Songreaver (3 page)

"Your birdhouses?" Garrett asked.

Cenick laughed, a pearly grin splitting his
black-runed face. "Those too," he said, "but I'm mostly concerned
about my root carvings. If some of those got into the wrong
hands... I'd rather not think about what could happen."

Garrett nodded politely. He was never quite
certain when Cenick was being serious. A sudden thought occurred to
him then. "What did Miss Serepheni mean when she said she was
making me a Templar? Do you think she really meant what she said
after the battle... about me joining the Church?"

Cenick's smile vanished, and the skin around
his eyes twitched a little. "I really wish she hadn't done that,"
he said.

"Why not?"

Cenick mulled his words a moment before
speaking again. "It makes things... complicated... and
dangerous."

"Am I supposed to do something for her, or
what?" Garrett asked.

Cenick laid a hand on Garrett's shoulder.
"Don't worry about it," he said, "I'll sort it out with Max. The
best we can hope for is that she's forgotten all about saying it,
and everything goes back to normal."

"But what if they want me to do... priesty
stuff? Do I have to wear green and worship the snake goddess or
something?"

Cenick looked annoyed. "Mauravant was a worm,
not a snake... and anyway, the Templars aren't priests. They're
just armored guards. They enforce the laws of the church in Wythr.
Most of them are about as pious as a crypt rat."

Garrett frowned.

Cenick squeezed his shoulder and smiled
again. "In any case, the high priestess would never allow a
necromancer in the Chapel Ward anyway," he said, "We'd desecrate
the place with our unholy presence."

Garrett laughed.

Cenick stood up. "Do you need help with your
tent?" he asked.

"No," Garrett said, "Warren should be around
somewhere. I'll get him to help me."

Cenick nodded. "Find me if you need anything,
but don't take too long. We move out at sundown."

Garrett waved goodbye as Cenick stalked away,
shouting orders at the shambling horde of undead that struggled to
strike camp.

Garrett finished getting dressed and put on
the golden skull medallion that Max had given him. The cool weight
of it against his chest felt reassuring, though he still felt the
pang of loss at having his original necromancer's talisman, the one
that Uncle had given him, stolen by Johann Prex. He pushed the
memory of the Inquisitor out of his mind and stood up outside the
tent. "Warren?" he called out.

A badly decomposed zombie in a rotted green
tabard lifted its head and groaned questioningly.

"No," Garrett said, "I'm looking for my
friend. Just... never mind."

The zombie lifted a tent stake in its hand
and moaned. Its milky white eyes stared at him, unblinking.

"No, I don't need anything, thank you."
Garrett sighed, waving his hand dismissively, "Go... do something
else... I
command
it."

The zombie lowered its head and shambled off,
looking slightly disappointed.

Garrett called to his friend again, but no
one answered. Garrett was beginning to worry.

He took the time to gather his few belongings
and stuffed them into a satchel. He placed the dented metal essence
flask into an easy to reach spot. It sloshed, only about a third
full. Marla had insisted that he keep some handy in case he needed
to work magic. He had argued that more experienced necromancers
like Max and Cenick would get better use from the precious
substance, but then he had never yet won an argument with
Marla.

He thought about trying to gather Warren's
things as well, but ghouls had a rather transitory concept of
personal property, and, at the moment, Warren's estate consisted of
one broken algae lamp and two loaves of moldy sausage bread. He
decided to leave the tent in place and set off in search of the
early-rising ghoul.

He found Warren at the bottom of the narrow
gulley where the other ghouls made their camp. Actually, it was
more like a nest.

Garrett's nose wrinkled at the stench of
death and baking pies. He wasn't sure why they bothered hiding in a
ravine when all that the enemy would have to do to find the place
was to stand anywhere downwind of it.

"Hi, Warren. Hi, Mr. Bargas!" Garrett called
out.

Warren and his father looked up at Garrett's
approach. Warren had a slightly pained expression.

"Mornin', boy!" Bargas said. The huge,
patchy-haired ghoul greeted him with a grin like a row of steak
knives, old, chipped steak knives that had never been cleaned.

"Good morning, everyone," Garrett added for
the benefit of the forty or so other ghouls who sat, gnawing meat
and cracking bones.

