The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

by Andrew Hunter

  Garrett considered telling her about the thing he had seen crawling through the sewers, but then, there wasn't much to tell yet. He shrugged his shoulders experimentally, finding the stiffness gone, and looked at her again. "Thanks for healing me up," he said, "You might want to take a nap or something. I'll probably need another treatment after the guys in Matron Brix's class finish beating me up."

  He left her sitting there with a pained smile on her face.

  He paused in the hallway and briefly considered going back. He had no idea where he was after all, lost somewhere in the unfamiliar halls of the temple. His pride overruled the thought, and he eventually found his way to the outer courtyard, only having to backtrack twice before he found a hall that led outside.

  He was early. Garrett crossed the empty courtyard to stand before the whipping post once again, keeping a safe distance this time. The scarred wooden pole had been scoured clean, and no trace remained of the degradation he had suffered the day before. Still, the rage burned like a ball of blue fire inside his chest, cold and potent as death.

  Unbidden, the image of Matron Shelbie's sneering face sprang into his mind, and his hatred flared within. For a dreadful moment, he saw himself lifting his hand against her, and he imagined her wreathed in crackling flames and screaming for mercy.

  "Let it go, boy," Matron Brix spoke from behind, startling Garrett from his troubled thoughts.

  "What?" Garrett gasped, spinning to face her, choking on his shame at being caught.

  "Let it go," the stern-faced matron repeated slowly, "Whatever you're feeling right now, it's poison. It'll eat you up and make you weak."

  "Weak?" Garrett asked.

  She gave him a gap-toothed grin and chuckled. "You think hate makes you strong, boy?" she asked, then shook her head, "It just makes you stupid. Let it go."

  "Why?" Garrett asked, then remembering his manners at last, he added, "Matron."

  The wiry, gray-haired matron stood with her hands on her hips, studying him for a moment. "Did you ever wonder why it isn't the big things that get under your skin?" she asked, "I mean, most people... they don't spend their time thinking about the real dangers of the world, like famine or plague or that tidal wave of red heretics looming over us. No, most people spend all their time worrying about that merchant who cheated them or that kid who roughed them up and stole their coin purse in the alleyway. That's what Templars deal with every day out there on the street, a great big cesspool of hurt feelings and petty crimes.

  "It's the little thorns that really hurt... really work their way in under your fingernails and drive you mad, not the real problems. That's what it’s like for little people. They need something safe to worry about. It keeps them harmless, but us, people like you and me, boy... we're bigger than that." she jabbed her finger at Garrett's chest. "You can't keep living down there on their level... not anymore."

  Garrett didn't know what to say. He chewed the corner of his lip and mulled over his hatred for Matron Shelbie.

  Matron Brix looked up toward the gray morning sky and flexed the muscles of her jaw. "Whatever you've got kicking around in your head right now, you've got a right to it. You have every right to be furious about what happened to you. You can cry and yell and scream for justice if you want... if it makes you feel better. That's what little people do. Sometimes they even get justice... sometimes... or something they think is justice. Doesn't matter though, its all luck. They go on believing that there is some order, some justice in the world, and things keep going the way they always have. The markets stay open, and the workers keep busy, and we've done our job.

  "But you... you don't have the luxury of their ignorance. You can't afford it. When you go out there and stand in the gap between law and chaos with your mace in your hand and the warm glow of civilization at your back, you can't ever, not for one second, make the mistake of thinking that it's always going to be that way." She leaned close, tapping him on the forehead with her middle finger. "You can't let those stupid, petty, little people problems run free in your head. They will kill you surer than a knife in the back."

  "You want me to just forget about it, Matron?" Garrett scoffed.

  Matron Brix shook her head. "Catalogue the offenses made against you. Analyze them. Record them. Study them the way you would study the scene of a crime, and then leave it there. The offense did not happen to you. It happened to someone else, and you are simply learning from it and moving on. People that want to hurt you... little people that think they have some power over you... They are nothing to you! They are no more threat to you than a wild dog, a mindless creature driven by senseless rage and instinct. If you come into their territory, they will bark at you or try to bite. Anticipate their attack and avoid it. Would your feelings be hurt if a dog tried to bite you? Would you take it personally and plot revenge on the dog every waking moment?"

