“Garet and I will go through the front entrance. I think we will be attacked by at least one of the demons right away. They are close. Salick, you go through the far window on the right and make your way to the entrance from the inside. If both demons are attacking us, you can come out and pin one down with your trident. If you are attacked inside the building, defend yourself until I can assist you.” He saw their understanding and stood up. “Now, Garet.”
Three paces behind and with the spear held ready, Garet followed the old Bane at a slow trot across the intervening space. As they approached the entrance, an arch of stone long empty of any hinge or door, Garet caught a glimpse of Salick’s dash to the far window.
The Bane stopped a few paces from the door and held up the shield. There was a scuttling. Mandarack set his feet and called to Garet, “To the side now, boy. Careful with the spear!”
A red blur came out, not from the door, but from the crushed walls to the left of the building. It was a Shrieker, claws lifted and whistling its horrible cry. It charged straight at Mandarack, only to be batted away by the upraised shield. The old Bane swung to face the demon, and again Garet was reminded of the movements of a bird. The Master froze into the terrible stillness of a river heron, metal beak raised to stab the thing that scampered back towards him. The shield cut downwards, but only chipped the flagstones as the beast changed direction at the last minute, charging Garet.
Shaking himself out of his stupor, Garet yelled and launched himself, spear first, at the demon. It swerved around the point on all fours, tearing out more chips of stone as it dug in its claws for traction. Garet swung the point wildly after it, but succeeded only in unbalancing himself, and he dropped to one knee. The creature turned and was running at him again. Mandarack shouted something that Garet could not understand. As the creature approached, claws held out, the only thing he could think to do was to fling the spear cross-wise at it, so that the middle of the shaft caught the demon on its knees. With a squawk, the thing tripped and rolled completely over Garet, its claws whisking past his ears.
Mandarack was as taken aback as the demon and belatedly swung at the beast as it rolled, ball-like, past his legs. The demon untangled itself just before it hit the stone stairs of the building and scuttled around Mandarack, just out of reach of the shield, to attack Garet again.
Without thinking, Garet rolled to the left, and came to his feet in a crouch as the demon streaked by, missing him by inches. It turned, barely staying upright in its speed, and leaped at him. Without hesitation, Garet rolled under the flying body of the beast to come to a crouch behind it. Finding itself clawing air instead of its intended victim, the demon twisted around and shrieked its frustration.
But it had forgotten Mandarack in its anger, and that was the creature’s undoing. The poised shield lanced down to pin it against the ground. The old Bane leaned into the shield with all his weight until, with a horrid screech from the demon, the point tore through the leathery skin of its back and dark blood flowed out over the stones of the square.
Garet’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. Even without using fear, the demon had nearly won the battle.
“Garet,” the Bane gasped, “go find Salick. Help her. The other demon must still be inside.”
Leaving Mandarack to his grim task of holding the demon down until it was dead, Garet ran inside the shadowed building, bruising his shins against fallen beams just within the entrance. Wincing, he climbed over them into an open space and stopped for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The roof had been replaced by a thick net of vegetation, filling the building with cool, green shadows. Mounds of old leaf litter covered the floor and rearranged themselves into new piles at every little breeze.
Garet could see the main hallway leading away from the lobby and, at the end of it, the window Salick must have entered. He moved quickly. No need for silence as the other demon must know they were there. It was probably fighting Salick now, but he couldn’t hear her calls or the creature’s hissing screams—and there was still no telltale aura of fear to tell him where to run.
Checking each flanking room quickly, he arrived at the end of the building without finding Salick. The window she had entered faced a fallen wall in the back of the building. A trail had been beaten in the brush under the trees.
She’s chased it. He jumped over the rubble and started running down the trail only to stop dead. Salick’s trident was lying in the beaten earth. No! His mind whirled to that other weapon, the spear he had left in the courtyard, and what had happened to its owner. Empty-handed, he tore down the trail, branches whipping at his face and arms. The ground dipped suddenly and deeply into a trickle of a stream. Garet jumped it and scrambled up the other side, breaking out of the forest as soon as he gained level ground.
