The Copper Promise (21 page)

‘It is not so far,’ he said, in what he probably thought passed for a patient tone of voice. ‘Concentrate on walking, not complaining.’

‘Can’t you use some magic to make the bridge visible? That would be useful.’

‘And reveal the path to the vault? Don’t be ridiculous.’ He paused, then said, ‘There’s a sharp turn to the left just here. Keep close behind me.’

They continued that way for a good hour, inching slowly across the invisible bridge as it turned this way and that, gradually moving closer to the distant outcrop of rock. Strained sunlight shone off the stone, turning it into a white beacon amongst the dark foliage of the trees, and the sounds of the forest drifted up to them; birdsong, the wind tugging ceaselessly at branches just below their feet, and every now and then the crash and thump of larger animals moving through the forest.

Once they heard voices, and Frith motioned them to stop. The three of them stood still and silent, apparently suspended in mid-air as a pair of hunters walked by underneath, completely unaware of the people above them. Wydrin peered down between her boots, for the time being too curious to avoid looking at the drop, and she thought she saw a brief movement of something that could have been a hat, or a pair of shoulders, glimpsed through the filter of the leaves. A snatch of their conversation drifted up through the trees and then they were gone, deeper into the woods. After a few seconds, Frith moved them on.

Eventually the erratic bridge began to straighten out, and the three adventurers stood in front of the mound of stone that housed the Frith family vault. The invisible path led directly into a fissure in the rock. As they got closer, they could see it was actually a sizeable cave, tall enough even for Sebastian to walk in without having to stoop. The stone to either side of the cave was sheer with very few handholds, meaning it would be extremely difficult for anyone to reach from the ground, assuming they knew there was anything to find. The rock was a foreboding, lonely place, and there were no lights in the space in front of them. It reminded her of the Citadel.

‘We should go in,’ she said, reluctantly. ‘I suppose.’

‘Yes,’ said Frith, although he hardly sounded certain. He slipped the viewing glass into a pocket and removed the glass Crowleo had given him. The globe burst into sunny light, revealing the craggy cave entrance. At the far end was what looked like a wall of thick blue ice, completely covering the back of the cave.

‘That doesn’t look very promising,’ she said.

Frith marched up to the barrier and laid his hand against it.

‘It’s glass,’ he said. ‘It’s not cold at all.’

He was right. It was so thick that they could see nothing of what lay beyond; the light from the globe hit it and bounced back, twisted into a cold rainbow of colours.

‘Can you see a keyhole?’ asked Wydrin.

‘What good would that do?’ snapped Frith. ‘When we don’t have a key?’

‘Blood is the key,’ said Sebastian. His voice sounded far away. Wydrin turned to look at him and saw that he was swaying on his feet slightly. Against the black of his cloak his face was almost milk white, and she thought it had little to do with the walk across the invisible bridge.

‘Sebastian, you look terrible. Are you feeling all right?’

He waved away her question.

‘Late night, too much wine, nearly died the other day, remember? I’m fine. Blood is the key, Holley practically told us so. Only a Frith can hold the secret glass, and I’m willing to bet that only a Frith can open the vault.’

Frith took a short dagger from his belt, rolled up his sleeve and laid the blade against his forearm. Wydrin watched his face closely; he didn’t flinch as the skin split and the blood welled up. Once there was a sufficient amount he smeared it across the thick wall of glass.

For a few seconds, nothing happened at all. They could hear the wind blowing past the cave entrance, carrying the cries of birds and the green scent of the deep forest.

Then there was a shudder so violent that Wydrin stumbled, falling into Sebastian behind her, and the wall of apparently solid glass melted away like the ice it resembled. Beyond it was a large, round room with softly glowing lights in the ceiling. The walls were panelled with warm brown wood, and there were thick embroidered carpets on the floor, giving the impression of an expensive study. Heavy wooden chests were stacked everywhere, with bulging hessian sacks strewn between them. There were paintings on the walls too, all sombre portraits. An odd chemical stink hung in the air.

