The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

by Andrew Hunter

  Garrett found two of the servants still shoveling dirt onto the smoldering ruins of the carriage house. With the coachman gone, he supposed that he didn’t really need a carriage after all, but he was saddened to discover that the twin undead horses had perished along with it.

  The house itself seemed in good shape otherwise.

  Garrett pushed the front door open to see a small pack of furry creatures and frilled lizards scurry away to hide beneath the parlor chairs. A fairy that was polishing the onyx skull on the pillar of the bannister suddenly brought her tiny hands to her lips in surprise and darted out of sight down the hall.

  “Hello?” Garrett called out.

  Muffled meeping noises answered from beneath the parlor sofa, but nothing else.

  Garrett saw a light coming from the kitchen and walked down the hall to investigate. He pushed open the door and then laughed at what he saw within.

  “Surprise!” a chorus of fairies cried out as Garrett stepped through the door.

  A rather lopsided cake lay slumped across a large silver platter in the center of the kitchen table. The uneven surface of sugar frosting was strewn with fresh flower petals with a few fairies rushing to put on the finishing touches even now.

  Tom the kitchen zombie stood back, looking at the cake with a look of befuddled uncertainty on his face.

  “Congratulations, Songreaver!” Shortgrass said.

  “You guys made this for me?” Garrett asked, smiling at the flock of fairies that hovered all around the small room.

  “Yer friend in tha apron there gave us a hand,” Shortgrass said.

  “We hope you like it,” a young female fairy said as she fluttered up in front of Garrett, “Some of us always wanted to make a cake.”

  “You guys don’t really eat cake though, do you?” Garrett asked.

  “Well, no,” she said, blushing, “but we always hear about them in stories, so we thought it would be fun to try.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett said.

  “Have some,” another fairy said, grunting with effort as he flew toward Garrett bearing the weight of a silver fork.

  “Thank you,” Garrett said, taking the fork from him.

  The fairies beamed with pleasure and then withdrew a polite distance to watch as Garrett scooped up a forkful of cake and put it in his mouth.

  “It’s good!” Garrett lied after managing to swallow the bite. It tasted as if someone had confused salt for sugar at some step in its preparation, and he suddenly found himself wishing desperately for a cup of water.

  The fairies let out a triumphant cheer and many of them hugged one another at their success.

  “I only wish there was a way I could share it with all of you,” Garrett said, sincerely meaning it.

  “Ya’ve done more than enough for us, Garrett,” Shortgrass said, “Ev’ry last one of us t’ought we’d die in those miserable cages, but ya set us free, an’ we wanted to show ya a bit o’ thanks in that regard.”

  Garrett nodded and smiled.

  Just then, the little furry creatures and frilled lizards burst in through the kitchen door with a chorus of jubilant shrieks and swarmed the table, devouring the cake in short order, much to Garrett’s relief. The fairies flew circles around the room, singing a merry tune in Fae. Garrett was able to pick out enough of the lyrics to know that it was a bit on the bawdy side.

  “Thanks for everything, Shortgrass,” Garrett said, “You guys really came through for me… you saved my life last night.”

  “You saved all our lives,” Shortgrass said, “and, fer what it’s worth, I’m sorry I named ya a simpleton.”

  “It’s all right,” Garrett laughed.

  “Is yer furry friend gonna make it?” Shortgrass asked.

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, “She’s lost a leg, but she’s strong, and I think she’ll be all right.”

  “Good,” Shortgrass said.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” Garrett said, “Jenna, right?”

  “Aye,” he answered sadly, “she deserved better’n that… but I know she woulda chosen the same again, if it meant she didn’t have ta fade ta not’in’ in one o’ those damned silver cages.”

  Garrett nodded.

  “I hope ya didn’t mind me bringin’ ‘em all here,” Shortgrass said, gesturing toward the raucous fairies, “I didn’t really know where else ta put ‘em all… at least ‘till we can send ‘em home… or did ya need ‘em ta stay?”

  Garrett thought about it for a moment before speaking. “No,” he said, “I know everybody is anxious to get home. I’m sure your families must be really worried about you.”

