The Copper Promise (13 page)

Frith cleared his throat.

‘I didn’t mean to cause either of you injury.’

‘How did you do it? Useful thing to know how to do.’

Frith shook his head, looking out into the dark.

‘I’m not sure I could tell you, even if you were capable of understanding. The knowledge is there inside my head, but it’s like it’s written in a language I cannot decipher. Sometimes, like when I brought down the ceiling in the Citadel, or I healed the knight, the power that is simmering inside me seems to boil up and take over.’

‘And you brought us here from Krete.’

‘A useful power, but a dangerous one. My control over where we arrive is shaky at best, if you recall. It seems to be summoned by desperation, or fear. I’m not sure I could even do it again.’ He frowned. ‘If you really want to know, I did intend to land us somewhere within the grounds of the castle. The kitchens, in fact, but this –’ he gestured around at the trees pressing in on all sides – ‘Blackwood trees, soldier pines, red oaks … we could be anywhere. Not to mention I am unsure what the violence of our passage has done to the place we’ve left behind.’

Wydrin shrugged.

‘With a bit of luck, it will have killed the rest of those pointy-toothed bitches. I took quite a beating from them, I don’t mind telling you, and I’m a tough old feline.’

‘Where are you injured? Perhaps I can help.’ Frith stepped up close to her.

‘Nothing too drastic. Don’t you worry your silvery head about it, princeling. I’ve had worse.’

‘I can help though.’ He took hold of her arm, and she gasped.

‘There?’

‘I think I took a good knock to it when I fell on the steps. Probably bruised a bone or something. Not that I’m going to keep on about it but that
was
your fault. And I cut my head.’

‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘I saw the blood.’ Keeping one hand on her arm, he placed the fingers of his other hand on one side of her face, and then gently pushed them back into her hair. His eyes were unfocussed, and his face was very close to hers.

‘What are you doing?’ Being this close to him made her uneasy. His hands felt warm against her cold skin.

‘Be quiet,’ he said. A flicker of annoyance passed over his face. ‘The power is rising. Do not disrupt it.’

‘There really is no need. A glass or two of mead and I’ll be right as—’

‘Wydrin.’ His tone brooked no argument. ‘Be quiet.’

She did as he bid, quietly making a note to get her own back later. His hands were more than warm now, they were hot, and her skin was beginning to tingle where he touched her. It was not an entirely unpleasant experience. A soft pink glow began to grow between them.

‘I think it’s working,’ said Frith, a hint of wonder in his voice.

‘I can feel it.’ Wydrin couldn’t help grinning, and he returned the smile. ‘It’s like slipping into a bath that’s slightly too hot, and it makes you kind of sleepy …’

A low rumbling growl from behind them dried up the words in her throat. Looking over Frith’s shoulder she could see a pair of huge green eyes emerging from the gloom, just above a slavering set of pointed teeth. The creature that lumbered towards them out of the dark was a walking nightmare; it resembled a bear, but it was taller, with longer, thinner limbs and short grey hair on its musty pelt. The head was elongated, apparently to make room for the row upon row of jagged teeth set in its jaw, while its luminous eyes seemed to swivel in their sockets. It came for them on its back legs, seven and a half feet of muscle and teeth.

Wydrin broke away from Frith’s embrace and slid both daggers from her belt in one smooth movement. Frith looked momentarily dazed, but when the animal roared again, a furious rattle in the back of its throat, the pink glow around his hands vanished abruptly and he turned to face it.

‘A Blackwood bear,’ he said as he retreated. ‘Very dangerous.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know, princeling!’

The creature dropped to all fours and roared again, peeling blackened lips back from teeth shiny with slaver. The back of its throat was very pink, and Wydrin found she could hardly drag her eyes from it. As she watched, it lowered its head and dragged its paws through the dirt, leaving ragged lines on the forest floor.

‘Get behind me,’ said Frith.

‘Get behind you? I’m the one with the daggers!’

‘I can stop it.’

‘And you know how to do that, do you?’

But before he could answer the bear was charging. Wydrin dived out the way and ran for the nearest tree, but Frith only sidestepped, holding his hands up as if they were powerful weapons.

‘What are you doing? Run!’

