The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

by Andrew Hunter

  The muffled sound of music echoed up from the dining room below, and Garrett had to sidestep Pinny and Wudrou, the talking badger, who were chatting together on the landing at the base of the stairs.

  “You look nice, Mister Garrett,” Pinny said, smiling up at him.

  Wudrou smiled and nodded as Garrett greeted them both. The fur around Wudrou's neck had started to grow back, but in a wispy shade of gray, almost, it seemed, in memory of the silver collar that he had worn for so many years.

  “Have you seen your sister?” Garrett asked.

  “I think she was in the kitchen with Crane,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, lifting his foot to let a family of gamelons, what Shortgrass had called the little frilled lizards, pass by on their way to the parlor. The lizards had claimed the parlor for their own, building their nests inside and beneath Uncle Tinjin’s plush furniture. The little furry creatures, that Shortgrass had told him were called fairlings, had set up camp in Cenick’s old bedroom upstairs, though they shared the space with several of the younger Lethian children. So far neither group had complained about the arrangement.

  A young fairy couple perched together on the bookshelf in the hall looked up to wave at him as he passed, and he greeted them as well. He was glad that a few of the fairies had decided to stay behind, their sense of adventure and duty to him overriding their fear of the twilight city. The rest had gone away south with Briassa, the centaur woman he had freed from the embassy, along with many of the city’s wisps, coaxed out of Queensgarden by the other fae creatures that Garrett had freed. Shortgrass had gone with them, promising to return as soon as he had delivered his report to the Amber Court, whatever that was.

  Shine, the wisp that Garrett had freed from Klavicus’s orb now floated up from the basement and turned down the hall. She often wandered the house from room to room, eavesdropping on other people’s conversations and then drifting away again, reveling in her newfound mobility. Garrett smiled as she flared a golden greeting to him. He didn’t know why he thought of her now as a she, but it seemed appropriate to her gentle nature. Everyone else had become accustomed to her by now, and one of the younger children had given her the name Shine, and it had seemed to please her.

  Warren and Terrick were walking down the side hall from the basement as Garrett passed, and Garrett leaned his staff against the wall and rushed to offer them a hand with the bundles of food they were carrying. Terrick, the young shaman that they had rescued from the temple dungeons, had taken up residence in Marrowvyn, along with the rest of his tribe, finding the ghouls much more welcoming neighbors than the denizens of Shadetree.

  “Thank you, Garrett,” Terrick said, his voice still a rasping hiss even so long after the terrible injuries he had suffered at the hands of Matron Shelbie. The young Neshite passed one of his heavy nets full of dead quails to Garrett.

  “If you want me to animate all these, you’re gonna have to get me a lot more essence,” Garrett said with mock sincerity.

  “Hah, hah,” Warren said with mock humor, “Keep your bug juice off our dinner! Aren’t you supposed to be off having fancy drinks at the temple tonight?”

  “It’s not at the temple,” Garrett said, “We’re doing it at somebody’s house in the nicest part of Queensgarden.” They turned together and headed toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll have another batch of essence ready for you by tomorrow night,” Terrick said.

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, “We could sure use it.” If there was one resource the city was not in short supply of at the moment, it was unanimated corpses. Garrett would rather see them converted to laborers working on the relief effort as quickly as possible. Since the Veranus were gone and many of the city’s supply chains were disrupted, the young shaman and his people had proven one of the few reliable sources of acquiring fresh essence.

  Garrett shouldered open the kitchen door and was immediately overwhelmed by the heat within.

  “Evenin’ Garrett!” Mrs. Nash said as she looked up from the dough she was rolling out on the counter top. She was another one of Garrett’s refugees, sharing the suddenly rather cramped space of the manor house, at least until the zombies had finished repairing her damaged home.

  Hetta greeted Garrett with a pearly grin as he laid his net full of dead birds down in the corner. She was chopping vegetables at Mrs. Nash’s elbow.

  Crane, Tom the zombie, and Mrs. Nash’s son Kent all looked up from their duties as well and greeted the newcomers with monosyllabic grunts.

