The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

by Andrew Hunter

  "Are they in the city somewhere?" Garrett asked, "Maybe I can help."

  Crane muttered something that Garrett could not quite make out, and Mujah fell silent. Garrett sensed the need to let the subject pass and said no more.

  Crane cleared his throat and got to his feet. "Give that back to Garrett, and let's get going," he told Mujah, "the little kids are gonna be pretty hungry by now."

  Mujah put the canister back into Garrett's hands, and the three of them gathered their things and started off down the dusty tunnel that ran through the length of the Queensgarden wall.

  Crane paused to remove Garrett's blindfold when they reached a narrow staircase that led upward into the darkness.

  "I'm sorry we had to blindfold you, Garrett," he said, "but, if somebody found out about this place, we'd have to run again."

  "I won't tell anybody about it," Garrett said, "I promise."

  Crane nodded and turned to light the way up the stairs, holding a bulging food sack over his shoulder with one hand, and lifting the essence canister like a torch before him in the other. Garrett and Mujah followed close behind with their own burdens.

  "What kind of dragon was it that burned you?" Mujah asked as they made their way up the stairs.

  "A big one," Garrett said, "As for what kind... I think there's just the one left."

  "Oh, so they don't have many of them here then," Mujah sounded slightly disappointed.

  "I heard it was the last one," Garrett said.

  "Not likely!" Mujah laughed, "Back in A-Let, we've got all different kinds! Cloud dragons, river dragons, sand dragons... I even heard about a dragon made of coal tar!"

  Crane laughed. "You've got a good imagination, Mujah!"

  "Are their really that many dragons where you come from," Garrett asked.

  "No," Crane said.

  "Yes there are!" Mujah insisted, "Just because you never saw one, doesn't mean they aren't there!"

  "Maybe a long time ago," Crane said, "but nobody remembers the last time anyone actually saw one... It's always somebody's grandfather, or his grandfather, or some prince in some story that actually met a dragon. You never meet anyone who says they really saw one themselves... well, besides you, Garrett."

  "There are dragons!" Mujah said, "Maybe they just don't like to show themselves off to everybody. Maybe they're like in that story about the shepherd girl and the dragon?"

  "Huh?" Garrett said.

  "Maybe they look like normal people, but they're really dragons inside," Mujah said, "You just can't tell because you don't have a magic necklace or somethin'." He thought for a moment. "Is that what your necklace does, Garrett? Does it make it so you can see dragons?"

  Garrett laughed. "No," he said, "My necklace isn't magic... and the dragon that burned me... Everybody can see him coming. He's huge!"

  "Oh," Mujah said, "He must be a different kind from the one in the necklace story."

  "Probably," Garrett said.

  "Come on up," Crane called from above.

  A cool breeze, laden with the scent of pine, whistled down the staircase as Garrett approached the top of the stairs. He emerged into a long gallery with tall, arched windows overlooking the vast garden from which the district took its name. Garrett had never seen it this close before or realized just how big the garden really was. A great, dark forest lay below them, stretching for nearly a mile before another wall rose on the other side. Beyond that, the dark silhouette of the Temple of Mauravant rose against the ruddy glow of the city's lights on the low-hanging clouds. Garrett felt a little twist of misgiving in the pit of his stomach, realizing that he would have to report for duty at the temple in the morning, but he pushed that out of his mind and hurried after Crane as he walked on down the gallery.

  Garrett felt the chill of the night wind on his face, and he realized that he had forgotten to pull his hood back on after Crane had removed the blindfold. For some reason, the thought had not occurred to him until now. In any case, his hands were full, and his two companions seemed to look upon his scars less with revulsion and more with a strange sort of admiration. He wondered for a moment what the girls might think of his appearance, and whether or not it might be more polite to take some opportunity to pull the hood up again before they arrived at the Lethian's home.

