His eyes widened. “You know he was on the bridge?”
She dropped her hand and leaned forward. “I recognized his voice just before he slashed me. Garet, he used his anger to attack me, like we were children again. You used yours to defend me. That’s something I will always remember.” She leaned back and put one hand on her bandages, her face pale.
Talking was painful for both of them, so they spent a good hour in companionable silence, each remembering their close call of the night before. Banerict finally came by and shooed Garet out while he changed Salick’s bandage.
With nothing else to do, he went up the two flights of steps to the Blue Sashes’ rooms, but Marick and Dorict were absent. After a good night’s sleep, his nerves were settled enough to want company, and answers. The foremost question in his mind was what would they do with Shoronict. Gonect was supposed to be holding the proud Duelist in the Eighth Ward, but he could not hold him there forever. Would the King punish Shoronict or reward him for attacking them? The only knowledge he had of a Shirath king was from the play he had seen the night before. Was that truly only last night? It seemed an age ago, and the memory was not comforting; the king of that performance was as mad as a crow in winter. Would Trax also prove to be insane?
Garet shook his head and looked out through the room’s solitary window. Through the distortions of the wavy glass, the plaza seemed deserted. Even the old men had abandoned their bowling, despite the weak sunlight falling on their pitch. He put his hand on the cold glass. The snow he had felt in the air last night would not be long in coming. Craning his neck, he saw the gardens were likewise empty, and in the distance, the three bridge gates were closed. Not good, he thought. The plaza had the feeling of a crop of wheat under a hail-filled sky. As he turned from the window, he caught sight of something that sent him running from the room. The gates of the Banehall’s courtyard were closed and chained. Men and women, all Banes, stood in the yard, their spears, tridents and other weapons shining in the winter sun.
Salick was not in her bed, and he stood frozen for a moment before rushing out of the infirmary to find Mandarack. The halls were empty except for Black Sashes trotting back and forth with folded papers and trays of hot tea. None of the non-Bane citizens who worked in the Banehall were visible. Mandarack’s door was slightly open, and he breathed a sigh of relief to hear Salick’s voice before he knocked.
“Come in,” called the dry voice of the old Bane. He pushed open the door to find the small room crowded with those opposed to Adrix. Master Tarix’s wheeled chair was set beside Mandarack’s chair with Relict on her other side, one hand on her shoulder. Branet sat hunched beside Relict, his expression grim as he eyed the young Bane at the door. Ranged along the walls were the other Reds and Golds who had been demoted, although they still wore the sashes of their original ranks. Some few others of the higher ranks, whom Garet knew sympathized with Mandarack, had joined them. Dorict, looking uncomfortable in such company, stood by Mandarack’s elbow. Salick sat in the only other chair.
“Good, we were looking for you, Garet,” Relict said, smiling and waving him in, though there was barely any space left in the small room.
“There you are!” exclaimed Marick, who had come up behind Garet and now propelled him into the room, following him and closing the door to a tiny crack. The small Bane stood by that crack, one eye on the hall.
Mandarack continued. “Salick has told us much of your courage and skill on the bridge last night. I am pleased to say that those who know you were not surprised and those who didn’t were greatly impressed.” He waited to accommodate the murmurs of agreement that rippled around the room.
Tarix beamed at him. “All those hours and bruises paid off, eh Garet?” she laughed. Even Branet smiled with the other Masters but quickly regained his serious expression.
“The attack on you two changes everything. Have you seen the courtyard?” the burly Master asked the assembly. Several Banes nodded, and the rest were soon informed by their neighbours.
“We seem to be preparing for a war,” Relict observed. He stroked his short beard and looked at Mandarack. “A war I’m afraid we will win.”
Several in the room looked at him quizzically, but Mandarack nodded in agreement.
“You are right,” the old Bane said. “Think, all of you; whichever side wins this war, our city will die.”
