The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) (62 page)

“Serepheni told me how you handled the city’s defense, and what you’ve done in the days since to restore order and rebuild from the dragon’s attack,” Max said, “I dare say you aren’t the uncertain young man that we knew when we left you.”

“You’ve done well, Garrett,” Cenick agreed, “Uncle Tinjin would be proud of the man you’ve become.”

“I just wish he was still here,” Garrett sighed.

“If he had been, you might not have grown to fill his boots,” Cenick said.

Max laughed. “For once, I am in complete agreement with the savage,” he said, “I think that perhaps Uncle knew what kind of man you could be, if only you were challenged enough to become that man. I am impressed, Garrett, and it takes a great deal to impress me these days.”

“It must be difficult to see through the glare of your own glory,” Cenick rumbled.

“Indeed,” Max chuckled, “Indeed it is.”

Garrett let his mind drift, grateful for the familiar banter of his old friends and the chance to set aside the responsibilities of being the Songreaver, or whatever it was the others were trying to make him. It was good just to be Garrett again for a while.

Max brought his zombie stallion to a halt as they passed through the gates of the Chapel Ward.

“What is it?” Cenick asked.

“You go on ahead,” Max said, “Garrett and I have some business to attend at the temple. We’ll see you at the party.”

“All right,” Cenick said, shaking his head, “but hurry. This party is in Garrett’s honor.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Max sighed, “We’ll be along presently.”

Cenick rolled his eyes and wheeled his pony around to continue up the lane.

“What are we doing at the temple?” Garrett asked.

“I have a surprise for you,” Max said, “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

Garrett said nothing more as Max rode up to the temple gates. The towers above still swarmed with skeletons working through the night to repair the damage caused by the dragon. The Templars at the gate waved them through, nodding toward Garrett with friendly smiles as he rode past. He gave the men a bemused wave, still unaccustomed to his new popularity.

Max helped him down when they reached the main complex, and together they followed an older Templar who seemed to be expecting Max’s arrival. Garrett walked behind Max and the Templar as they made their way inside and then down several flights of stairs into the tunnels beneath the Temple of Mauravant.

Garrett felt a growing sense of unease as their Templar guide lit a witchfire torch and led them down into what Garrett guessed to be the same dungeons where he had spent some time previously. Garrett half expected the guard to turn at any moment and shove him back into a cell, one without a convenient ghoul-hole in the floor.

They descended another flight of ancient steps into a narrow corridor with cold, damp walls that crowded in tightly on either side. The broad-shouldered Templar had to turn sideways in a couple of places just to make it through. At last he paused before a thick, ironbound door with a tiny barred window through which nothing could be seen of the lightless room beyond.

“How long do you need?” the Templar asked.

“Oh, I think a minute or two should do,” Max said. There was a dangerous edge to his voice that made Garrett suddenly afraid of what they might find beyond that rusty door.

“Torch is on the wall just inside to your right,” the Templar said, “We’ve been leaving it unlit so he can rest better.” The cruel smirk on his face told Garrett that this was a lie. Garrett shuddered to think of what it would be like to be imprisoned in one of these cells with nothing but darkness for a companion.

“Thank you,” Max said.

The guard unlocked the door and wrenched it open, igniting the torch within to illuminate the small chamber beyond. He stepped back and motioned for the two necromancers to enter. “I’ll come back in a few minutes,” he said, “They want him to stay alive for now, so I expect him to be that way when I get back. Other than that, I don’t really care what you do.”

“Of course,” Max said with an eager breathlessness.

The Templar nodded and stepped away to let them pass.

Garrett followed Max into the cell, gagging at the scent of rotten flesh within. His lips curled in disgust as he saw the dragon lord Graelle sitting, chained to the far wall, squinting his remaining eye against the witchfire light. A dirty bandage covered his left eye and he wore the stained and torn gambeson that he had once worn beneath his red armor.

The source of the sickly smell came from the gangrenous wounds that Garrett could glimpse through the awful, bloodstained rips in Graelle’s leggings. Both of his swollen blue feet were turned at odd angles to one another.

“Dear gods! You’ve really let yourself go, Graelle!” Max hissed.

“Who’s that?” Graelle growled, trying to see his visitors as his eye adjusted to the light.

“My apologies,” Max said, sounding almost pleasant, “Although I feel as though we already know one another, I suppose we’ve never actually been introduced. You may call me
Zarathul
.”

Graelle chuckled. “I always figured you for a dandy,” he said, “I guess I was right.”

“And I must say, you’ve lived up to my expectations as well,” Max chuckled.

“Who’s the other with you?” Graelle asked, squinting at Garrett.

Garrett stepped forward and pulled back his hood. “Remember me?” he asked.

Graelle fell silent, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“So, now that we’re past the introductions,” Max sighed, “I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Go to hell,” Graelle grumbled.

“I wanted to know what it feels like to have been sent to your death by those you trusted,” Max said.

Graelle laughed bitterly. “I wouldn’t know,” he said, “I never trusted those worms.”

Max looked a bit surprised. “So you knew they were sending you here to die?” he asked.

“Of course I did, you maggot-loving fop,” Graelle spat, “They took my legions from me and sent me here to be rid of me once and for all.”

“Why did you go then?” Garrett asked.

Graelle turned his eye to Garrett again, his jaw trembling with emotion. “Because I serve my God!” he said.

Max let out a long, loud laugh that continued on over Graelle’s muttered curses.

At last Max took a breath and sighed. “I thought I would enjoy this more,” he said, “but now that I see you… all I feel is disgust. All these years, I considered you a worthy foe, and all along, it was just the dragon doing the work for a simple-minded religious zealot.” He laughed again and shook his head.