  "No, Matron," Garrett laughed.

  "Then let it go," she hissed, "You can't afford to have little enemies if you ever want to be a great man."

  Garrett stared at her, confused.

  "What is it, boy?" she demanded.

  "Why did you want me back," he asked, "as a Templar."

  She smirked and shrugged. "I think I misjudged you," she said, "because you weren't being yourself the first time we met."

  "Huh?"

  "The first day you came here," she said, "you were too shy... too polite to pick up a damned stick and fight to save your own skin. You let Banden take your hits for you, a younger boy with more heart and fight in him than twelve of you that day."

  Garrett's eyes fell.

  "All I saw in you was a scared little boy, going through the motions and hoping that just showing up would be good enough to get him through," Matron Brix said, "I didn't see that boy here yesterday."

  Garrett looked up again.

  "I don't know what happened... what changed you, woke you up, but the boy I saw take the lash here yesterday... That's a boy I can make into a man."

  Garrett glanced away, chuckling a little. "I'm still not very good at fighting, Matron," he said.

  Matron Brix shrugged. "Nobody is, until I teach them how."

  "Thank you, Matron," Garrett said.

  She turned toward the sound of the other young trainees filing into the courtyard with their sparring sticks in hand. She grinned and looked back at Garrett. "I see you forgot to bring a staff again," she chuckled, "Well, I guess you'd better go and take one of theirs."

  "Oh, fesche," Garrett muttered under his breath.

  Chapter Ten

  Garrett found Uncle Tinjin and Mrs. Nash talking together in the kitchen when he got home. He smiled when he saw the pie she had brought with her laid on the table between them.

  “Good afternoon, Garrett,” Mrs. Nash greeted him. Her green eyes widened when she looked at him, but she did not mention the large purple bruise that stretched from his chin to his cheek.

  Uncle Tinjin noticed as well, and his eyes hardened.

  “What’s that you’ve got there, Garrett?” Tinjin demanded.

  Garrett stopped twirling the sparring staff that he held in his right hand and lifted it proudly. “It’s a practice staff,” he said, grinning broadly, “I won it in class today, and Matron Brix said I could keep it.”

  Tinjin frowned and his eyes went to the bruise again. A moment later, he sighed, “Play with it outside, if you please. I'd rather you weren't Templaring all the porcelain.”

  “Yes, sir,” Garrett answered. He nodded at their guest. “How are you today, Mrs. Nash?” he asked.

  “Quite well, Garrett,” she said, “Your uncle and I were just discussing some arrangements.”

  “Are we having a party?” Garrett asked.

  Mrs. Nash looked at Uncle, letting him answer.

  Uncle shook his head. “I’ve asked Mrs. Nash to check in on you from time to time and see that you’re fed,” Tinjin said, “I’m going to be away for a few months.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m tra
veling to Weslae to help Max clarify his objectives,” Tinjin said, “and, afterwards, I intend to sail to Fraelu with Mrs. Nash’s brother. I hope to make some contacts on the island that could aid me in our task of rallying the northern states against the Chadiri.”

  “You’re leaving again?” Garrett asked, his dismay evident in his voice, “but what about your research?”

  Uncle Tinjin smiled. “There are archives, rumored to exist in Fraelu, that the Chadiri have never found,” he said, “I would make this journey if only for the chance to spend a single hour among those scrolls.”

  Garrett fell silent for a moment, remembering the last time that Uncle Tinjin had gone away. For a moment, he considered begging the old man to let him go too, but then that would mean leaving Marla. The thought of abandoning her, alone with the Valfrei, turned his stomach, and he forgot about his childish desire to go running off with Uncle Tinjin to the war. He looked down at the floor and nodded.

  Mrs. Nash broke the silence. “I think we should have some of that pie now,” she said.

