The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4)

by Andrew Hunter

  “That’s a lot of rats,” Garrett said, trying his best not to breathe through his nose.

  “Too many?” Klavicus asked.

  “Let’s find out,” Garrett said with a shrug.

  He walked over to the pile of dead rats and pulled the canister from his bag, stripping off one of his gloves to improve the contact between steel and flesh. He grasped the cold metal tube in his bare hand and stretched out the other over the pile. Uncle Tinjin would probably not approve of this unceremonious ritual, but Garrett wanted to give it a try.

  “Dead rats,” he addressed them, “Rise as my undead minions!”

  The rats lay there, motionless. Klavicus raised one eyebrow.

  "It was worth a try," Garrett chuckled weakly.

  Garrett thought back to his first lesson in necromancy. Uncle Tinjin had said that the words weren't important. It was the will behind those words that the dead had no choice but to obey.

  He faced the pile of rats squarely and extended his hand once again. Squeezing his eyes shut, Garrett formed in his mind a vision of the essence inside his flask and the bodies of the dead animals on the floor before him. As he brought the two together in his thoughts, he felt an upwelling of power from deep within his chest that spilled out through his lips in a hoarse voice that he hardly recognized as his own.

  “Spirit and Flesh now one, arise!” he shouted, “Rise, and serve me!”

  A wave of force rolled out from his body, leaving him swaying on his feet as though buffeted by a high wind. Klavicus leapt backward in alarm as the mound of rats toppled over into a writhing, screeching mass.

  Garrett stared down at the empty flask in his hand and the thin crust of ice that fused its steel to his fingers. He laughed out a cloud of mist and then coughed.

  “Are you well, Master Garrett?” the vampire asked.

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, coughing again. He hammered the essence flask against his thigh, breaking the ice to free his hand. He looked over at the pitifully squeaking horde of undead rats and burst into a fit of coughing.

  Klavicus gave him a dubious look.

  “I’m… fine,” Garrett gasped, still coughing.

  Garrett put the empty flask back into his bag and concentrated on breathing properly again. Little flecks of light swirled at the edges of his vision, but this soon passed.

  “May I bring you anything?” Klavicus asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” Garrett assured him, “but I would like to see the other rats that I’ve rezzed for you before. I want to make sure the magic is holding.”

  “It is temporary then?” Klavicus asked.

  “No… it shouldn’t be,” Garrett said, taking a deep breath for the first time without coughing, “but I want to make sure I did it right.”

  Klavicus looked away nervously. “I will have to… fetch them,” he said, “I have them working in another storeroom.”

  “Oh, you keep food in more than one place?” Garrett asked.

  “Yes,” the vampire said, not meeting Garrett’s gaze. He looked as though he was considering saying more, but then he simply repeated his, “Yes.”

  “Oh, I can go with you,” Garrett said.

  “No!” Klavicus said, “Wait here… I will go and fetch them.”

  “All right,” Garrett said, “but first let me attune these guys to you.”

  The gangly vampire waited patiently while Garrett issued the proper instructions to the newborn zombie rats, transferring ownership of them to their new master. Then Klavicus disappeared silently through the storeroom door, leaving Garrett alone with the undead.

  Garrett stared down at the undead rats, and they stared back at him with more than fifty pairs of glassy eyes. He gave them a reassuring nod and looked away.

  “It is a sad game you play, necromancer,” a voice spoke from behind.

  Garrett turned to see Claude, the young gaunt-rider, standing in the doorway behind him, and the last of Garrett’s good mood bled away.

  Claude wrinkled his nose in disgust as he looked down at the zombie rats. “You debase yourself, trying to steal a moment of her time,” Claude said, baring his fangs in a sneer, “like a little boy playing the fool to attract attention.”

  Garrett shifted the weight of his satchel behind his back as he faced the young vampire, saying nothing.

  “You’re an empty jest,” Claude said, advancing into the room, his eyes still on the rats, “a girl’s plaything to be discarded as she becomes a woman… At least have the dignity to accept it and move on.”

  Garrett’s mouth filled with a taste like ashes, and his stomach churned inside him.

