The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) (36 page)

Brix sighed and shook her head. “There’s a good reason we don’t let the boys and girls play together!” she hissed, “We’ve lost far too many to these stupid little games! I’ll go and catch him and talk to him about it.”

“You don’t understand,” Garrett said, “It’s more than that… it really is.” He considered his next words very carefully. “I don’t think it would be safe here for Banden if he did come back… I think someone wants us to leave, and, if we don’t… well… I don’t know what they might do to get rid of us.”

Matron Brix muttered a curse.

“Banden loved it here,” Garrett said, “but, after last night… I don’t think he knows how to survive in this kind of place.”

“And you do?” she asked, “Why are you still here?”

Garrett gave her a nervous chuckle. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Matron Brix raised one eyebrow.

“I know that some people don’t want me here,” he said, “and I’m not afraid of them… not really… It’s just that…”

“You didn’t count on other people getting hurt because of you?” she said.

“Yeah.”

Matron Brix rubbed her eyes with her fingertips as somewhere another rat was dying in Shiv’s jaws. “All right,” she sighed, “Let’s think it out… Why are you here, boy?”

Garrett shrugged, “I guess I’m supposed to be some sort of… I don’t know… ambassador or something between the necromancers and the priestesses.”

“You don’t know… That’s the problem,” Brix said, “None of you had any idea what you were doing here to begin with, and that leaves everybody else to assume the worst about your motives.”

Garrett shrugged again.

“So you have to look at the attack they made against you to determine their motive,” she said, “What did they hope to gain by attacking you and Banden?”

“They wanted to get rid of us,” he said.

“And with Banden, they succeeded,” she sighed, “At a great loss to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Garrett said.

“We lost a good man,” she said, “It happens. Move on. Now with you, they may have failed, or they may not have, that remains to be seen. Think further boy… why do they want you gone?”

Garrett considered everything he knew about Matron Shelbie’s hatred towards him. “They are afraid that I’m here to steal their secrets,” he said.

“Are you?” she asked flatly.

Garrett chuckled, answering cautiously, “There’s nothing here that I want to steal.”

“Then I ask again, why are you here?”

“I guess because I don’t want her…
them
to beat me,” he answered.

Brix slapped his ear with the flat of her hand.

“What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his ear.

“Grow up!” she growled, “You think this is some play yard game? Are you still worried about losing face in front of all the pretty young priestesses?”

“No! I just…”

“Just what?” she demanded.

“It’s not right,” he said, “that people can get away with doing this to other people… I don’t want them to think they can scare me off so easily.”

“So you want to rub their noses in their failure… make them so desperate that they try something worse… something that
will
get rid of you?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“That’s the one thing you’ve said that’s made any sense,” she chuckled.

“What do I do?” he asked.

She looked thoughtful. “Well, try to think about what it is your enemy wants,” she said.

“They want me gone,” he said.

“And what do you want?”

“I guess I just don’t want to let Matron Serepheni down,” he said.

Brix rolled her eyes. “Fine, then what does Matron Serepheni want?”

“She wanted me to be a Templar.”

Brix raised her hands. “Done then!” she said.

“Huh?”

“Your enemies want you out of the temple. Serepheni wants you to be a Templar. Easy enough.”

“Huh?” he said again.

She glared at him. “I’m amazed that you’ve survived here for
this
long.”

Garrett stopped himself from repeating the question.

“Come with me,” she growled, “Come on, Shiv!”

Toenails scratched on the flagstones as the little dog came tearing back out from under the weapons racks, his black lips flecked with blood and his tongue lolling happily. He followed his master and the boy back out into the gray morning light.

Garrett walked behind the lean Matron as she led him down to the temple gates. Five Templar guardsmen stood to attention as she approached.

“Captain Fitch,” she called out to a thin Templar in a richly embroidered green doublet.

“Matron Brix,” he answered, “How may we serve?”

“I have a boy in need of further training,” she said, “I’d like him placed with one of our cadres on a probationary basis… one where he is likely to see a bit of action, if you can manage it.”

“Yes, Matron,” Fitch said, giving Garrett a stern look, “The Logate night watch is a bit short-handed at the moment.”

“Perfect,” she said, “just make sure Captain Gaulve knows that I want the boy dirty, not dead.”

“Of course, Matron.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’ll leave him to you then,” Matron Brix said with a grim smile.

“We’ll see it done, Matron,” Fitch said.

Matron Brix grinned at Garrett. “You’d better get some sleep today, boy,” she chuckled, “You’ll be sweeping up after the Watchers tonight.”

Garrett felt a bit sick to his stomach, like the time he had accidentally admitted to Uncle Tinjin that he was curious about the history of necromancy and had spent the next several weeks memorizing the names and deeds of every known deathlord. Still, he knew enough to be grateful for the Matron’s solution to his dilemma. “Thank you, Matron Brix,” he said, trying his best to sound as though he meant it.

She nodded at him and turned to go. She stopped suddenly, looking back at Captain Fitch. “Oh,” she said, “Let Captain Gaulve know that the boy’s a berserker. He’ll know how to put him to use.”

“Yes, Matron,” Fitch answered, and he gave Garrett a narrow look, as though revising his appraisal of the rumpled young recruit.

Garrett watched Matron Brix walk back toward the temple with her little dog at her heel. Already he could hear the sharp
click-clack
of sparring practice starting up in the courtyard. He started to breathe a sigh of relief, realizing that he would never have to endure another sparring practice under the Matron’s watchful gaze again. Then he noticed the amused looks on the faces of the guardsmen standing around him, and his spirits sank.

