Garet felt better about the Banehall, hearing of this generosity. “No one is poor in Shirath then?”
“Not like you were,” she replied honestly. “But think of this, Garet, the demons are so great a threat that we only survive by working for each other, not for ourselves. The Banehall knows that; the King and his lords know that; every citizen of Shirath knows that.” She looked thoughtfully at the road ahead. “I hope the farmers of the Midlands know that too.”
Garet had his doubts. Isolated on their own farms, each man his own little king, it would take much to get them to cooperate in the way Salick described. But if the threat of claws in the night was enough to change Shirath, maybe it could do the same for the proud farmers of the Plains. He smiled to think of Pranix, the tavern keeper, giving away free food and drink from gratitude. He would probably rather face a demon bare-handed.
“What’s so funny?” Salick asked suspiciously.
Garet told her and she grinned. “I remember him. Only the promise that Three Roads was going to become a protected outpost kept him from bursting when he found out he had to supply us.”
“What if he had refused?” Garet asked.
“Well, in Shirath, that could lead to some pretty severe punishments. Not cooperating for the city’s good can get you hauled in front of your Ward Lord. Your family might have to live in a smaller set of rooms. You can lose a good work assignment or, if you have a trade, be kicked out of your guild. If you still resist, then you can be whipped or imprisoned, and if after all that you still refuse to work for the city’s good, you can be banished.”
Garet shuddered at the thought of being alone and unprotected, outside the city walls, night after night.
Salick continued, “Pranix’s wife saw the light before he did and screamed at him until he agreed.” She shook her head at the memory. “I’d rather fight another Basher than live near that woman.”
Garet nodded in agreement. “Until the demons came, Trallet was probably the most dangerous creature on the Plains!”
They both laughed, bringing Marick up to lean over their shoulders.
“What’s this,” the boy asked, “laughing and pleasantries between such mortal enemies?”
Garet shoved him back onto the side bench. Salick looked daggers at the boy and then turned resolutely to the front, cheeks flaming under her blond braids.
Garet groaned inwardly. It seemed every time Salick began to ease towards him, something brought their friendship to a grinding halt. And he wanted Salick to like him. She was his best guide to this new world: not much older so they could talk easily, and diligent about preparing him for his duties. He had to admit that he already liked her. In many ways, she reminded him of his sister, Allia. Salick had that same fierceness of manner that he admired in his little “dragon.” And, like his sister, she was quick to attack whatever or whoever irritated her.
Dorict took the reins again to allow Salick another fitful nap. Garet stayed on the driver’s bench and asked the younger boy to show him how to guide the horses. By the morning’s end, he had the trick of steering the cart, a matter of convincing the horses to keep moving and not interfering too much with their own good sense. He found that he had so little to do that the hot sun and the swaying of the cart kept him on the verge of sleep himself.
He was jolted back to wakefulness when Dorict put a hand on his arm and said, “There, Garet, we’re nearing the city!” He pointed to a forest that rose before them and grew to the very edges of the road.
Garet furrowed his brows and tried to see the city beyond the trees, but this new forest blocked everything beyond it. Then he noticed something odd about the trees; they were growing in regular rows, like a crop of grain planted in plowed furrows. He had grown up surrounded by trees but had never seen anything like this. There was no underbrush, giving the forest an almost naked look. As if it was weeded, Garet thought, and someone was farming these trees like any other crop. He looked questioningly at Dorict.
The younger Bane smiled back. “Not like the woods near your farm, eh? These are the tree plantations of Shirath. Each tree is planted like a rose, and cared for just as lovingly.”
“Ignore him, Garet,” Marick called from behind them. “His family are all loggers. He heard nothing but talk of trees and lumber until we rescued him for the Hall.”
“Does your family live near here?” Garet asked, and then he blushed at his obvious mistake.
“Well, no,” Dorict replied, ignoring Marick’s chuckles. “They live in Shirath with everyone else. Sometimes, though, in the winter and spring, many loggers and their families live in the woods for weeks at a time, protected by Banes, of course.”