Garet moved carefully in the silence this remark produced until he fit himself into the small space Vinir had saved for him beside Salick’s chair. He remembered Mandarack’s lecture on the balance of power in the city. The Banehall, the King with his Ward Lords, and the demons. It seemed all three groups were changing so fast that any balance was doomed.
Branet cleared his throat and looked up from his thick, interlocked fingers. “Would you rather the King and his assassins win?” he asked. Another uncomfortable silence filled the room.
Garet answered, surprising himself with his boldness, but he felt he could no longer remain silent. He had, after all, been on the front lines of this war. “Master Branet, I have been told that there are three forces in Shirath: the Banehall, those we protect, and the demons we fight. If we treat those we protect in the same manner as those we fight, where is the right of it? And if we can no longer win against the demons, where is our purpose?”
Branet looked up at him, surprised at the passion in his voice. Mandarack caught Garet’s eyes and nodded for him to continue.
He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment against the throbbing of his bruised cheek and said, “This fight with the King is like two men gambling in a burning house. No one wins! We must find a way to stop this war before it begins in earnest!” He pushed his black hair back from his eyes. “We are Demonbanes, the only defense against the most powerful threat to Shirath.” He held his hands out, pleading for their understanding. “But if the demons can no longer be found, except by following the trail of their victims, this city will be destroyed.”
The assembled Banes reacted to this speech with reluctant nods and murmurs of protest, perhaps shocked at being instructed by a mere Blue, but Mandarack immediately held up his hand for silence.
“Garet is correct. Adrix has created this distraction with the King for his own purposes, a distraction that must be resolved before our ‘house’ burns.” He touched Dorict on the sleeve. The young Bane gave a start. “Dorict, please repeat the news you brought from my brother.”
Dorict stepped a bit forward and began in a somewhat squeaky voice, “Marick and I visited Lord Andarack this morning and assisted him with his testing. We found a rock that stops the effect of a demon’s jewel.” The noise that accompanied this announcement was so great that Marick shut the door until it died down. “He is also making a…” words momentarily failed the young Bane, “…device that can be used against a demon.” There was much scratching of heads, Garet’s included, at this cryptic statement. Dorict looked at them helplessly, obviously unable to give more details.
“We will keep in contact with the Ward Lord,” Mandarack said. “Marick and Dorict will continue to assist him.” He looked at Marick who was still guarding the door. “But you both must take care. Do not go into the city in your uniforms. Wear the clothes of the mechanicals.”
“That’s how we came back, Master,” Marick replied smugly. “It’s easy to mix in with all of them. They finally came back to Lord Andarack’s house after he sealed the jewel inside a box lined with that rock.” He winked at Garet. “At least now there’s no more crushing and sorting to do.”
Garet smiled back, remembering the labour of the previous day. Master Branet stood up.
“I would like to see this stone,” he said to Mandarack. “But I don’t see how it could have led to the deaths of my students. The stones of that building were hundreds of years old, and I killed a Shrieker there myself not a dozen years ago, and with no trouble sensing it!”
Mandarack nodded. “I agree, Master Branet. While my brother’s discovery may yet help solve this
mystery, it is too soon to tell. We cannot as a group, however, leave the Hall at this point. Perhaps when Andarack has his device ready, we can travel secretly to view it.” The old Bane rose. “Remember, for now the best thing we can do is keep up our patrols and try to build support within the Hall. We must bring more people over to our cause.”
“Even if it splits the Hall?” asked Master Bandat.
“The Hall is split, Bandat,” Relict told her. “We now have to work to see what can be saved.”
Sobered by these words, the assorted Banes filed out of the room after Marick checked for any lurkers in the corridor.
