Songreaver (20 page)

"What? Oh, yeah, it wasn't that bad, really,"
Garrett said.

"You're as bad a liar as Max," she said.

"No, I mean, it hurt... a bit, but I've had
worse."

Serepheni's eyes fell. "I'm sorry I keep
asking so much of you," she said, "I just... I think we need to
break down the barriers between the church and the necromancers. We
need to come together to survive this time."

"Yeah," Garrett said.

"That's why it means so much to me that you
agreed to do this for me," she said, "I know it isn't easy, but I
knew that you were the one who
could
do it. Max... well,
he's Max, you know. They'll never accept him as anything other than
what he is, but
you
... you can be something new."

"What do you mean?" Garrett asked.

Serepheni stood up and put her hands on his
shoulders. "You can be both a necromancer
and
a Templar. You
can bring us together and heal the old wounds. You have a chance to
end all these years of senseless animosity between our
schools."

Garrett laughed.

"It's true," Serepheni said, "I love the
church... I love this place, but I don't know how to save it from
what I see is coming. I'm desperate, Garrett. I'll do anything to
try to save it. Sometimes you have to change to survive, and that's
what you are... change."

"I don't know what you expect me to do,"
Garrett said.

Serepheni let her hands drop to her sides.
"Just be yourself, Garrett," she said, "You change things just by
being who you are."

Garrett chuckled. "I'm glad I can take a
beating so well then," he said.

Serepheni shook her head. "First day is just
to frighten away the unworthy," she said, "You've been through the
worst and survived. In any case, they tell me that you've been
assigned to library duties."

"Yeah," Garrett said.

"You'll love it," she said, "I always enjoyed
my time in the library here. It's so... quiet."

A new chime rang out from the temple, and
Serepheni sighed.

"I have to go," she said, "I'll see you again
tomorrow."

Garrett nodded.

"Oh," she said, pulling a rolled parchment
from the pocket of her habit and handing it to Garrett, "This
should take care of any problems you might have in retrieving your
fairy."

"Thanks!" Garrett said, taking it from her. A
large smear of red wax, pressed with the writhing worm sigil of
Mauravant sealed the scroll.

"No," she said, "I owe you far more than
that. Thank you, Garrett."

Garrett nodded in response.

Garrett thought about going home to change
before calling on Ambassador Chaille, but the Zhadeen Embassy was
much closer to the temple than the Arcane Quarter. His purple
necromancer's hood might clash with the green tunic of a Templar
neophyte, but he wore his skull medallion proudly upon his chest to
dispel any confusion as to his allegiance. The rest of his garb now
bulged inside his satchel beside his essence flask, and he carried
the rolled parchment that Serepheni had given him like a Templar's
club in his gloved fist.

The Zhadeen Embassy rose above the streets of
the Foreign District like some exotic garden with long streamers of
flowering vines trailing down over the creamy stone of it high
walls. Palm trees, sagging despondently in the perpetual gloom of
Wythr surrounded the embassy's perimeter. Four narrow towers rose
at the compound's corners, manned by dark-skinned men in red
turbans with immaculately trimmed beards and glimmering silver
scale mail shirts. They looked down upon the street below with
expressions of unceasing boredom.

A long line of delivery folk waited patiently
for entrance at a large side gate, and Garrett decided to join
them. He took his place between a gardener's cart and a girl with a
basket of sweet rolls. He did not have to wait long.

"What is your business with the Ambassador?"
asked the gatekeeper, a young, very pretty girl, dressed in a long,
sleeveless dress of peacock-colored silk. Iridescent blue powder
rimmed her large brown eyes, and her lips glistened, seeming almost
wet with wine dark rouge.

Garrett pulled his gaze from her diamond
earrings and mutely handed her the scroll.

The girl snapped the seal between her long,
glossy fingernails and unfurled it. She pursed her lips. "Come
inside," she said.

Another servant, a boy dressed in a spotless
white kurta, led Garrett through a number of long corridors,
crowded with maids and butlers in similar garb. The few who were
not too busy to take notice of him quickly averted their eyes, some
of them making warding gestures with their hands across their
faces. By the time they reached the interior gardens, Garrett's
demeanor had degraded from hopeful to well and truly insulted.

