City of Masks Read Free

was less bustle here, save for on the playing fields, where teams of young men and women hit and kicked a ball back and forth according to rules Garet had yet to understand. Surrounding these fields were low gardens. The trees and bushes were trimmed close to the ground so that a demon would find it difficult to hide. Beyond those gardens stood the Banehall.
    Not as imposing as the Palace with its multitude of glass windows and gilded pillars, the Banehall was more practical, a machine built for housing and training Banes. Its centre block was three stories tall, its east and west wings a floor shorter. Nearly three hundred Banes lived here, and Garet could see a constant stream of them coming and going, some Reds and Golds to patrol, some others to communicate with the Palace or the Ward Lords, and a few Greens like Garet going out to train in the fields beyond the wall.
    The entrance hall was even more crowded than the streets, but everyone was going in the same direction, called by the luncheon bell. Marick took the lead and found a path through the other Banes, pausing occasionally to jump up and search for his friend, Dorict.
    “Over there!” he shouted to Garet, and the Green pushed after him to grab a seat at a bench in the rear of the dining hall. The bowl of bread was half gone, but Dorict had his hand over it, guarding against the depredations of the ever-hungry young Blues sharing the table.
    “You’ve had firsts already,” he said to them. “You have to wait for seconds.”
    “You didn’t!” one accused.
    Marick laughed and told the indignant Bane, “Three things are sure in this world, my fellow Blue: demons will attack, Banes will defend, and Dorict will eat.”
    His friend scowled but managed to grab another piece of bread before the rest vanished. Dorict was a heavy lad, though he trained as hard as any other Bane, and muscles were beginning replace the softer bulges in his uniform.
    “Did you hear, Garet?” he said around a mouthful of bread. “Another demon this morning. Came as far as the orchards to the southwest. Banes at the logging camp nearby tracked and killed it.”
    “Any injuries?” Garet asked. He took advantage of his height to poach a wedge of cheese off the plate the harried servers carried table to table.
    “No,” was all Dorict said, eyeing the cheese and calculating his chances.
    Marick thumped the table to get his friend’s attention.
    “That’s three in three days, isn’t it?”
    Dorict nodded and left to follow the server.
    Marick leaned back in his chair, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful.
    “And that’s the third week we’ve had three or more demons attack.”
    Garet bit into the wedge of cheese and grimaced at the sharp taste. Banehall cheese was rarely the best, coming as it did through the generosity of the Ward Lords and the King. Swallowing, he looked at the small Bane.
    “Hasn’t this happened before?” he asked.
    Marick shook his head and said, “Not since I’ve been here, and from the worried look on the Masters’ faces, I bet it hasn’t happened to them either.”
    Garet looked to the dais at the front of the Hall where the thirty or so Masters ate. Not all were there of course. The Reds did many of the city patrols and all of the administrative duties of the Hall. There were only twelve present today, and he saw that their faces were drawn and tired. Branet, the Hallmaster and so marked by a Red Sash trimmed with a black stripe, came stalking in and fixed Garet with a less than friendly eye before moving on to take his place at the centre of the Masters’ table.
    “What have you done now?” said a voice behind him, and Garet turned to see Vinir standing there, plate in hand and smiling down at him.
    Vinir was Salick’s friend, a year older than Garet and the object of Marick’s undying affection. That much younger Bane straightened up in his chair and brushed a collection of crumbs off his vest.
    She shook her head, blonde braids