Captain Fitch finished scrawling a note on a leaf of parchment and signed it before handing it over to Garrett. “Take this to Captain Gaulve in Logate tonight. Make sure you arrive at least one hour before Evenchime… oh, and I’d heed the words of the Matron and get some rest first. You’re in for a long night, son.”

“Yes sir,” Garrett said, folding the note and putting it in his shoulder bag, “How do I find Captain Gaulve?”

“Investigation is one of the primary duties of every Templar,” Captain Fitch said with a smirk.

The other guardsmen laughed.

“Yes sir,” Garrett said, “Thank you.”

“He
thanks
me,” Fitch chuckled. He waved Garrett away with a, “Be off!”

Garrett walked out through the gates of the Temple of Mauravant and did not look back. He breathed deeply the scent of flowering things that drifted from beyond the Queensgarden wall, and he smiled. He didn’t know what fate awaited him tonight, but, for this moment, he was free, and he intended to enjoy that freedom, no matter how fleeting.

Garrett awoke from a deep sleep and sat up in his bed, feeling completely refreshed. Fleeting visions of a dream faded rapidly from his mind's eye, the vision of a great, walled city, surrounded by a vast army. Garrett had sat astride an armored warhorse, with his arm lifted above his head. When he lowered it, a hundred siege engines had moved as one, hurling a deadly rain of stones that arced through the summer sky toward the distant walls.

He shook the vision form his head and came to himself again, and a brief flutter of panic overwhelmed him as he remembered his appointment in Logate. He glanced toward the window of his room and then breathed a sigh of relief to see the brightness of day shining through. He still had plenty of time. He scratched absently at the scabs on his left arm and looked down at the fading message in his flesh. A chill went through him as he considered it.

He did not like to think about facing Annalien again. She had raged at him and told him never to return when she had discovered the power of the Songreaver within him. What would he say to her now? Would she even speak to him, and why should he ask the ghost her name when he already knew it?

Garrett pushed the thought out of his mind. He could deal with that later.

He got out of bed and washed himself, doing his best to scrub away the memory of those black worms crawling over him. If that was the goddess he served… Garrett shuddered and pushed that thought away as well. He refused to surrender to a bad mood today.

He pulled on a set of fresh clothes and stuffed his green tabard into his shoulder bag. The sight of the white worm sigil on its breast posed too great a threat to his good humor. He found a replacement canister of essence and put it into the bag as well before slipping on a hood and heading downstairs.

Garrett paused halfway down the stairs, suddenly startled by the two gloved hands grasping the railing beside him. He looked over the side to see Caleb, hanging by his fingertips from the railing, his boots swaying several feet above the floor.

“Caleb! Are you all right?” Garrett cried.

The zombie looked up at him, his face covered by the black headdress with only his eyes showing through the slit. He nodded back at Garrett and then shifted his weight to reach one hand up to pull himself a bit higher up the railing.

“Do you… need any help?” Garrett asked.

Caleb grunted and slowly shook his head.

“Um… all right,” Garrett said, “I guess. Good job… whatever you’re doing.”

Caleb grunted again.

“I’ll be back later,” Garrett said.

Caleb groaned.

Garrett waved and then headed down, pausing to check Uncle’s clock… Garrett’s clock… before heading outside.

He still had the best part of the day left before he had to report to Logate. He spun left and right on his boot heel, trying to decide how he wanted to spend the day. His stomach cast its vote with a little gurgle, and he set off with a spring in his step toward the market.

He took his breakfast and lunch in a single meal at a little bakery on Willow Street. It seemed strangely familiar, though he could not remember having ever visited it before. He savored the toasted herb bread and olive oil as he watched the gray clouds roll past above the patio where he sat. His eyes went often toward the empty chair across from him at the table, and he found himself laughing, though he did not know why.

The scent of flowers hung heavy in the air, and his thoughts turned to Marla. He shook off an inexplicable twinge of guilt and pushed away from the table.

He headed toward the Foreign District, offering a passing greeting to a Zhadeen girl with diamond earrings whom he recognized from his visit to their embassy. From her startled expression and the curl of her lip, he gathered that he had made no similar impression upon her. He laughed it off and walked on, coming at last to the great black monolith of the Thrinnian Embassy.

Klavicus answered the bell pull, admitting Garrett into the shadowy entryway.

“Good day, Master Garrett,” the elder vampire rasped, “It is good to see you again.”

“You too, Mister Klavicus,” Garrett said as the vampire pulled the cover from the wisplight orb, “
Well met, Shining One,
” he added in Fae for the sake of the wisp inside the crystal.

The wisp flared a violet-hued greeting so bright that Klavicus was forced to raise one, slender-fingered hand to cover his eyes.

“Is Marla around?” Garrett asked.

Klavicus’s eyes fell as he straightened his coat. “My apologies, Master Garrett,” the vampire sighed, “but she is with the Valfrei."

“Ah, that’s all right,” Garrett said. Even this news couldn’t stifle his good mood. “How are your rats doing?” he asked.

Klavicus bared his yellow fangs in an unnaturally wide grin. “They serve me well, Master Garrett,” he hissed, “I have many bodies in need of reanimation, if you might assist me again.”

“Sure,” Garrett said, “Let’s rez some rats!”

“Excellent,” Klavicus said.

Garrett followed the lean vampire down into the depths of the embassy. He stopped by the wolf pens to say hello to Ghausse and the others, but was surprised to find the pen empty. He turned to Klavicus with a worried look.

“The wolves carry riders to the south this week,” Klavicus said with a reassuring smile, “They will return soon.”