The woods surrounded them now, rank upon rank of grey trunks under a deep green canopy. Mandarack roused himself and called a halt for lunch. Leaving their grim cargo in the cart, they sat under the trees.
“There is no use in arriving at the Banehall too tired to talk,” Mandarack told them. “We will rest here for an hour or so to regain our strength.” He lay down beside them and only roused the party when the sun had moved three hands widths across the sky. He moved more easily and Garet was sure that for once, the old Bane had slept as long at they had.
“Come along, the city waits for us,” Mandarack said. They pushed themselves up from the dry ground, brushing leaves and ants from their tunics. With Salick at the reins, they urged the cart horses out from under the cool shade of the forest and back into the mid-afternoon sun.
The forests ended abruptly, not petering out as they did at the borders of the Plains, a lone tree here and there like stragglers following a crowd. The cart passed that border and broke out into broad fields of grains. Beyond those waving heads of wheat and oats lay more trees, this time trimmed orchards of apples, pears, and cherries. Driving on, they came to the first of these groves. The smell of apples was as strong as wine to the younger Banes, and they drank it in with great gulps. Stacked baskets of the fruit lay under the nearer trees, waiting to be picked up, but as yet, they had seen no other sign of the citizens of Shirath.
Now, beside the road, they passed the first sign of human habitation. It was an outpost, a kind of fort, surrounded by a timber and stone palisade. A call rang out, and they saw a figure with a black tunic and a green sash waving over the tops of the logs. Salick waved back, but at Mandarack’s nod, kept driving towards the city.
The smell of green apples was replaced by the scent of pears, and then by no scent at all, only the long cool leaves of cherry trees. Now apples again, but a redder, bigger variety. They were ready to harvest as well, for ladders were placed between the rows, and here and there a fallen fruit lay under its tree.
Garet swayed on the cart’s seat, overwhelmed by the sights and smells around him. It’s a farm, he thought with wonder, a farm bigger than any he had ever imagined, a farm for a whole city. And it was also prettier than any thing he had ever seen. Even the Plains, with their golden grain and bright flowers, even the Falls, with all their power and song, were nothing to this ordered, beautiful garden. Salick cursed under her breath and pulled at the horses to keep them from snatching apples from the baskets set by the side of the road.
The fruit trees ended, and what they had only been given glimpses of became clear. The walls of Shirath rose in front of Garet, barely a mile away.
“Sit down! You’ll fall off the cart!” Salick yelled and pulled Garet back down by his sleeve.
He landed off-centre and had to grab onto the side-rail to catch himself. Absently rubbing his elbow, he stared at the city.
Shirath rose beyond a complex pattern of vegetable and grazing plots. People moved among these plots, herding cattle, carrying loads, and working in the fields. Garet observed them eagerly. These were the men and women of Shirath, the people he would now help protect from the demons, his people. At a distance, they looked no different from the men and women of the Plains, save that their clothing was brighter than the simple blue and grey tunics of the people he ha
d seen at Old Torrick. Bright oranges and reds vied with sky blues and vivid yellows on the backs of the workers, though many of the younger men had removed their tunics in this heat and worked bare-chested. They came alongside a tall, middle-aged woman stepping along the road with a basket of tomatoes on her head. The collar of her light blue tunic was embroidered in a pretty pattern of running deer and twining flowers. She dipped a curtsy without missing a step or endangering her load, and smiling, continued on her way towards the city.
With his black tunic and black hair, Garet felt like a shadow on a sunny day among these colourful, blond men and women. Like a crow, he thought, remembering the insults of the barge men. Marick noticed him slouch down in the seat and pull his arms across his chest. The small boy gave him a thump on his shoulder and a grin of encouragement. Garet forced himself to straighten up.