  “What is it that you think will happen?” Claude asked, lifting his pale hands before him, “Do you think she will renounce her heritage and share her life with you? For how long? Is she to watch you grow old and die? Are you a hobby… something to distract her from her studies? Must we all wait the lifetime of a man before she can return to her senses and fulfill her destiny?”

  Garrett narrowed his eyes, still not trusting himself to speak.

  “I tell you this as a friend,” Claude sighed, “Just leave. You have to know that she will never truly be yours. I know that you’re intelligent enough to understand… Why torture yourself like this? Why allow yourself to sink so low?” He waved his hand toward the rats.

  When Garrett’s voice came, it was low and hoarse. “If there is one thing in all of this that I know without a doubt,” he rasped, “It’s that you and me… we’re not friends.”

  Claude’s eyes flashed, and his lips pulled back over his glistening white fangs. “Oh, I don’t think you want me as your enemy,” he hissed.

  “You know what, Claude?” Garrett scoffed, “I’m tired of you trying to scare me. Why don’t you just go bite a troll’s ass?”

  Claude’s long black hair whipped like a banner in the wind as his body blurred in motion. Garrett heard the blow before he felt it, finding himself on his backside in a pile of grain sacks. Blood and pain poured into his mouth through his broken lip.

  Claude stood over him, with red blood on his white knuckles, his hand poised to deliver another backhanded blow if Garrett tried to rise.

  A torrent of icy power surged up through Garrett’s body and into his right fist. Suddenly their situations were reversed with the vampire boy on his back, clutching his bloody mouth and Garrett standing over him, breathing frost through his dripping lips.

  Claude pulled his blood-drenched hand away from his lips and stared down at it in horror. Then he looked at Garrett, and the last traces of humanity were gone from his blood red eyes.

  Claude hit Garrett in the chest so hard that he traveled several feet in the air before coming down upon an empty crate, splintering it. His roll carried him over backwards with his feet in the air, just in time to catch the descending vampire’s body and kick him away.

  Claude landed on his feet and came again, hissing like a viper. Clawlike fingernails reached for Garrett’s eyes, but he was able to turn his head fast enough to take it across the cheek. Garrett screamed as Claude raked four long gouges from his left ear to his upper lip.

  Garrett’s left fist shot out of its own accord, hooking into Claude’s ear with such force that it sent the vampire reeling as Garrett staggered away, clutching his torn face.

  Claude shook himself to his senses and then bared his teeth in a feral roar, showing a bloody gap where his left fang had been.

  Garrett let out a ragged, wordless howl that clouded the air with mist between them.

  Claude’s eyes flicked to his side, and he snatched up a wooden table, spilling the bins of feed stacked upon it as he swung the whole thing like a poleax, bashing Garrett to the floor.

  Garrett writhed in pain, blood stinging his eye as he saw the vampire advancing on him again, slowly now, growling like a beast.

  Garrett glanced toward the huddled mass of undead rats in the corner, and then he pointed his finger toward the vampire.

  “Get him!” Garrett hissed.r />
  Claude turned in surprise as the pack of zombies swarmed over his body. The vampire howled in rage as hundreds of teeth sank into his flesh faster than he could shake them off.

  Rats flew through the air, their bones crunching against the walls and ceiling as Claude ripped them free.

  Garrett wasted no time in getting back on his feet. He saw a wooden broom leaned against the wall and he grabbed it. He brought his boot heel down hard on the broom head, snapping it off. A long point of raw wood remained where the broom handle had splintered apart, and Garrett lifted it like a spear, leveled at the vampire’s chest.

  “Enough!” a voice like a dragon’s roared.

  Garrett’s heart hammered in fear as he turned to see Klavicus standing in the doorway, his eyes blazing.

  “Enough!” Klavicus repeated, a dangerous edge to his voice.

  The rats that still lived abandoned their attack and scurried back into the corner. Garrett and Claude stood, frozen in mid-strike and gasping for breath, their eyes on the elder vampire.

  When Klavicus spoke again, it was a serpent’s hiss, “Enough.”