  Warren took one look inside the crowded kitchen and then tossed his sacks through the door and retreated back into the hall. Terrick did the same.

  “Hetta,” Garrett said, “Do you have everything you need for the night? I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  “We’re fine, Garrett,” she laughed, “Have fun at your party.”

  “Thanks,” he said, already starting to sweat beneath his heavy purple robe. He waved goodbye and ducked back out into the cool shadows of the hallway.

  “Siriman wanted me to wish you luck, Garrett,” Terrick said, “He says that tonight will be a fortuitous convergence for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Warren asked.

  “I do not question the elder’s wisdom,” Terrick said with a shrug, “I simply deliver his message.”

  “Thank him for me,” Garrett said. He had never been able to make sense of anything the mystical serpent had said to him, but he was glad at least that the giant snake had found a welcoming home among the river tribesmen and their young shaman.

  “You sure you don’t want to come to the party, Warren?” Garrett asked, “You have as much right to be there as me.”

  “Nah,” Warren said, “I don’t really fit in with that kinda crowd.”

  “What about Ymowyn and your dad?” Garrett asked.

  “They’re gonna sit this one out too,” Warren said, “They’ve been workin’ pretty hard at the aid camp, and I think they’re just lookin’ forward to getting some sleep tonight.”

  “Diggs’ll be there,” Garrett said.

  “Good luck with that,” Warren laughed.

  “How’s Scupp doing?” Garrett asked.

  “She’s fine,” Warren said, “She stumps around faster on those crutches than I do on all fours, and anyway she’s got her little wizard to run all her errands for her now.”

  “Mujah’s still hanging out with her?” Garrett asked.

  “Couldn’t separate ‘em with a pry bar,” Warren laughed.

  A knock sounded at the door then and Garrett grabbed his staff. “That’s probably for me,” he said.

  “Have fun,” Warren said.

  Garrett waved his goodbyes and headed toward the door, sidestepping a scampering gamelon.

  Pinny opened the door and greeted the tattooed man standing on the front porch. “Hi, Mister Cenick!”

  “Good evening, Pinny,” Cenick said. He lifted his eyes to Garrett as he approached and smiled.

  “Hi, Cenick,” Garrett said. “Thanks, Pinny,” he added, “I’ll see you later, all right?”

  “Goodnight,” the Lethian girl said as Garrett stepped out into the cold night air and closed the door behind him.

  “You’ve done a good thing, Garrett,” Cenick said with pride in his voice. The tattooed necromancer wore a fine silk robe of deep purple hue and a glimmering golden skull talisman. He had returned from the north a bit leaner and with a weary look in his eyes that had not yet faded since his return. He had taken the news of Uncle’s leaving rather hard, but he wore the ghast-wrought dagger that Tinjin had left him in a place of honor on his knife belt.

  “I like the kids,” Garrett said, “and they needed a place to stay. The dragon sorta smashed their old place.”

  “I admire your new staff,” Cenick said as they turned and walked toward the horses that stood waiting in the street.

  “Thanks,” Garrett said, “Oh, can I ride with one of you guys tonight?”

  “You
changed your mind about riding the wolf?” Cenick laughed.

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, “I started thinking about leaving him penned up with all those horses. He might get hungry.”

  “You wouldn’t have that problem if you had a proper steed for a death lord of your stature,” laughed Max Zara as he sat astride his zombified stallion, a new one. He had lost the old one when he fled Weslae by ship, leaving it behind, along with the remains of his army. He still bore the evidence of how much that retreat had cost him, in the look of lingering sorrow in his eyes and the shock of white that now frosted the dark hair at his temples. The only souvenir of his time in his homeland was a strange staff of blackened steel that he carried everywhere now. Glowing emeralds set between the sharp flanges of its head pulsed with slumbering magical power and cast a perpetual sickly glow across his weathered face. His black robes bore a sash of vibrant purple, and he had replaced his traditional gold talisman with a shining skull of polished platinum.

  “Hi, Max,” Garrett said.

  “Ride with me,” Max said, reaching down to give Garrett a hand up, “My horse smells better than his does.”