  He had halfway convinced himself to stop long enough to work the hair illusion that Marsten had taught him when he recalled Crane's warning about the girl named Hetta. Would the boy see Garrett as a threat, if he so obviously attempted to make himself more attractive in her presence? He almost laughed when he realized that, for the first time in his life, it was in his best interest to remain as completely un-attractive as possible, and, though the exposure made him feel as though he had spiders crawling down his collar, he made the decision to leave the hood off.

  The gallery terminated into the side of a massive stone tower, and the trio stepped through a doorway onto a steeply spiraling staircase, following it upward.

  Garrett's legs were aching with the strain, and his bald head glistened with the sweat of his exertions by the time they emerged into a great, circular chamber within the center of the tower. Golden oil lamps hung by ropes through splintered holes in the wooden ceiling above, illuminating a veritable nest of brightly colored tents and hammocks, filled with Lethian youth. None of them appeared to be more than sixteen years old, and most were about Mujah's age.

  Song and laughter filled what must have once been a guardhouse inside the ancient tower, and the merriment turned to pure exuberant joy when the children saw the sacks of food that Garrett and the others had brought with them.

  Crane took charge immediately, herding the younger children toward a central dining area, laid out around a large, circular rug, dotted with cushions. Many of the children seemed more interested in the glowing flask of essence in Crane's hand than the sack of food on his shoulder.

  "You'd better take this and put it away, or we'll never get them to eat," Crane said, handing the flask back to Garrett.

  Many of the children seemed to notice Garrett for the first time, some of them shrinking back in horror at the sight of his burns. He cringed a little but forced a pleasant smile.

  "What happened to his head?" one little boy asked.

  Crane started to admonish the child, but Mujah cut him off, "He got into a fight with a dragon!"

  Gasps rippled through the throng of children, their eyes wide, but not with fear or revulsion this time.

  "He got away from the street ghosts too!" Mujah added, "He's done all kinds of stuff!"

  Garrett smiled down at them, tucking his flask back into his bag before picking the sack of fruit up again. "What should I do with this?" he asked Crane.

  "This way," Crane laughed, "if you can make it through the crowd."

  Garrett followed Crane toward the center of the room, where they began to pass out the contents of their bags to several of the older Lethian youths who began preparing the evening meal. Garrett looked up from his bag to see Hetta and her sister emerge from one of the large tents that had been roped up, cocoon-like, between the great wooden support beams that ringed the tower's inner walls.

  "Hetta, Pinny, over here," Crane called out to the two girls.

  Garrett saw the younger girl's face go a bit sickly at the sight of him, but Hetta regarded him with narrowed eyes, her head cocked slightly to one side, as though she were reassessing his value.

  "Hi," Garrett said.

  Hetta nodded, her eyes going to the feast being laid out in the center of the carpet. "Thank you," she said.

  Garrett nodded.

  "Did you know that Garrett fought a dragon?" Mujah exclaimed, "That's how he got all burnt up like that!"

  Hetta looked dubious, but her sister's eyes went wide.

  "What kinda dragon?" Pinny gasped.

  "A big one," Mujah said, "Probably a fire dragon, from the sound of it."

  "I didn't fight the dragon," Garrett said, "Mostly, I ran away from it whenever I saw it."
<
br />   "Still..." Mujah said with a shrug, "a real dragon!"

  "Mujah," Hetta chided him, "you know better than to change someone else's story!"

  "Sorry," Mujah said.

  Hetta looked at Garrett. "Did you really see a dragon?" she asked, her voice emotionless, her eyes hard.

  "Yeah," Garrett said, "but I wish I hadn't."

  "Don't say that," Crane said.

  "Huh?"

  Crane frowned. "You shouldn't wish away any part of your story," he said, "Our stories are what make us who we are."

  Hetta smiled. "You're not a Lethian," she said, "so it might seem strange to you, but we believe in taking our lives as they come. You might not like some little part of the story of your life, but it's the whole thing put together that really matters."

  Garrett looked at the hungry children gathered around the edge of the carpet. "What kind of story are you in right now?" he asked.

