The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

by Andrew Hunter

  "Yes, I know exactly what you mean," Uncle Tinjin said, "but I'm not certain that you appreciate what I am saying."

  Garrett had learned from experience when to stop talking and let Uncle Tinjin speak his mind.

  Tinjin placed his hand on Garrett's shoulder and sighed. "What we do, Garrett, is very dangerous."

  Garrett narrowed his eyes.

  "Not physically dangerous... well, yes, sometimes physically, but, more to the point, intellectually dangerous... It is always so with magic," Tinjin said, "Everyone who wields magic is tempted, you see, tempted to see ourselves as something extraordinary. There is a very real danger that we will come to see ourselves as more than human... as gods."

  Garrett stifled a laugh.

  Tinjin frowned. "You are young yet," Uncle said, "and I do not mean that in a derisive way. What I admire most about you Garrett is your youthful ability to see everything with new eyes. As you grow older, you will be tempted to dull your vision, to see others as labels... ordinary, plain, unimportant. You must resist this with all your heart! Every single one of us is, in some way, extraordinary, and none of us is so special as to be more worthy of living in this world."

  Garrett's eyes tightened.

  "Speak your thoughts," Uncle Tinjin said.

  Garrett hesitated a moment before speaking. "I just... I just don't think some people deserve life as much as we do." The words tasted like bile in his mouth.

  The haft of Tinjin's staff creaked in the tightening grip of his right fist. The old man was shaking, his lips tense with suppressed rage.

  Garrett felt suddenly sick to his stomach.

  Tinjin closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting his anger pass. When he spoke again, his voice was calm and low. "I understand what you've been through," he said, "I know what it means to be betrayed by someone that you once trusted. I know how it feels... I know what it does to you inside. Please... please understand, I know what you are going through. I know what it means to hate, but what you must understand is that, so long as you continue to allow that hatred to fester in your heart, it will control you. It will corrupt and destroy you."

  "What, am I supposed to just forgive them?" Garrett scoffed.

  "I want you to pity them, Garrett," Tinjin said.

  "Pity them?"

  "Yes, pity them. They lost. You won. Pity them for the failed wretches they are, everyone that has ever tried to destroy you and failed, pity them!"

  "Why should I pity them?" Garrett asked, pulling back his hood to reveal his burned scalp. He held up his arm and tugged the glove from his wrist to reveal the scars left by the Chadiri manacles. "Look at what they did to me!"

  Sympathy flickered in Uncle Tinjin's expression, but he did not relent. "Pity them because they could not take from you the one thing they will never have... love."

  Garrett shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. "Love?" he said, "Everybody in Astorra loves Prince Cabre! They hate me. They make little dolls of me and set them on fire!"

  Uncle Tinjin looked taken aback. "Is that true?" he asked.

  "That's what Lady Ymowyn said. They've got a whole, Kill Garrett holiday and everything!"

  Uncle Tinjin blinked a few times and shook his head. He looked sad then. He squeezed Garrett's shoulder and pulled him close. "I'm sorry, boy," he sighed, "I don't mean to be so hard on you... I just don't want them to take away what makes you truly, truly extraordinary."

  "What's that?" Garrett laughed, "That I smell like dragon breath?"

  "Your kindness," Uncle said. He patted Garrett on the back and smiled.

  Garrett smiled back and nodded before pulling his hood on again once more.

  "Come along," Uncle Tinjin said, and they continued on through the gates of the Foreign District.

  "What about the Caleb thing?" Garrett asked.

  "Oh, your original question?" Tinjin said, "Yes... you wanted to know how a non-necromancer could control a zombie without its creator's permission."

  "Yeah."

  "Well, as you might have noticed, zombies are very susceptible to suggestion," Uncle Tinjin said, "If you tell them to do something, as long as the command isn't too complex, they will attempt to do that thing, even if it means their destruction. It seems to work, even if you have created a zombie from an animal or from a human who did not, in life, speak your language. We believe it has something to do with the intent of the speaker more so than the auditory receptiveness of the undead."

  Garrett frowned. "Then why don't the Chadiri just say Hey, stop killing us! when our zombies attack?"

