Authors: Kevin Harkness
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 the 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.
Branet's bluff got them through the Palace-side gate just as easily. The cold had emptied much of that plaza as well. At the far end, lights winked out one after another as merchants closed up their stalls. The stage was also dark. The only sign of activity was at the Palace. Lights blazed from every window in the magnificent building. Guards packed the entrances, and, even at this distance, Garet could make out the knots of Duelists scattered among them.
Mandarack paused to examine the distant scene. Beside them, the Temple complex showed only a few lamps lit around the pillars of the main shrine.
“Something's going on there,” Relict said, looking at the Palace and pulling the edge of his hood out to block the wind. “Should we return to the Hall?” The others crowded in to hear the answer.
“No,” Mandarack said. “We could only tell Adrix that we saw many Guards and Duelists at the Palace. He could do nothing more than he has already done to protect the Banehall.” He looked at the others. “Remember that this is a distraction. We have to remember who our enemy really is.”
The party resumed its path towards the Eighth Ward. That gate, unlike those of the other Wards, was opened a crack, as though it awaited their arrival.
“Here you are!” a rough voice called out over the wind. Gonect appeared, a lantern held high to illuminate the approaching party. “I've been waiting for half the watch for you,” he complained as they filed through the gate into the shelter of the smaller plaza. “My Lord is waiting for you. Hurry! My bones tell me that there's a blizzard coming tonight.”
The Banes quickly walked the distance to the Ward Lord's house and were shown into the great hall. They drew back their hoods and opened their cloaks, glad of the fires roaring in the twin hearths of the room. At the furnace opposite the entrance, Dasanat fiddled with a glass-blower's pipe, pointedly ignoring their presence. No one else was in the room.
Salick pulled out a chair for Mandarack and helped him off with his cloak. The others took theirs off as well, placing them on top of the tools and plans covering the table. They looked about the room, Branet and Relict taking in the chaos for the first time, the others used to it by now. A small figure came running through the entrance and skidded to a stop before them.
“Dorict?” said Marick. “I haven't seen you run that fast since we were Blacks!” He shook his head in wonderment at his friend's energy.
Dorict ignored him and spoke directly to Mandarack, his words coming out between gasps and wheezes. “Master...Lord Andarack is coming up from the ice cellar...he wants to show you...” here he stopped for a great clanking sound had grown behind him and all the Banes turned expectantly towards the entrance. At the other end of the room, Dasanat sighed and doggedly went on cleaning out the pipe.
Whatever the Banes had expected, they were not prepared for the vision that marched slowly through the entrance arch. Andarack it may have been, or anyone for that matter, for the figure's head and torso was covered in a bizarre mesh of brass and stone. Frames of the metal held thin slabs of rock over some sort of linked mail, giving the wearer the paradoxical look of being both angled and curved. The figure raised a bare hand, for the arms as well as the legs wore only the grey cloth of the mechanicals, and lifted the visor of the helmet.
“There!” Lord Andarack said, breathing hard but smiling. “This armour weighs what you would expect, considering its materials.” He lifted the helmet and its neck-skirt of rasping stone off his head. His greying hair was plastered to his head. “Now then, who is going to try this next?”
Branet and Relict looked at each other, but remained silent. Mandarack's face bore the shadow of a smile.
The Ward Lord took the silence as a rebuke. “It's perfectly safe, if a bit uncomfortable,” he said, laying the helmet down on top of their cloaks. “And it will block the effects of a demon's jewel, at least most of it.” Dorict began to help him untie the lacings under his arms that held the breast and back-plates together.
“Most of the effects, Lord Andarack?” Relict ventured. He stroked his beard and regarded the massive helmet. “Could you please be more...detailed?” He used a cautious finger to trace the rim of shiny brass holding a stone slab on the forehead of the helmet.
“Ahh, thank you, Dorict,” the Ward Lord said, slipping out of the armour.
Dorict, almost crushed by the weight of the armour, frantically motioned for Marick to help. His friend stifled his laughter and rushed over to prevent a disaster.
“The effect of the jewel is felt most in the head and torso,” Andarack told Relict. “By covering these parts with the silkstone, the fear the jewel creates is reduced to a mere unease.” He waved at Dasanat. “I myself have stood in front of the jewel, wearing this protection and have been able to think and move.” The frowning mechanical waited by the furnace, still holding the pipe. “Dasanat,” Andarack called, “bring refreshments for our guests.”
The woman's curses could be heard all the way down the length of the room.
“Master Mechanical,” Branet asked, “it may seem a small point after such a great achievement, but how do you see out of this contraption?” He was holding the helmet in his large hands, looking perplexedly at the complex face plates.
“Silkstone has a high concentration of crystals in its composition,” Andarack answered. “The small plates in front of the wearer's eyes are a mosaic of chips bearing the largest crystals we have. The view is distorted, though perhaps fragmented is a better description.” He helped Branet slip the helmet over his head. “If you move carefully and think about what you are seeing, there should be no trouble.”