  Shortgrass laughed. “Mine’s just as glad ta have me gone,” he said, “but the others… well, they’re anxious ta be on their way, if ya give ‘em leave ta go.”

  “Yeah,” Garrett said.

  Shortgrass nodded his thanks and then looked as though he had suddenly remembered something. “Oh,” he said, “A message came fer ya while you were out.”

  “Huh? From who?” Garrett asked.

  “No idea,” Shortgrass said, motioning for Garrett to follow him out into the hall, “You could ask tha messenger, but I don think ya’d get much of an answer.”

  Garrett looked in the direction of the fairy’s extended finger and saw the shadowy figure of a rat standing motionless in the hallway.

  Garrett knelt down before the glassy-eyed zombie rat and untied the little parcel that was affixed around its neck with a black ribbon. He unfolded the rolled up scrap of parchment, and a heavy black key fell out into the palm of his hand. He stood up, holding the note up to the light to read it. Swirling red runes covered the paper.

  “I can’t read Draconic,” Garrett sighed, “I don’t even know who it’s from.”

  “You mind if I try?” Shortgrass asked.

  Garrett held the paper out for the little fairy to read.

  Shortgrass squinted and frowned. “I don’t spake it well,” Shortgrass said, “but I’ll do me best.”

  Garrett nodded.

  “I send ya this in case I fail in mah… duty… tonight,” Shortgrass translated, pausing as he struggled with certain words, “Do as ya… think right… ta do. Remember our duty to tha lady… ladies… an’ remember me as your friend…” The fairy paused, looking slightly embarrassed. “I don’t recognize the rune they put down fer their name,” he said.

  “Klavicus,” Garrett said, squeezing the key tightly in his hand.

  “Was he tha one that jumped on tha dragon’s back last night?” Shortgrass asked.

  Garrett nodded.

  “I thought tha blood-drinkers and tha dragons were on tha same side?” the fairy said.

  “He wasn’t fighting the dragon,” Garrett said with a little smile, “He was fighting the guy on the dragon’s back.”

  Shortgrass chuckled. “What’s tha key for then?” he asked.

  “I think he wanted me to go to the embassy,” Garrett said, “Do you want to come with me?”

  “Any blood-drinkers still in it?” Shortgrass asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Garrett said.

  “Love ta then!” Shortgrass said.

  They walked together to the front door. Garrett was reaching for the handle when the door swung open and Caleb walked in, still dressed in his headdress and gloves and carrying a large book with an ornately decorated cover under one arm. His dark clothes were now dusted completely with ash, and little clouds of the stuff drifted off of him with every step he took.

  “Hi, Caleb,” Garrett said, staring at the zombie in confusion.

  Caleb grunted in response and headed upstairs without even looking in Garrett’s direction.

  “What’s that?” Garrett asked, pointing at the ash-covered book under the zombie’s arm.

  Caleb did not seem to hear him at all as he stomped loudly up the steps and was gone.

  “Huh,” Garrett said, shrugging his shoulders, “Let’s go.”

  *******

  The Thrinnian Embassy looked
as though it had suffered a direct hit from the dragon’s tail. Its stony construction had spared it from the raging fires that had consumed the nearby satyr compound and several of the surrounding buildings, but much of the black stone citadel had collapsed in on itself from the damage. The front door lay broken on its hinges, and Garrett squeezed through into the collapsed entryway beyond.

  A pale glow amidst the shadows within drew his attention to where the cracked wisp orb lay, half-buried among the rubble. He dug it out and whispered a calming word in Fae to the frightened wisp within.

  The wisp flared with relief to see him, illuminating the collapsed passages that led from the room.

  “There’s no way through,” Garrett sighed.

  “There’s a side door,” Shortgrass said, “Follow me.”

  Garrett tucked the wisp orb under his arm and ducked out through the wreckage of the front door to follow Shortgrass around the side into an alleyway between the embassy and the charred wall of the import house next door.