  Uncle Tinjin laughed. "That's precisely what did happen when the sisterhood tried to use conscripted zombies to fight them, early in the war. Why do you think they need necromancers to lead the army now?"

  "I dunno. To raise more dead guys on the spot?" Garrett asked.

  Uncle nodded. "That, and to command them."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This is a situation in which a necromancer is an indispensable asset on the battlefield," Tinjin said, "A skilled necromancer can issue what amounts to an irresistible command. If a necromancer tells a zombie under his command to kill his enemy, the zombie will do so, ignoring all commands to the contrary."

  "What if two necromancers were fighting?" Garrett asked.

  "That doesn't happen very often," Tinjin chuckled, "We are usually on the same side. When it does though, the necromancer more intimately attuned to the undead in question will usually win out."

  "Huh?"

  "For example, if you created the zombie, or if you have commanded the zombie for some time, it can be considered yours, and it would be very difficult for another necromancer to assert his will over yours in the zombie's direction. I'll teach you more about it when we have time, but for now... here we are."

  They stopped in the street before a shadowy, windowless storefront. The sign above the large mahogany door read simply Fine Clothing, a line repeated below in several different languages. Uncle Tinjin rapped his knuckles lightly on the door, and, a moment later, it swung open, and the two of them stepped inside.

  A thick gloom hung over the interior of the shop, and Garrett's eyes strained to make out any details of the room as the door swung shut behind them. Of whomever had opened and closed the door, he saw only a pale gray shape out of the corner of his eye that quickly disappeared around the counter with a soft, scurrying sound before he could get a clear look at it.

  The only illumination came from a small gas lamp atop the low counter that burned with a dim red flame. Garrett heard the scurrying sound again, and then a metallic squeak and a low hiss as the lamp flared to a yellowish brightness. Garrett saw a long rack of silken garments in a variety of colors along the wall opposite the counter, and very little else besides a black door, graven with hexagonal runes in the far wall. The furtive noises from behind the counter receded into the distance as though whatever it was had retreated through some unseen passageway. Uncle Tinjin seemed unconcerned and waited patiently without a word.

  Garrett leaned close to Uncle Tinjin and whispered, "Is the tailor a vampire?"

  Tinjin smiled. "Very perceptive, Garrett," he whispered back.

  Just then, the black door creaked open, and a thin, well-dressed vampire stepped into the room. He was about to button up the high collar of his dark gray jacket, but, when he saw Uncle Tinjin, he let the collar fall open, revealing his fanged grin. "Tinjin!" he said, "I haven't seen you in ages!"

  Uncle Tinjin crossed his hands over his chest, bowing slightly in the formal greeting of vampires, but the tailor had already crossed the room in three quick strides, his arms wide. The two shared a brief hug.

  "It's good to see you Jannis," Tinjin said with a smile.

  "Let me look at you," Jannis said, holding Tinjin at arm's length. The vampire tilted his head, letting his long, dark hair drape over one shoulder as he regarded Garrett's uncle. "You look... tired. Have you come about my offer?" The vampire regarded him, hopefully.

  Uncl
e Tinjin laughed. "Ah, no," Tinjin said, "I'm afraid I've grown rather attached to the taste of food."

  "Food?" Jannis scoffed, "You'll forget that in a year! You've yet to taste real sustenance, Tinjin."

  "Another time perhaps," Tinjin said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Jannis smiled, squeezing Tinjin's arms slightly before releasing him to step back. He turned his pale, amber-colored eyes to Garrett now and crossed his hands in greeting. "I welcome your presence, young one," he said.

  Garrett did his best to return the vampire's greeting, with as much grace as he could manage.

  Looking to Tinjin again, Jannis asked, "Is this your new apprentice?"

  "Yes," Tinjin said, "and he is in need of something special to wear... tonight, if at all possible."

  "For you, anything," Jannis laughed, "What is the occasion?"

  "He is to accompany the young Lady Veranu to an event at the embassy this evening," Tinjin said, "I was rather hoping that you would be able to suggest something appropriate for the occasion."

  Jannis's eyes widened. "The reception for Valfrei Senzei?"

