“What just happened?” Riga asked. She pointed her spear this way and that, but no demon remained. Fear was still there, reestablished after that odd gap, for the corpse of the Basher still lay beside them. Ratal stroked his moustache and looked at the mound of still flesh in puzzlement, as if he couldn’t fathom why this one was still here when all its friends had left.
Tarix looked to where the Shrieker had fled. She bit her lip and then turned to the others. “Garet and Riga, try to track that Digger if you can. Ratal, you have the Shrieker. Go, now!” she said, and ran up the alley where the Rat Demon had fled. After a moment’s hesitation, Allifur ran after her.
Garet pulled his rope hammer off the Basher’s clawed foot, dropped the axe at Aralon’s feet, and raced after Riga. She was following a humped line of stones that led towards the Outer Wall, a faint but possible clue to the Digger’s retreat—if it was using the same route to leave that it made to enter. There was nothing else to do, so they went to the wall, then through the gate to find more disturbed earth outside. It led into the fields and away from the city. They ran beside it until they reached a drainage ditch and saw no trace on the other side. Nor were there field workers to point them in the right direction, for they had all fled at the Basher’s approach.
“How do we follow now?” Riga asked. She drove her spear down as far as she could into the ground and found nothing but mud and clay when she brought it up.
There was a shout behind them, and they looked up to see Ratal waving at them from the ruined gate.
“Let’s go back,” Garet said. “Maybe the others ran away from us too.”
Riga paused in wiping the mud off her spear with a handful of plucked grass. “If so, it must be because of Ratal, for neither you nor I are so frightening.”
“Heaven shield us,” Garet said, and walked back with her to the city.
Kitoroth was there, alone of his team, when they met near the Basher’s corpse. He was sweating profusely, and apologized for his late arrival.
“I’m sorry, Master Tarix, but the strangest thing happened. We had just brought down a Glider Demon—Salar can throw his club like one of your stones, Garet—and I was about to send a messenger to you when young Corfin arrived. Then, there were two other Demons, Shriekers, but they bolted instead of attacking. The Glider tried to get away too, but we killed it, of course. We were able to track one of the others right over the Wall and into the fields. Don’t know what happened to the other one. What about here?”
Tarix rubbed her chin. “Much the same, Kitoroth, so don’t apologize. Do we have a silkstone box for this Basher’s jewel?”
The Gold looked over the corpse of the Basher and shook his head. With the jewel still broadcasting fear, the people of the Ward would be trapped and suffering in their homes.
“I sent Corfin to the Hall for one. He should be back soon.”
He was, with Relict in tow, though the Red was supposed to be resting until the night patrol began. He presented his wife with a silkstone box, and gave her a quick embrace.
“I’m glad to find you in one piece with all these strange events. This isn’t the only Ward where multiple demons showed up only to leave again. By the way, Kitoroth, your Glider’s jewel is already in there, plus a Rat Demon’s from the Fifteenth Ward.”
Tarix passed the box to Ratal, who took up Aralon’s axe and went to work. The fear cut off as he closed the lid. There were faint echoes from the north and west, but they were too weak to represent an immanent threat.
The shadows were growing longer now, and people stuck their heads out of doors and windows to watch as they took on the butchery of reducing the Basher to pieces small enough to fit in a cart. Riga and Ratal then took the body parts away with a promise to Tarix not to stray too far from the city gates.
“Drop it in the shambles between the fields and the orchards,” she told them, “and return right away to the Hall.”
The rest of Relict’s team arrived, sent for hastily an hour before their time, but anxious to hear the news of these odd attacks. There was much talking before they could get away, and by the time Garet, Tarix, Dorict, Aralon, Corfin, and Allifur returned to the Hall, the lamps on the doorposts were already lit.
Kesla’s replacement, the Stores Master, an older man with but one leg, made a mark on his lists and waved them inside. Tarix sent the others to the Dining Hall to eat before resting, but signaled Garet to stay.
“I’m afraid there’s bad news, Garet,” she said, lowering her voice when more returning teams came in the Hall. “Relict told me that the Hallmaster has set a deadline for the exile. She must be out of the city by this time tomorrow. The King had no choice but to agree, since the city is even more dependent on the Hall right now. I wish I could give you better news.”
She frowned. “Garet, I know that look! You have to accept this now! You did all you could for her, and after all, you are only one young man with a single job. Do you know what that job is?”
Garet took a deep breath. “To protect the city of Shirath, Master,” he said. “I hope I’ve always known that.”
He ran a hand over his brow. He was tired and heartsick. The events of the day had distracted him from his argument with Salick, but with a return to the Hall, the memory of it came flooding back.
“Good, go eat and then bed,” Tarix said. With a huge yawn, the Red went off in the direction of the Masters’ quarters, leaving Garet alone.
He did not go to the Dining Hall, but up to where the Golds had rooms on the second floor. He knocked on the door of one such room and waited for an answer.
Salick opened it a crack and then closed it again. She was just back from her own patrol, and Garet had hoped to talk to her more calmly than he had before.
He laid his head on the door and knocked again.
“Go away,” she said, her voice muffled by a thin plank of wood and what seemed like a great distance between them.
“Salick,” he said. “I’m sorry I was so angry in the Records Room. Can’t we just talk, like we used to?”
There was no answer.
He sighed and raised a hand to knock again but let it fall. “Salick, I love you. You know that. I . . . I want to be with you for the rest of my life, but I can’t change the world for you. I can’t unmake what has happened and what is going to happen. If you believe me, if you believe that I love you, please answer!”
THERE WAS NO
answer, not for a long time, and when it finally came, it was too late, for when Salick opened the door to speak, Garet had already gone, but not to bed.