  Shortgrass gestured toward a shadowy doorway in the side of the black citadel. Garrett pulled the key from his pocket and tried it in the lock. With a click, the door swung open and a breath of cool, stale air washed over them. They stared into the dark passageway beyond, working up the nerve to enter.

  “Ya sure they’re all gone now?” Shortgrass asked.

  Garrett shrugged and held the wisp orb high as he stepped inside.

  Shortgrass muttered a curse and followed him in.

  Garrett followed his nose, turning down a sloping side passage that looked vaguely familiar. The scent of dung and old hay told him he was on the right path. He heard a familiar whine as he turned a corner into the underground pens in the basement below the embassy.

  “Ghausse!” Garrett cried, rushing to embrace the happy dire wolf through the bars of his cage.

  Ghausse whined and yelped with excitement to see Garrett again. Garrett was able to push the big wolf away for long enough to work the latch of the cage door and open it to release him. Ghausse bounded out, nearly knocking Garrett over as he licked his face and pawed at him.

  “Settle down!” Garrett laughed, nearly dropping the wisplight orb.

  “I need help,” Garrett said to the orb in his best fae, “Can you shine the dark for me, please?”

  The orb flared so brightly that he was unable to see anything at all for a few moments after its glow faded back to its normal brightness.

  “Thank you,” he said, and then he lifted the orb at arm’s length and whispered, “Be free.”

  The crystal orb shattered like glass and then slumped from his hand like powdered snow. The glowing wisp within shot upward and spread across the ceiling like a geyser of rainbow-colored flame.

  Garrett laughed to watch the flames play across the ceiling before returning to the center, coalescing once more into a shimmering orb of light, now free from its crystal prison. The wisp crackled and sparked like a merry campfire and then settled into a rosy glow, just above his still outstretched palm.

  “Ya didn’ fall over that time!” Shortgrass exclaimed.

  “Yeah,” Garrett mused, “Maybe I’m getting better at this.”

  A frightened whine drew his attention to the only other animal still locked in the pens, a tiny red fox with glowing green eyes.

  “A messenger fox!” Garrett said, “That’s what Marla called them.”

  He knelt as close as he dared to the whining, snapping little creature that stared up at him with fearful eyes.

  “I wonder if I can use it to send a message to Marla?” Garrett said.

  “And tell her what?” Shortgrass asked.

  “Tell her what happened to Klavicus,” Garrett said, “Tell her that I’m all right.”

  The little fox began to go wild with fear.

  “Watch out!” Shortgrass shouted as Garrett reached out to try to calm the fox and had to snatch his hand back suddenly to avoid its snapping teeth.

  Ghausse let out a rumbling growl that only made the fox even more afraid.

  Garrett stared down at the little creature uncertain what he should do.

  Then the wisp descended gently to the floor, its colors shifting slowly in pastel, soothing hues, as a strange sort of tinkling sound came from inside it, like tiny hanging bells brushing against one another in a breeze.

  The messenger fox stared, wide-eyed, at the glowing wisp, and its breathing began to slow.

  Garrett and Shortgrass stared in wonder as the fox calmed down and dropped to its haunches on the floor in front of the wisp.

  The wisp flared in varying shades of blue, and then the fox blinked, seeming to understand. It bowed its little head and then looked up expectantly at Garrett.

  Garrett looked at the wisp and then at the fox, clearing his throat before he spoke to it. “Find Marla Veranu,” he said, “Tell her… uh, tell her that Klavicus is dead, but that Garrett is all right, and the city is safe.”

  The fox squeezed its eyes shut, and when they opened again, they were no longer glowing but as black as onyx. It turned its gaze toward the tethered leash that held it to the nearby post.

  Garrett reached out, hesitantly at first, and then carefully unhooked the leash from the fox’s collar.

  The fox was suddenly gone in a blur of blood-red fur.

  “Huh,” Garrett mused, getting to his feet again. He looked at the wisp and said, “Thanks!”

  The wisp glowed a happy shade of yellow and then began to drift around the room, inspecting the empty cages. Ghausse had wandered into a nearby feed storage room and broken into a case of dried meat and was noisily gobbling it down.

