The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) (16 page)

"You will report to Matron Brix at once for your punishment," Shelbie said, "Give her this... and don't even think of disobeying me. I will be along shortly to observe your chastisement."

Garrett's eyes bulged. "But I was sick!" he said, "You
sent
me home!"

Matron Shelbie's eyes blazed with rage. "You've just earned another three lashes for your willfulness!" she yelled.

"Lashes?" Garrett cried out, forgetting to keep his voice down.

Matron Shelbie turned on her heel and walked away. Matron Beeks took Garrett by the shoulders and led him outside.

"Lashes?" Garrett asked, his voice desperate, "Like with a whip?"

Matron Beeks nodded, sadly.

"But I was sick," Garrett insisted, "She
sent
me home!"

"The penalty is much worse for unexcused absences," Matron Beeks whispered, her voice barely audible even outside the library.

"But it's not fair!" Garrett said, "I didn't choose to stay home. She made me! How can I get punished for that?"

"I know it seems unfair," Matron Beeks sighed, "but it has always been that way. Weakness of any sort is purged from our bodies through pain, in this case, a lash per day. I just wish you had come back sooner... nine days..." The heavyset old matron looked as if she were going to cry.

Garrett stared down at the parchment in his hand. "Is there any way I can get out of it?" he asked, "I mean, could another Matron write me an excuse or something?"

"You have already been excused," Matron Beeks said, "This is the lightest punishment you can receive for this infraction."

"This is crazy!" Garrett said, still unable to wrap his mind around it. He should have stayed home. He should never have come back at all.

Then he realized that was exactly what Matron Shelbie wanted. She had always hated Garrett, and was doing anything she could to embarrass Serepheni for choosing him to be a Templar. He was certain that nothing would please Shelbie more than to see him run away.

Garrett crushed the parchment in his fist.

"You can't throw it away!" Matron Beeks gasped.

Garrett looked at her, his face set in grim determination. "I'm not," he assured her.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to report to Matron Brix," he said as he walked away.

Garrett found the lean Matron Brix drilling the young Templars in the courtyard. Banden was there and saw Garrett emerge into the gray light of morning in the yard. The young man broke his restraining hold, releasing his sparring partner from a cross shoulder lock, and nodded at Garrett as he approached.

Garrett gave Banden a curt nod and offered the scrap of parchment by way of explanation as Matron Brix turned to face him with a quizzical look.

The Matron's perpetual scowl faded into a look of sick horror as she read Shelbie's note. She looked at Garrett in disbelief. "Nine?" she asked.

"Plus three more for questioning her," Garrett answered flatly.

A hush fell over the crowd of young Templars as the clash of sparring staves died away.

Matron Brix looked down at the crumpled parchment and shook her head. "The post over there," she sighed, nodding her head toward a wooden pillar at the far end of the courtyard, "Take off your tunic and wait there... I'll be back in a moment."

Garrett watched her walk away toward the barracks, feeling a sort of cold resignation creep through his limbs. He turned and began to walk slowly toward the whipping post.

Banden peeled off from the whispering bunch of trainees, jogging over to Garrett's side.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

Garrett did not look at him. "I'm supposed to get nine lashes for being sick," he said, "and then a few more for asking why."

"What?" Banden choked.

Garrett laughed bitterly. "I guess that's how they keep us healthy around here," he said, "So you might want to take care of yourself... don't want to get sick."

"That's not fair!" Banden said.

Garrett gave him a sideways look and a crooked smile. "I thought the same thing too."

Banden grabbed Garrett's arm, stopping him. "This can't be right," he said, "Miss Serepheni wouldn't let this happen! It has to be a mistake!"

A cold chill went through Garrett's chest as he realized that Serepheni must have known this was going to happen all along. He swallowed his smile down into his churning gut and scoffed, pulling his arm free of Banden's grasp.

"I'll go and find her," Banden said, "Just wait here... stall for time." He had already half turned to go when Garrett stopped him.

"No!" Garrett said, "I want this!"

"What?" Banden asked, his face twisted in disgust, "Why?"

Garrett bared his teeth. "Because they think it will make me quit!" he hissed, "And I want them to know just how wrong they are!"

Banden's face went blank, and he took a step back.

Matron Brix's footsteps sounded on the flagstones again, and Garrett saw her coming toward him with a long, multi-headed green leather whip in her hand. He wasted no time in stripping off his tunic, turning his back to the gathered crowd of young trainees so that they could get a good look.

Someone gasped in disgust at the sight of Garrett's back. Every inch of exposed flesh gleamed pale and rippled with the scars of dragonfire. Garrett knew all too well what they were looking at, the thing he had tried to hide every day of his life since he had been washed in Kadreaan's breath.

Brix barked the young men to silence before gently ushering Garrett into the proper position before the pole. "Lift your hands, boy," she whispered in his ear, "I have to tie your wrists."

Garrett kept his gaze locked on the dark wood of the whip-scarred post. "I won't run away," he said, his voice sounding like it came from someone else.

"It's to keep you from falling down," Matron Brix answered softly.

Garrett looked back at her over his shoulder and nodded, lifting his hands above his head.

Matron Brix restrained him with a leather cord. She did not pull it tight, but that mattered little to Garrett. He hardly felt the bonds at all through the scars that the Chadiri manacles had cut into his wrists so long ago.

Matron Brix let out her breath through pursed lips and stepped back. "Shelbie can do her own murder next time," she muttered.

"I am here!" Matron Shelbie's voice carried across the courtyard, "You may commence the punishment."