"Hi, Garrett!" Diggs and Scupp said together
as the brother and sister ghouls looked up from some sort of dice
game that involved a bewildering assortment of knucklebones. Diggs
sported a nasty bruise across his face, and his left eye was
swollen almost completely shut.

"Are you all right?" Garrett asked.

"Yeah, fine. Why'd ya ask?" Diggs replied,
cheerfully.

Garrett half lifted his hand to his own face.
"Ah... your eye."

"Oh! That's nothin'." Diggs shrugged his
furry shoulders and turned his good eye back to the dice game.

"War hammer to the face is all," his sister
said with a vicious grin, "He got brave and tried to run one of 'em
down. If Ma had seen him act such a fool, she'd a dipped his tail
in sealing wax."

"Well it's a good thing Ma's not here, ain't
it?" Diggs growled.

"No problem," Scupp said, "She told me to
make a list o' your wrongdoin's for when you get home."

"A list?" Diggs scoffed, "I'll give ya a few
entries for yer list right now!"

"No you don't!" Scupp howled as her brother
sprang at her, sending a board full of dice flying through the
air.

Diggs and Scupp scratched and yelped and
rolled in the mud, neither one gaining the upper hand. Garrett gave
the pair a wide berth as he made his way over to where Warren and
his father stood.

"Hi, Garrett," Warren said. He was having
trouble looking Garrett directly in the eye.

"What's going on?" Garrett asked.

"Eh, you remember Miss Ymowyn, don'tcha?"
Bargas asked.

"Yeah," Garrett said, "she's not in trouble
is she?"

"No... not yet," Bargas said, "and we're
gonna see to it that she won't be. We all stand together on things
like this."

"Because she's a ghoul too?" Garrett
asked.

"'Cause she's a friend," Bargas answered,
"but that too, yeah."

"Can I help?" Garrett asked.

Warren looked down at his feet, and Bargas's
black lips pulled tight over his teeth.

"I'm afraid you can't be in this, boy,"
Bargas sighed.

"Because I'm not a ghoul?" Garrett asked,
"She helped me too. Without her help..." He didn't like to think
about that possibility.

"No, boy!" Bargas said, "You know you're one
of us now." He leaned over to grasp the back of Garrett's neck with
one massive paw. He meant the gesture to seem fatherly, but Garrett
half feared that the ghoul might snap his neck by accident.

"You can't go, because we're going back to
Braedshal," Warren said, his voice hard.

A cold realization spread through Garrett's
body, making his chest ache. The people of Braedshal thought that
Garrett had murdered their king. He remembered them trying to fight
their way to him, to tear him apart. He could never go back there
again. "You're going without me?" he asked.

Warren sighed. "We won't be gone long,
Garrett. We've just gotta go get her out of there before something
happens to her."

"But, what if that Prex guy is there,"
Garrett asked, "What if he can find you too? Shouldn't you ask Max
for help? Maybe the vampires can get her out?"

Bargas's face darkened at the mention of
vampires. He glanced at his son, but seemed to swallow whatever he
was about to say. "Listen, boy," he said, "Nobody alive knows how
to hide like a ghoul does when he don't wanna be found. Even if a
few redjacks get lucky and sniff us out... well, a ghoul's gotta
eat, y' know."

A few nearby ghouls snickered at the
joke.

"And, anyway," Bargas added, "You've got your
own duty to your own kin."

"Huh?"

"Your uncle's house," Bargas said, "They took
it from you 'cause it was just you alone to defend it. Now you're
comin' back for it with an army. Tinjin's my oldest friend, but
you're his family... the closest thing he's still got in this world
to a son. You go and get his house back. You make him proud,
boy!"

"We'll be all right," Warren said, "I
promise."

Garrett nodded, not trusting himself to
speak.

Chapter Four

After three days on the road south, the skies
had darkened to a perpetual, drizzly gray, and Garrett knew that he
had seen the last of the sun. The patter of light rain on his hood
and the damp, sluggish chill of the wind suited his mood
perfectly.