It wasn’t quite as Wydrin had imagined. She had expected dust and cobwebs, and, more importantly, piles and piles of gold coins and jewelled crowns and suchlike. Instead, it was all rather reserved and, well, organised. She walked over to the nearest chest and prised open the lid with one of her daggers. It was full of musty old documents, so she let the lid fall back with a thud.

‘Very cosy,’ she said, and turned back to look at Sebastian and Frith. The young lord was standing in front of one of the portraits. His face was very still.

‘That was my father,’ he said. The painting depicted a middle-aged man with nut-brown skin, dark hair swept back from his forehead, and a long, regal nose. Cool grey eyes stared out of the picture, wise and solemn. Frith nodded to the portrait next to it. ‘And that was my grandfather, and his father next to him. They must all be here.’ He swallowed, and Wydrin clearly heard the catch in his throat. ‘We had portraits like these in the castle, but they seem to have one of everyone here, too.’ There was a space on the wall next to old Lord Frith’s painting, where presumably his sons’ portraits would have hung. She could see Frith’s face in his father’s portrait, and like an echo, she could trace it back through all the paintings of his ancestors. What must it be like, she wondered, to have that much history behind you and to see it all scrubbed away?

Knowing it would do no good at all but needing to do it anyway, she rested a hand on his shoulder briefly.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

Frith looked away from the wall, saying nothing.

They searched the vault, and eventually Wydrin did find the gold she was after, in several ornate chests at the very back of the room. Sebastian watched her run her fingers through the coins with a wan smile on his face. Frith was sorting through piles and piles of documents and maps, most of which looked fragile and yellow under the strong lights. The room smelled of dust and old paper, the accumulated scent of forgotten things, with a sharper tang underneath which Sebastian didn’t recognise.

‘There are coins here from all across Ede,’ said Wydrin. ‘And there’re an awful lot I don’t recognise. Your family has been hoarding for a long time.’

‘The Friths are as old as the Blackwood,’ replied Frith in a distracted voice.

‘It’s good to know we won’t be beggaring you by collecting our fee,’ said Wydrin dryly. She wandered over to one of the hessian sacks and pulled it open. A strong scent of bile and rotten eggs filled the room.

‘
Urgh
. Whatever this was, I think it’s gone off.’

Frith glanced at the sacks, and nodded with recognition.

‘My father was a skilled alchemist. It seems he kept some of his most valuable and dangerous ingredients out here, where they cannot cause trouble.’ He gave Wydrin an appraising look. ‘Best wash your hands as soon as you’re able.’

Sebastian walked around the room, running his eyes over the crates and chests and sacks without really seeing any of it. He felt too warm, though when he placed his hand against the wall, it was cool under his fingers. It was difficult to think, to concentrate. The question was, of course, what were they going to do next? Frith had recovered at least part of his family’s legacy, although what that was worth when his lands were still under the control of murderers and bandits, Sebastian wasn’t sure. The young lord still had to take back his castle and have his revenge, whatever form that would take. He and Wydrin could leave now, he supposed. Take what they were owed, the copper promise fulfilled, and head off across Litvania to the distant coast. Take a boat from there over the Stoney Sea to Crosshaven, find another job and another willing employer, since that was what his life had become …

But that wasn’t all, was it? What of Pinehold? And what of the dragon’s daughters? He could feel them now, a hot stone deep within his chest, like a fever brewing.

He crouched next to Frith. The young lord had spread several yellowing maps on the ground in front of him and was peering at each closely.

‘What now, my lord?’ asked Sebastian eventually. Frith did not look up. ‘I know that you have the means to pay us, and you are a step closer to regaining your lands. It may be that it is time for us to part ways.’ He took a deep breath. ‘But by the code of the Ynnsmouth knights, I cannot, in all good conscience, leave this land while there are innocents being killed and tortured in the name of tyranny and demon-worship. I must return, and I hope that—’

Frith held up one of the maps.

‘Does this look like a river to you? There’s no key on this drawing, I think it is unfinished.’ Frith sat back on his haunches, frowning. ‘All the secrecy, all the conspiracies. By all accounts there should be some sort of huge revelation here, some reason that the vault has been so closely guarded. Yet all I see are maps, documents, and bags of gold. Nothing worth dying over, surely.’

