“SACOURAT IS A snake,” Tarix said across the unsteady body of Kesla.
Garet nodded in full agreement. The woman had seemed to slither in her eagerness to gain favour with the King.
They were helping the injured Gold walk around the bottom floor of the Hall so that she could regain her balance and get some exercise. In consideration of Tarix’s leg, Kesla put most of her weight on Garet’s shoulder. He didn’t exactly mind, but felt he was the one getting the exercise.
They turned a corner, and Tarix continued. “If she weren’t so anxious to help the King, I’d think she was behind the Masks.”
They passed the front doors and saw team after team going out into the Plaza. The patrols were almost constant now, with Banes getting but a few hours sleep before going out again. There was talk of changing the patrols in hopes of catching the demons before they could do any damage. It was Tarix’s opinion that they had been lucky so far. Only a few Banes like Kesla had been injured, and there had been no deaths since the horrifying attack in the Fifth Ward.
Garet had no hope that such luck would continue. The Masks had gone to ground, and that made things harder, for the number of attacks had not decreased. The best Blue Sashes were being added to teams to make up the difference, but Garet feared that might lead to more injuries as the inexperienced Banes were thrust into battle. These were the things they talked of while they walked.
“I wish I could patrol again, when so many are needed,” Kesla said. “But the way my eyes are, I’d likely hit Ratal instead of a demon.”
“You’d likely hit him anyway,” Garet said.
Kesla smiled at him, then turned suddenly pale.
“Master, I think I must sit down or throw up. Either one and quickly!”
They steered her into the empty dining hall and lowered her gently to a bench. There was a commotion in the hallway, and three Banes raced past in a mirror image of their own recent progress: two helping a third to walk. The one they supported had his vest in tatters and blood dripping down to the back of his knees.
“Banerict will be busy again today. I hope the old man doesn’t lose his mind over this ‘foolishness’ as he sees it,” Tarix said. She looked at Kesla. The Gold’s head drooped, and she seemed oblivious to her surroundings.
“I suppose you didn’t tell him that cut on your cheek was from a Mask’s spear. That would have added a whole new verse to his song!”
Garet smiled, then regretted it, for it pulled at the stitches in his cheek.
“I lied, to my shame, and told him it was a practice injury and blamed Forlinect. As for Shirin, I just wish Sacourat had held back for a while. I think she was ready to talk.”
“Hmmm,” Tarix said, looking doubtfully at the bandaged cheek. “From what you told me, she was more ready to kill! Perhaps she would have come around, but it’s too late now. If she doesn’t lead the King’s Guard to the other Masks, our Hallmaster has demanded she be banished. He’s added that cut to the list of her crimes against the Banehall.”
Garet sighed, and Kesla groaned back in anguished harmony. Tarix patted both their shoulders.
“Courage, you two. The Masters have stopped shouting and are finally talking. We will have a more effective patrol schedule soon, and they are even considering Garet’s mad idea of tiny, scattered Halls, though I’m afraid I had to present it as my plan so they wouldn’t dismiss it out of hand.”
Garet shrugged. He would be happy enough if the Reds just listened to reason. And he didn’t need the recognition. He’d had enough of being the centre of attention last winter. It had rubbed on him like a rough shirt until this new threat took people’s notice away.
“Master, thank you for listening to my ‘mad ideas’. It means a lot that I have a friend in the Banehall.”
“You have many, Green! My husband among them. There are others who see these increased attacks as the final argument for some grand change. Branet will come around, I hope. He can be a sensible man when left no choice.”
Kesla added her support with a weak wave of one hand.
There was a clatter, and they turned to see a young woman run into the dining hall.
“Hello, Dalesta,” Tarix said as the Green skidded to a stop. “You’re running better today! Forced to play the messenger again?”
The Green smiled and nodded her head. “And with the same message, Master. Garet, the Hallmaster would like to see you in the Records Room at once. Oh, and same time tomorrow, Master Tarix?”
Tarix nodded and pointed at the splayed body of Kesla. “Tomorrow? Of course! Dalesta, I think I must go with Garet this time. Would you please help Kesla back to the infirmary? It will be good exercise for you!”
The young woman’s eyes widened at the burden she was about to receive, and Garet gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder as he and Tarix left the dining hall.
“Master, don’t you think there’s such a thing as too much exercise?”
Tarix looked shocked. “Never!” she said.
Branet had commandeered the Records Room so often that many now called it the Hallmaster’s Room. His presence was expected, but when the two entered, Arict, the usual Master of this room, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the first person Garet laid eyes on was Salick. She was sitting at an abnormally clean table, to the right of Branet and across from a single, empty chair.
“Tarix?” Branet said in his bull voice. “I didn’t call for you, but no matter. Salick, pull up another chair for Garet’s . . . Master.”
Salick stood and lifted a basket of scrolls off the nearest chair and moved it around to sit beside the other.
Why is she here, and why won’t she look at me?
“Sit down, both of you,” Branet said. “I asked Salick to take down what is said at this questioning. Master Arict is somewhat unreliable these days.”
Tarix smiled and turned her head. “Salick,” she said in greeting, and the Gold nodded, still looking at the paper, ink bowl, and brush laid out neatly before her. She dipped the brush in the ink and held it ready.
Branet leaned forward to examine Garet. He tapped a broad finger on the table.
“Did you seek out Shirin in the Maze, forsaking your Bane’s uniform and acting against the wishes of this Hall?”
The brush flew over the page.