  Cenick glowered at him as he swung up onto the back of his shaggy mountain pony Lluhda. He leaned forward and scratched her behind the ear, and she nickered appreciatively.

  Garrett smiled as he climbed up behind Max upon the undead horse. He settled his staff across his lap and tried to remember how to balance astride a horse as Max and Cenick rode off toward the Queensgarden heights

  “Heard anything from Uncle Tinjin yet?” Garrett asked.

  “Nothing,” Max sighed.

  “You think he’s all right?” Garrett asked.

  “Tinjin?” Max mused, “He’ll be fine. I just hope that he’s not too worried about me. I imagine he’s already on his way to Fraelu by now, and from there, who knows where.”

  “Uncle Tinjin is quite resourceful, Garrett,” Cenick said, “I am not afraid for him.”

  “I would fear rather for the Chadiri,” Max chuckled, “Now that Uncle Tinjin’s involved, and with you having slain the dragon, their days are numbered.”

  “I didn’t kill the dragon,” Garrett said, “Serepheni and Diggs did that!”

  “They may have been the weapon of your vengeance,” Max laughed, “but it was you who led them to victory.”

  “It wasn’t vengeance,” Garrett said quietly, “I was just trying to save the city.”

  “Vengeance or heroism,” Max said, “the result is the same.”

  “I guess,” Garrett said. He could still remember the look on Graelle’s face as Kadreaan died… the look of a man who had just lost the last thing in the world that he loved. As much as Garrett had hated the man, he didn’t feel very heroic about doing that to him.

  “Serepheni told me how you handled the city’s defense, and what you’ve done in the days since to restore order and rebuild from the dragon’s attack,” Max said, “I dare say you aren’t the uncertain young man that we knew when we left you.”

  “You’ve done well, Garrett,” Cenick agreed, “Uncle Tinjin would be proud of the man you’ve become.”

  “I just wish he was still here,” Garrett sighed.

  “If he had been, you might not have grown to fill his boots,” Cenick said.

  Max laughed. “For once, I am in complete agreement with the savage,” he said, “I think that perhaps Uncle knew what kind of man you could be, if only you were challenged enough to become that man. I am impressed, Garrett, and it takes a great deal to impress me these days.”

  “It must be difficult to see through the glare of your own glory,” Cenick rumbled.

  “Indeed,” Max chuckled, “Indeed it is.”

  Garrett let his mind drift, grateful for the familiar banter of his old friends and the chance to set aside the responsibilities of being the Songreaver, or whatever it was the others were trying to make him. It was good just to be Garrett again for a while.

  Max brought his zombie stallion to a halt as they passed through the gates of the Chapel Ward.

  “What is it?” Cenick asked.

  “You go on ahead,” Max said, “Garrett and I have some business to attend at the temple. We’ll see you at the party.”

  “All right,” Cenick said, shaking his head, “but hurry. This party is in Garrett’s honor.”

  “I’m well aware of that,” Max sighed, “We’ll be along presently.”

  Cenick rolled his eyes and wheeled his pony around to continue up the lane.

  “What are we doing at the temple?” Garrett asked.

  “I have a surprise for you,” Max said, “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  Garrett said nothing more as Max rode up to the temple gates. The towers above still swarmed with skeletons working through the night to repair the damage caused by the dragon. The Templars at the gate waved them through, nodding toward Garrett with friendly smiles as he rode past. He gave the men a bemused wave, still unaccustomed to his new popularity.

  Max helped him down when they reached the main complex, and together they followed an older Templar who seemed to be expecting Max’s arrival. Garrett walked behind Max and the Templar as they made their way inside and then down several flights of stairs into the tunnels beneath the Temple of Mauravant.

  Garrett felt a growing sense of unease as their Templar guide lit a witchfire torch and led them down into what Garrett guessed to be the same dungeons where he had spent some time previously. Garrett half expected the guard to turn at any moment and shove him back into a cell, one without a convenient ghoul-hole in the floor.

