The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

by Andrew Hunter

  “What are you doing skulking around here?” A rude voice demanded.

  Garrett started from his thoughts, looking up to see Matron Shelbie emerge from a doorway in the wall of the corridor. He stared back at her, baffled and ashamed of the fear in his heart at seeing her.

  “Answer me, boy!” Shelbie shouted.

  “I… I’m going to class,” Garrett stammered, fighting to control the cold rage that bubbled up inside of him.

  “Where were you just now?” Matron Shelbie demanded, pointing back up the hall.

  “The garden, Matron,” Garrett answered.

  “What business did you have in the garden?” she asked.

  “Ser… Matron Serepheni,” he said, “I was meeting with Matron Serepheni!”

  Shelbie narrowed her eyes to slits and leaned close, searching for deception in Garrett’s face. At last she scoffed and drew back. She glared at him with undisguised loathing.

  Garrett mastered his rage and forced himself to lower his eyes in deference. “May I go now, Matron?” he rasped, “I don’t want to be late for class.”

  “Go!” she spat dismissively.

  Garrett breathed again as he turned his back to her and hurried down the hall, but he stopped the moment that she called after him.

  “I know why you’re here, necromancer!” she hissed.

  Garrett did not move or speak or turn to face her. He could hear her shoes clopping like a devil’s hooves as she slowly approached him from behind.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, you little thief,” she said as she moved to stand just behind him.

  Shelbie leaned close, whispering in his ear. “But know this, little thief. I will see you dead before I allow you to steal the secrets of the Eternal Mother. I will see you dead!”

  Garrett struggled to control his breathing, his fists clenched at his sides, and he did not dare to look at her.

  Shelbie stepped back and gave him a mocking laugh. “Run along now, little worm,” she said, “You are dismissed!”

  *******

  Two lines of boys stood, facing one another across the temple courtyard in the cold drizzle of a gray morning rain. All around, boys fidgeted, tightening their grips on their sparring staves or shifting their weight from foot to foot, awaiting the Matron’s order. Garrett stood motionless, feeling nothing at all, his eyes locked on the tall, curly-haired boy on the other side.

  Trent was the best fighter in class, after Banden, standing nearly a foot taller than all the other boys, and he took great delight in beating down anyone who stood against him. He stood opposite Garrett in the line with a leering grin on his cruel face, but Garrett was in no mood to take a beating today.

  “Begin,” Matron Brix shouted, and the two lines of boys advanced on each other with sticks in hand.

  “Good Night, Crispy!” Trent growled as he sent a whistling blow at Garrett’s head.

  Garrett twisted his head and shoulder to the left, dodging the larger boy’s strike and smacking the tip of his own staff hard across Trent’s right eyebrow.

  Trent howled in pain, blinking his eye against the stinging, bloody blow, but Garrett gave him no time to recover. Trent cried out again as Garrett swung his staff upward, striking the knuckles of Trent’s weapon hand and sending the boy’s club spinning free of his stunned fingers.

  “Trent, out!” Brix barked, and Garrett turned to face the winner of the two boys fighting to his left. Bill had only a second to recognize Garrett as his new opponent before the young necromancer drove his staff, point-first into Bill’s solar plexus. Bill staggered away, clutching his chest and huffing.

  Thunder rumbled in the gray sky, and the rain came down harder. Garrett was already moving on to his next target.

  Something had changed in him. Garrett seemed to watch his body move of its own accord. He felt a surge of something within him, like a torrent of naked rage, flowing through him, moving his limbs like a marionette’s strings.

  The next two boys in line, Kell and Merriwick, were still sparring, neither one committing to an attack, but holding back, defensively. They looked toward Garrett with confusion and then real fear as he advanced on both at once.

  “Hey!” Merriwick shouted as Garrett stepped in, disarming him with a lightning-fast blow and then rapping him sharply on the underside of his chin before turning on the other boy.

  Kell said nothing but ducked low beneath Garrett’s contemptuous backhand swing, jabbing his staff at Garrett’s chest.