Mandarack signalled the four friends to stay behind. “Dorict and Marick will be out of harm’s way, I trust,” he eyed Marick sternly, “but you and Salick must also be protected. I don’t want you to patrol right now.” He held up his hand to stop Salick’s protest. “I know how seriously you both take your responsibilities as Banes, but I fear that the Duelists will try to harm you if you leave the Hall.” He shook his head. “Your help is unnecessary for now. Adrix, and everyone else in the Hall, knows what happened on the bridge. He has doubled the number of Banes on each patrol to provide safety in numbers from any other attacks.” The old man’s smile was grim. “He has such a need of bodies now, that he hasn’t found time to enforce his demotions.” He helped Salick up from her seat. “Adrix hates both of you. He hates you because your behaviour is truly Bane-like, and that reminds him that his behaviour is not. He also hopes to strike at me through you.” His eyes fixed them both. “Alone, or with a patrol made up of Farix and the like, you would be at Adrix’s mercy,” he rasped, “and, I don’t want to risk you again.”
For the first time in their acquaintance, Garet could detect a strong emotion in the old Bane’s voice.
Mandarack put a hand on his shoulder briefly then shifted it to Salick’s. “You are both dear to me,” he said, then turned to the two younger Banes by the door, “as are both of you. Take care of yourselves so I do not have cause to fear as I did last night.” Salick looked up at him, her eyes glistening. “No tears, Salick,” he said. “You must stay in the Hall for now, in the infirmary. I have already told Banerict that you are not ready to take up your duties.” He dropped his hand and smiled again. “He has agreed with my diagnosis.” He motioned the younger Banes out the door and closed it softly behind them.
So the next few days passed. Banerict fended off Master Farix whenever the haughty Red came to demand the two Banes return to duties.
“Not yet, my good Master,” Banerict would say, shaking his head and going on in a doleful tone. “The infection, you know. Don’t know what’s to be done.” He would put his arm around the confused young man and lead him to the door. “Well, we’ll hope for the best, only time will tell.” It was a testament to Farix’s stupidity that the same ploy worked for three days in a row.
On the fourth day, Adrix arrived with his assistant. “Banerict!” he demanded, his florid cheeks shaking, “How can you justify keeping two healthy Banes in their beds when we need everyone to protect ourselves from the King’s assassins?” He planted himself in front of the physician and glared down at him. Garet and Salick, who luckily happened to be in those beds, tried to look sickly.
Instead of placating the Hallmaster, however, Banerict surprised them all by blankly contradicting him. “No, Hallmaster. You know nothing of healing hurt Banes. I do.” He waved at his patients.
Garet took the hint and coughed helpfully. Salick moaned.
“When it is my opinion that they are ready to return to their duties, then I will release them to you,” the small physician said, his voice rising, “not a moment before!” And, although the Hallmaster towered over Banerict, it was Adrix who retreated, grumbling and scowling, with Farix stumbling in his wake. Banerict smiled. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since he became Hallmaster,” he said to no one in particular. Humming a cheerful tune, he then returned to his rounds, chatting with the elderly Banes who either stayed in the infirmary, or came there during the day.
By the end of the fifth day, Salick and Garet were beginning to wish Adrix had dragged them back to work, no matter what dark schemes Mandarack saw waiting for them.
Freedom came on their fifth evening in the Hospital. Salick’s great swaths of bandages had gradually been reduced to a small square of cloth held on with a sticky gum that she complained about more than the wound. The cut had closed, leaving a thin, curved scar that accentuated her high cheek-bones. Garet commented that it made her look rather adventurous, like a thief in the book they were taking turns reading to each other. The hero of the play was a young woman who became a thief to steal evidence of her father’s innocence and so save him from exile. The scar on her face had been made by the villain of the piece, who had caught her in her first attempt at burglary. After Garet pointed out the physical similarities, he went on to list other points of comparison, such as the character’s impulsiveness and hot temper. Salick had made her disagreement clear by throwing the book at his head. Garet caught it and calmly picked up reading where she had left off. Banerict shook his head and smiled. His two patients were amusing at least, though a bit too energetic for his infirmary.
Marick interrupted their arguments by bursting into the room.
“Salick, Garet, what are you waiting for, come on!” he cried, frantically waving for them to follow.
