Peach went and fetched a copper-headed cudgel from a rack, tossing it to Garrett.
Garrett caught it, feeling the weight of it. It was heavier than the sparring rods he had used in practice. He shuddered to think of what it could do if he swung it full-force at someone's head.
"Keep that on your belt, and make sure it stays there," Peach said, "You don't pull it out 'till you see us pull ours out. Then... you'd better be ready to swing it."
Garrett nodded, and he slipped the cudgel into the belt loop, handle down and suspended by the cord around its spherical copper head.
"You good with those boots?" Peach asked, indicating Garrett's footwear.
"Yeah, can I keep these on?" Garrett asked.
"The Captain lets us wear what we want, since the standard issue boots are so awful," Peach said, "Ain't like the Matrons ever come down here to check."
"Oh," Garrett said, "thanks."
"Just need a helmet then," Peach said, surveying a rack of helmets along the wall.
"This him then?" spoke an unfamiliar man as he strode into the armory.
"Yes, Captain," Peach answered, stiffening slightly as he turned to face the man.
Garrett stiffened as well, his eyes on the tall, gray-haired man that was eyeing him critically.
"I'm Captain Gaulve," the man said, "Just call me Captain and do everything I say without question or hesitation, and we'll get along fine. Test my patience, and you'll wish you hadn't."
"Yes, sir... Captain," Garrett said.
Captain Gaulve harrumphed. "This is our new berserker?" he mused, "You don't exactly look the part."
Garrett said nothing.
"We'll see the proof soon enough," Gaulve laughed, "We're goin' into Shadetree tonight."
Peach groaned.
"Let's get him sworn in," Gaulve sighed, "Peach, you witness."
"Yes, Captain," Peach said.
The Captain stood directly in front of Garrett, looking down at him with his eyes narrow. "Give me your right hand," he demanded.
Garrett held out his hand, and the Captain seized it, pulling a knife from his belt.
Garrett cringed, wincing in pain as the Captain dug a shallow trench in the heel of Garrett's right palm. Blood oozed from the wound and the Captain turned the flat of his knife blade to coat the steel in Garrett's blood.
"Stick your tongue out," Gaulve said to Garrett.
Garrett paled, hesitating.
"I'm not going to cut it off!" Captain Gaulve laughed.
Garrett stuck his tongue out.
Gaulve smeared his bloody knife clean on Garrett's tongue.
Garrett scowled at the taste of his own blood.
"Now raise your right hand," Captain Gaulve said, "and say what I say."
Garrett did as he commanded.
"I swear my soul to the service of the Eternal Mother," Gaulve said, and Garrett repeated the line.
"I will defend Her city with my life and honor, and, if She demands it, give my life in that service."
Garrett said the same.
"Good… You’re a Templar now,” Gaulve said, “Don’t forget it.”
“Yes, sir,” Garrett said, swallowing away the last taste of blood in his mouth.
“Peach, see to his hand and get him a helmet,” Gaulve said, already halfway out the door, “Like I said, we’re going into Shadetree tonight, so spread the news and get anybody still sober together.”
“Yes, Captain,” Peach said.
Captain Gaulve disappeared through the door, and Peach turned back to Garrett with a sigh. “Shadetree…” he said.
“What’s Shadetree?” Garrett asked.
“It’s the tent town just outside the wall,” Peach said, breaking out a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet, “Not our problem, most of the time, since they’re outside the walls, they’re not really part of the city. A lot of thieves and swindlers live there, and we leave ‘em alone, unless they steal from the wrong person… then we gotta go down there and remind ‘em of their place.”
“Is it dangerous?” Garrett asked, holding his bleeding hand out for Peach to tend.
“Yeah,” Peach laughed, “we usually get one or two of our guys cut up every time we go in there, so we make a point of making them not want to see us again whenever we have to. I guess they got greedy and forgot about our last visit.”
“When was that?” Garrett asked, wincing a little as Peach wrapped the bandage tightly around the wound in his hand.
“About six months ago,” Peach said, “Some of the Shadetree boys hit a Cashuunite jewel merchant in the Upper City… We got most of the rubies back, but we lost three guys in doing it. I don’t know how many of the Shadetree boys we ghosted, but they were burning death fires out there for three nights after we went in.”
“You killed them?” Garrett asked.
Peach laughed again. “You don’t go into Shadetree lookin’ to arrest people!” he said, “You do what you hafta do, and you get out… if you’re lucky.”
Garrett felt a bit sick.
“Look, I don’t know what they’re teachin’ you boys up at the temple these days, but this is how things are out in the real world,” Peach said.
Garrett said nothing.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Peach said, patting him on the shoulder, “You just showed up on the wrong day, that’s all. Most days are a lot less exciting, trust me. You survive tonight, and I promise you, tomorrow, you’ll be inspecting cabbage crates and chasin’ pickpockets.”
“I don’t think I can kill someone,” Garrett said.
Peach shrugged. “You know how to swing that stick, don’t you? They still teach you that much at least, don’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all you need to know,” Peach said, “Some conner comes at you with a blade, you lay ‘im out with some copper to the brainpan. Maybe he gets up again, maybe he don’t… not your problem, so long as his blade don’t lay you out, understand?”
Garrett nodded.
“All right then,” Peach said, putting away the aid kit, “I’m gonna do you a favor.”
“Huh?” Garrett said.
Peach walked over to the helmet rack again and selected a heavy, visored helm, unlike the lightweight, open-faced one that Peach and most of the other Templars outside were wearing. He smiled as he pulled it from its peg and brought it back to place on Garrett’s head.
“Now they’re gonna make fun of you for wearin’ this,” Peach said, “but, it’ll cover up all them burn marks, and at least you’ve got a chance of makin’ through your first year without bein’ called Porkrind or somethin’ like that.”
“Thanks,” Garrett said as Peach settled the musty helm down onto Garrett’s head and tightened the chinstrap.
“I was lucky to get Peach,” the young Templar said, “Another guy that came in from the same class as me got named Puddles after his first visit to Shadetree. I suggest you don’t drink a lot before we go in tonight. Poor Puddles…”
“What happened to him?” Garrett asked.
“A few months ago, we went in to bust up a bunch of smugglers that were comin’ in through the spillway. They had a goatman warlock with ‘em, and Puddles caught a hex in the face. By the time we got him to the Sisters, most of his skin had already sprouted feathers and scales… We never found out what happened to him, and I’m just as glad not to know.”
Peach snapped the visor down over Garrett’s face. “Can you see all right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Garrett said, surprised at how little the visor interfered with his field of vision. His breath rasped loudly against the metal mask.
“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 Shad
etree 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 Haw
k 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.
Chapter Twenty-four
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.
The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) Page 29