Salick stood in the middle of a glade. Wild grain brushed the sides of her vest leaving their golden seeds stuck to the purple cloth. Hands slack at her sides, she faced the far end of the field where the trail continued under the dark brows of the forest.
Garet opened his mouth to shout, but the cry died in his throat. The dead feeling of the air, the blankness they had felt ever since coming near the ruins was gone. Peace flooded through him, and he knew he was being called home. His mother was there, and Allia. His father and brothers were away hunting. Dinner was on the table, and the three of them would laugh and joke in the warmth and peace of the cabin. Would his father return? No, his heart said. There would be no pain, no fear, only peace.
But the thought of his father made him pause. For a brief moment the feeling of peace disappeared and he saw in amazement that he was halfway to where Salick stood in the middle of the field. He must help her against the demon. The demon? The thought of the demon, like the thought of his father, seemed to lessen the feeling of happiness that filled the clearing. No, said the voice in his mind. There is peace, only peace. He shook his head and concentrated on the image of the Shrieker he had just faced. He imagined its cruel beak, its curving teeth. In his mind, he heard its shrill call. Holding the image between himself and the forest like a shield, he moved to Salick’s side. Her face was empty of personality, its normal intensity erased by whatever spoke in her own head.
Garet scanned the woods opposite, searching for the physical reality of the demon he held so firmly in his mind. Sometimes the image wavered and he saw the cabin and his mother, but he gritted his teeth and thought, no! I’ve given up that life. I can’t go back! He focused on the demon’s yellow eyes, pupilled like a cat’s, and then suddenly saw two such eyes staring back at him from the shadow of the trees.
Salick gave a little moan and took a half-step forward. Distracted, Garet lost his concentration and was also pulled forward, until he built up the walls of his mind again. He had to stop that lying voice. In moving, his hand had brushed against a hard object in his tunic pocket. The stone! He had forgotten picking it up when they first took the trail of the murdered Bane. He fumbled it out and weighed it in his hand. Rounded and heavy, it brought back the memory of all those lonely vigils on the steep pastures of the farm. Even more than the image of the Shrieker, the strong memory of those dull days protected him from the eyes watching his struggle.
As he had ten thousand times before, his hand whipped around in a great arc, and he stepped into the throw, putting his shoulder and hip behind it. He had not lost his skill. A whistling screech sliced the air. An echo of some fierce pain brought Garet to his knees, both hands pressed to his temples. When he looked up, the thing that had been waiting for them was crashing through the trees. It paused for one brief instant to look back, and Garet saw that one of the yellow lights had gone dark, leaving only one shining eye to glare at him before it turned and escaped into the darkness of the forest.
He heard Salick gasping and turned towards her. She was lying in the grass, as if the breaking of that false voice had flung her back like wind-tossed straw. Her face was white with shock, and she stared into the darkening sky with ge
nuine terror in her eyes.
“Garet! Salick!” Mandarack’s voice called from the trail behind them. In a moment, the old man came running through the trees, breathing hard and leaving a trail of blood dripping from the tip of his shield.
“Here, Master!” Garet pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to Salick. She grasped it quickly, as if she were drowning rather than lying on her back in a green field. He pulled her up and held her steady. Her anger with him seemed forgotten, and she did not brush him off, but seemed content to lean on his shoulder as he led her back to where Mandarack stood, his grey head twisting back and forth in search of their enemy. The old Bane examined them both carefully. He nodded distractedly at Garet’s rushed report of the encounter while he looked them over for any injuries.
“Should we track it now, Master?” Garet asked. “I’m sure it’s wounded.”
“No.” The order was quick and certain. “This demon is different. Coming after you, I felt no terror, but a pull, a desire to give in and stop fighting.” He looked into Salick’s eyes, and she gave a nervous nod of her head. “We go back,” he said, and turned to walk quickly down the trail. His voice drifted back, “Whatever all this means, pursuing this creature now would be folly. We must return to the Banehall as quickly as possible.”
