The Copper Promise (22 page)

A sudden furtive movement caught her eye; two humans running from the outskirts of the village. At first they made for the low hills, before they caught sight of the brood sisters standing on the thin grass. They turned and ran to the east.

‘Humans,’ she said, and the three brood sisters moved as one, all thought of books and words and disobeying Mother’s orders immediately forgotten. The Thirty-Third shot down the hill, drawing the long crystal blade as she did, hearing the soft, sonorous sighs as her sisters did the same. The humans were young, male and female, both fit but neither fast enough to outrun the brood sisters, and soon the Thirty-Third was on the heels of the young woman. She’d pulled her skirts up to her knees to run faster, and the Thirty-Third could hear the high-pitched keening noises humans sometimes made when they were frightened. She lashed out with a clawed hand, dragging it across the young woman’s back until she stumbled and fell. At the sound of her distress the man stopped, perhaps to help her back to her feet, but the Ninety-Seventh took his head off with one powerful blow from her sword. It shot into the air and fell to the dirt some feet away.

The woman screamed for a long time. The Thirty-Third found she tired of it sooner than usual, and when she looked into her sisters’ faces she saw the same fatigue reflected there. Instead of playing with the creature for a few hours as they usually might, she pushed her sword into the woman’s mouth, silencing her for ever.

‘Let’s search her,’ said the Twelfth eagerly. ‘She might have words on her.’

‘That is silly,’ said the Ninety-Seventh. Her voice was tight and sour. ‘She is not a book.’

The Thirty-Third licked the blood from her fingers and went through the woman’s clothes. In the long skirts there were a number of pockets, and she emptied the contents out onto the grass; three buttons carved from bone, a fabric packet full of seeds, a small knife, blunt and well-used, and a lock of blond hair, tied with a red ribbon. She held this last item out to her sisters.

‘What is that?’ asked the Twelfth.

The Thirty-Third placed it under her nose and sniffed. It smelled of milk and vomit.

‘It belonged to a human infant,’ she said. An item precious enough to keep in your skirts next to you at all times, but where was the infant now? She remembered the family she’d spoken to in Krete, and how the desperation to save their boy had been pouring out of them like sweat. She couldn’t imagine that this woman with her buttons and seeds could have left the child. Unless the child couldn’t be saved any more.

She turned the lock of hair over in her fingers. It was very soft.

‘Mother is coming now,’ said the Ninety-Seventh, pointing up into the sky. A great black shape as familiar to the Thirty-Third as her own hands drifted in front of the sun. Y’Ruen had come to destroy what was left of the village.

As the fire began to rain down, the three of them walked away, retreating back to the low hills.

It was laughter that told Crowleo they were coming.

He was in one of the topmost rooms, sorting through his mistress’ papers when he heard it; high and girlish, and somehow cruel. He crossed to the window and saw a group of men emerging from the treeline beyond the rocky ground. One of them was tall with dark hair, and although it was difficult to make out his features at this distance, Crowleo knew his face would be scarred and raw. The men who walked with him were slim and blond haired, and as he watched they doubled from two, to four, to six. The Children of the Fog were laughing.

Still holding armfuls of the old woman’s designs, he flew down the stairs and nearly collided with Holley, who was coming up them. In here she looked to be in her mid-thirties, the first laughter lines creasing her eyes.

‘Woah there, boy, you can still break these bones you know.’

‘They’re coming!’ gasped Crowleo, shaking the papers at her. ‘He’s looking for them! And you know they won’t go away without answers …’

To his irritation, the old woman nodded slowly.

‘I know, lad, I know. Listen to me now, close like.’ She produced a contraption of leather and glass from her apron and pressed it into Crowleo’s hands. He glanced down at it briefly to see a smudged inscription on the fabric:
For The Copper Cat
.
Truth, for what good it’ll do you.
‘Take that, and go out the back way. Don’t stop to take anything else, just go. I want you to go down the Sheer Steps, and wait there. You understand me, boy?’

Crowleo nodded numbly. The Sheer Steps were a series of rough handholds cut directly into the cliff behind the Secret Keeper’s house. Halfway down was a ledge, hidden by stubby little trees that grew out of the craggy rock.

‘But what …?’

‘I’ll just have a chat with them, that’s all. Now go, or you’ll feel the back of my hand. And keep what you’ve got there safe.’