They passed more people, each one giving the group a short bow or curtsy, more in greeting than in deference, it seemed, and if Garet was stared at, it was no more or less than his friends and guardian. He took comfort in that as the cart rumbled along.
When they neared the city, Garet saw why it was called “the city on two banks” and “the city of the bridges.” The Ar River, which their road now rejoined, cut Shirath cleanly in two. The high, white walls curved in a great half-circle on each side of the river. They did not end at the river, however, for the walls followed the banks to seal off each half as if it were a separate city. These walls, each facing its twin across the Ar, were broken by Shirath’s three arched bridges, the last barely visible in the distance. But even from so far away, Garet could see much movement and activity on the spans.
“There, Garet!” Marick yelled, pointing at a herd of sheep being driven back into the city from pasture. “If you ever get homesick, you can guard the shepherds.”
This speech was cut short when Dorict dragged the laughing Bane back into the cart’s box, but Garet, looking at where Marick had pointed, did indeed see two horses pacing the sheep, and on each a Bane, one a Gold and the other a Green. Now that he had noticed them, he looked at the fields and saw more scattered among the workers, some on horseback and others on foot.
They passed a line of fishponds set between the road and the river, and Marick called out to a Green lounging against the frame of a water wheel. The young woman waved her hand in reply. She yelled something, but the clacking of the wheel and the noise of the water pouring from its buckets into the ponds drowned out her words.
A pair of young men pulled in a net from the nearest pond. They carefully separated out the small silver fish from the larger carp and released the little ones back into the water. The bigger fish were hauled in baskets up to the road and dropped into large clay pots, half-full of water. There, they swam frantically about, slopping water over the side and occasionally jumping out, only to be quickly grabbed and put back in.
“Carp are best this time of year.” Dorict sighed. “Do you think that the Hall will have fish tonight?” The young Bane was more animated than Garet had ever seen. And why not, he thought. Dorict is coming home.
“Easily enough!” Marick yelled and prepared to jump off the cart, but Salick grabbed him by the collar of his tunic.
“Oh no you don’t!” she said as she hauled him over Garet’s lap to sit between them. “No more rule breaking. We’re back in Shirath now and anything you do reflects on our own Banehall.” Her look was meant to terrify, but Marick only smirked.
The walls were very close, and Garet had to stretch his neck to see the tops of them. No guards patrolled the heights. There were no watch towers or arrow slits, or any of the other things he had seen in the walls of Old Torrick.
He turned to Salick. “How can these walls keep the demons out?” He pointed to the nearest section. “Look! It’s so rough here that a Shrieker could easily use its claws to climb up to the top and get in.”
Salick was giving him the look she wore to inform him of his ignorance, but before she could lecture him, Mandarack spoke. “You’re right, Garet. These walls are not designed to keep demons out, but to keep them in.” He smiled slightly at Garet’s shocked expression. “It sounds foolish, doesn’t it? But Shirath is built so as to allow Banes to easily trap and destroy the demons as soon as they are discovered.”
“But Master,” Garet replied carefully, “in Bangt, they were making ditches and rows of sharpened logs. And Old Torrick’s walls were built to throw back an enemy, both the rebuilt sections and the older parts.”
Salick was listening now.
Mandarack shifted on the bench, careful not to nudge the wrapped bodies lying on the floorboards. “In Bangt, they were building for their fear, not their real danger—though if reversed they could prove to be useful. And the walls of Old Torrick were rebuilt partly from tradition. Torrick is the only one of the Five Cities that is older than the demon’s arrival six hundred years ago. The Lords and people of that town value that history. That is why they rebuild their walls in the same manner as before.” He paused to nod at a Red riding in the opposite direction. “And the Torrickers do have other concerns besides demons.”
Salick bit her lip for a moment and then asked, “What concerns could they possibly have? I mean, Master; what is there to fear that’s worse than a demon?”
Mandarack turned slightly to face his apprentice. “The Torrick lords, in truth, have much to fear from the miners they cheat and the Plains people who now demand adequate protection. For many years the rulers of that city have used their position at the boundary of the South and the Midlands to enrich themselves.”