In his mind, he replayed, over and over
again, his farewell to Marla, just before leaving the swamp. She
had rushed through her goodbyes, giving him a quick hug, the kind
an adult might give someone else's child, and made him promise to
take care of himself. The Moonwings took to the skies while the
last rays of sunlight reddened the evening clouds. He had watched
her fly away towards Wythr and the safety of home.

He sat astride the dire wolf Ghausse who
padded along silently beneath him. Marla had insisted that the wolf
would see him home safely. Garrett had long since overcome his fear
of the huge riding wolf, and even grown quite fond of him. Ghausse
too, seemed far more at ease since their first meeting. The big
wolf had grown accustomed to the traces of death magic that
lingered on necromancers like Garrett, a scent which caused most
animals to react with fear or aggression.

The other wolves, Hauskr and Reigha, had
raced ahead to find their own way back to Wythr, the capital city
of Gloar. Warren no longer needed to ride. He, his father, and a
half dozen other ghouls had already departed, on paw, toward the
Astorran border. Chunnley, the brown-furred ghoul, had agreed to
accompany the army and the remainder of the Marrowvyn ghouls back
to Wythr in service as the camp cook, much to Jitlowe's chagrin who
had taken to preparing his own meals after finding a Chadirian belt
buckle at the bottom of his soup bowl one evening. Jitlowe, a
Zhadeen gentleman of impeccable tastes, had never shared his fellow
necromancers' familiarity with the carrion-eating ghouls.

Jitlowe and the other necromancers who had
survived the campaign rode at the heads of the columns of zombies
under their command, spread out like a great, writhing undead snake
three miles long and nearly a mile wide. Max had taken advantage of
the lull between the battle of the moon pool and the news of their
strategic victory to replenish the ranks of the Gloaran army. For
all practical purposes, it was now
his
army. He rode at its
head with Serepheni at his side as
Zarathul
, Deathlord of
the Northern Wastes.

Garrett rode a short distance behind Max and
Serepheni, falling further back as they traveled. The two lovers
rode along, cheerfully discussing plans for their future, and the
sound of their laughter grated on Garrett's nerves. He did not
begrudge his friend Max his happiness. Garrett knew that Max's life
must have been every bit as hard as his own... another one of
Tinjin's orphans. Still, that tired, headachy image of Marla taking
Claude's hand as they ran toward their waiting gaunts throbbed in
his brain and made his friend's laughter sound like mockery.

"Garrett," Cenick called out as he rode his
shaggy little pony up beside him, "Would you care to ride out and
do some scouting with me?"

Garrett looked up, sniffing and blinking.
"What?"

"We need to scout those trees ahead," Cenick
said, "Ride with me."

"Yeah," Garrett said, hoarsely.

"Are you deserting your troops, Captain
Cenick?" Max called back in an imperious tone. "Gah!" he added, in
his own voice, "When are you ever going to pick a last name? I
can't just call you
Captain Cenick
forever. It shows too
much familiarity. Bad for morale, you know."

Cenick scoffed. "I thought I was a general by
now?"

"Depends on how much I like you on any given
day," Max said, "How do you feel about
Corporal
?"

Cenick laughed.

"Oh, Max!" Serepheni chided him.

"Who told you to go scouting anyway?" Max
demanded.

"Common sense... and boredom," Cenick said,
"and anyway, I gave my troops strict orders."

"Which were?" Max asked.

"Walk... straight."

Serepheni giggled.

"Fair enough," Max sighed, "Just don't get
into too much fun. Then everyone will want to go
scouting
."

Cenick grinned and nodded at Garrett, and the
two of them rode together toward the distant tree line.

Once they were well away from the others,
Cenick slowed his pony to a trot beside Garrett's wolf and asked,
"What's bothering you?"

Garrett glanced at him and then looked down
at the tall grass that swept past their legs as they rode. "I don't
know," he said.

"You're worrying about the future again,
aren't you?" Cenick asked.

Garrett tried to laugh. "People worry about
the future all the time, don't they?" he asked.

Cenick shrugged. "Doesn't do any good if they
do," he said.

Garrett frowned. "Isn't that what we're doing
now? I mean riding ahead to check things out, it's because you're
worried about what might be up there, right?"

"I'm not the least bit worried about what
might lay ahead," Cenick said, "but that doesn't mean I don't have
the good sense to be cautious about it."