Only Garrett could hear the little snort of scorn from Matron Brix.

"Ready yourself, boy," Matron Brix said, "Don't try to fight the pain... chances are you'll be unconscious by the fifth lash."

Garrett shook his head and braced himself for the first stroke.

The whip ripped through the still morning air, and Garrett's body shook with the impact. He felt a sort of warm sensation in his ribs, a dull and distant tingling, but nothing more. He smiled to himself, knowing that he would never feel anything again where the dragon's breath had touched him, no warm hugs, no gentle pat on the back, and no sting of any whip.

The whip lashed again, and Garrett shook, feeling only the growing fire of rage within. If Shelbie thought to humiliate him, to break him, with this, she would be sorely disappointed.

By the fifth lash, it was obvious that Garrett was not going to even cry out, let alone pass out, from the punishment. He jumped a little when the tip of a lash found an unburned patch of skin beneath his armpit, but so lost in his rage was he that Garrett paid it no heed.

"Matron Brix!" Shelbie cried out, a hint of desperation in her voice, "Are you doing it wrong?" Garrett heard her voice grow louder as she approached the whipping post from behind.

"Does it look like I'm doing it wrong?" Brix growled, laying another lash across Garrett's back. Garrett saw a spattering of blood flecks darken the post above his head. He shut his eyes against the sight, forcing his consciousness down inside that warm ball of rage within.

"Well, no," Shelbie admitted, "but there is something wrong... with
him
."

"Your point, Matron Shelbie?" Brix demanded, striking Garrett once more.

"Well... we will have to think of another punishment," Shelbie stammered, "One that he
will
feel!"

"You know the rules," Brix hissed, laying another lash, "The
Serpent's Kiss
it is."

"But it's obvious that he doesn't even feel it!" Shelbie said, "If I had known how... he was... I would have ordered something different done to him."

"You mean you would have waived the traditional punishment for absence because of some personal quarrel with a student?" Brix asked. Again the lash fell.

"Yes... I mean
no
, of course not," Shelbie said, "I just... can't you whip him somewhere else?"

"We always do this in the courtyard," Brix answered, matter-of-factly, "It makes the cleanup easier."

"No!" Shelbie hissed, "I mean whip his legs or chest or... his
face!
"

Garrett felt the white-hot ball of rage inside crystallize into a shimmering idol of hate.

The rhythm of Brix's whip faltered, and the expected lash did not fall.

When Brix spoke again, it sounded as if she were struggling to control herself. "Matron Shelbie," Brix whispered, her voice like steel on a grindstone, "Don't you
ever
dare to come into my yard and tell me how to do my job again!"

"I didn't mean..." Shelbie protested.

"And the next time you have a problem with a student," Brix spat, "have the guts to deal with it yourself!"

Garrett felt the distant impact of several whip strokes in rapid succession as Matron Brix carried out the remainder of his punishment in short order. The rage within had chilled to a sick nausea, and Garrett swooned, feeling blood trickle down the backs of his legs.

The bloodstained whip landed at his feet as Garrett's knees began to shake.

"Get him down from there!" Brix shouted, and suddenly there were strong hands supporting Garrett's body on either side.

"Hold on, Garrett," Banden whispered in his ear, "You're going to be all right."

Garrett drifted in and out of consciousness, dimly aware that he was lying, face down, upon a soft cot, and someone kept waking him up by draping damp strips of cloth across his shoulders. The tall green wax candle on the table beside the cot seemed to be defective in some way, for every time he opened his eyes, it seemed another inch or two shorter than it had been. It was nearly gone when he heard the chimes of Curfew ring out.

"
I have to get home
," Garrett mumbled as he tried to push himself up from the table.

A warm, soft hand pressed gently against his cheek, robbing him of his strength to resist, and a familiar voice whispered for him to lie still.

"You're safe here tonight," Serepheni said, "I sent word to your uncle that you're all right."

The priestess walked around the table to where Garrett could see her from where he lay. Her eyes were red, and her smile trembled, fragile to the point of breaking.

Garrett looked away, holding back the bitter words that churned within him.

"I'm so sorry Garrett," Serepheni said. Her hand went to her lips.

Garrett snorted.

She reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking with emotion, "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Garrett rasped, still not looking at her.

"I didn't realize you'd been gone for so long..." she sobbed, "I thought Beeks or I would be the one to administer the punishment... I didn't think that it would be this bad... I... I'm so sorry!"

Garrett gathered his strength and tried again, pushing himself up on his hands. His back felt unnaturally stiff, and he felt the weight of the healing compresses slide down around his waist as he got his legs under him and sat up on the cot.

"Where's my shirt?" he demanded, "I'm going home."

Serepheni handed him a white linen nightshirt, but shook her head. "You have to stay here in the temple tonight," she insisted.

Garrett answered her with a bitter laugh.

"It isn't safe to leave in your condition. Please stay here and let us take care of you... Let me help you," Serepheni begged him.

"Are you afraid my uncle will find out what you did to me, and then he won't want to help you?" Garrett asked, looking her in the eye for the first time.

Serepheni covered her face with her hands and sobbed. "I'm so sorry!" she said again and again.

Garrett looked away, feeling a little ashamed of his words, but not enough to tell her so. He shrugged on the shirt, feeling it stick to his clammy skin. He noticed a pinkish stain spreading across the cloth on his right shoulder.

"I'll take my chances with the Watchers," he hissed, swinging his legs over the side of the cot and looking around for his boots.