  Hetta's eyes fell, but Crane spoke up. "This is the trial before the great victory," he said. He flashed Garrett a cocky grin as he handed out the final pieces of fruit from his bag. "and right now, it's time to eat!"

  The children cheered, and Hetta smiled again, waving them all into position as they linked their hands together around the circumference of the carpet ring. Pinny and Mujah each took one of Garrett's gloved hands and pulled him out to join the circle. Hetta nodded her approval as she took her place between her sister and Crane in the unbroken chain.

  "Great Spirit, we thank you," Crane cried out, his head tilted back and his eyes closed, "We thank you for the taste of food in our mouths, our full bellies, and warm tents. Help us bring honor to the ones who came before... Let our stories be long and good... Let us..."

  "Endeavor," Hetta whispered.

  "Endeavor to live good lives," Crane continued, "and make us burn bright... like a flame in the night."

  "Flame in the night," repeated the rest.

  Mujah and Pinny released Garrett's hands at once as the younger children raced to be the first around the inner ring of serving dishes where the older members of the Lethian tribe were beginning to hand out bits of food. Garrett watched them with a little smile, amazed by how much Crane had managed to haggle, using only Garrett's half of Klavicus's silver.

  "Come on, Garrett," Crane said, his arm around Hetta's shoulder, "Let's get some before the little badgers gobble it all down,"

  Garrett nodded, already pulling his hood back over his head before he realized what he was doing. He hesitated for a second, but continued with the act, tugging the hood back into its customary place, with the brim just above his eyes. The others knew his secret already, so he might as well be comfortable again.

  Garrett took a seat on a tattered cushion at the outer edge of the crowd of young Lethians. Someone passed him a bit of jerky and a few dried fruits, cradled in a folded corner of flatbread. He nodded his thanks and then began to eat, grateful to have something besides vampire pet food.

  Garrett ate his supper in silence, keeping to himself, but, as the others finished their food, more and more of them began to pick up their cushions and reseat themselves in a loose circle all around him. He became acutely aware of the stares of over a dozen Lethian children who sat patiently, watching him eat.

  Garrett gave a questioning look to where Hetta and Crane sat, but they seemed lost in some private conversation and took no notice. All around him, the youngest members of the group watched the unsettled necromancer with expectant eyes.

  Garrett swallowed the last bite of bread and opened his mouth slowly, unsure of what to say.

  "Tell us about the dragon!" One of the children shouted.

  "Are the street ghosts real?" one demanded, "My brother says they're just make-believe, but I think they're real!"

  "Are you really a dead guy?" one little girl asked.

  "What?" Garrett asked.

  "A zombie," she said, "Did you die and come back?"

  "No," Garrett assured her, "I just make zombies... They aren't really alive. They just..."

  "Tell us about the dragon!" another insisted.

  "You know the rule!" Crane shouted out, and the children fell silent.

  "First story is the first memory," Hetta said.

  "But I want to hear about the dragon!" one child's voice trailed off into disappointed silence.

  "Maybe next time he comes to visit," Hetta said, getting to her feet with Crane rising beside her, "but the first story is always the first memory... That's where we start."

  Garrett gave her a confused look.

  Hetta smiled down at him. "The first story any of us tells is the very first thing we can remember," she said, "You think way back to when you were just a baby, and the first thing you can remember, that's what you tell us about... It's like the start of a story. It's how we get to know you, especially for a stranger that comes to us all covered in the story he's lived. It's hard to know somebody by the things they carry around. You have to start way back before they picked anything up... your first story."

  "I don't know if I can remember that far back," Garrett said.

  Crane laughed. "You remember yesterday, don't you?" he asked.

  "Yeah."

  "Well start there and work your way back as far as you can," he said.

  Garrett stretched an unsure smile. "I'll try," he said.

  The children watched him with wide eyes, silently awaiting his beginning.

  "Um, I guess..." Garrett stalled for time, reaching back into memories he hadn't recalled in a long time. Then he paused a moment before speaking again. "I guess I remember when I touched my dad's oven."