‘What?’ Sebastian glanced at the map, and scowled. ‘Are you even listening to me?’

‘The people, yes, the torture. You know, I believe this is my father’s own hand. Where did he get this?’

‘Frith,’ Sebastian stood up abruptly. The fire in his chest was making it hard to think. ‘How can you sit there talking about the jottings of dead men, when your own people are being massacred? To keep your secrets!’

Frith finally looked up, his eyebrows raised at the volume of Sebastian’s voice.

‘These are maps,’ he said, gesturing to the parchments. ‘Not just of Litvania and her towns and villages, but of the lands beneath.’ He shook his head wonderingly. ‘The tunnel that Crowleo showed us is but one of many. Pinehold is riddled with them.’

Wydrin appeared at Sebastian’s elbow.

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know, but they appear to be ancient. There are maps of the tunnels, all over my lands. It looks as though my father was investigating them.’

‘What does that have to do with anything?’ said Sebastian. His head was pounding now, and he thought he could smell smoke again.

‘I have a plan,’ said Frith, regarding them with his serious grey eyes. ‘A plan that, if it succeeds, will release Pinehold and destroy Fane and his pet monsters.’

They were on the border of Relios now. The Thirty-Third knew this because the Ninety-Seventh had found a picture in the book she’d taken from the library, and the picture showed the lands they were crossing. After a moment or two of staring at it, she’d remembered it was called a map.

The village they were at now was apparently too small to be shown on the map, so it had no name. She sat on a low scrubby hill outside it and watched for people escaping. That was her job today; some of her sisters were inside the village, running through the streets and breaking into houses, chasing down the humans inside and killing them. She could hear the screams, and, every now and then, laughter. Her sisters were enjoying themselves.

It was a hot day and the sun had warmed her golden armour until a human wouldn’t have been able to touch it without getting burnt. She shifted on the ground, comfortable, content, but alert. The idea of a cat occurred to her, but she wasn’t entirely sure what that was.

‘Let me see it.’

The Thirty-Third looked sharply to her left to see two of her brood sisters approaching. One was the Ninety-Seventh, walking stiffly with her arms at her side, and the other was the Twelfth. The Twelfth was slightly larger than her sister, a little broader across the shoulders. She was following the Ninety-Seventh closely, her yellow eyes half shut against the sun.

‘It’s mine,’ replied the Ninety-Seventh. ‘You can’t see it.’

The Thirty-Third stood up as they approached.

‘What is it?’

The Ninety-Seventh looked up. The book she’d taken from the library was tied to her back with twine, next to the sword. It couldn’t have been comfortable – their armour and swords were as much a part of them as their green skin, grown alongside them in the birthing pits – but the Thirty-Third had seen her carrying it around everywhere, even in the midst of slaughter, and then leafing through the pages late into the night when it was too dark to see.

‘She has this book,’ said the Twelfth. ‘And she won’t let me look at it.’

‘It’s mine,’ said the Ninety-Seventh. She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘She can get her own book.’

The Thirty-Third frowned. In the brood army, all were the same, and they shared everything. No one had anything the other did not, because they were all the same. But were they?
I am the Thirty-Third,
she thought.
I am not the Ninety-Seventh, or the Fortieth, or the Hundred and Eighth. I stand apart from them, with different words in my head
. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly to try and block some of this out.

‘We are all the same,’ she said, although she was no longer quite sure she believed it. ‘What does it matter who holds the book?’

The Ninety-Seventh stuck her lower lip out.

‘I got this one myself. It’s mine.’

‘I only want to look at the words,’ said the Twelfth. Her broad face was creased with the same confusion the Thirty-Third felt.

‘There will be other books in the village,’ said the Thirty-Third, suddenly certain of this fact. ‘Or other things with words on, at least. We should go in there and look for them.’

The Ninety-Seventh looked back to the village. One of the small buildings was on fire already.

‘But Mother said to stay here,’ she said, her voice a whisper. ‘Not to go in the village.’

And why was that?
It wasn’t as though Y’Ruen usually worried about survivors. They caught them all eventually.

‘It won’t hurt to look,’ she said. ‘Then we can all—’