The bear came to a stop some feet away before shaking its long narrow head and sniffing the air noisily. The oddly blind-looking eyes swivelled round to find them again, and soon it was shifting around for a second strike, saliva dripping from its jaws. Frith watched it warily, circling constantly to prove a harder target. Wydrin paused at the foot of the tree, torn between running for safety and seeing the source of her future riches get ripped into tiny pieces.

‘I can do this,’ cried Frith, but there was no light of any kind emitting from his hands now; no rosy glow, no forked lightning. For a moment the animal paused, as though it were confused by its prey’s failure to retreat. ‘I just need to … remember.’

‘It’s going to eat you!’

The bear rose up on its back legs again, roaring as it threw itself towards Frith. Swearing bitterly, Wydrin ran at its back and jumped, hooking both daggers into the creature’s meaty shoulders. It bellowed, so loudly that Wydrin thought she would fall off from the force of that alone, and hot blood soaked her forearms. She pulled one dagger free and tried to bring it down once more into the animal’s thick neck while digging her knees into its back, but it took the opportunity to shake her off, and the next thing she knew she was face down in a clump of thistles.

She turned over onto her back only to see the creature looming above her. Beyond its head she could see the cool indifference of that evening’s stars, and the black branches of the trees stretching towards them, forever out of reach. The bear roared again, blasting her with its foul breath.

‘
Urgh
. You smell as bad as you look.’

Wydrin instinctively grabbed for her daggers only to discover she had neither; one, presumably, was still stuck in the creature’s back, and she’d lost the other when she’d been thrown to the ground. She just had time to curse Frith and his reliance on magic before the bear lunged at her, teeth bared … when it suddenly sprouted three feet of silvery steel from its neck. Wydrin saw the puzzlement in its eyes before it fell over sideways, revealing Sebastian on the other end of his sword. He placed a booted foot on the animal’s head and drew it free again, the blade slick with blood.

‘As I think I mentioned before, this isn’t the friendliest of forests,’ he said.

The roof of the building had caved in, opening it to the night sky. The rows and rows of wooden shelves were on fire, as were their contents, but fire held little threat for the Thirty-Third. She walked sedately down the burning aisles while ash and flakes of paper flew up towards the hole in the roof, carried on the waves of heated air. They spiralled past her like errant fireflies, although she wasn’t sure why she thought that. Certainly she couldn’t remember ever seeing a firefly herself. Clouds of black smoke were making it hard to see, and the smell was scratching at the back of her throat. It would be uncomfortable to stay here much longer.

‘Sister.’ A lithe figure stepped from the smoke to her left. It was the Ninety-Seventh, her green skin smudged with ashes. ‘Do you know what this building was?’

The Thirty-Third looked around, taking in the brick walls, the shelves with their rows and rows of squarish, leather-covered items. Some of the shelves reached halfway to the roof. She picked one of the items off a shelf that was only smouldering and turned it over in her hands until the word came to her.

‘These are books,’ she said.

‘Yes.’ The Ninety-Seventh came towards her. She had handfuls of blackened paper in her fists. ‘And this was a
library
.’ She said the word very carefully, as if not entirely sure how it sounded. ‘Isn’t it curious that we know?’

‘Is it?’ The Thirty-Third shifted her weight. It was hot, and she was growing bored.

‘I think so, yes. Do you remember knowing the words before? When we were below the rocks?’

‘How would I know? We have never seen these
books
.’

‘But we know what they are.’ The Ninety-Seventh looked down at the paper in her hands. The heat was now intense enough for it to have burst into flames again, so she threw it onto the floor and snatched the book from her brood sister’s hands. ‘Here, look at this.’ She opened it to a random page, revealing lines and lines of small black shapes. She held it up in front of the Thirty-Third’s face. ‘Look at it!’

The Thirty-Third ran her eyes down the page, and to her surprise, images came to her mind that weren’t there before. A green meadow with a swollen stream at its heart, still choked with pieces of ice from a recent snowstorm. She shook her head abruptly.

‘What was that?’

‘Words. Books. Library. Words!’ The Ninety-Seventh shook the book at her. Her delicate features were twisted in confusion. ‘We can speak and we can read. These are the words in our heads written down.’ She turned to another page and read randomly,
‘in the spring the ice-melt will be gone and the salmon will return’
.

