The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) Page 19

  She pushed back his hood and stroked the side of his face gently, laughing softly with tears in her eyes. She bared her fangs in a broad grin. “I think you just might have a chance,” she said.

  “Chance of what?” he asked.

  “Saving the world,” she sighed.

  “And Marla?” he asked.

  She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “My daughter is lucky to have such a champion,” she whispered, “Be strong for me… for her… my little Songreaver.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Garrett left the Veranu’s pet shop and headed home, his mind full of troubled thoughts. The same tired argument kept running circles in his head. The only way he could ever keep the vampires from controlling Marla’s life would be to take her far away, beyond their reach, if there even was such a place. Marla would never agree to that though, unless he somehow convinced her that the other vampires were dangerous.

  What if she chose her own people over him? A sudden panic washed over him to think of her leaving. What if she thought it was for the best? After all, Garrett wasn’t a vampire. How could he hope to understand what she was going through? Then an even darker thought crept into his mind. What if he really should let her go?

  Garrett’s breath came harder, and he felt the beginnings of a headache brewing behind his eyes. He stepped off to the side of the street and massaged his forehead with his fingertips, trying to get control of his thoughts.

  He felt out of control and helpless, like a victim, watching events unfurl all around him, and there was nothing he could do to change it. No, he had changed things. He had made choices and changed things. He smiled to think of Lampwicke. If he had not changed her fate by his actions, would she even still be alive now? He smiled. Thinking of her, he could almost hear the flutter of her wings.

  He paused, looking around the busy street, not entirely certain that he hadn’t heard something. An impossible hope pushed its way through the shadows in his heart.

  “Lampwicke?” he called out, his eyes searching the gaps between the rooftops. He saw nothing unusual however, and the dark thoughts quickly reclaimed their seats at his mental council table.

  Garrett started walking again toward home, the satchel full of filled essence canisters dragging down his body as his worries dragged down his soul. How had he saved Lampwicke, and how could he do the same for Marla?

  Power. He had been able to do nothing to save Lampwicke own his own. It was only by finding real power that he was able to free her. The vampires could take Marla from him because they were more powerful. Was there anything more powerful than a vampire, than all the vampires put together?

  A cold sensation crept through Garrett’s body, like a cup of icy water spilled out over his insides.

  He slowed his pace and then stepped into the shadows of a nearby alleyway. He put his hand to his chest and felt a little thrill of fear in the back of his mind. He had power… the Songreaver’s power.

  Uncle Tinjin’s words came to him again like a warning. When you took the power of an ancient thing into your body, it became part of you and exerted its influence over you for the rest of your life. A sudden panic washed over him that perhaps he might be turning into the Songreaver. What had happened in the Songreaver’s tomb that he could not remember? Was he even Garrett anymore, or just some shell in the shape of Garrett, worn as a mask by some ancient evil?

  Garrett’s hand flexed into a claw against his chest, as though he might rip the Songreaver out of his body and cast it away, but the cold fire within twisted like a serpent around his heart, and Garrett began to gasp for breath.

  It was as if a yawning gulf of terror opened beneath his feet, and Garrett fell in. It seemed as though a great sea of icy blackness stretched below him, and everything that he ever was would be swallowed up in it and forgotten.

  Then, he remembered Marla, and his mind clung to the thought of her like a drowning man clinging to a plank of wood. Marla was born with ancient power in her veins, more power, perhaps, than even that which now threatened to consume Garrett’s soul. She wasn’t evil. She wasn’t overwhelmed by it all and driven to despair. She was simply Marla. Whatever fragment of the Dragon Queen remained inside of her, she had not been corrupted by it.

  Garrett’s panic began to subside, and the icy fingers within loosened their grip around his heart. He laughed, and his laughter melted away the last of the tightness in his chest. He took a deep breath, feeling like himself again. He looked around at the people of Wythr who passed by on the street, paying him no attention.

  There had to be another way to save Marla. There had to be.

  Garrett stepped out into the lane and continued on his way once more. Then he stopped, cocking his head to the side. The soft buzzing sound that he had mistaken for Lampwicke’s wings had returned for a moment, but was gone again.