  Garrett smiled and hurried to fetch a knife and some plates for the three of them. He handed the knife to Mrs. Nash, and she broke through the crispy brown crust into the steaming jelly of cinnamon pears within. She scooped out a plateful and handed it to Garrett.

  He thanked her and sat, eating his pie in silence as Uncle made his final arrangements with the Fraelan woman.

  Afterwards, Garrett cleaned up the kitchen and washed the plates as Uncle Tinjin saw Mrs. Nash to the door. As he was drying the dishes, Uncle Tinjin reappeared in the kitchen doorway.

  “Garrett,” he said, “may I speak with you a moment?”

  Garrett put aside the plate he was holding and followed Uncle Tinjin into the parlor. The old man sat down in his favorite chair and bade Garrett to take the chair opposite him.

  “Garrett,” he said, “There are many things that I… that I wanted to say to you.” Tinjin paused, rubbing at his stubbly chin.

  Garrett waited in uneasy silence.

  Tinjin smiled lowering his head to run his fingers through his thin hair. He looked up at Garrett again. “I know who you are, Garrett,” he said, “I know what’s inside of you.”

  Garrett felt his blood go cold.

  Tinjin gave a weak chuckle. “I know that it hasn’t always been easy, having me as a… an uncle,” he said, “but I have always been… proud of you.” The old man looked as if he were struggling to hold back tears.

  Garrett did not understand what was happening to his uncle. This wasn’t like him at all.

  “I wanted you… I wanted you to know this,” Tinjin sniffed. The old man looked away, baring his teeth as though biting back something too painful to speak.

  “Uncle…” Garrett began to speak, but Tinjin stopped him with an upraised hand.

  “I should have been a better… teacher to you,” Tinjin sighed. He leaned back in his chair and smoothed his hair with both hands. “Now… well… now I believe you are ready.”

  Tinjin leaned forward and got to his feet. He crossed the floor and bowed to his knees before Garrett. Garrett started to protest, but Tinjin laid his hand on Garrett’s shoulder and smiled proudly.

  “I wanted you to have something before I go,” Uncle Tinjin said. He lifted the horned skull medallion from his neck and placed it around Garrett’s.

  The gold skull weighed heavy against Garrett’s chest, and he looked at Tinjin in astonishment, at a loss for words.

  “Wear it always in remembrance of me,” Tinjin said, “and let it remind you of who you truly are… no matter how powerful you become… no matter what trials you must face… remember who you are inside!” Tinjin pressed his finger to Garrett’s chest, just above his heart.

  “But this is yours!” Garrett gasped.

  Tinjin smiled again and shook his head. “I won’t be needing it where I’m going,” he said, “It belongs to you now, Master Necromancer.”

  “What?” Garrett asked.

  Tinjin rose slowly to his feet and pulled Garrett up as well. He looked down at the boy and chuckled. “You are my apprentice no longer, Garrett,” Tinjin said, “I have already registered your name with the city and paid your first year’s licenses. The rest is up to you.”

  Garrett choked on the news. “But, I hardly know anything at all!” he exclaimed, “You still have to teach me the rest!”

  “The rest of it you will learn the same way I did,” Tinjin laughed, “by experience. I suggest you take your reading a bit more seriously now.”

  Garrett was having a difficult time breathing. “But… what do I do? Does this mean I have to leave the house?” he asked.

  “Only if you feel like leaving,” Tinjin said, “The house is yours now.”

  “What?”

  “All except my books,” Tinjin said, “I’ve left a will, dictating how I would prefer my library to be divided, should I not return from this journey. You will find it and copies of several other important documents in my study… that is to say, in your study, Master Garrett. The house and all its servants belong to you now.”

  “Only until you get back, right?” Garrett said, “You’ll live here again when you come back!”

  Tinjin pulled Garrett close and hugged him for a long time before releasing him again. He looked down at Garrett with tears in his eyes.

  “These have been good years, Garrett,” Tinjin sighed, “Good years… thank you for sharing them with me."

  Garrett started to cry now. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, “Don’t go!”

