The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) (39 page)

“If it gets too hard to breathe in there,” Peach said, “Just flip the visor up and lock it with this catch here.” He indicated the tiny metal pin with his finger.

“Thanks,” Garrett said.

Peach nodded. “Come on,” he said, “Let’s go round everybody up. I just hope Hawk’s comin’ with us… It’ll get bloody if he does, but I’d rather it was plain red Shadetree blood than the green, green blood of the Sons of Mauravant.”

*******

Garrett joined a ragged line with a dozen other temple men as Captain Gaulve stood before them inside a small shrine to Mauravant shortly after Evenchime.

“Grant us your blessing, oh Eternal Mother,” Gaulve called out, lifting his hands toward a soapstone idol of a great mother worm with skulls woven into her many facial tentacles. The jade bowl at the base of the ancient stone idol dripped with the blood of the chicken that Gaulve had cut open in offering to the goddess.

“Let us bring your order to the wild and untamed beasts that gather round your holy place and teach them the fear of your wrath!” Gaulve chanted.

“
The fear of your wrath!
” the other Templars shouted in unison.

Captain Gaulve tossed the dead chicken to the aproned cook standing nearby and turned to face the men as he wiped his hands clean on a stained rag.

“You all know where we’re going,” he said, “so you can stop pretending to be so cheerful about it.”

The men laughed.

“What you don’t know yet is what we’re looking for once we get in there,” Gaulve said, “We’re hunting snakes tonight, boys.”

The Templars shared a confused look.

“Neshites,” Gaulve said, “River cultists… They’ve been stirring up trouble uptown, and we’ve found out where they make their camp. We go in there tonight and grab anybody that looks important for the Sisters to chat with.”

The savage-looking man called hawk groaned. “How many do we gotta take alive?” he demanded.

“Two or three oughta do,” Gaulve said with a shrug, “The rest of them… well, let’s make them feel unwelcomed.”

Hawk grinned maliciously.

“We’ve got a new… face with us tonight,” Gaulve said, indicating Garrett with a wave of his hand, “So try to make sure he doesn’t drown himself in the mud at least.”

The other Templars laughed, eyeing the archaic helmet that Garrett wore.

“
Snail?
” one of the older men asked aloud.

“
Barnacle
,” said another.

“I’d get tired callin’ him that all the time,” the one called Snuff said, “I say we call him
Turtle.
”

The others laughed their agreement, and Garrett was now known to the others as Turtle. He said nothing but breathed a quiet sigh of relief, nodding his thanks toward Peach who stood, grinning, at the other end of the line.

A half hour later, the gang of Templars emerged through a small, locked gate in the outer wall of the city into the swampy morass beyond the wall.

“Lights out,” Captain Gaulve hissed, and the three men who were carrying witchfire torches snuffed them out.

The darkness closed in, damp and thick with the odor of steel and sweat and liquored breath. Hawk and the Captain discussed something in hushed tones while the others waited in silence. The only light came from the faint glows of campfires in the sprawling tent city to the north along the wall. The sound of distant music drifted on the wind, bringing with it the scent of wood smoke and roasting meat.

“Just in time for dinner,” Snuff chuckled before a hard look from the Captain shut him up.

At the Captain’s command, the group moved out, making their way through the thicket to approach the tent city from the south. He lead them around the perimeter of the camp until they came to low hill, overlooking a section of tents set apart from the rest. Serpent-like braids of dried reeds hung from long poles that had been planted in the ground around the half dozen large tents, twisting in the night breeze with a papery hiss.

A few young men with shaven heads and simple clothing moved around a central fire pit, digging up bundles of leaves that they had buried in the ground near the coals. They broke them open to reveal steaming mounds of meat and vegetables that they portioned out onto fresh leaves to be distributed through the camp by the younger children.

Garrett felt a sick sense of foreboding as the Templars readied their weapons all around him.

Peach nudged him in the shoulder and then hefted his cudgel and pointed it toward Garrett’s belt and the cudgel hanging there.

Garrett pulled his weapon from his belt and squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how he’d ever managed to find himself in this situation.

You put yourself in this situation
, a voice spoke in his head.

I never wanted this!
Garrett snapped back at the voice in his head.

Then what did you think would happen when you exposed the spy?
the voice asked.

But these are just normal people. What does this have to do with the spy?
Garrett thought.

Neshite spy… Neshite travelers
, the voice in his head said.

Garrett started to protest again, but the men around him surged into motion.

He followed them as they descended on the camp in ghostly silence with only the jingle of mail shirts beneath their tabards and the wet sound of boots in mud to give any warning of their attack.

One of the shaven-headed boys at the edge of the camp caught sight of them and shouted an alarm a moment before Hawk’s mace felled him with a brutal blow to his face.

The Templars were on the rest before they could scramble from their tents.

The cries of men and the meaty thumps of copper on flesh filled the air as the Templars moved through the camp with ruthless efficiency.

“Peach, Turtle, secure that tent!” Snuff shouted, leveling the bloody head of his cudgel at a smaller tent near the center of the camp. Peach followed orders without hesitation, and Garrett followed along a step behind.

Peach tore open the flap of the small tent and froze. Inside, a trio of young women huddled together in terror, their arms around a group of crying toddlers.

Peach hesitated, half lifting his cudgel.

Garrett’s blood froze at the sight of fear in the children’s eyes.

This is what war looks like
, the voice in his head whispered,
or didn’t you know that?

Peach started to move forward, but Garrett caught his arm with his free hand.

