The Necromancer's Nephew (21 page)

"I was burned by a dragon!" Garrett said, "The Chadiri burned my town, and I got burned."

Norris’s eyes blinked, golden again as he stooped, his long ears pricking up at Garrett's words. "A dragon?" he hissed.

"Yeah, I almost died," Garrett said, “but Warren's dad carried me out of there and they fixed me up.”

"Fixed you up?" Norris asked, a bemused curl to his lip, "Why would they do that?"

Garrett said nothing.

Norris’s questioning gaze went to Warren. "Strange thing for a ghoul to do... fix him up."

"He saved my life," Warren growled, "The dragon woulda had us both, but Garrett knocked me outta the way."

Norris looked back at Garrett, stunned.

"And if you've got anything clever to say about that, I suggest you say goodbye to your teeth first," Warren said.

Norris blinked, shrinking back a step. "No," he whispered, "no... I ... Forgive me. I misjudged you, boy."

Norris stepped forward suddenly
,
bowing before Garrett with unexpected grace. "The White Pack does not forget," he hissed, the usual wheedling tone absent from his voice. It returned again when he looked at Warren and cooed, "Rare friend you've got yerself, sweet cousin."

"Uh... yeah," Warren managed after a moment.

Norris’s placating grin returned as he looked at Garrett. "A price paid, a bargain met!" he said, "I'll tell you where they come from, the black bloods. If you still want to know it."

Garrett looked to Warren who looked just as confused as he felt. "Yes, please," he said to Norris, "I want to know."

Wings fluttered as a crow launched itself skyward in the forgotten courtyard above. Norris cringed, looking up and sniffing the air. The white ghoul slunk back into the shadows once more and lowered his voice. “Long time ago,” he s
aid, “the old wyrms run and hid
. Hid from the thing they thought
they wanted but
want
ed no more. They hid
wherever they c
ould
. Some go
t down
deep in the ground. Some go
ne
o
’
er the sea. Others, who knows where? Some, they just go
es
home and wait
s
to die… only they don’t die.

“Maybe they was so sure they was gonna die, they
turned loose o’ their souls
. I dunno, but somethin’ changed in ‘em, and they turned black as night, inside and out. That’s why the sun burns ‘em, them an’ their kin. They gave up
the light. They
turned into somethin’… wrong.

“Anyways, there come a day they start lookin’ back at what they had before and thinkin’. Only, by now they done forgot how to be alive. They look up at the world, and they want it back, but they need them what’s still alive to carry ‘em around… inside.”

Garrett rubbed the rough leather palms of his work gloves over his arms. His sweat-soaked clothing chilled his skin.

Norris’s grin flashed in the shadows. “They figure
d
the time of the wyrm done come to an end. Now come the time of Man, and men’s what they need to take back what they lost. So men they brung, down in the dark, where the old wyrms ain’t quite alive, and they ain’t quite dead. They brung ‘em down and made ‘em drink. They made ‘em drink the blood, boy, and, once you drink that black blood… you ain’t never
you
again.

“For what you done, you
’re
owed a warnin',” Norris said, “You stay clear o’ the black bloods. The face they wear… that’s jus’ to hide what they is inside.”

Norris dipped his head one last time in deference, then loped away down the dark tunnel to Marrowvyn. Garrett, Warren, Caleb, and the Goblin King watched him go in stony silence.

Warren let out a long breath and shook himself like a dog. “That Norris!” He said, “He’s a real bag o’ snuggles and hugs.”

“Yeah,” Garrett said, staring into the darkness.

“Hey,” Warren said, “don’t let him get to you. His side of the family has always been a little nutters.”

“It’s all right,” Garrett said, “Let’s just finish up here.”

Garrett's muscles ached as he climbed the steps to the market tunnel door. When he started the job earlier in the day, he had envisioned he would now be emerging, clean and bursting with pride at the job he had done on Marla's garden. Now, he was just filthy, exhausted, and hungry with at least a week's work left to be done on the project.

He shoved the rusty door open and his nose wrinkled as the cold evening air hit him, raising some of the stink from his grimy shirt. No chance of seeing Marla now, and anyway, what did he have to offer her, a pile of rocks and dirt heaped up in the middle of a drippy old dungeon. She was probably off flying around the rooftops with Claude right now. At least the rain had stopped for a while.

"What does that mean?" came the frightened voice of a shop girl nearby. More voices joined together in worried tones, over speaking one another, and Garrett could not make out what they said.

He stepped from the alleyway, hoping to find a food stall still open this close to curfew. He saw a small knot of people huddled together around a message board. Garrett wormed through them, hoping to get a better look.

"My gods!" a man in a baker's apron gasped, "All of them?"

A lump of cold fear knotted in Garrett's throat as he ducked between two mule-drivers and stood facing the large red parchment nailed across the tattered notices and trade requests pinned to the board. In large black letters, the sign read, "Gloaran Army Destroyed! Chadirian Forces Claim Victory in the North!"

Beneath the bold block letters, details of the undead army's defeat were scrawled in spidery scrip
t. Garrett only managed to read
,
"...officers put to the flame by..." before the crowd suddenly s
urged, pushing him away.

"Clear the streets!" a man shouted. Garrett caught a glimpse of several green-liveried Templars, shoving their way down through the market with cudgels in hand. Garrett stepped between a pair of fruit carts to let the crowd disperse past him and watched the Templars
.

The captain stepped up to the message board and spat. "Another one!" he said, tearing the red parchment from its nails with his free hand.

Garrett stepped forward, shaking and sick to his stomach. "Is it true, sir?"