  Garrett pirouetted like a dancer, letting Kell’s weapon slide across the breast of his tunic, and he tapped the boy hard on the ear with his own cudgel.

  Kell jumped back, clutching his ear with his free hand.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he hissed.

  “Shut up and fight, Kell!” Matron Brix shouted.

  Kell lowered his head and bull rushed Garrett, but Garrett sidestepped the boy’s reckless charge and sent Kell face-first into the flagstones with a brutal whip across his lower back.

  Kell groaned, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his nose with his hands, but Garrett only scoffed and shook his head, turning his back on the beaten boy. He smiled to himself, enjoying the cold fire of victory surging through his veins.

  Garrett’s smile faded when he saw Banden facing him with his staff held high in both hands. Banden’s face showed only confusion.

  “Garrett?” he said.

  Garrett grinned back at him and raised his own staff, mirroring Banden’s stance.

  Banden lunged forward, striking like a serpent, but Garrett turned the blow with the haft of his staff and curved a riposte up under Banden’s guard.

  Banden arched his body, and Garrett’s staff only grazed his stomach. Banden hopped backward, spinning his weapon in his hand, his eyes wide. The younger boy set his jaw and dropped into a low crouch, awaiting Garrett’s attack.

  Garrett laughed, drunk on the strange battle-lust that filled him. He wrapped both hands around the base of his weapon and raised it high above his head.

  Banden’s face went white as he warded off Garrett’s hammering blows with his own staff. The crack of wood against wood echoed through the courtyard as Garrett rained blow after blow down on the boy’s defenses. There was nothing of skill or artistry in Garrett’s attack, only a mad pummeling as a dam seemed to burst within him, and an icy cascade of rage poured out in his mindless onslaught.

  Banden shouted in alarm as his weapon cracked, and he fell backward to the ground, desperately warding himself against Garrett’s attacks with the splintered stump of his staff.

  “Garrett, hold!” Matron Brix shouted.

  Garrett screamed in wordless rage as he continued to pound against his friend’s crumbling defenses.

  “Hold, Damnit!” Brix cried.

  Garrett felt a sharp rap across the back of his skull, and he spun to face the Matron as she raised her cudgel again, her face hard with anger.

  Garrett snarled, readying his weapon to face this new adversary.

  “Garrett!” Banden shouted, scrambling to his feet.

  The younger boy stepped in to place his body between Garrett and Brix his arms spread wide and his hands empty.

  Garrett started to lunge, the tip of his staff leveled at Banden’s unprotected throat, but he stopped himself just in time, stumbling forward as his body seemed to return to his control once again.

  Garrett fell to his knees on the flagstones and vomited all over Banden’s shoes.

  Banden started to kneel to help him, but Brix shoved him out of the way and hauled Garrett to his feet by the collar.

  “Clean yourself up, Banden!” Matron Brix growled, dragging Garrett away, “The rest of you, run the circuit ‘till I get back!”

  The class groaned in unison as Matron Brix pulled Garrett toward the storeroom.

  “Drop it!” she said, rapping the staff still clutched tightly in Garrett’s hand. She repeated her command, striking it with her stick again, and Garrett let it fall
from his numbed hand to clatter on the storeroom floor.

  Brix pushed Garrett back against the wall inside the shade of the doorway and held him there, studying his eyes.

  Garrett blinked wiping the rain from his eyes and the spittle from his lips with the back of his sleeve, still feeling dizzy and cold.

  Matron Brix snorted and gave him a crooked smile. “Got some berserker blood in you, eh?” she laughed, “Some Kriesslander in your veins?”

  Garrett stared back at her, confused.

  She patted him on the shoulder. “It’s all right,” she said, “I’ve seen it before… It doesn’t matter. I’ll just have to watch you a bit closer.”

  “What happened?” he asked, his voice hoarse from bile.

  “It’s more common up north,” she said, “but some boys just lose their wits in a fight, and something else takes over… I’m afraid you’re not really cut out for leadership, but boy will you have a glorious career on the front lines!”