The two Banes slipped on their boots and collected their weapons. Banerict waved off their thanks and shooed them out the door. “Be careful, both of you. I mean this kindly, but with luck, it will be a long time before I see you again.”
They left him standing in the doorway to the infirmary. Garet imagined he could hear the physician’s sighs follow them down the hall like a soft breeze.
Mandarack was waiting for them in the Blues’ training gymnasium. Tarix sat in her chair, fidgeting with some objects in her lap. Branet and Relict waited as well, grey winter cloaks thrown over their uniforms. Mandarack’s cloak was held over his good arm, and a long dagger was thrust through his belt.
“Here you are,” he observed. “My brother has finally sent word.” He held out the cloak to Salick, who helped him settle it over his shoulders. Three more cloaks were produced from Tarix’s room. After the younger Banes had concealed their identity beneath the grey wool, Tarix called them over.
“Garet’s rope-hammer can be easily concealed under his cloak, but you two must leave your more obvious weapons behind.”
Marick looked at her and swallowed. Reluctantly, he placed his shield on the floor beside the wheels of her chair. Salick silently laid her trident beside it.
Tarix smiled. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave you defenseless.” She held out the objects she had been holding. Short wooden handles fixed to a metal shaft as long as their forearms ended in four curved tines, like a set of iron claws. Each had been sharpened to a needle point. The weapons master handed one to Marick, handle first. “These were once used for advanced training, long before my time. A Master would try to slash a Gold while the poor Bane tried to save her skin.”
Salick blanched at the thought of facing such a test. Tarix handed her the other baton. “Ahh, for the good old days, eh Gold?” she teased.
“Hide them under your cloaks,” Mandarack instructed. “And hope Heaven has not written that we will use them tonight.”
The six Banes took their leave of the Training Master and left the Hall by way of a back door. Marick led them to a small gate that could be forced with a simple blow to the hinges. Branet struck the top of the gate with the heel of his hand. A few flakes of snow, which had been falling in patches all day, shifted down onto the Master’s hand.
“Again,” whispered Marick.
Branet hit it again, and the gate squeaked open before Marick could catch it. The party froze, waiting for a shout of alarm, but the only sound came from far away, behind the Ward gates, the faint murmur of the city’s life.
Clouds had covered the city all day, threatening t
he first real snow storm of the winter. Now they blocked whatever light the crescent moon and stars might have given. Branet reluctantly lit a small, covered lamp and held it out before the party. The feeble light that shone through the round, glass eye helped them skirt the low hedges and the stands lining the playing fields to make their way to the west gate. Several figures waited motionless before the gates. The purple cloaks of the Palace guards whipped around their armour. Torches guttered in their iron brackets and threw an uncertain light over the approaching party, for which Garet was extremely grateful. At a sign from Mandarack, they pulled their hoods down low over their faces and approached the Guards.
“Hold there!” called one, squinting at Branet. “Who are you?” One hand kept the wind from his eyes and the other rested on the pommel of his sword.
Branet didn’t answer, but pulled open his cloak. The Guard stepped back and waved them through. The big Bane turned to the others to motion them on ahead of him, and as he passed, Garet saw a strip of purple across Branet’s chest and a duelist’s sword hanging at his hip. Branet saluted the guards and followed the others across the high curve of the bridge.
When they were out of earshot of the gate, Branet leaned over to Garet and said, “Ask your little friend here how he got this sash. I’m sure it will be an interesting story.” He slapped Marick on the back, nearly knocking the young Bane over. With a laugh, the first real sound of pleasure Garet had heard the man express since the loss of his two students, Branet pushed up to the front of the party to light its way.
As Garet steadied him, Marick shook himself and grinned at Garet. “It would make a good story though. If we survive this, I might try to sell it to that drunken storyteller we saw by the wine shop!” Garet smiled back and shook his head, though not in doubt, for he knew Marick would try anything.
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