Crowleo went, although he only made it as far as the backyard. He could hear them coming up to the front of the house, chatting and laughing as though they were on their way to market. Despite Holley’s instructions, he found he wanted to get a closer look at them so he edged over to the wall at the side and peeked cautiously around the corner. There had to be ten Children of the Fog now, ten grinning, chuckling ghouls with blond hair and sharp smiles. Why were there so many? What was Fane expecting to find?

‘Come out, old woman!’ bellowed Fane. He was grinning, and Crowleo could see the raw parts of his flesh twisting and stretching. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. Had any interesting house guests lately?’

Crowleo couldn’t see her from where he stood, but he heard Holley’s voice. She sounded unreasonably relaxed, just as though there were no murderous thieves outside her house.

‘What’s it to ya?’

‘A girl, red hair, bit scrawny for my liking but with a reasonable pair of tits, a big man from the mountains, and another one, a skinny streak of piss with white hair and a grudge. Sound familiar?’

Amazingly, Holley laughed.

‘I’m sure I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

Fane nodded, as if he expected nothing less.

‘Your boy was recognised, old woman. People saw him fleeing with my prisoners.’

‘My boy?’ Holley shrugged. ‘My boy has been working non-stop for the last three days, he’s had no time for dallying at Pinehold. What’s the matter? You killed everyone in the town and now you’re looking for fresh peasants to torture, is that it?’

‘Roki, bring her to me.’

Crowleo tensed, took a few steps towards them, and stopped. What could he do? He was one man, and unarmed. His heart thudded sickly in his chest and he bunched his hands into fists, crumpling his mistress’ papers. One of the blond men came forward; he disappeared from sight for a few moments, then reappeared dragging Holley towards Fane. Beyond the enchanted light of the windows, she was ancient once more, and it was clear she could do little to resist.

‘I’ll ask you again,’ said Fane, pleasantly. He pulled a knife from his belt as he spoke. Crowleo saw it glint in the late afternoon light. ‘These people. The man calling himself Frith. Where are they now? Have you seen them? Are they hiding in this house of yours?’

‘By the gods, but you’re ugly,’ said Holley in a conversational tone of voice. ‘Is that why you keep cutting bits of your face off?’

Crowleo saw the twitch of rage that twisted Fane’s face from where he stood. He swore softly under his breath.

‘Let me show you,’ said Fane. He put on the battered half-helm, and it began to glow as Roki and Enri’s armour glowed. He held up the knife, and the approaching storm-light ran along its surface in a flash. ‘I make this offering to Bezcavar, he who hungers for suffering, and he who gives us power.’ He brought the knife down, but rather than attacking the old woman, he cut into his own arm. Blood welled up, painfully bright against his skin. Fane grinned, stretching the scars on his face. ‘Only for Bezcavar will my blood be spilt.’

Hidden behind the house, Crowleo shivered. The temperature was dropping unnaturally fast, although whether that was just the storm approaching, he couldn’t have said. He knew he was frightened, possibly more frightened than he’d ever been, even when he’d watched both his parents sicken and die in the plagues. He’d thought the Children of the Fog were terrifying, but there was something else here now, something worse. His skin was crawling.

‘Filthy demon-worshipper!’ Holley tried to pull away then, to fight. Three more of the Children of the Fog came forward to hold her still.

The anger left Fane’s face. Now he looked exalted. He reached out and grabbed Holley by her apron, yanking her off her feet and thrusting her into the air. The Secret Keeper was an old woman and no doubt a lot lighter than she’d been in her youth, but the ease with which Fane dragged her off the ground was still unnerving.

‘You will be my next sacrifice, old girl.’

Still holding Holley over his head, Fane marched towards the edge of the cliff. Crowleo shuffled backwards rapidly, taking cover behind a pile of firewood. He watched from behind split timbers as Fane walked to the very edge, a few feet away from the first of the Sheer Steps.

‘Forgive me, Bezcavar, for these old bones I offer you now,’ he said. ‘I promise you fresh blood next time.’

And with that he threw Holley off the cliff.

By the time they left the vault the storm had broken, and it took Frith a few moments to realise that the darkness hanging over the Secret Keeper’s house in the far distance was not just the remnants of heavy clouds moving over it.