  Garrett shook his head. “I’m the worst fighter in class,” he protested.

  Brix scoffed. “You were the worst fighter in class,” she said, “probably still are, unless the anima kicks in.”

  “The what?”

  “The anima,” she said, “The Kriesslanders believe that the spirits of their animal gods take over their bodies in battle. It’s all just superstition, but they believe it, and it gets the job done. I’ve seen a Kriesslander tear through a dozen armored Templars with nothing but a chair leg and a lot of chest hair.”

  Garrett looked through the door, feeling sick again as he watched Banden tending to Kell’s broken nose. “I don’t ever want to do that again,” he whispered.

  “Yes, but you will,” Brix sighed, “and while you’re doing it, you’ll enjoy it. The trick is getting control of it, making yourself the master of the beast. You’ve got to get the key to his pen and let him know when it's all right to come out and play, and when to get back inside and stay quiet.”

  Garrett swallowed down the bitter aftertaste of his victory and hung his head.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that anyway?” Brix asked, “I haven’t taught you that yet.”

  Garrett looked up at her and shook his head. He remembered a little of what Cenick had shown him on the road home from the swamp. “I don’t know,” he said, “I guess my friend taught me some stuff.”

  Brix looked impressed. “I’d like to meet her,” she said.

  *******

  Garrett found Banden washing his shoes in the barracks and approached him hesitantly.

  “Hi, Banden,” Garrett said, “I’m sorry about… earlier.”

  Banden looked up at him, smiling. “No problem, Garrett,” the younger boy said. He went back to scrubbing his shoes in the soapy bucket on the floor before the wooden bench where he sat.

  “I’m really sorry about your shoes,” Garrett said, wincing a little, “Can I buy you a new pair?”

  “Nah,” Banden said, “these are almost clean, and they won’t take long to dry.”

  “Still, I feel really bad about… all of it,” Garrett said, “I really wasn’t mad at you. I was just… I don’t know what happened.”

  “It’s really all right,” Banden said, “It’s just practice. We’re still friends.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, sitting down on the bench beside him. He looked down at the floor and said nothing more.

  “What’s wrong, Garrett?” Banden said, wringing out one of his shoes and setting it off the side.

  “My uncle is leaving,” he said.

  “Where’s he going?” Banden asked.

  “I don’t know… up north somewhere,” Garrett said.

  “For how long?”

  Garrett shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, “he told me he didn’t want to be a necromancer anymore… I don’t know if he’s coming back at all.”

  Banden sat up straight, looking at Garrett. “I’m sorry, Garrett,” he said.

  Garrett nodded.

  “What are you going to do?” Banden asked.

  “I guess I’ll just keep doing the same thing,” Garrett said, “He made me an official necromancer now and left me the house.”

  “Congratulations!” Banden said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  Garrett gave him a thin smile and a soft, “Thanks.”

  “Are you going to keep coming to class?” Banden asked, “Or do you have to go be a necromancer full-time now?”

  Garrett shrugged again. “I don’t really have a reason not to come here,” he said, “I told everybody I would, so…”

  Banden leaned close, lowering his voice. “Do you want to be here?” he asked.

  “I really don’t know what I want anymore,” Garrett sighed, “I don’t know what’s going on… It feels like I’m… someone else now… I don’t know.”

  “Well, whatever you decide,” Banden said, “you’re still my friend.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said. He fell silent for a moment and then asked, “You want to come to magic class today?”

  “That thing you do with the ghouls?” Banden asked, looking a bit dubious. He had never warmed to the bestial corpse-eaters during their time together on the road south.

  “I’ve got some other friends coming today,” Garrett said, “two humans that I met in the market, Lethians. I’d like you to meet them.”

  Banden smiled, but shook his head. “Actually, I’m supposed to meet someone else after class,” he said.

  Garrett gave him a questioning look.

  Banden blushed and looked around to make sure none of the other boys were eavesdropping. “You wanna meet her?” he whispered.