Before Garet could answer with a self-damning “yes”, Tarix spoke up. “What do you mean, ‘against the wishes of this Hall’? Do the stones in these walls now rule us? Do they give us orders with granite tongues? Garet has a Master. Me. He proposed this plan, and I agreed.”
The brush paused in Salick’s hand, then finished the line.
“That was pure foolishness on your part, Tarix,” Branet growled.
Tarix growled back. “The foolishness is believing that what started last winter is over and done with. The Duelists were never defeated. They just came back as these Masks! And probably for the same reasons. Shall we repeat that feud endlessly, until none are left to fight and the beasts rule all? Mandarack knew better. He wished to fight demons, who, in case you haven’t noticed, have no trouble changing their ways in this war.”
Branet waited while Salick caught up with Tarix’s passionate argument. He leaned back and said, “You cannot win a war against Heaven, Tarix. This talk of someone throwing demons against us like a spear is all over the Hall now. What is such a fantasy compared to six-hundred years of facts? Just words, yet here you repeat them. Are these Garet’s words or yours, and who is the Master? You or him?”
Tarix glared at the Hallmaster but said nothing. Garet could not believe Branet would be so dismissive of Tarix, who had given so much of her life and health to her duties. He made to speak, but Tarix forestalled him.
“If we wish to make comparisons,” she told Branet in an icy tone, “you might be well-matched with Adrix, our old and unlamented Hallmaster. Has he sneaked back here to whisper idiocy in your ear? Remember how he fell when arrogance drove away all his followers? There will be a Masters meeting tomorrow, Branet, and all these questions will be put out in the open for us to decide. We will come to an agreement no matter how long it takes—even if every other Bane in the Hall must be turned out to patrol while we argue!”
Branet stood. He did not wait for Salick to finish writing before he replied, “Then we have nothing further to say.”
Garet stood as well, and spoke when the Hallmaster made to leave. “Sir, a moment, if you will. I beg you not to ask the King to exile Shirin,” he said as humbly as possible.
Branet laughed. “Ask him? I’ve demanded it, as is quite within my powers, Garet, and it is not up for debate with a mere Green.”
Salick glared at the page before her, the pen in her clenched hand dripping ink onto the table.
Garet pressed ahead. “Please, Hallmaster, do not do this! She is confused, but in her heart, Shirin is like us. She wants to defeat the demons.”
Branet held out his hand, and Salick gave him her notes. He tore them in half, then in half again.
“Then she’ll get her fill of fighting them when she’s driven beyond the walls. I intend to preserve this Hall, Garet, like the Hallmasters before me. You could help me do that. You are intelligent and diligent in your duties, if not in your allegiances. You could be a Gold in a year and a master in seven, if you learn to obey like a true Bane.”
“That would be my decision,” Tarix said. “Not yours.” She stood beside Garet and put a hand on his shoulder.
Branet smiled at her and left the room.
The Red shook her head and cursed under her breath. She turned to Garet. “Claws! I spoke more angrily than I intended. Don’t worry about this. He can’t do anything to you, just to me. And don’t worry about that either. If a Basher Demon mangling my leg couldn’t stop me, neither can a charging Hallmaster!”
She noticed that Garet was looking at Salick, who was staring at her clenched fists on the table.
“Hmm, I’ll go and help organize the new patrols, Garet. Why don’t you stay here and talk?”
She left the room as fast as her braced leg allowed.
“Salick?” Garet said.
When he got no answer, he tried again. “Why did the Hallmaster want you here? Did he tell you?”
Salick finally met his eyes. “You heard him, didn’t you? He wanted me to take notes.” She picked up a scrap of paper from the floor and began wiping clean the brush.
“Really?” Garet asked. He was tired. His cheek hurt, and he had little patience left for Salick’s moods.
“Why not borrow a steward or a free Green or even a Blue?” he asked. “Don’t you think you’re overqualified to sit here and scribble down Branet’s wisdom?”
Salick stood up and faced him, eyes narrowed. “Perhaps he wanted a Bane he could trust in the room,” she said. Her braids trembled as she picked up the rest of the paper and almost threw it onto a shelf below the counter.
Garet followed her, anger building up at yet another accusation, this time from someone he loved. “So, do you think I’m a traitor?” he asked, shouting the question and immediately regretting it, both the tone and the words. He was terribly afraid she would answer him, and that her reply would cut him deeper than Shirin’s spear.
Salick stopped, hands on the counter. She spoke without turning. “Why do you choose Shirin over the Hall, over me?” she asked.
“I don’t!” he yelled. “But I won’t choose the Hall over the safety of the city, either. Branet is wrong. Exiling Shirin or any other Mask just shows we care more for our own position than we do about protecting the people!”
He slammed a fist on the counter. He was angrier than he had ever been before. He couldn’t help seeing what was happening around him. Heaven knew he wanted to, sometimes. If he could just ignore the foolishness around him, then he might fit in, be a seamless part of this city, but his hair, his skin, and now even his thoughts prevented it.
Tired of being challenged, tired of being forced into a corner, he exploded in anger. “Why can’t you see this? The demons are different! That choice has been made already. I can’t stop it. You can’t stop it. And Branet can’t stop it! We need the Masks on our side. We have to change!”
“No!” Salick shouted. “We don’t! You have to change. You have to change back into being a proper Bane. Until you do, don’t come near me!”
She ran out of the room, leaving Garet there alone until Records Master Arict stuck her head out of the back room where she slept.
“Sorry dear, were you calling for me?”