  Uncle Tinjin's face darkened. "Why is she here?" he asked.

  Jannis gave a nervous laugh. "She is to be... as I understand, the young Lady Veranu's tutor."

  Uncle's lips pulled back over his teeth. "That was not the arrangement," he muttered.

  Jannis lifted one eyebrow. "Is this about your visit to Thrinaar?" he asked.

  Tinjin let out a frustrated sigh. "I suppose it was too much to hope that the other elders would not interfere in this," he said.

  "Meddling in politics again, Tinjin?" Jannis chuckled, "You know it would be much easier, if you had the leisure to play the long game."

  Tinjin smiled. "I have no taste for the game at all, Jannis," he said, "I, at least, can look forward to the day when I can set it all aside and get some sleep."

  "No," Jannis said, "for all your protesting, I believe you do love it... and it pains me to think of playing the game without you at the table."

  "You grew weary of it yourself," Tinjin said, waving his hand at the vampire, "Why else would you retire?"

  "Retire?" Jannis laughed, "I'm simply taking a well-deserved vacation."

  "Vacation? You've been a tailor for twenty years now!" Tinjin protested.

  Jannis shrugged. "What is twenty years to me?" he said.

  Tinjin chuckled. "Fair enough," he said, "Let us speak no more of it. My nephew is looking forward to enjoying a party in the company of a lovely young lady."

  Jannis gave him a half-hearted grin. "As you wish, Tinjin," he said, "but, for your nephew's sake, he might want to distance himself from miss Veranu while the Valfrei is around."

  "What do you mean?" Garrett asked, feeling increasingly uncomfortable since seeing his Uncle's reaction to the tutor's name.

  "He means that Senzei doesn't like humans," Uncle Tinjin said, his voice hard and low, "She has tried to have me killed on more than one occasion."

  "What?" Garrett gasped.

  "Legally, of course," Jannis insisted, "She would never do anything outside the proper channels. You can be grateful for that."

  "How do you kill someone legally?" Garrett asked.

  "She has petitioned to have my envoy status revoked and have me reclassified as a threat to the public order," Uncle Tinjin explained, "At that point, any citizen of Thrinaar would have the right to kill me without fear of legal repercussions."

  "But why?" Garrett said.

  "Your uncle dares to lecture our race on morality," Jannis said, "and we prefer to have as little to do with such nonsense as possible."

  Tinjin laughed. "Some of the most noble people I have ever met have been vampires," he said, "Do not dismiss your people so lightly, Jannis. I even know of one old silk spinner who makes a habit of saving the lives of strangers."

  Jannis wagged his finger at Tinjin. "That was just an experiment," he said, "I was always curious to know what it would be like to do a good deed, and so I gave it a try, once. Piety, I assure you, holds no further allure for me."

  "What happened?" Garrett asked.

  Uncle started to speak, but Jannis cut him off, "Oh no you don't. I have no desire to hear that tired old story again."

  Uncle Tinjin smiled and looked at Garrett. "Suffice to say that one should never cross words with a gang of slavers in a Neshite village, unless there is a bored vampire looking on who decides to join in on the losing side."

  Jannis showed his fangs again in a broad grin.

  "I never asked what you were doing there anyway," Uncle Tinjin mused.

  "I was actually looking for the slavers myself," Jannis said, "I heard they had captured a river selkie, and I was interested in buying it from them. As it turned out, the rumor proved false. I was already considering killing them all, just for wasting my time. So you see, I'm really not that heroic after all."

  "No," Tinjin said, "You are a hero in the story of my life, and there is nothing you can do to change that."

  Garrett saw something of the vampire's bravado melt away, and Jannis looked as though the old man's words had touched him deeply.

  "Well, to work then," Jannis said, turning back to Garrett again. He frowned and pulled a length of cord from his pocket. “Raise your arms,” he said.

  Garrett had no sooner lifted his arms than the vampire was upon him, whipping the cord around Garrett’s chest, hips, arms, and legs. He took the length of Garrett’s sleeves and trouser legs so quickly that Garrett only managed to blink once before he was done. Jannis stepped back, whispering a set of numbers to himself. He seemed to catch something in Garrett’s expression and raised one eyebrow.