  Garrett shifted the strap of his satchel to his other shoulder and headed home, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched.

  He made it back to the house as darkness fell over the city, and the streetlamps began to flare to life. The aroma of fresh baked bread and rosemary poured over him as he opened the front door, and he heard voices in the dining room.

  Garrett found Uncle Tinjin seated at the head of the table and laughing at something Bargas had just said.

  The elder ghoul looked much better than the last time Garrett had seen him. His patchy gray fur had regained something of its former luster, and he seemed almost as fit again as he had before the attack. Even the scars left on his shaggy forearms and chest by his encounter with the faceless demons had faded and been overgrown with hair. Only a faint hint of pain lingered at the edges of his tired eyes and tightened the corners of his toothy grin.

  Bargas, like Warren, sat on his haunches on the floor beside Uncle’s table. Their long tails made sitting in chairs uncomfortable. Lady Ymowyn, however, sat in the chair to Uncle’s right with her hips shifted at an angle to accommodate her bushy red tail, the very tip of which peeked out from beneath her emerald green dress. She rested one elbow on the arm of her chair to support her odd posture, but seemed quite comfortable and well accustomed to human furniture.

  “Hi, Garrett,” Warren said, noticing his arrival.

  Bargas blinked, slightly startled by Garrett’s entry. He gave a wincing smile and greeted Garrett as well, hiding his embarrassment at not smelling him first.

  “Good evening, Garrett,” Lady Ymowyn said, inclining her head slightly.

  “Hi, everybody,” Garrett said. He grinned when he saw that the two proxyliches had been removed from their places tableside. A lumpy tarp in the corner covered what looked to be two corpses, dumped, unceremoniously, on one of the sofas along the wall. “I guess Max and Cenick couldn’t join us for dinner?” he said.

  “I haven’t spoken to either one of them in over a week,” Uncle Tinjin chuckled, “and I felt that Max’s little experiment had taken up room at my supper table for long enough.”

  “Are they all right?” Garrett asked, suddenly worried.

  “I imagine so,” Uncle Tinjin said, “but it seems that Max has gone beyond the effective range of transfer between him and his proxylich, and Cenick had caught a rather nasty cold and said he would contact me again when he was feeling better. The last I heard, Cenick was moving his troops back into the Gloaran swamps, having tired of waiting for Max to grow bored of liberating his homeland.”

  Garrett nodded and took his seat before the empty plate beside Bargas, opposite Warren at the table.

  “If I may ask,” Lady Ymowyn said, “What is a proxylich?”

  Uncle gestured toward the lumpy tarp. “Before he left for the North,” Tinjin said, “Max created two rather unusual zombies that he called proxyliches. They serve only one purpose, to allow communication between two necromancers at a distance. One necromancer holds a properly enchanted skull and speaks into it, and his words are transferred to a receiving skull held by the necromancer that he wishes to contact. They, in turn
, can respond, and their voice comes through the skull, or in this case, the rather ridiculously costumed corpses they’ve left cluttering the first necromancer’s dining room.”

  Lady Ymowyn smiled and gave him a polite, “Ah.”

  “Would you care to see a demonstration after dinner,” Tinjin asked, “I’ve been meaning to try to contact the boys again… I’ve just… well, I’ve been putting it off, I suppose.”

  “You haven’t told them yet?” Bargas asked.

  Uncle Tinjin’s smile looked a bit sad, and his eyes fell. “I would rather speak with each of them in person regarding my decision. I intend to meet with Max when I journey to Weslae. I can tell him then, but Cenick…”

  “I could find him and bring him back for you, Tinjin,” Bargas offered, his gruff voice as gentle as Garrett had ever heard it, “Your sons should have the chance to say goodbye.”

  Garrett caught the look of pain on Uncle Tinjin’s face before the old man could hide it.

  “Dad, you’re not ready…” Warren began to say, concern for his father’s health plain on his face.

  “No more of that!” Bargas growled, “I’ve had enough of bein’ treated like I’m dyin’. I ain’t dead, and I ain’t gonna die… at least not anytime soon.”