DARKNESS FELL, A
night bird sang, and Garet paced the roof of the Banehall, trying to understand what he must do. He looked over the city, counting the lights still visible over the inner walls. Only a few lamps lit the roofs of the larger buildings, for after so many dry days, the rain now threatened. Between that and the increasing attacks, most citizens of Shirath had decided that it was not yet time to return to their rooftops to gossip and play the evenings away.
The bird sang again, and Garet stopped to peer over the parapet. He saw a nest built into a crack in the wall just below where he stood. People called these brown fliers “sleep singers”, and many parents hung hollowed ox horns outside their windows for them to nest in, if they were lucky enough to have windows, so that the birds’ liquid trills would soothe their babes to sleep.
Garet wished he might be so easily calmed. He had left Salick’s door to come up here and try to think of a way to save Shirin. Salick’s company would have been a comfort, but he knew now that she would never understand his concern for the Mask. To her, Shirin was an enemy of the Hall and the Palace, one who had also tried to kill Banes, three times now, counting last winter.
The bird sang again its dark nest.
Garet sighed. He knew Shirin was angry and desperate enough to still cause all sorts of harm, but like Riga, he couldn’t bear to think of anyone cast out, wandering in the wilderness until a demon found them. And as for her being filled with rage, he knew that his actions had poured some of that anger into her.
More lights appeared in the Wards, each one representing someone holding off the dark.
That is what the city is
, he thought.
People preserving what light they had
. He thought of the cart driver apologizing for making him step aside, the Lords at that dinner in the Palace, Torfor in the market place with its thousand colors and tastes for sale, and all the Banes asleep below him. Every one of them was the city, and the city was all of them. That included Shirin and her Masks. If there was an enemy out there sending demons towards them like an archer sent arrows—and even now he must say “if” for he had no definite proof—then the city should be united in its defense. The Banehall and the Masks would have to work together, and Lords like Sacourat would have to give up their ambitions until the real enemy was found and defeated. Then let everyone be at each other’s throats!
Garet struck the top of the parapet, momentarily silencing the bird.
“I must do something,” he said to the night. “If Shirin is exiled, then Branet wins, and his vision of the city will be the only one allowed. He will wrap us in tradition and custom until he’s no better than Adrix. In a year’s time, the Palace and Hall will be at war again, and the demons will kill us all.”
Silently, he continued in his thoughts. This night’s retreat of the demons felt like a feint, such as Tarix used to lure him off balance and strike before he could recover. There must be a human mind at work here, and it wasn’t finished with Shirath. Heaven alone knew what the next move would be.
Garet resumed his pacing and the sleep singer resumed its unhelpful song.
IN A ROOM
shared by two Golds, the lamp was lit, a night bird’s song came through the open window, and Salick paced back and forth trying to understand what she must do.
“Do you have to stomp all over our room?” Vinir asked.
Salick’s roommate sat cross-legged on her bed, a papered board balanced on her knees and a drawing reed in one hand.
“Yes,” said Salick. “I must.” She glared at her friend and pointed at the reed.
“You’re dripping ink on the blanket again. Just what is it you’re doing, anyway?”
Vinir smiled, letting Salick’s moods breeze by her as she usually did.
“I’m drawing that Tunneler Demon, since we have no record of it. Relict let me do some rough sketches when we moved the carcass. It seems he told the Records Master of my amazing talents, so she requested a good copy personally.”
Salick picked up a finished drawing from the table. It showed the demon lying on the ground amidst the rubble of its attack, head cleft and dead.
Salick shuddered at the thought of Garet facing that monster.
“What’s wrong with this one?” she asked.
“Well,” Vinir said, frowning, “the Hallmaster also wanted a copy, and the two training Reds each wanted one more, and Lord Andarack sent a note pleading for another.”
Salick laughed. “So, your ‘amazing talents’ have finally forced you to work!”
Vinir ignored her, adding a line to the plates covering the demon’s face. The drawing was quite good, lending the creature a tragic nobility in death that it certainly lacked in life.
“If you stop pacing, I’ll draw you next. Garet might like a portrait of you.”
Salick batted away the idea away with one hand and continued her circular route.
Vinir carefully put the drawing and her materials on the table and stood up. She intercepted Salick and put two strong hands on her shoulders. Vinir was a shade taller and wider in the shoulders, so Salick was forced to stop.
“What is it, Salick? Is it all this fuss with the Masks, or is something wrong between you and Garet?”
“Why would you say that?”
Salick tried to move, but Vinir steered her over to her own bed and sat down across from her.
“Because I’ve watched you turn hot and cold on the poor man until he must think you’re as mad as a moon-born calf! Which you are, of course.”
“Poor
man
?” Salick said, and shook her head.
“Yes,” Vinir said with simple conviction. “You may add ‘young’, ‘newly made’, even ‘barely’ if you want, but you must call him a man. Now, what is wrong?”
“He goes too far,” Salick said, almost shouting. “He pries and pulls at things until they’re ready to fall apart!”
“I had no idea he was so powerful,” Vinir said, smiling. She leaned forward and put her hands on Salick’s knees to stop them bouncing.
“He loves you. You know that. I know that. The Hall knows that. Well, maybe Records Master Arict is unaware, but still, she’s sharper than she seems. And he’s sharper than a claw, but what’s wrong with that? What is he pulling at that you fear will come unraveled?”
The strong hands on her knees looked so calm compared to her own twisting in her lap. Vinir had been her best friend for most of her life. She took a deep breath. “He’s pulling at the Banehall. He thinks we should welcome the Masks into it, ally with them because he’s got this insane idea that the demons are weapons in a war, being used by some imaginary enemy we’ve never seen!”