware again of the cold, the noises around him, even the silkstone's oily feeling left on the palm of his hand. A shiver overcame him. His muscles slowly relaxed.

Marick clambered back up the ladder and gasped out his news. Mandarack had summoned them to the dining hall. The Masters were to choose a new Hallmaster, and decisions were going to be made about the King. They followed him shakily down the ladder, their legs unsteady on the narrow, wooden rungs. Vinir grabbed Salick's hand and promised to meet them in the dining hall as soon as she was properly dressed. She dashed off towards the back stairs and the Golds' rooms on the main floor, the shoes Garet had lent her leaving wet marks on the corridor floor.

The dining hall was full of Banes talking, banging tables, or just sitting in their chairs, trying to take in the night's events. Mandarack sat in his usual place at the high table, but the centre section was empty. Relict sat beside his wife, using a cloth to gently wipe the blood off her face while she smiled at him through her bruises. Branet slowly limped into the hall behind Dorict, rubbing his wrists and glowering happily. The big man caught up with Garet as he pushed into the hall and grabbed his shoulder.