  “What is it?” Jannis asked.

  “Huh? Oh, nothing,” Garrett said.

  “You wanted to ask me something, but you are embarrassed,” Jannis said, “Go ahead.”

  Garrett forced a smile. “It’s just… I was wondering if you were gonna put a hood on whatever you were making for me.”

  Jannis smiled. “All right,” he said, “let me see what I’m working with. Off with the hood.”

  Garrett pulled back his hood to reveal his scars, but the vampire showed no sign of alarm or pity in his amber eyes. He pursed his lips and tilted his head from one side to the other. Suddenly, he stepped in close and looped his cord around Garrett’s head, just above his ears. He backed away with a broad grin and a low chuckle.

  “Next time, Tinjin,” Jannis said, “bring me a real challenge.”

  “You can have it done by tonight then?” Tinjin asked.

  “I can have it done in two hours,” Jannis said, “My girls work fast.”

  Tinjin smiled. “I hope you pay them well.”

  “All the mice they can eat.” Jannis said.

  Tinjin laughed.

  Garrett gave them both a puzzled look, but Uncle Tinjin only thanked Jannis and the two shared a parting hug. Then Tinjin motioned that it was time to go. Garrett pulled his hood back on as he followed his uncle to the door.

  Tinjin turned and looked back. “How much do I owe you?” he asked.

  Jannis stood, halfway through the black door at the back of the shop. “I’ll add it to the cost of your next fitting,” he said with a wave of his hand.

  Tinjin smiled and nodded, and the two necromancers watched the vampire disappear into the darkness beyond, and the black door shut behind him.

  Garrett heard the strange scuttling noise once more now, and a metallic squeak. The gas lamp dimmed again, shrouding the room in darkness. As Garrett’s eyes struggled to adjust, he thought he caught a glimpse of something pale, about the size of a cat, scurry across the floor toward the outer door. Something about the way it moved made his skin crawl.

  Then the door sprung open, and Uncle guided him out into the gray light of day.

  They walked together in silence, headed back toward the Arcane Quarter as Garrett wondered about the meaning of something in his uncle’s conversation with the vampire.

  “U
ncle Tinjin?” Garrett asked at last.

  “Yes?”

  “Did Mister Jannis want you to become a vampire too?” he asked.

  Tinjin laughed. “I assure you, I have no intention of taking him up on the offer.”

  “But… you could, if you wanted to?” Garrett said.

  Uncle Tinjin frowned. “What is it that you want to know?” he said.

  “Well, when I asked Marla if she and her mom had gotten bitten by a vampire to make them become vampires, she laughed. She told me that they were both born that way.” Garrett said, “But then Warren’s cousin said they were people that had something bad done to them to make them like that. What is it that makes a person into a vampire?”

  Uncle paused, looking around for a quiet spot. He led Garrett off of the street into a small, wooded park beside the Lethian compound and the two of them sat down upon a little bench before a gurgling fountain.

  “Marla and her mother were indeed born as vampires,” Uncle Tinjin said, “Vampires may have children, just as humans do, except that their children are born with the same vampiric blood and so become vampires as well. A vampire child will age, the same as a human child… up to a point, and then they age in a similar fashion as their vampire parents, living very long lives with only gradual changes to their physical appearance over time. Marla will continue to grow, as any other girl, until she is about twenty years old. After that, she will not visibly age much, beyond a few, subtle changes to her physiology, for the remainder of her life.”

  “Oh,” Garrett said, “but where did the first vampires come from?”

  Uncle Tinjin’s lips stretched thin, as though he were considering his words carefully. “Most of the original vampires were created when humans drank the blood of certain dragons,” he said.

  “Ugh,” Garrett said.

  “Indeed,” Uncle agreed, “and it is this… honor… that Jannis has offered me.”

  “So they’ve still got some of the dragon blood to share?” Garrett asked.

  “Yes, but it is a rare thing for them to be allowed to make any new vampires. It is not lightly that I would turn down this opportunity.”

  “But, if you did it, you would live forever, right?” Garrett asked.