‘So what?’ said the Thirty-Third. She felt uneasy.

‘This is new. Beneath the ground we knew none of this. We slept, we ate, we waited. We listened to the sound of our mother’s voice. There were no words in our heads.’

For a moment the Ninety-Seventh’s lips trembled, and the Thirty-Third took hold of her arm firmly. She could feel her sister’s confusion, and for the first time in her short life she was afraid.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, forcing her voice to be steady. ‘We should leave now.’

As if summoning it, there was a huge roar from outside, and the walls of the building shook, sending an avalanche of dust into the fires. The library would not be standing much longer.

‘Mother is calling us,’ said the Ninety-Seventh. Her eyes caught her sister’s and the Thirty-Third knew they were both thinking of the same thing. Of the
other
one. Where was he now?

The Thirty-Third and the Ninety-Seventh of the brood army left at a pace, heading for the cool evening air beyond the smouldering doorway. The Ninety-Seventh still clutched the book to her chest.

Sebastian stood alone in a field of blood. In the distance he could see the jagged blue mountains of home, the sacred god-peaks of Isu, Ryn, Ynn and Isri. He could feel them watching him, particularly Isu, to whom his sword had been sworn, but they were so very far away. For a moment he felt the longing he hid from himself in the waking hours; to be back with his sworn brothers, the weight of the mountain’s voice forever in his heart.

He looked down and was surprised to find he was wearing the clothes he had worn on his first pilgrimage to Isu. A thick cloak of blue wool covered his shoulders, and his surcoat was embroidered with the symbols of a novice. The closed fist, the hawk in flight, a ring of stones – each constituted a hard-won lesson. There was a pain in his chest, sharp and insistent. Had he been wounded?

A roar dragged his eyes back up to the horizon, and his nostrils filled with the stench of burning flesh. A great shadow was coming, passing over the god-peaks and covering them in a deep darkness, as though they were little more than hills in the sand. It rushed on towards him, bringing a tide of smothering fear. Sebastian shrank back, fumbling to draw his sword from its scabbard with fingers suddenly numb, but the shadow passed on and over him before he could strike. The roar sounded again, so loud that Sebastian dropped to his knees.

‘What are you?’ he cried, and a thousand voices answered.

‘We are ruin. We are your children.’

He woke with a start, the pain in his chest fading swiftly, although the images from the dream did not. Wydrin stood over him with one boot resting on his leg and her hands on her hips. There was a strong scent of cooking eggs in the air.

‘If you want any breakfast, you want to move fast,’ she said. ‘Three days in this miserable forest have given me quite the appetite.’ She gave his leg another shove for good measure, and went back to the fire. Frith was bent over the battered iron pan with a fork and an expression of intense concentration on his face.

Sebastian sat up, wondering if his colleague had spotted the way his hands were trembling. She didn’t normally miss such things, but then Wydrin before breakfast was somewhat unpredictable. In truth, he had rarely felt less like eating.

‘Where did we get eggs from?’

‘Our woodsman here found a nest,’ said Wydrin, gesturing to Frith. ‘Weird little blue-green eggs; I wouldn’t touch them, but he reckons they’ll taste fine once they’re all scrambled up.’

‘And that is not all I found,’ said Frith, looking up from the pan. ‘There is a small town less than an hour’s walk from here.’

Despite the dread lining his stomach, Sebastian was glad to hear that. Since their sudden arrival in the midst of the Blackwood they had been walking, trying to find one of the numerous small villages Frith insisted populated the region. The problem was that Frith only had the vaguest idea where they’d arrived, and so far the place had been conspicuously free of landmarks. By the second day, Wydrin had taken to exclaiming wonder at each new copse of trees or pile of stones, until Sebastian was certain she and Frith would come to blows again. It didn’t help that twice now Frith’s magic had burst into life of its own accord, setting fire to a bush on one occasion, and later lighting up the young lord like a beacon and scaring scores of birds from the surrounding trees. He said there was nothing he could do to control it, and the apparently random nature of the mage’s power seemed to have put Frith in a volatile mood, particularly when Wydrin insisted on referring to it as ‘the princeling’s little problem’.