The cell fell into silence again as Zara’s laughter died away.

“You, boy,” Graelle said, “have you come to gloat in your victory as well. You at least have earned the right… not like your cowardly friend beside you.”

Garrett heard Max’s glove leather creak on the steel of his staff, but he said nothing.

“No,” Garrett said, “I don’t really feel good about what I did, and I’m sorry you made me have to do it.”

“You defeated your enemy, boy,” Graelle said, “You took vengeance on me, upon my Kadreaan, for what we did to you and your people… don’t you want to laugh in my face and spit in my eye while you still have the chance? I’ll be dead of these wounds in a day or two, if your cultist friends haven’t sacrificed me to their false god sooner than that. This will probably be the last chance you’ve got, so go ahead and hit me with your worst… I’m long past caring.”

Garrett stared at the man who had taken his home from him, had taken his very flesh from him and left him only a scarred memory of the life he once had. He had lain awake for so many nights, dreaming of vengeance upon this man, and, now that he had it, he just felt a kind of sick hollowness inside.

“Go on, boy!” Graelle raged, “If you’re any kind of man at all, pull out your blade and put it through my heart! I killed your people! I burned your cities! Do it! Just do it!”

Garrett felt as though he might vomit. The pitiful sight of the man he had hated for so long, reduced to this… the smell of his rotting legs. Garrett shook his head and looked away.

“Don’t have the guts, do you?” Graelle shouted, tears streaming from his eye, “You need someone else to do your killing, the way you did… with my Kadreaan.”

“Perhaps he would just prefer to see you go on living and suffer as he was forced to suffer all these years,” Max hissed.

“
Suffering is!
” Graelle shouted, “The world is suffering! Life is suffering! I am simply the revelator of that truth.”

“You
were
, perhaps,” Max chuckled, “but now, I think, you will simply be an
example
of it… an exquisite example of true suffering.”

“I don’t care what you do to me,” Graelle sighed, “Take your vengeance as you will. I will not have long to endure it.”

“Such a defeatist attitude!” Max said, waving his hand, “I expected more from you
Dragon Lord
.” He paused in thought for a moment. “Though I suppose you aren’t, technically, a dragon lord anymore… I’m not really certain what to call you now.”

Graelle looked away.

“In any case,” Max said, “We must be going. We have a party to attend, you know. I hate to leave you on such a sour note.”

Graelle turned and spat at Max, but what little spittle the dehydrated Chadirian could muster fell short of Max’s black robes.

“I wouldn't want you to die so soon,” Max sighed, “It would be a shame for you to miss out on any of the quality suffering that awaits you in the future. So, for old time’s sake, I think I will leave you with a parting gift.”

Graelle eyed Zara warily.

Max clutched his black staff tightly in his left hand and stretched out his right toward the crippled dragon rider. The jewels of the staff flared a brilliant green as Max whispered a spell in something that sounded like Draconic.

Graelle’s eye bulged and his body stiffened. He gasped for breath, and his face went red, the cords in his neck standing out as he began to shake with convulsions.

Garrett looked at Max who was grinning cruelly as he chanted his spell.

Graelle let out an anguished moan as both of his legs stiffened, stretching out as the shattered bones within them popped back into place. His bloodless feet twisted back into their proper alignments as the big man screamed in agony and shuddered in the clutches of the necromancer’s spell.

Suddenly, Max fell silent and Graelle gasped and slumped forward like a dead man.

“You killed him!” Garrett cried.

“No,” Max laughed, “He may have deserved death, but instead I have saved his miserable life.”

Garrett looked at Graelle again as the Chadirian groaned, regaining consciousness. He stared down in confusion at his legs as he drew his knees up before him, seemingly uninjured.

“What… what did you do to me?” Graelle demanded.

“You know that little trick we necromancers do with corpses?” Max chuckled, “You know the one where we make dead things get up and move around again…”

Graelle stared down at the cold gray flesh of his legs and let out a pitiful cry. “No!” he gasped, “No!”

“You’re quite welcome,” Max said, “and don’t worry, the smell will go away soon enough. You’ll have plenty of time to enjoy your new legs in the days ahead.”

“Damn you!” Graelle moaned as Max turned to go, “Damn you to hell!”

“Come Garrett,” Max said, “or we’ll be late for the party.”

Garrett took one last look at the broken dragon lord who sat, writhing in his chains against the wall, before Max snuffed out the torch and plunged him into utter darkness.

*******

Garrett stood on the balcony and looked out over the city to the south. A few fires were still smoldering here and there, sending up little streamers of ash to join the eternal gray haze above the city. There was so much work still to be done, and he was wasting his time at some stupid party.

He had managed to slip away during Diggs’s retelling of the final moments of their battle with the dragon. The sounds of laughter and applause came from inside, and Garrett was glad that the richest citizens of Wythr would be so accepting of the fame-addled ghoul. Serepheni as well had her share of admirers. The people of the city were already beginning to treat her as though she were the new High Priestess.

He was happy for his friends, but he felt nothing but misgivings in his heart for what lay ahead. Without the dragon, the Chadiri might be weakened, but having rid themselves of their internal enemy, would they not then turn their formidable legions southward again?

And what of Marla? Had the messenger fox actually carried Garrett’s message to her? Even it she knew of his victory, would she be allowed to return? He thought back to what he had seen in that black room beneath the embassy, and he felt sick to his stomach. He remembered what master Jannis had said about the price of immortality. Was that really what Marla was?

He remembered the look on Graelle’s face when Max had animated his rotten legs. At this very moment, somewhere beneath the temple of the death goddess, the man was probably screaming in horror to have become the very thing that he had devoted his life to destroying. Max had laughed about it. What did that make Max? What did that make any of them?