  “I wonder how I’m gonna feed him?” Garrett sighed. Then a thought struck him, and he walked over to look inside the grain storage room. He commanded the witchfire sconces into light and stared down at several undead rats that were sitting next to a small pile of rat corpses that had started to smell.

  “Hi, guys,” Garrett said. He hesitated, recalling a thought that had been troubling him for a long time now. He had put it together from some of the things that Klavicus and Mrs. Veranu had said. One part of him still dared to hope that he was wrong. “Can you guys take me to the other pens?” he asked the rats.

  Garrett and the others followed the zombie rats down a long, shadowy corridor to a wide black door at the end of the hall. Garrett’s key fit in the lock, but the cold, damp metal fought against his strength as he forced it to turn. The door nudged away from its frame just a little as the lock clicked open, and the foul scent of sweat, blood, and bodily waste spilled out from the dark room beyond. Garrett took a lung full of the stale hallway air and then put his shoulder against the door. He leaned hard and pushed it open.

  The wisp flew in through the open door, illuminating the shadowy cells beyond but then recoiled in horror at what it saw there, dimming to a pale shade of fear at the sight of the ragged, hopeless creatures chained within.

  “Sweet, merciful Mother!” Shortgrass gagged, retreating into the hallway again. Ghausse growled at the rancid scent that spilled out from that terrible room.

  Garrett stared in sick revulsion at the sight of a trembling, pale boy with short blonde hair curling around his tiny horns and the legs of a deer below his waist. The boy raised his wrist to shade his eyes with his hand. He wore an intricately filigreed silver bracelet around his wrist that scarcely did anything to cover the long silvery scars of countless cuts on his arms.

  A woman with the lower body of a black horse and long, dark hair regarded Garrett with sunken, hopeless eyes. Pale bite marks laced her dusky skin, and a silver collar had rubbed a raw patch upon her slender neck.

  A giant serpent with half-shed scales still clinging to its body lifted its weary head, hissing softly past the silver ring bolted through its lower lip. It spared him only a brief glance before sinking back into its filthy bedding.

  At least a dozen other fantastic creatures looked up from their pallets of dirty straw with hopelessness and confusion in their e
yes.

  “Have you come to end it, fiend?” the centauress whispered. She tugged her collar down to expose the chaffed skin of her throat. “End it then… please,” she rasped.

  “Yes,” Garrett answered, his voice scarcely audible, “This ends now.”

  Ghausse huddled in the hallway, whining in fear as the power of the Songreaver blasted from the room at the end of the hall, and the clatter of broken silver rattled upon the stones.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Garrett slipped on the hood of his new robe and admired his reflection in the polished mirror beside his wardrobe door. He reached over and picked up his new wooden staff, carved to order as a fairly accurate replica of Tinjin’s iron staff. The freshly buffed medallion on his chest gleamed in the lamplight.

  “What do you think?” Garrett asked, turning to look at Caleb.

  Caleb looked up from his book. He hadn’t stopped reading it at all in the month and a half since he had returned home with it. Garrett had never figured out where the zombie thief had found it, but it was written in a language that Garrett didn’t recognize, and since he guessed that John Kurtz, the dead young thief who had supplied Caleb’s body, had probably not been the scholarly sort, it was more than likely something that interested the spirit of the dead satyr thief that now shared Kurtz’s body.

  Caleb took a moment to admire Garrett’s new clothes and grunted appreciatively before returning to his reading.

  “Mister Marigold does good work, doesn’t he?” Garrett said.

  Caleb ignored him.

  “He asked about you,” Garrett said, “You know it might be nice if you paid him a visit again. He told me you were the best mannequin he ever had.”

  Caleb let out a warning growl.

  “Just kidding,” Garrett laughed, “Wish me luck.”

  Caleb gave him a friendly moan but did not look up from his book.

  “I’ll see you later,” Garrett said, heading out the door of his bedroom.

  He had to step back into his bedroom to let a group of giggling Lethian children pass. They squealed in mock terror as Pendel the faun chased after them roaring with mock fury. Garrett grinned, watching them go as they disappeared down the hallway.