  *******

  Banden led Garrett through a twisted hedge maze that grew between the outer wall of the main temple and the great reflecting pool at the western edge of the temple grounds. The morning rain had died away, and the gray sky glowed with the light of the afternoon sun.

  Banden stopped when they came to a small open area near the center of the maze. He smiled when he saw the girl, dressed in a green acolyte’s robe, sitting on the curved stone bench beside a small, vine-wreathed fountain.

  “Frae,” he called out, waving at the girl as he approached.

  The girl turned toward them, and Garrett saw a flicker of alarm in her blue eyes at the sight of him, but she covered it with a warm smile as she rose to greet them both.

  Banden gave her a quick hug, and Frae gave him a little kiss on the cheek. The boy looked a bit embarrassed by it as he gestured toward Garrett.

  “This is my friend Garrett,” he said, “Garrett, this is Frae… She and I are…”

  The girl smiled and leaned forward to take Garrett’s hand in greeting. Her sandy blonde hair was braided into two long tails that hung down over each shoulder, in a style favored by many of the young priestesses that trained at the Temple of Mauravant.

  “Nice to meet you,” Garrett said, releasing her hand after giving it an uneasy squeeze.

  “Banden has told me how you saved him from the demons that he faced in the north,” Frae said, “I am in your debt, Garrett.”

  “It was just lucky,” Garrett said, “It’s a good thing that demons don’t like fairy magic.”

  “Fairy magic?” Frae asked, giving Banden a quizzical look, “I thought your friend was a necromancer?”

  Banden shrugged. “He’s good at a lot of stuff,” he said, “Today he even beat me in sparring.”

  Frae’s eyes flashed. “What?” she said, eyeing Garrett suspiciously.

  “I didn’t beat you!” Garrett protested, “I just went kinda… berserk or something.”

  “Are you hurt?” Frae demanded, taking Banden’s face between her hands and examining him closely.

  “No!” Banden laughed, taking her by the wrists and gently lowering her hands from his face, “He didn’t hurt me at all. It was just practice.”

  Frae looked at Garrett again, her eyes softening. She smiled and nodded and then kissed Banden softly on the lips
. “You know I worry about you,” she sighed.

  “I’m all right,” he whispered, his hand on her shoulder.

  Garrett looked away, feeling a bit uncomfortable. After a moment, he spoke up. “Ah, I’ve gotta go do magic class now,” he said, “So, would you mind showing me the way back out of here? I kinda got turned around on the way in.”

  Banden laughed, and Frae smiled. “Of course,” Frae said, “I have to be going as well.”

  “What?” Banden whined.

  Frae smiled apologetically. “Matron Shelbie has asked me to help consecrate the altar for the Feast of the Fallen. We’re supposed to have everything ready by tomorrow night.”

  “But the feast isn’t for three more days!” Banden said, “Why do you have to do it now?”

  Frae took his hand between her own and kissed it. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

  Banden nodded.

  “Let us walk together,” Frae said, looking at Garrett, “I’ll show you the way out.”

  “Aren’t you afraid someone might see us together?” Banden whispered.

  “So what if they do?” Frae said, “Let them talk. I don’t care.”

  “No,” Banden said, “I’ll take Garrett back. You go on to the temple.”

  Frae narrowed her eyes.

  “Look,” Banden said, “I don’t want you to get in trouble over me.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Frae said.

  “But I am,” Banden said, “I’m afraid they might tell you to stop seeing me.”

  Frae shook her head. “That wouldn’t stop me,” she insisted.

  “I know,” he said, “but what if they…”

  “What?”

  “What if they hurt you because of me?” Banden sighed.

  “Matron Shelbie would never let anyone hurt me!” Frae scoffed.

  Garrett choked on a snort of derision, and Frae gave him a hard look.

  “I just don’t want to take any chances,” Banden said, stepping between the two of them, “You’re too important to me.”

  Frae relented, nodding her assent. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, “It was good to meet you, Garrett.”

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, “Good luck with the… altar thing.”

  Frae smiled at him and then hugged Banden again before taking her leave.