  They descended another flight of ancient steps into a narrow corridor with cold, damp walls that crowded in tightly on either side. The broad-shouldered Templar had to turn sideways in a couple of places just to make it through. At last he paused before a thick, ironbound door with a tiny barred window through which nothing could be seen of the lightless room beyond.

  “How long do you need?” the Templar asked.

  “Oh, I think a minute or two should do,” Max said. There was a dangerous edge to his voice that made Garrett suddenly afraid of what they might find beyond that rusty door.

  “Torch is on the wall just inside to your right,” the Templar said, “We’ve been leaving it unlit so he can rest better.” The cruel smirk on his face told Garrett that this was a lie. Garrett shuddered to think of what it would be like to be imprisoned in one of these cells with nothing but darkness for a companion.

  “Thank you,” Max said.

  The guard unlocked the door and wrenched it open, igniting the torch within to illuminate the small chamber beyond. He stepped back and motioned for the two necromancers to enter. “I’ll come back in a few minutes,” he said, “They want him to stay alive for now, so I expect him to be that way when I get back. Other than that, I don’t really care what you do.”

  “Of course,” Max said with an eager breathlessness.

  The Templar nodded and stepped away to let them pass.

  Garrett followed Max into the cell, gagging at the scent of rotten flesh within. His lips curled in disgust as he saw the dragon lord Graelle sitting, chained to the far wall, squinting his remaining eye against the witchfire light. A dirty bandage covered his left eye and he wore the stained and torn gambeson that he had once worn beneath his red armor.

  The source of the sickly smell came from the gangrenous wounds that Garrett could glimpse through the awful, bloodstained rips in Graelle’s leggings. Both of his swollen blue feet were turned at odd angles to one another.

  “Dear gods! You’ve really let yourself go, Graelle!” Max hissed.

  “Who’s that?” Graelle growled, trying to see his visitors as his eye adjusted to the light.

  “My apologies,” Max said, sounding almost pleasant, “Although I feel as though we already know one another, I suppose we’ve never actually been introduced. You may call me Zarathul.”

  Graelle chuckled. “I always figured you for a dandy,” he said, “I gues
s I was right.”

  “And I must say, you’ve lived up to my expectations as well,” Max chuckled.

  “Who’s the other with you?” Graelle asked, squinting at Garrett.

  Garrett stepped forward and pulled back his hood. “Remember me?” he asked.

  Graelle fell silent, his gaze dropping to the floor.

  “So, now that we’re past the introductions,” Max sighed, “I just wanted to ask you something.”

  “Go to hell,” Graelle grumbled.

  “I wanted to know what it feels like to have been sent to your death by those you trusted,” Max said.

  Graelle laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, “I never trusted those worms.”

  Max looked a bit surprised. “So you knew they were sending you here to die?” he asked.

  “Of course I did, you maggot-loving fop,” Graelle spat, “They took my legions from me and sent me here to be rid of me once and for all.”

  “Why did you go then?” Garrett asked.

  Graelle turned his eye to Garrett again, his jaw trembling with emotion. “Because I serve my God!” he said.

  Max let out a long, loud laugh that continued on over Graelle’s muttered curses.

  At last Max took a breath and sighed. “I thought I would enjoy this more,” he said, “but now that I see you… all I feel is disgust. All these years, I considered you a worthy foe, and all along, it was just the dragon doing the work for a simple-minded religious zealot.” He laughed again and shook his head.

  The cell fell into silence again as Zara’s laughter died away.

  “You, boy,” Graelle said, “have you come to gloat in your victory as well. You at least have earned the right… not like your cowardly friend beside you.”

  Garrett heard Max’s glove leather creak on the steel of his staff, but he said nothing.

  “No,” Garrett said, “I don’t really feel good about what I did, and I’m sorry you made me have to do it.”

  “You defeated your enemy, boy,” Graelle said, “You took vengeance on me, upon my Kadreaan, for what we did to you and your people… don’t you want to laugh in my face and spit in my eye while you still have the chance? I’ll be dead of these wounds in a day or two, if your cultist friends haven’t sacrificed me to their false god sooner than that. This will probably be the last chance you’ve got, so go ahead and hit me with your worst… I’m long past caring.”