“Go!” Garrett hissed, “I’ll take care of this!”

Peach nodded fiercely, a grateful look in his eye. He disappeared out the tent flap to join the battle outside.

“All of you up!” Garrett shouted, “You have to get out of here!”

The women stared back in fear, unmoving as the children wailed.

“Go!” he shouted, standing aside and pointing toward the swamp with his cudgel as he held the tent flap open.

The spell of fear seemed to break and the women and children fled past him into the night.

Garrett watched them go, his skin crawling with shame and revulsion.

“Turtle!” Snuff shouted, “Don’t let those brats get away!”

Garrett did not look at the older Templar, but watched the last of the children disappear into the trees.

Snuff swung Garrett around by the shoulder and shoved him backward. “When I give you an order, grub, I expect it to be followed!”

Garrett felt the icy nothingness spreading through his chest as Snuff shoved him again.

“You’re in the real world now, boy!” Snuff growled, “The sooner you figure that out, the longer you’ll last!”

Garrett shook his head. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. A cold mist steamed out through the vents of his helmet visor.

Fresh cries of battle sounded from the largest tent, and Snuff turned to head that way. “You’re on my list, boy!” he shouted back toward Garrett, “
On my list!
”

Captain Gaulve was clutching a bloody rag to his upper arm and grinning ruefully as he emerged from the largest tent a short time later. Behind him, Hawk and one of the other Templars emerged, carrying the senseless body of a young man between them. The shirtless young Neshite was covered in black runic tattoos that reminded Garrett of Cenick’s.

“Shaman,” Peach said, tapping his helmet with the tip of his cudgel, “Didn’t even have time to get a hex off before Hawk knocked him down.”

“What’ll they do to him?” Garrett asked, his own voice sounding hollow and faraway.

Peach shrugged. “That’s for the Sisters to decide,” he said, “As for the rest of ‘em…”

“Torch it all!” Captain Gaulve shouted.

The Templars who carried torches lit them again and then used them to set fire to the Neshite tents and the paper snakes dangling in the hot breeze.

A crowd of Shadetree folk had gathered at the edge of the Neshite camp to watch, and some of them shouted curses at the Templars as they withdrew, dragging the unconscious shaman with them. Garrett saw one of the Neshite girls watching them from the crowd, her face streaked with tears as she cradled a weeping child in her arms, and he looked away, too ashamed to bear the sight.

“You did good,” Peach said, clapping Garrett on the back as they withdrew into the shadows of the swamp.

Garrett nodded but said nothing.

The young shaman mumbled something as he came to his senses again, but Hawk hammered his fist into the side of the man’s face, and he slumped into unconsciousness again.

The spoils of war
, the voice in Garrett’s head whispered,
the spoils of war are bitter fruit.

Garrett woke from a dream of fire and smoke. He had been astride the back of an enormous dragon, and a city burned beneath him, choking him with its ash.

He rolled over in his bed and coughed, trying to get the memory of ashes out of his mouth. He dragged the dusty cup of water from his bedside table and sipped it, choking when he saw a dead fly floating in it.

Garrett sat on the edge of his bed, moaning and rubbing at the sides of his aching head. He looked down at the almost faded bruises crisscrossing his chest, reminders of his battle with Claude the previous day. His hand went to his cheek, feeling the puffy gouges the vampire’s nails had left there.

He got to his feet, feeling a bit light-headed, and stumbled over to the smudgy mirror in the corner. He leaned close, cringing at the sight of the parallel white scars that now marked his left cheek.

His eyes fell upon the rumpled green tabard that lay tossed across a nearby chair, and the sight of its white worm sigil turned his stomach.

“What am I doing?” he asked the blurry face in the mirror.

No voice answered in the silence of his mind.

Garrett sighed and wiped the cold sweat from his brow before drying his hand on his pants. Then he felt something hard in the hip pocket of his leggings.

He pulled out the small white object and smiled to remember the sight of Claude’s face, missing the tooth.

Then his mood chilled again, realizing that his feud with the vampire was far from over. It would only be worse the next time they met.

Garrett had been lucky to survive the last confrontation. What chance did he stand if the young gaunt rider decided to seek vengeance for the injury? Why
wouldn’t
he seek vengeance?

He considered going to Marla and asking for her help, but the thought of it shamed him. How could he ever hope to protect Marla from the vampire elders as he had sworn that he would? He couldn’t even beat a young one in a fair fight.

He turned the white tooth over between his fingertips, feeling the sharp point of it pressing into his skin. His tongue probed the points of his own teeth as he considered the problem.

A half hour later, he had scrubbed himself clean and dressed in the black silk suit that Master Jannis had made for him. It felt a little snug across the chest now, but still fit well enough. He pulled on his hood and headed out the door, taking a long look at the gray glow of the sun through the clouds before setting out toward the house of the vampire tailor.

Garrett pushed his way through the busy streets of the Foreign District, trying to remember the location of Jannis's shop. He doubled back more than once before he was able to spot the unobtrusive little sign marking its location.

Garrett rapped politely at the door and waited.

A soft click sounded from beyond, and the door swung open. Garrett stepped into the gloom within.

The door swung shut behind him, and Garrett offered his thanks to the wriggling shadow that quickly scurried away behind the counter.

"Master Garrett," Jannis called from somewhere in the darkness, "What brings you to my parlor this fine, sunny day?" The vampire's voice sounded faintly despondent.

"I... I wanted to ask you something, Mister Jannis," Garrett said.