Garet remembered Dorict’s comments on the greed of those lords. “Even now,” Mandarack continued, “the lords may still believe in that threat more than the increased danger of demon attack.” He shrugged. “Every thief wants a well-locked door for himself, as they say.”
The Midlanders were not the only people who would have to learn how to work together, Garet realized.
Behind the Red they had passed, a line of men chained together, ankle to ankle, shuffled off the road to let the cart go by. There were about twenty of them, and many had the veined noses and slack eyes of heavy drinkers. Two young men with truncheons guarded them, one at the head of the column and one at the tail.
Mandarack’s words had brought them level with the walls. There was a gap between the city and the river and it was through this space, three carts wide, that the road continued. With the high wall on his right and the wide river on his left, Garet felt as small as a crawling ant. The people on the road, in their bright tunics, stood out against the grey flagstones like spring flowers growing from rocks.
They soon came to the first bridge, arching above the road to a twin path on the other side. Salick made to turn onto it, but Marick grabbed her wrist and looked pleadingly at Mandarack.
“Master, can’t we take the Main Bridge?” He waved at the road ahead with his free hand. “This is Garet’s first time in the city, and we’ll still have lots of time to get to the Hall before supper!”
Mandarack thought about it for a moment and said, “Very well, but go on foot, you, Garet, and Salick.” He then looked at the quiet boy sitting across from him. “Dorict and I will take the cart to the Hall. That may not be delayed.”
Salick looked down at the wrapped corpses and nodded. The rest, even Marick, blushed to realize that they had forgotten the tragedy that had marked their journey home. Salick pulled back on the reins and handed them to Dorict as she stepped down. Garet and Marick joined her beside the cart.
“We’ll be there for dinner!” Salick called after the cart as it rumbled onto the bridge, but Marick was already pulling her and Garet down the road to the middle bridge, a much wider arch that joined the two halves of the city at its centre point. They swerved around single men pulling handcarts of vegetables and groups of old women leading goats and sheep on tethers. Marick seemed to instinctively know which twists and turns would get them to their destination in the least time. Garet felt as if he was fl
ying through the thickening crowds on the road, and turning his head, he saw that even Salick’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with excitement.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE PALACE PLAZA
When they reached the centre bridge, Marick pulled at Garet to hurry, but he resisted for a moment, wishing to look around before the small Bane had him running again. Two ramps, one on each side of the bridge, took travellers up from the level of the road to the higher gate and bridge. The gate itself was of iron-reinforced wood, and of a size to dwarf even the gates of Old Torrick. Garet judged that twenty men could have joined hands and walked through it without brushing the posts.
Guards stood at the head of each ramp, tall men in bronze breastplates and holding their long spears angled out in front of them. Their tunics were a deep purple, like Garet’s vest, but their sleeves were a riot of colourful embroidery, running in spirals down their arms. At their waists, great, cross-hilted swords hung from gold baldrics. Black boots and silver helmets topped with long brushes of horse hair completed the heroic effect. Garet gazed at them in stark admiration. These are what heroes should look like, he thought, and he wondered if the Banes were really necessary with such men as these around. Then he remembered that the courage to face a demon was different from a soldier’s courage; it was the courage not to attack but to withstand. Was a Bane’s bravery a thing only capable of being learned in childhood?
The guard eyed him curiously as he approached his station. He was a young man, no older than Boronict. For an uncomfortable moment, their eyes met. Garet looked away and reddened. How can I be braver than this hero? He forced himself to look at the young man again. The guard had reddened also, and Garet realized suddenly that he was just a young man, with all the worries and joys of other young men. Had he ever faced fear before? Wrapped in metal and armed with a deadly sword, what terror could he ever have conquered? Thinking this, Garet knew why he was a Bane and this young man a mere soldier. This time it was the guard who dropped his eyes.
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