The Templar turned on him with a face full of rage, the copper head of his cudgel leveled at Garrett's chest. "Get back to your hole, street rat, or the Watchers'll have your ass!"

Garrett staggered and ran. He reached the tunnel door and dove through, pushing it shut with his back. Caleb groaned questioningly in the darkness.

"We've gotta get home, Caleb!"

****

Garrett toweled off as he stepped from the steamy bath chamber into the cool darkness of the hallway. The witchfire sconce flared to life, illuminating the clean purple robe and small pile of underthings he had laid out on the table in the hall. He tugged them on, the soft fabric sticking to his damp skin. He padded, bare-footed back to his bedroom to find his boots and the uneaten half that remained of the loaf of stale bread that he had grabbed from the kitchen on his way up the stairs.

"
What is wrong?
" Lampwicke asked as Garrett pulled on his boots.

Garrett paused to swallow the chewed lump of bread in his mouth before answering. "
I do
n
o
t know, Lampwicke,
" he said, "
I saw a sign... it said the army had been destroyed.
"

Lampwicke clutched her tiny hand over her mouth. "
Oh, Garrett,
" she said, "
Y
ou are sure?
"

"
I do
n
o
t know,
" he said, sitting on the corner of his bed. He still couldn't catch his breath, and a tingly, crawling feeling ran up the back of his neck. "
I do
n
o
t know.
"

"
Who will know the truth?
" the fairy asked.

Garrett shook his head. "
The ghouls
could know
...
oh, no, Warren's dad!"

"
Go to them and ask,
" Lampwicke said.

Garrett looked at her. The little fairy stood with her fingers wrapped around the bars that framed her delicate face. She looked at him, her lambent eyes full of concern.

"
Ye
s
,
" he said, "
I
must do that
.
" He didn't like the idea of trying to find his way to Marrowvyn at night. Not that sunlight made any difference in navigating the stygian tunnels
below the city
, but there were stories that gave him pause. Warren had said there were things that wandered up from below when the moon called them. Not that you'd ever see the moon in Wythr, even if you made it all the way to the surface. Still...

Garrett steeled his nerve, slinging his satchel over his shoulder and belting on his knife. He jumped at the sound of pounding on the front door downstairs. Garrett looked at Caleb and then at Lampwicke. They returned his blank stare.

The door pounded again, and Garrett's heart leapt with a vision of skeletal watchers hammering at the door, searching for a certain boy, a known curfew-breaker
.

A muffled shout sounded outside, and Garrett raced from his room and bounded down the stairs.

"Open the door in the name of the Church!" a man's voice boomed. Templars!

"Just a minute!" Garrett shouted, scrambling for the door to throw the latches open. He dragged the bolt free and pulled the heavy wooden door wide
.

A blast of cold air and rain hit Garrett in the face. Three Templars stood, silhouetted in the doorway for a moment, scanning the entryway with hard eyes. Garrett stepped backward as they pushed into the room.

"Where is the master of the house, boy?" A lean-faced Templar demanded.

"My uncle's away on business, sir," Garrett answered.

"Don't lie to me, boy!" the man said, jabbing his cudgel into Garrett's shoulder so hard that it sent him reeling backward.

"I'm not, sir!" Garrett said, clutching his shoulder as he regained his balance.

The Templar squinted at him and grunted. "We'll know soon enough anyway," he said, "Search the house!"

The two other temple men moved past Garrett, one headed upstairs, the other into the parlor.

"What's wrong?" Garrett asked, "We haven't done anything!"

The Templar coughed out a rough laugh. "That's the problem!" he said, "You necromancers have failed in your duty, and now your assets are forfeit... to the Church."

"What?"

"You botched it, and now we're takin' your stuff!" he said, "Simple enough for you?"

"The army," Garrett said, "Are they..."

"Boy, I've got three more houses to secure tonight. Stand in the corner over there quiet
-
like and practice being under arrest... 'cause you are!"

Garrett's eyes went to the door and the rainy street beyond. He remembered the Night Watch and pushed the thought out of his mind. Then he remembered Lampwicke, and bolted toward the stairs.

"Stop him!" the Templar sergeant shouted.

Garrett was halfway up the stairs when a grinning Templar appeared at the top, ready to catch him. Garrett froze. He looked back to see the sergeant casually swing his cudgel to knock the onyx skull from atop the carved pillar at the foot of the banister.

"You're gonna wish you hadn't," the lean-faced Templar growled.

Garrett swung over the banister and dropped hard to the floor below. The essence flask in his shoulder bag banged against his ribs, knocking the wind from him, but he scrambled to his feet and ran down the hall.

The third Templar burst through the kitchen door and saw him. Garrett ducke
d down the shadowy hall that le
d to the basement with the man in close pursuit.

As Garrett ran past an open closet door, he sensed movement from the corner of his eye. Caleb lurched into the narrow hallway behind him as he passed, and the Templar ran into the zombie at a dead run.

The Templar and the zombie went down in a groaning, cursing heap as Garrett ran on. Garrett reached the cellar door and wrenched it open, turning to look back at his friend.

Caleb rolled a milky eye toward him, his face pressed to the floor by the Templar’s hand as the heavy man struggled to stand. Garrett started back toward him, but then the lean-faced sergeant vaulted over the fallen men, his face a mask of rage.

Garrett nearly tumbled down the cellar stairs and used both hands to spring the heavy latch of the sewer door. He had no time to grab a torch, but he saw the light of one flare to life in the room behind him. He was through the door and down the steps into the tunnel below a moment later. Then the light from behind bobbed crazily as the Templar yanked the torch from its sconce and followed.