Two handsome young men stood talking together
at the center of a jungle-like greenhouse. Their laughter carried
above the chirping of birds on warm air, thick with humidity and
the scent of flowers. One of the men bore the same tanned
complexion and short beard as Jitlowe, the only other Zhadeen that
Garrett knew. The man wore a saffron-colored shirt and
loose-fitting silk trousers to match, both embroidered with an
intricate pattern in brown thread. His short wavy hair matched the
ebon darkness of his eyes, and his smile gleamed with perfect,
pearl-white teeth.

The man standing beside the ambassador wore
his curling blonde hair long over the high collar of his burgundy
overcoat. A pale lace frill spilled from the throat of his
gold-threaded waistcoat, and he wore his sorrel trousers in a very
modern cut, long and close-fitting. Garrett drew in a sharp breath
when he noticed the golden pin on the man's lapel, a stylized
horned skull.

The men turned together at the sound, and the
blonde necromancer's face registered surprise as well. The Zhadeen
ambassador’s lips began to curl in an expression of distaste, but
swiftly recovered into a pleasant smile.

"An emissary from the temple, Your Grace,"
the boy in white said, stepping forward to offer Garrett's scroll
to Ambassador Chaille.

"Greetings," the ambassador said, bowing
slightly, "and welcome to my menagerie."

Garrett bowed awkwardly in return, suddenly
becoming aware that the artificial jungle surrounding them rustled
with the sounds of a great many animals that roamed and foraged
among the leaves.

Chaille unfurled the scroll and perused it.
He shrugged. "It seems that I was sold an animal by mistake," he
said, "and this young man is here to reclaim it as its rightful
owner."

"A mistake?" the blonde necromancer scoffed,
"May I see that?"

The ambassador passed the letter to the man
in the burgundy coat and then dusted bits of red wax from his
fingers.

The blonde man scanned the parchment and then
gave Garrett a crooked little smile. "I've heard about this," he
said, "The necromancers of the city were all presumed dead and
their assets sold by the church. Unfortunately for the church, a
necromancer makes an art of cheating death."

The ambassador laughed.

A small, snuffling noise sounded from the
bushes to Garrett's right, and he turned to see a dog-sized
creature, covered in brown fur. It dragged its long proboscis
through the grass, searching for food and made little grunting
noises. Garrett recognized the silver collar around its neck.

"My trilbette," Ambassador Chaille said, "Do
not be afraid. It is quite harmless."

"You got this from Mrs. Veranu's shop,"
Garrett said.

"Yes!" Chaille said, "You know them?"

"They're friends of mine," Garrett said,
swallowing a little pang of regret, "I helped them put the collar
on this one. I'm glad he's doing well."

"Oh, quite well," Chaille said, his voice a
bit friendlier than before, "I can always expect the highest
quality from the Veranus."

The blonde necromancer gave a tiny cough.

"Oh, my manners," Chaille said, "I am, of
course, Ambassador Chaille of the Zhadeen Empire, and this is my
dear friend Grandmaster Marsten."

The necromancer gave a florid bow. "A
pleasure to meet you, young master..."

"Garrett," he said, "... I think I've heard
of you before."

"Really?" Marsten said, standing straight
again, "I am honored." The blonde man's eyes flickered warily.

"I think my uncle knows you," Garrett said,
suddenly afraid that he might have stumbled into some old rivalry,
"His name is Tinjin."

"Ah," Marsten said, trying to read Garrett's
expression, "A great man, Tinjin, one of the few alive today to
whom I would gladly bend my knee. His mastery of the art is
legendary."

"I did not know of this... confusion,"
Ambassador Chaille said, "Were you inconvenienced as well by this
mistake Marsten?"

"Oh, no," Marsten laughed, "I have only just
arrived in the city and so avoided this recent...
unpleasantness."

Chaille gave him a relieved smile. "That is
good to know... still, I feel terrible that I have taken advantage
of this young man's misfortune." He clapped his hands together and
looked at the servant boy. "Go at once and fetch the caged faefly
from the south dining room!"

The boy in white rushed to comply,
disappearing into the greenhouse jungle.

"All will soon be rectified," Chaille said,
"I hope that you will accept my most sincere apology, Master
Garrett."

"Oh, yeah," Garrett said, "I just want to get
Lampwicke back. I'm not mad or anything. It was just a
mistake."

Chaille smiled and nodded. "You are very
understanding," he said.

Marsten cleared his throat. "I do have a
question, however," he said.

Garrett looked at him.

"Is that a Mauravantian tunic that you are
wearing, Garrett?"

Garrett looked down at his green tunic. "Uh,
yeah," he said, "I'm studying to become a Templar."

"A Templar?" Marsten said, "They would allow
a necromancer to study at the temple?"

Garrett nodded. "It's kind of a special case
I think," he said, "One of the priestesses asked to let me do it. I
guess she's trying to make some sort of bridge between the church
and our order."

Marsten's eyes brightened. "Is that so?" he
said, "I'd never thought I would see the day when one of us was
invited into the Temple of Mauravant."

"I assume there is some animosity between
your houses?" Ambassador Chaille asked.

Marsten laughed. "Old prejudices," he said,
"I'm happy to see them finally eroding."

"I still don't think they like us very much,"
Garrett said, "but Miss Serepheni is trying really hard to smooth
things over between us all."

"Serepheni," Marsten said, "Is she your
priestess? I'd love to meet with her."

"Yeah," Garrett said, "I guess I could tell
her that you want to talk to her."

Marsten smiled. "I would be in your debt,
Master Garrett," he said.

The boy in white reappeared, running toward
them with a small silver cage in his hands. Garrett's heart leapt,
and he ran forward to meet him.

"Lampwicke!" Garrett cried.

The little fairy looked up from where she sat
at the bottom of the cage, and her wings buzzed excitedly.
"Garrett!" she cried, "
Rhouaane te Na'alan! Te semerae!
" Her
body flared with a shimmering golden light, and her eyes shone,
blue as a summer sky.

Garrett clutched the cage tight against his
breast and whispered, "I missed you too."

The spring rains drummed against the green
glass of the high, narrow windows of the library, lulling Garrett
into a sort of trance. The tip of his quill pen scratched across
the surface of the yellowed scrap of parchment as he copied the
passage from the old book laid open before him.

"Reading fairy tales again, Garrett?" a voice
whispered over his shoulder, making him jump.

"Oh... did you need me to do something,
Matron Beeks?" Garrett whispered back.

The plump, gray-haired priestess smiled and
shook her head. "No, Garrett," she said, "I just wanted to remind
you of the time." The Matron's voice never really rose above a
whisper. Garrett wondered if, after all her years in the library,
she could even speak loud enough to be heard across the room.

Garrett looked around to see a group of
teenage girls in green robes filing in through the doors at the far
end of the hall. "Oh, sorry," he said, "I must have missed the
chimes."

"Well, you know you're welcome to stay here
as long as you need," Matron Beeks said.

"Thank you," Garrett said, "I just wanted to
finish this transcription, and then I'll be going."

"You did excellent work today, rebinding that
history," she said.

"Oh, thanks, but it really only needed the
stitching replaced," he said, "It didn't take long at all."

Matron Beeks glanced down at the book on the
table in front of him and frowned. "I wish you wouldn't waste your
time on such nonsense," she said, "You're much too talented to
bother with these... children's stories."

Garrett smiled. "You can find some pretty
interesting things hidden in these old stories," he said.

Matron Beeks sighed. "True enough, I suppose,
but tomorrow I'm going to have you start on the history of
Wythr."

"You want me to transcribe it?" he asked.

"I want you to
read
it," she said,
prodding him in the shoulder with her finger.

Garrett grinned. "Yes, Matron," he said.

A movement caught his eye, and he turned to
see woman in a Matron's habit break away from the group of girls
and walk toward them across the library floor. Her red lips curled
in a sneer. She looked familiar, but he could not recall where he
had seen her before.

"What is
he
doing here?" the woman
hissed, pointing at Garrett as she arrived at his table.