They jogged around the ruins to cut the forest trail and return to the two young Banes waiting on the road. While the others loaded the cart, wrapping the two bodies in blankets, Mandarack directed Salick and Garet to check along the road for any clue to what had happened to the rest of the victims’ party. The paving stones gave no sign, but the softer gravel of the edge showed where a cart had been hurriedly turned and driven back towards Shirath. Where they had completely left the road and ploughed into the soft earth, the ruts still had their ragged, fragile edges, not yet blunted by wind or rain. He told Salick that a cart had cut these marks not more than half a day before. Salick whispered in response that the blood on the corpses was still sticky to the touch. For a moment, she squatted beside him in silent, grateful companionship. When they returned to the cart, Mandarack listened to their report and then waved them aboard. With no more delays, Salick slapped the reins on the broad backs of the horses, rousing them to a more than willing trot.
A red sunset fell around them and lay bright upon their companion river. It was a lovely summer evening, but the Banes were only concerned with their pursuit of the missing cart. With the bloody and confusing events of the evening, there was no thought in Garet’s head of using the remaining light to continue his studies. Alongside Dorict and Marick, he huddled near the driver’s bench, avoiding the bloody bundles that jostled each other on the floor of the cart. Mandarack lay on the opposite bench, exhausted from the battle, but with his shield in easy reach of his good hand. Salick halted the horses only once, to light the cart’s lanterns. The yellow glow cast only a feeble illumination ahead of them, and she reluctantly slowed the horses so as to keep the cart on the winding road.
It was well that she did. As they slowed on a hairpin curve, Dorict shouted and pointed towards the river on their left. The brush and grass of the road’s shoulder were roughly parted, and two wheel ruts were cut in the dark earth. Salick tied off the reins and, taking one of the lanterns from its hook, leaped down from the bench. In a moment Garet and Marick were beside her. Peering down the embankment, they could just make out an overturned cart many feet below them. Marick ran back to the cart and returned with a length of rope that had lain coiled beneath the driver’s seat.
“Dorict, tie one end to the wheel,” Marick said. “Quick, give me the lantern and I’ll go down!” His voice was high and excited. Salick gripped him by the shoulder and shook him.
“Marick! This is no game. Be careful or I’ll…”
Marick grinned at her as he tied the rope around his waist. “Or what? You’ll kill me? Not if I kill me first!” With that, he placed the lantern’s wire handle between his teeth and held the rope with both hands as they lowered him down the embankment.
“Farther down,” he called, and they lowered him until the rope was taut from the wheel to the dark below. “That’s it!” Marick cried, and the rope went slack. The circle of yellow light bobbed and wavered towards the riverbank. It paused there for a long time and then slowly returned to the foot of the hill. At a tug on the line, they pulled Marick back up.
“No use,” he called awkwardly, the lamp again held in his teeth, as they pulled him up the last few feet. He teetered on the edge, and then there were three arms steadying him and Mandarack, who had come up silently behind the younger Banes, asked, “How many?”
“Only one, Master. Not a Bane,” Marick replied. Tears streaked his dusty face. “Slashed by claws. I think she bled to death while she was driving back for help.” He paused for breath. “Both horses died in the fall. Should we bring up the body?”
Mandarack did not reply for many seconds, but stood listening to the sound of the water brushing the bank. “No,” he said. “We will report this to the Banehall and the King’s guards as soon as we can. I still feel that we should return immediately.”
They drove on throughout the night, changing drivers, and dozing fitfully beside their stiff, silent companions.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHIRATH
“The jewel!” Marick cried. “Master, we left it in the Shrieker you and Garet killed!”
They had travelled through the night, Dorict spelling off Salick at the reins. Garet looked up out of a fog of half-sleep at the younger Bane’s shout.
“Not forgotten, Marick,” replied Mandarack softly and fell silent again. The old man wore his weariness like a heavy cloak. The long night’s ride, coming so quickly after the battle with the Shrieker, had taken its toll on him. Even Marick did not dare to question him further.