  Garrett rubbed the tips of his fingers together through his gloves, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "Yeah, I must have been about three years old," he said, "My dad was making something that smelled really good, and I wanted to see what it was, so, I guess I tried to open the door to the oven, but it was really hot, and I burned my fingers. Maybe that's why I remember it, because it hurt so much.

  "I was crying, but then my mom came, and she kept petting my head and trying to make me feel better." Garrett's hand stroked lightly across the top of his hood. "And then my dad let me have some... cake. It was my birthday cake he was making... I remember now... It tasted really good. He put three different colors of icing on the top... green, blue, and yellow maybe, but the cake was still hot, and it all melted together. It was sweet and warm and a little... salty. I guess I was still crying when I ate it, but then... after that, I felt a whole lot better... It was like my fingers stopped hurting then, and I thought my dad did some kind of magic.

  "I guess it was a really good cake," Garrett said as the memory drifted away from him. He looked around with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. That's all I can remember."

  A little girl began to cry, and one of the older children comforted her.

  "I want my momma!" another wailed, and more soon joined in.

  Garrett's heart sank as he looked around at the growing wave of sadness that swept through the crowd. He winced at Hetta and Crane.

  Crane rolled his eyes and shook his head. "We're not gonna do this again, are we?" he sighed.

  Hetta patted him on the shoulder and gave Garrett an it's all right look. "Everyone!" she called out, her voice full of enthusiasm, "It's almost time for the ilaani to dance! We should hurry, or we'll miss them!"

  Most of the children stopped crying immediately as they leapt to their feet and rushed to gather around Hetta. She gathered them up and ushered them toward the stairs leading upward into the tower above. Even Mujah fell in behind her, his gruff demeanor forgotten in a rush of boyish enthusiasm.

  Garrett watched them head upstairs, grateful that his story hadn't caused too much damage. Even he was fighting back a lump of homesickness in his throat.

  "Come on," Crane called to him with a wave, "You'll like this."

  Garrett followed the Lethians upstairs until they reached a broad balcony, overlooking the gardens. The gloom of evening hung like a gray bl
anket over the dark forest below. Garrett glimpsed silent fountains and streams that lay between the trees like pools of lead. The night breeze whistled over the western wall, wakening a ghostly whisper among the leaves, and all the children watched, speaking in hushed tones and waiting for something.

  Garrett took his place at Crane's shoulder, and Hetta nestled in beneath Crane's other arm.

  "There!" Mujah whispered loudly, pointing at a gap between the trees far away.

  Garrett strained his eyes but saw nothing. Then, a flicker of light at the corner of his vision drew his attention. As he searched in vain for the source of the light, another light flashed above a pond, and he was certain that he had seen it this time.

  Pinny giggled, and Hetta laughed.

  "Here they come," Crane said.

  Almost at once, hundreds of orbs of colored light began to flare in the darkness above the garden, lifting from the trees and rising from the still waters. They swirled and danced in the shadows and lifted like dandelion fluff on the sea breeze. The Lethian children laughed and clapped their hands at the sight.

  "Wisps!" Garrett exclaimed.

  "Have you ever seen anything like this?" Crane asked with a boyish grin on his face.

  Garrett nodded. "Yeah, once... in a cave, way up north," he said. He fell silent as a cold ache twisted in his heart. He remembered the way the wisps of the cave had lighted on Prince Cabre's head like a shimmering crown. He laughed bitterly at the thought.

  "What's wrong?" Hetta asked.

  Garrett started. "Oh... nothing," he said. He turned his attention back to the dance of the wisps over Queensgarden. "I didn't know there were wisps in the city."

  "What are they?" Pinny asked, "Are they good spirits?"

  Garrett remembered the bones that littered the floor of the cave in the swamp, and the glowing, childlike spirits of the murdered elves that still clung to them. How many elves had died in the Songreaver's siege of the city? How many restless spirits still lingered here, in the last remnant of the elven queen's domain? Garrett gave the girl a gentle smile.

  "Yeah, they're good spirits," he said, "They won't hurt anybody... They're kinda like kids."