‘Smoke,’ he said, and then repeated himself, raising his voice over the roar of the wind. Sebastian, who was carrying several large sacks over one shoulder, lifted his face to the far cliff edge, and frowned, a worried crease appearing in the centre of his forehead.

‘One of us should have stayed behind,’ said Wydrin. She had taken the gold they were owed, carefully wrapping the coins in strips of cloth so that she wouldn’t clink when she moved. ‘I doubt that’s an accident.’

‘Can you see anyone there?’ asked Frith, knowing that Wydrin had sharper eyes than he had.

‘No one,’ said Wydrin. From her tone it was clear she wasn’t sure if this was a good or a bad sign. Frith moved to the edge of the bridge. There was a new sword at his belt, a thicker blade than his old rapier, but just as flexible and deadly. His hand gripped at the pommel convulsively.

‘We must hurry,’ said Sebastian. ‘We may still be able to help them.’

They headed out into the rain, Frith leading once more with the viewing glass held out in front of him. He soon found it was harder going back; the wind pushed at them like a belligerent child, as if its dearest wish were to see them plummet to the rain-whipped trees below, and he kept having to pause and use the inside of his cloak to wipe the glass clear of moisture. Behind them, the thunder gave voice to rumbling protests and the air smelled sharply of salt.

By the time they finally reached the cliff’s edge the rain had moved on elsewhere. Instead of the fresh air normally found in the wake of a storm there was the sour stink of sodden ashes.

‘The bastards,’ said Wydrin. She paced angrily, like a cat in a cage. ‘I’ll have their guts for this.’

The Secret Keeper’s house was not completely destroyed – the storm had stopped the flames before they brought the entire place down – but the front of it was ruined and black, and every window was smashed to pieces, the sills thick with soot. The grass around the house glittered, the scattered remains were all that was left of the magical glass artefacts it had housed for so many years. Tools and equipment had been dragged out of the stone workroom and those that could be broken were strewn across the grass.

‘They had very little patience,’ came a voice from behind them. Frith turned, his hand back on the pommel of his sword, and saw Crowleo walking towards them. The young apprentice was soaking wet from head to foot. He joined them by the house, not quite looking any of them in the eye. ‘I have found her difficult in the past, yes. Cantankerous, obstinate. The rights of an old woman, she used to say, were to be cantankerous and obstinate.’

‘Crowleo,’ Sebastian put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Are you all right? What happened here?’

‘It is obvious what happened,’ said Frith. ‘Fane and his men came here seeking me.’

‘She’s dead, you know,’ said Crowleo lightly. His eyes were wet. ‘Holley wouldn’t tell them where you were, because she was an obstinate, blind old fool who –’ He blinked rapidly. ‘She is dead, and everything is destroyed save for some small pieces I managed to salvage. And this.’ He untied a contraption of leather from his belt and offered it to Wydrin. ‘I believe it is what you asked for. She wanted you to have it, I think.’

Wydrin took the object and briefly held it up to her face. Two discs of blue glass covered her eyes.

‘I … thank you.’ She began to root around in her coin purse, but Crowleo waved a hand at her tiredly.

‘She won’t be spending the coin now, and I don’t have the stomach for it.’

‘What happened to her, Crowleo?’ asked Sebastian.

‘Fane threw her off the cliff,’ he said, and there was the tiniest tremor in his voice. ‘He cut himself first, and said that Holley’s death was an offering to Bezcavar.’

Wydrin made a small noise of disgust.

‘Bezcavar,’ said Frith, the corners of his mouth turning down. ‘I am beginning to think I have seen the name. In my father’s library. A demon cult out of Eastern Relios. Demon-worship might explain the abilities of Fane’s henchmen.’

‘And then they burned the house and smashed everything inside,’ continued Crowleo. ‘They left. I was hiding –’

For a moment Frith thought the young man was going to faint, but Sebastian kept a steadying hand on his shoulder.

‘She told me to hide, and what could I do?’ Crowleo shrugged. ‘There was just me, and you were far away.’

They were all quiet for a moment. The wind, still playful in the wake of the storm, moved through the grass, doing little to dissipate the stink of ashes.

‘We should have been here,’ said Sebastian. ‘There is so much we should have done.’

‘They will pay.’ Wydrin patted her daggers again, as if reassuring them. ‘I will spill blood for this.’