Not forgotten, Garet thought. He yawned and tried to fold himself into a less uncomfortable position. Had the Banemaster intentionally left the Shrieker and its powerful jewel in the ruins of the market square? Before the battle, the beast’s ability to provoke fear had seemed stopped by that strange “dead” area. But thinking back, Garet now recalled that when they skirted the walls of the market on their return, he had felt the power of the jewel, as if that deadness had been dispersed when he had driven off the other beast.
He accepted the water flask handed to him by Dorict and yawned again. If the jewel were still powerful, it would be a danger to anyone who wandered nearby. He took a sip and handed the flask to Marick before returning to his thoughts. Yes, the dead demon was a danger, as long as it kept its jewel hidden within its skull. On the other hand, what sane person, man, woman, or child, would, or even could, approach a demon’s jewel? He looked across at the old Bane. Did Mandarack want the area to remain undisturbed until it could be reported to the Banehall of Shirath? Wrapped in a blanket, their Master nodded with the sway of the cart. What we found and fought, Garet realized, must have been so unusual that even the Master is unsure of how to deal with it. That was another unsettling thought.
Now unable to sleep, he climbed onto the driver’s box beside Salick, carefully avoiding the two blanket-wrapped bodies rocking back and forth on the floor of the cart. Salick moved over to let him up on the plank seat.
“Do you know how to drive a cart?” she asked.
Garet could see her eyes were red and puffy from her long efforts during the night. “No,” he replied. “We were too poor to have a cart.” He was too tired to be angered by her halfhearted snort of contempt.
“How did you run a farm without horses and a cart?” she asked.
“We mostly ran sheep,” he replied. “We plowed a few small fields with the milk cow and carried the sheep’s wool and the yarn my mother spun to Three Roads on our backs.”
Salick shook her head. “I didn’t know people could live like that.” She slapped the reins to keep the horses moving.
“Like what?”
“In such poverty!” she replied.
Garet thought
for a minute. He had seen only bits and pieces of the lives of the people they had passed on this journey, so he had little to compare with his previous life except for his mother’s songs of the North and the traders stories of the South. The hymns to the Dragon Heroes never mentioned something as ordinary as farming, and after seeing Old Torrick, he was beginning to think that the tales of gold covered buildings and legions of storytellers were just stories to impress ignorant hill farmers. Nothing he had seen so far had led him to believe that a Southerner’s existence was as luxurious as he once thought. Although, he had to admit, even the ragged children who ran the back alleys of Old Torrick looked better fed than the poorer farmers of the foothills.
He looked out over the road ahead and was gathering his thoughts to answer Salick when she broke out into a tumble of words.
“Garet, I’m sorry. I know it was not your choice to live that way. It’s just that I’ve never seen anyone in such want before. Your mother looked so thin, and the cabin you lived in was one good storm away from falling down.” She half turned towards him, her shadowed eyes open and apologetic. “The other Plains farmers looked so prosperous. I mean even the refugees were fat and healthy! And in Shirath, no one goes hungry. If there are those too old or ill to please their Ward Lord, the Banehall will give them our extra food. Everyone else is looked after by their Wards or the King.”
Not everything she said made sense to him, but he realized she was trying to understand him at last, not condemn him.
“Salick, why would the Banehall have extra food? Do they charge for killing demons?”
“No!” Salick drew back, her eyes wide. “No Banehall would dare! Though,” her voice dropped, “six-hundred years ago some of the first Banehalls tried to do just that.” She shrugged. “It didn’t work. People were all working together to survive the coming of the demons, and those few Halls were finally forced to give up any claims to a special reward. They had to trust that if they did their job and looked after the people of their city, the people of the city would look after them.” She smiled. “Anyway, we’re better off now. People really want to keep us healthy so we can catch the demons quickly. You can’t patrol through a ward without old grannies and bakers putting food into your hands. We just drop off what we don’t need on our night rounds.”
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