  Garrett dropped his spear with a clatter, and Claude stormed out of the room in a dark blur past Klavicus’s shoulder.

  Klavicus eyed Garrett coldly for a moment, and then his face softened and his shoulders slumped back into their usual vulture-like hunch.

  “You are injured,” Klavicus said, “Allow me to tend to it.”

  The rush of battle drained from Garrett’s body, and the pain of a dozen injuries poured in to fill the void.

  Garrett slumped against the one unbroken table remaining in the room and let out a shuddering, “Oooooww!”

  Klavicus sniffed, tilting his head like a curious bird, and then prodded at Garrett’s arm where Claude had hit him with the table.

  “Ah!” Garrett cried, wincing at the pain.

  Klavicus lifted Garrett’s forearm and stretched it out experimentally, sending a fresh wave of pain through the arm.

  “Do you have to do that?” Garrett yelped.

  “It is not broken,” Klavicus mused. He pinched Garrett’s chin between his yellowed fingernails and twisted his face side to side, surveying the damage. “The lip will heal quickly,” he said, “Your cheek… perhaps there will be a scar.”

  Garrett felt sick, wondering if he even wanted to see what Claude had done to his face. Then he drew back in revulsion as Klavicus stepped in and dragged his long tongue across his torn cheek.

  “Gah! What are you doing?” Garrett howled, struggling to pull away, but the elder vampire held him fast, licking the wound clean. Then he released Garrett and stood back with a startled look on his face.

  “Why would you do that?” Garrett demanded scrubbing the vampire’s saliva from his face with his sleeve. It was only after he had rubbed away most of the stench of Klavicus’s breath that he realized the wound no longer hurt. He probed gently with his fingertips to discover only the puffy traces of the lacerations in his skin, now sealed and bloodless.

  Klavicus blinked in confusion, smacking his lips as he tasted Garrett’s blood. “What… what are you?” he rasped.

  Garrett eyed him warily as he backed away, hoping that the elder vampire had not just developed a taste for necromancer blood.

  Klavicus’s eyes widened with realization, and then he glanced toward the doorway. He lunged forward, taking Garrett by the shoulders and whispered, “It isn’t safe for you here… if she found out what you are… You must go! You must go and never come back!”

  Garrett stared back at him, speechless.

  “Go!” Klavicus said, pulling Garrett toward the door, “It is not safe!”

  Garrett pulled free long enough to snatch up his fallen shoulder bag from the pile of feed sacks. He paused as he turned to go and then stooped to pick up the small white object that he saw glistening on the floor.

  “Quickly!” Klavicus hissed, half dragging Garrett out the door and back upstairs.

  “What’s wrong?” Garrett said, “You can’t just kick me out forever, that wasn’t even my fault!”

  “Go! Just go!” Klavicus growled, “She must not find you here. She must not know what you are!”

  “I don’t understand!” Garrett protested as the vampire hustled him into the entryway.

  Klavicus did not bother to hide himself before opening the door but simply shielded his face with his coat against the daylight as he shoved Garrett out into the street.

  Garrett spun around to face the red door as it slammed shut.

  Garrett spat out a clot of crusted blood and stared down at the small white object in the palm of his glove. He chuckled to himself as he pocketed Claude’s fang and walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “I’m here to report to Captain Gaulve for duty,” Garrett said, his words muffled by his swollen lip.

  The Templars loitering in the front room of the Logate station house eyed him dubiously.

  The sergeant on duty looked over Captain Fitch's note and grinned. He looked up at Garrett and chuckled, "The temple sends us a gift. We must remember to give thanks in our prayers."

  The other Templars laughed as well.

  "I'll go tell the Captain," the sergeant said, and then he nodded toward one of the men, "Peach, you get him geared up. We start rounds in an hour."

  A gangly young Templar with a wispy beard shoved himself away from the wall he was leaning against and swaggered toward Garrett with an expression of board contempt.

  "Come on," Peach said, gesturing for Garrett to follow him through the door of the station house.

  Inside, the ancient stone building reeked of hazy pipe smoke and sweat. Peach and Garrett flattened themselves against the wall as two older Templars pushed past through the narrow hallway seeming to take no notice of them.