  Warren looked to Ymowyn for support, but the fox woman only sighed, a little smile on her lips. “You’re going to have to let your father go someday Warren. A time comes when you have to allow children to grow up and make their own way in the world.”

  Bargas leveled a fierce glare at the fox woman, and mumbled an insincere, “Thank you.”

  “Thank you, Bargas,” Uncle Tinjin said, “but my ship sails next week. Cenick would never make it back in time, even if he left tonight. In any case, he doesn’t need the burden of this distracting him. I would prefer that he remains unaware of my decision until he has returned safely home. I will leave a letter for him… he will understand.”

  “You’re leaving next week?” Garrett exclaimed. He felt suddenly panicked and sick all over again.

  “Yes, Garrett,” Uncle answered, “Mrs. Nash’s brother and his crew will return sometime very soon, and I must be ready to leave as soon as they have sold their cargo and taken on more.”

  “Are they smugglers?” Lady Ymowyn asked.

  Uncle Tinjin smiled. “They do not advertise themselves as such,” he said, “but I am depending upon their reputation for avoiding the Chadirian authorities.”

  Ymowyn looked pensive for a moment. “Do they ever visit any Astorran ports?” she asked.

  Uncle Tinjin raised one eyebrow.

  “No, Ym!” Warren said, “You are not going back there!”

  Ymowyn shot Warren a look of annoyance. “I did not say that I was going back,” she said, “but, if, for some reason, I needed to go back, I would prefer to arrive unannounced.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Ym!” Warren said, “We barely got you outta there alive last time! There is no way I’m gonna let you anywhere near that place again!”

  “Warren!” Bargas barked.

  Warren turned to look at his dad, still visibly distressed.

  “I’m gonna let you in on a little secret, boy,” Bargas growled, “Ya don’t ever, and I mean ever, tell a woman she can’t do somethin’ boy.”

  “But…”

  “No!” Bargas cut Warren off, “If you got a lick o’ sense in yer head, you’ll listen to me now and shut your mouth.”

  Warren fell silent.

  An uneasy silence hung over the table before Lady Ymowyn broke it by offering Bargas a, “Thank you,” sounding somewhat surprised by his support.

  Bargas waved his paw. “Just somethin’ I learned years ago,” he said, “Ya can’t ever tell a woman she’s wrong. You just gotta wait ‘till she figures it out on her own.”

  Ymowyn’s eyes flared, but she bit back whatever she was about to say. She sighed and turned back to Tinjin. “Master Tinjin, might I be so bold as to request an introduction to your seafaring friends, in case I find myself in need of their services at a later date?”

  “Of course, my lady,” Tinjin answered with a smile, “although they may be unwilling to take you on as a passenger, if it came to that.”

  “No women aboard ship, eh?” Ymowyn laughed.

  Uncle Tinjin looked a bit uncomfortable. “Actually,” he said, “their objections may have more to do with your… ah.” He lifted his fingers to his ears.

  “Oh,” she laughed, touching her own long, fox-like ears with her dainty claw-pointed fingertips, “I see. Well, I assure you that I can pass for a human when necessary… as a male too, if it will make things easier.”

  Tinjin’s eyes narrowed, and then he smiled and nodded. “I understand,” he said, “I will let you know when they arrive, and we can arrange an introduction.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Warren looked at her sidelong. “You’d go without me?” he asked, sounding hurt.

  Lady Ymowyn leaned over to ruffle the fur on his head with her hand and then kissed his cheek. “I wouldn’t think of it, dear,” she said, “I’ll have you fitted for a leash and collar and tell everyone that you’re my pet.”

  Warren scowled at her, but Bargas roared with laughter, and the others joined in as well.

  “That, I would like to see!” Bargas said.

  Just then, Chunnley the ghoul emerged from the kitchen door, wearing a clean white apron and carrying a platter of hot pies. “Dinner is served,” he said with a sharp-fanged grin.

  The ghoul cook moved around the table, careful to place the two largest pies in front of Bargas and Warren. A thick brownish sauce oozed from the cracks in the brown crust of those two pies, and Garrett knew better than to try to guess what might be baked within. Lady Ymowyn and the two humans received smaller pies that smelled of fresh rosemary and roasted chicken.