  Tinjin squeezed Garrett’s shoulder. “We will see each other again, Garrett,” he said, “but the truth of it is… I don’t want to be a necromancer anymore.”

  “What?” Garrett sobbed.

  Tinjin looked away, as if lost in a memory. Then he looked at Garrett and spoke again. “I believe I am ready now,” he said, “I’m ready to let the dead sleep in peace.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “He left you the house?” Warren asked. The ghoul pulled a puzzled face as he crouched beside Garrett inside a section of old tunnel beneath Queensgarden where the wall had crumbled away, giving them a clear, overhead view of the main drainage channel from them temple to the main sewers.

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, “I’ve never seen Uncle Tinjin like that before… I’m really worried about him.” His eyes went back to searching the tunnel below. Dim light drifted in from a grate in the ceiling, and Garrett was grateful that the air was being pulled into the tunnel, along with the scent of the gardens above.

  “Hmn,” Warren said, “Maybe my dad can talk to him.”

  “Could you ask him to?” Garrett asked, a little ray of hope brightening the gloom that he felt in his heart.

  “Sure,” Warren said. He shifted his position, pushing the essence canister that hung from his shoulder sling back behind him as he did.

  “I wish you’d brought more essence,” Garrett said, “Do you want one of mine?” He lifted the flap of his satchel to reveal the three full canisters within.

  Warren rolled his eyes. “He’s not a demon, Gar,” he grumbled, “If he does show up, I plan on just punchin’ him in the face a few times.”

  “We don’t know what he is,” Garrett said, “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Hey, I think if he was the sorta creature that was immune to punches in the face,“ Warren snorted, “he wouldn’ need to creep around in the sewers like a bug.”

  “I’d still feel better if we were ready for anything,” Garrett worried.

  Warren shrugged. “You can’t be ready for everything, Gar,” he said, “That’s what makes life fun.”

  “Fun?” Garrett scoffed.

  “What’s fun?” Scupp asked as she crawled toward them through the narrow tunnel from the south.

  “Garrett’s gonna fry anything that pokes its head up with his wizard magic,” Warren answered.

  “Sounds fun,” Scupp said, sidling in between the two boys. She, at least, had brought two cani
sters buckled to the leather bandolier she wore.

  “What’s going on?” Warren asked, “Where’s Diggs?”

  “He wants your help with some stupid trap he’s setting for Roach Boy,” she sighed, “He wanted me to come get you.”

  Warren looked annoyed.

  “I’ll stay with Garrett,” Scupp said, “Just try to make sure he doesn’t drop that damned statue on his own head… or yours.”

  “Statue?” Warren groaned.

  “Big one,” Scupp chuckled, “of the Worm Mother I think. About eight feet tall, with huge... what’s the word?” She made a cupping motion with her hands in front of her chest. “…Tentacles.”

  “Boneash…” Warren said.

  “You’d better get goin’” Scupp said, “He had it halfway tipped over and propped with a rock when I left.”

  Warren growled and scooted back down the tunnel into the darkness, and Scupp turned her attention back to Garrett.

  “Hi, Garrett,” she said.

  “Hi, Scupp,” he answered giving her a smile and a nod.

  “How’d your vampire party go?” she asked.

  Garrett sighed and thought a moment before speaking. “It started well,” he said, “but then Marla’s new teacher showed up, and she really didn’t like me.”

  Scupp sniffed. She stretched out on the floor of the tunnel and lay with her furry shoulder against Garrett’s knee as she peered down into the tunnel below. “What makes you think Roach Boy is gonna come through here anyway?” she asked.

  “It’s just a guess,” he admitted, “The High Priestess thinks there’s a spy in the temple, so I thought it might be the same guy. There might be other ways to get into the temple without people seeing you, but these tunnels seem like the best way in.”

  Scupp rolled over, propping her chin on her hand with her elbow planted in the rubble. She studied him for a moment.

  “What?” he asked, her scrutiny making him feel slightly uncomfortable.

  “I know it’s none o’ my business, Garrett,” she sighed, “but where do you think this is gonna go? …With the vampire girl, I mean.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked.