The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) (13 page)

"What?" Garrett said.

The two boys, Crane and Mujah, took Garrett by the arms and led him away. The three of them made their way to the food markets nearest the lifts that brought produce up from the wharfs of the lower city.

"Um, my name's Garrett," he offered, by way of a belated introduction.

"Crane," the striped-haired boy answered, "and that one's Mujah."

The shorter boy holding Garrett's left arm grunted in acknowledgement. He wore an oversized blue felt hat, pulled low over his eyes, and a baggy yellow overcoat with the sleeves rolled up and the hem sheared off just above his ankles. He couldn't have been any older than nine or ten.

"Pleased to meet you," Garrett said.

"Yeah," Crane said, steering them around a cabbage cart.

"So, what's your friend's name?" Garrett asked, "The girl who sold me the feather."

Crane stopped walking, pulling Garrett to a halt. The skinny boy glared down at Garrett, rising up on his toes to take full advantage of his slightly taller stature. "Why do you want to know?" he demanded.

Garrett stammered for a moment before answering, "I dunno. I just like knowing people's names when I'm talking to them."

"Are you trying to be funny?" Crane hissed.

"No! I didn't mean anything by it," Garrett said.

"Hetta's Crane's girl," Mujah rasped, his childlike voice pressed down into a falsetto bass.

"Oh! No... I didn't... I mean I wasn't trying to... you know," Garrett said.

Crane loosened his grip on Garrett's arm a little, some of the anger fading from his eyes. "All right then," he said at last, "As long as you're clear on that."

"Yeah," Garrett assured him, "I understand."

The first chime of Curfew rang out across the city, and Garrett heard Mujah try to muffle a very childlike whimper. Even Crane seemed a little less confident.

"Let's go!" Crane hissed, "Before the ghosts come out."

Garrett allowed himself to be dragged along once again between the two boys, but he smiled and shook his head. "They're not ghosts," he said, "They're skeletons... well, skeletal constructs."

"What?" Mujah asked, forgetting to sound older.

"The Watchers," Garrett said, "They're made of bones, about twelve feet tall. Not very fast, but pretty deadly. At least the ones I've seen."

Crane scoffed. "Nobody stays out past Curfew and lives to tell about it," he said, "Stop makin' up stories."

Garrett snorted.

"You really..." Mujah began, then remembered to lower his voice, "You really seen 'em?"

"A couple of times, yeah," Garrett said, "The first time, they nearly got me. I was pretty scared."

Crane's mocking laughter died away as his eyes fell on the horned skull talisman on Garrett's chest. He faltered a step. "You're not making this up," he said, a hint of awe in his voice, "You're one of those death magicians!'

Both boys released Garrett's arms at once.

Garrett shrugged the sleeves of his robe back into place and straightened the brim of his hood.

"Yes I am," he said, "Now let's go get something to eat. I'm starving."

Crane set aside his sack of food and pulled the red sash from around his waist when they reached the outer walls of the Queensgarden District. "I gotta blindfold you for this part... sorry," he said.

Garrett decided not to argue, but laid both sacks of fruit that he was carrying on the cobbles at his feet and hesitated only a moment before throwing back his hood.

Mujah gasped, his eyes, the only visible part of his face between the brim of his felt hat and the enormous basket of bread he was carrying, grew wide at the sight of Garrett's scars.

"Gods!" Crane exclaimed, "What happened to you?"

Garrett shrugged. "Dragon fire," he said.

Both boys looked suitably impressed.

"What kind of dragon?" Mujah asked. He had long since forgotten to affect a gruff voice, and was well on his way to becoming a true believer in the cult of Garrett.

"Huh?" Garrett said.

Mujah's reply was cut off by the final Curfew chime, but the boy did not look quite as afraid as he had before.

"Talk later," Crane said, "We're almost home."

Crane pulled the sash tight around Garrett's face, across the bridge of his nose. Garrett didn't bother to tell him that he could still see a little through the threadbare fabric of the red cloth. Once the blindfold was tied in place, Garrett stooped to retrieve his sacks and followed along as the boys lead him into a dark alleyway, hardly more than a two-foot wide space, between a tall building and the Queensgarden wall.

Garrett could sense the boys beginning to relax as they stepped into the shadows. Still, they stumbled a bit in the darkness as they shuffled sideways through the narrow gap.

"I wish we'd brought a torch," Mujah complained after tripping over a chunk of loose cobblestone.

"Oh," Garrett said, "I can help." He bent sideways to lay one of his sacks down by his heel and then reached inside his satchel to retrieve the half-full flask of essence.

Mujah gasped again at the sight of the canister's green glow.

"Does this help?" Garrett asked.

"Yeah," Crane said, his voice subdued by awe.

"Would you mind carrying it?" Garrett asked, holding it out in Crane's direction, "I need both hands for carrying stuff."

"I... I can touch it?" Crane asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't you?" Garrett said.

"I'm not a Magi," Crane answered.

"You don't have to be," Garrett said, "It won't do anything bad to you just by holding the flask."

"Flask?"

"Yeah, that's what we call the metal cans that we carry the essence around in," Garrett said.

"What's essence?" Mujah asked.

"That's the green glowy stuff," Garrett said, "We use it to do magic. I get it from a girl I know who..."

The hoarse shriek of a Watcher ripped through the alleyway. It wasn't far away from the sound of it.

"We'd better go!" Crane whispered, taking the flask from Garrett's hand. "Thanks for the... flask," He added.

"Yeah," Garrett said.

About thirty yards down the alleyway, Garrett stumbled over a low pile of rubble. Crane caught him with his shoulder then snaked his hand, still holding the essence flask, beneath Garrett's armpit. He pulled and lifted Garrett over the pile as they entered what seemed like a small breach in the Queensgarden wall. A narrow passageway of some sort lay beyond, within the wall itself. Once inside, Crane steered Garrett over to a hummock of tumbled stones and sat him down to rest. All three boys took a moment to catch their breath and enjoy the feeling of safety afforded by the ancient stone wall around them.

Garrett laid aside the sacks of fruit and wiggled the circulation back into his fingers. Through the thin fabric of his blindfold, he could dimly make out the sight of Crane turning the essence flask over in his hands, examining it.

"Can I see it?" Mujah pleaded.

"Here," Garrett said, "I've got another one." He pulled the other essence flask from his bag and held it out to Mujah. At the last moment, he remembered to let his hand waiver, pretending that he couldn't actually see the younger boy.

"Thanks!" Mujah said, taking the flask.

"Be careful!" Crane said, then of Garrett he asked, "It really isn't dangerous?"

"Well, not like that it isn't," Garrett said, "It's only dangerous when you use it to do magic."

"I wish I was a magi!" Mujah exclaimed, waiving the flask around like a sword.

Garrett smiled and then said, "I can teach you, if you like. Both of you."

"What?" Crane said.

"Really?" Mujah added.

"Yeah, I've been teaching a magic class for some friends of mine," Garrett said, "I bet they wouldn't mind if you joined us."

"Yeah! I wanna learn how!" Mujah said.

"You know a lot of maji?" Crane asked.

"I know a lot of necromancers," Garrett said, "but what I was teaching my friends is called wild magic. I think it's the kind that fairies use."

"Fairies?" Mujah asked.

"He means the
ilaani
," Crane said.

"Oh," Mujah said.

"What is a necromancer?" Crane asked.

"That's what I am," Garrett said, "We make zombies out of dead people and animals. My uncle taught me how. Do they have necromancers where you're from?" He hesitated a moment before adding, "Where are you from, anyway?"

"A-Let," Crane answered, "Here, they call us Lethians, and, no, we don't have any necromancers where we come from."

"Where is A-Let?" Garrett asked.

"Way over the mountains, to the south," Crane said.

"We're going back there as soon as we find our parents," Mujah said.

"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.