  “Thank you, Master Chunnley,” Uncle Tinjin said, “I look forward to tasting your work. I’ve heard very good things about it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Chunnley answered, setting the last pie down in front of Garrett.

  Uncle Tinjin took note of the number of pies and asked, “Won’t you be joining us, Master Chunnley?”

  “Oh, er, no, sir,” Chunnley said, somewhat taken aback, “It wouldn’t seem… proper.”

  “Nonsense!” Tinjin said, “You are an honored guest in my home. Please join us for dinner.”

  Chunnley smiled and bowed his head. “Actually, sir,” he said, “it’s always been a dream of mine to be a proper chef in a big house, servin’ the lord and his guests. I know it’s a bit silly, but I actually prefer to eat in the kitchen… if it’s all the same to you.”

  “Of course,” Uncle Tinjin chuckled, “as you wish, Master Chunnley.

  The ghoul smiled again and nodded, filling the cups with water or wine before taking his leave.

  Bargas and Tinjin began to converse together again, quickly becoming lost in stories of their adventures together. Ymowyn took the opportunity to speak quietly to Warren, teasing a slim smile out of him with something she said, and Garrett made no effort to eavesdrop on them.

  Garrett pushed through the flaky crust of the chicken pie with his fork, letting the steam escape to drift above his plate like the ghosts of murdered hens. In spite of the fact that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he had no real appetite. He glanced toward the head of the table where Tinjin and Bargas sat laughing. Garrett had dared a faint hope that Warren’s dad would have been able to bring Uncle Tinjin to his senses and get him to stay. It was obvious now that Bargas had no intention of asking the old man to change his mind.

  A chill crept over him again, but he was no longer frightened of it. It felt more like the cold links of mail armor draped across his shoulders, some protective burden that he was forced to wear. He sat through dinner, plucking at the pie on the plate before him and lost in grim thoughts, until, after an hour or so, he became aware that the others were rising to take their leave.

  Chunnley reapp
eared to take their plates and receive their praise. He raised a worried look when he saw Garrett’s half-eaten pie.

  “It was good. Thank you,” Garrett said, “I just wasn’t very hungry tonight.”

  Chunnley nodded and gave him a gentle smile before turning to go.

  “Thank you all for visiting,” Tinjin said to his guests, “I would have prepared a warmer welcome if I had known you were coming.”

  “We ghouls are used to arrivin’ to dinner uninvited,” Bargas laughed, “Otherwise we wouldn’t be so good at breakin’ into crypts.”

  “Nevertheless, I insist that you allow me to host a proper going away party with you as my guests,” Uncle Tinjin said, “As was my original intent.”

  “As you will, Tinjin,” Bargas said as the group made their way toward the basement door.

  Tinjin stepped close and hugged his old friend. Bargas returned the hug as gently as he could.

  “Thank you, Bargas,” Tinjin said, “I know that I have no hope of ever clearing my debt to you, but, if there is anything you need… Just ask it.”

  Bargas looked thoughtful for a moment before speaking. “If you don’t mind, Tinjin,” he said, “I would like to borrow your boy for a bit, if you can spare him.” He raised a paw toward Garrett.

  “Of course,” Tinjin said, “When do you need his help?”

  “Well, now, just for a while,” Bargas said, “if he’s free to go.”

  “Garrett?” Tinjin said, looking at him.

  “Yeah,” Garrett said, “I can go with you, Mister Bargas. Should I bring any essence?”

  “No, boy,” Bargas said with a wave of his paw, “Nothin’ like that. Just need your help with somethin’ for a bit, that’s all.”

  They said goodnight to Uncle Tinjin, and then Garrett followed the ghouls and Lady Ymowyn down into the tunnels below the house. The others seemed in high spirits though Garrett still felt the chill weight of the dark future bearing down on him.

  “You three go on back to town,” Bargas said when they reached the subterranean roundhouse with the deep pit where Garrett and his friends had gone in search of the Songreaver’s tomb, “Garrett and I got some other business to attend.” Warren, Chunnley, and Lady Ymowyn shared a questioning look but then waved their farewells and headed on toward Marrowvyn.