  "The big one's called Hawk," Peach whispered, pointing toward the broad back of one of the men who had just passed, "Don't get on his bad side. The other one is Snuff... he's got a mean sense of humor, so, if you're afraid of spiders or something, don't let him find out."

  "Thanks," Garrett said.

  Peach scoffed at him. "What'd you do to get sent down here?" he asked.

  Garrett paused a moment before speaking. "I... I made one of the Matrons mad at me," he said.

  "That'll do it," Peach laughed.

  "My name's Garrett, by the way," Garrett said.

  Peach shook his head. "I ain't even gonna try to remember it," he laughed, "First night out, your name is Grub. After that, your name is whatever the duty officer says it is. You don't get a real name until you served a year, and then the other long-timers pick it for you."

  "So your name isn't really Peach then?" Garrett asked.

  Peach rubbed the thin whiskers of his chin and laughed. "You just now figure that out?"

  Garrett followed the young man into a low-ceilinged room with rows of weapons and armor hung upon racks along the walls.

  Peach snatched up a weathered wooden crate from a stack in the corner and handed it to Garrett. "Strip down to your pants and put the rest in that box," he said, "If you're lucky, it'll all be there when you get back... assumin' you survive your first night."

  Garrett sat the box on a low bench and laid his shoulder bag inside. He felt a bit uncomfortable leaving the essence behind, and having left his knife at home. He took a deep breath, pushing his discomfort out of his mind, and tugged off his hood.

  "Bowl me!" Peach exclaimed at the sight of Garrett's uncovered head.

  Garrett ignored him as he pulled off his tabard and shirt as well.

  "What the hell happened to you?" Peach asked.

  "I got burned when I was a kid," Garrett said, "The Chadiri burned my whole town."

  "What town?" Peach asked.

  "Brenhaven."

  "Really?" Peach said with a crooked smile, "I had an uncle there. You know a glue-maker named Karnes?"

  Garrett shook his head. "I was just a kid then," he said.

  Peach shru
gged. "I only met him once, anyway," he said, "Family wasn't that close."

  "I'm sorry," Garrett said.

  "I guess there's not much left of it then," Peach said.

  "No."

  "Is it true the redbucks really got a dragon?" Peach asked, handing Garrett a thick, padded shirt.

  "Yeah," Garrett said. He pulled on the padded shirt, his eyes stinging at the scent of it. From the looks of the stains it bore, it had never been washed.

  "Is this supposed to protect me?" Garrett asked, trying to breathe through his mouth.

  Peach laughed. "Nah," he said, "that's just the gambeson. A knife'll go right through it. It's just to protect your skin from the mail shirt, otherwise, the links would rub all the skin off your shoulders by the end of the night."

  "Oh, thanks," Garrett said.

  "Yeah, my first night, they sent me out without one as a joke," Peach chuckled, "Took a week for all my skin to grow back." He handed over a bundle of mail armor that unbalanced Garrett as he took it.

  "It's heavy," Garrett said, pinching the mail between his fingers as he tried to find the bottom opening of the shirt.

  "You get used to it," Peach said.

  Garrett pulled on the mail shirt with some help from Peach. At least the iron tang of the links managed to overpower the sweaty smell of the gambeson beneath. The armor hung, heavy on Garrett's shoulders. He was starting to wonder how long he would be able to bear the weight.

  Peach fetched a fresh doublet and helped Garrett don it over his armor. The white worm sigil of Mauravant twisted across his breast from shoulder to hip.

  Peach then helped him tighten a broad leather belt with a number of cord loops hanging from it around his waist. Peach cinched it tight and buckled it closed.

  "It helps to hold up the weight of the mail," he explained to Garrett.

  "Yeah, I can feel it," Garrett said, grateful to have some of the load taken off his shoulders. "What are all these for?" he asked, fingering the loops of cords that hung from his belt.

  "Holdin’ stuff," Peach said, "You'll only really need this one tonight." He tugged at a thick leather loop on Garrett's right hip. "You're right-handed, right?"

  "Yeah."