The Copper Promise (27 page)

Lord Frith looked as stern as ever, distracted even, and yet they had won a great victory here. It was all quite annoying really. Wydrin threw the gnawed bone down on the plate and wiped her greasy fingers on her shirt sleeves.

‘Speaking of words,’ she said, raising her eyebrows at Dreyda, ‘I believe you wanted to speak to our princeling about the mages.’

Frith looked up sharply.

‘What have you said to her?’

Wydrin waved at him dismissively. ‘Oh, keep your britches on. You’ve not exactly been hiding it, have you?’

Dreyda leaned forward, her thin face intent.

‘It is true, then? You have absorbed the power of the mages?’

Frith glowered at Wydrin.

‘It hardly matters. The power is largely useless. It bursts forth without any say so from me, yet when I wish it to do something, the magic remains dormant.’

Dreyda raised her eyebrows.

‘By all the words – it is true, then. Where did you find such a thing? We thought that the last traces of the mages had all been long discovered.’

‘Lord Frith gained his powers in the bowels of the Citadel at Creos,’ said Sebastian. His voice and face were grim. ‘A place where we also unleashed a terrible creature on the world.’

Dreyda looked horrified.

‘It is forbidden, strictly forbidden, to explore the Citadel.’

‘Well, it’s all rubble now, so I don’t imagine it makes much difference,’ said Wydrin.

Frith ignored her, leaning over the table to focus his attention on the fire-priestess.

‘You know of the mages, then? Can you tell me why the magic is so unreliable?’

Dreyda nodded gravely.

‘Our sect reveres the mages as repositories of great wisdom. We aim to use what knowledge they left us to bring peace and better lives for all. I can tell you some of what you need to know.’ She paused to take a sip of her ale, and Wydrin saw Frith bristle with impatience. ‘It makes sense that you are unable to use the power as you wish, I’m afraid. The ancient magic was said to be tied to the emotions of the mages. The most terrible were those who could not control their anger.’

‘I was filled with rage when I first laid eyes on Fane, so the flames came forth. I was frustrated and angry in the tower, so the magic held everything still.’

‘It works through the medium of your most powerful emotions,’ agreed Dreyda.

‘That can’t be entirely right,’ said Wydrin. ‘You healed my fractured arm just after we arrived in Litvania. That magic worked.’

Frith frowned, but said nothing. Sebastian cleared his throat.

‘So how did the mages control it?’ he asked.

‘By using the correct words.’ Dreyda rolled up her sleeves, revealing the closely packed blue and black letters etched into her skin. ‘An ancient language. The fire-priests of Relios have studied it for hundreds of years.’

‘Words?’ asked Wydrin.

‘The words are control,’ said Dreyda. ‘You write something down, and it becomes fixed in place.’

‘But without the magic of the mages your words are all useless,’ said Wydrin.

Dreyda smiled thinly.

‘One day, child, you will learn that the written word is powerful precisely because anyone can use it. We learn the words and find great meaning in them, even if we lack the raw power of the mages to work spells.’

‘How does it work?’ asked Frith. His grey eyes were ablaze.

‘They would bind their bodies with the words, and the words would act as a conduit for the magic, forcing it along certain paths.’

Wydrin’s eyes widened.

‘Remember the Culoss?’ she said. ‘Their bandages looked like they once had writing on them, and they said they were created by the mages.’

‘You must tell me all you know immediately,’ said Frith. ‘You must teach me every one of these words.’

For a moment it looked as though Frith was going to reach across the table and grab Dreyda’s tattooed arms. She hurriedly withdrew them.

‘These are not the right words. The words
we
took from the mages’ teachings were the words for peace, words of wisdom. You require the forbidden texts. We long thought the power of the mages lost for ever, but even so the last words of power were hidden away. To keep them safe. To keep us all safe.’

Frith thumped his fist against the wooden slats of the tavern wall, causing a shower of dust that glittered gold in the sunlight from the window.

‘By all the gods! And where are those?’

Dreyda sat back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. Wydrin thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to speak again, but in the end she looked down at the table and gave the smallest shrug.

‘It is no secret, not to the children of the Regnisse, anyway, although you would be a fool to go there.’

‘Where?’ said Frith again.

‘Whittenfarne,’ said Dreyda, her voice a whisper now. ‘Whittenfarne in the Nowhere Isles.’

Emerald-green blood dripped onto the red sands of Relios. Ephemeral, until recently known as the Thirty-Third, found she couldn’t look away from it. Her sister knelt on the ground alone, while the rest of the brood army crowded against the walls of the ruins. Y’Ruen loomed above them all, her enormous claws scratching huge furrows in the ancient brickwork, and all around there was silence. A number of words occurred to Ephemeral in the darkness of her own head: threat, danger, alarm, betrayal. Death.

And who else has participated in this folly with you?

Mother’s voice rang in all their heads at once. Talisman, who had once been the Ninety-Seventh, cringed, her body trembling all over. The initial lash from the dragon’s tail had been little more than a tap, but it had easily broken half the bones in Talisman’s face, and now blood was oozing from her nose and mouth. She tried to speak, and instead spat a mouthful of blood and teeth into the dust.

That’s it, child. Tell me who else has these false names
.

The Ninety-Seventh made another strangled noise.
When she gets the words out, I will be up there with her, sharing the punishment,
thought Ephemeral.
Crocus and I will be bleeding into the dust too.
More words came: fear, despair, pain.

Why you ever thought anyone but your mother could name you, I will never know.
For a moment Y’Ruen sounded amused. Ephemeral felt her stomach turn over. Their mother contained no real humour, because humour required you to see things from another’s perspective. There was no mercy in Y’Ruen, no empathy. And no humanity.

The dragon shifted her huge bulk on the wall, causing a small cascade of stones and dust.

Tell me. Now
.

This is it
, thought Ephemeral. She sought out the Twelfth in the crowd, now Crocus, and saw her pressed amongst her sisters, her eyes wide with fear. How different she seemed to them now, although Ephemeral wasn’t really sure why.
We’ve never felt this before
, she thought,
this fear of our lives being ended. Not truly.

‘There’s no one,’ said the Ninety-Seventh suddenly. Her voice was thick with blood and slurred, but loud enough for them all to hear it. ‘There’s only ever been me. I was the one with the book, no one else chose their own name.’

Ephemeral’s breath caught in her throat. More words came: deceit, lies, shock. Hope.
Why is she lying? Why is she protecting us?
The brood army were one, a single unit moving together. To lie to one part of it to save another made no sense. It was unthinkable.

That is what you are saying, is it?
All the fake good humour had vanished from Y’Ruen’s voice. She lowered her huge scaled head, deepening the shadows around the Ninety-Seventh.
That is what you choose?

‘I choose to be Talisman,’ said the Ninety-Seventh. ‘To be me.’

There was a low growl of anger from Y’Ruen, so loud that the ground beneath them shook. Her tail lashed out once more, the very end curling around the body of the Ninety-Seventh like a vast snake, covering her up to her neck, and then she flexed, just once. The sound of bones shattering was terribly loud within the walls of the ruins, and Ephemeral watched as her sister vomited a great river of green blood. When it was over, Y’Ruen dropped the body on the floor and took to the skies again. The brood army moved listlessly for a moment, uncertain what to do until the call came from their mother to move on again.

‘She was brave.’

Ephemeral turned to find Crocus at her side. Her voice was low and she wasn’t looking directly at her; instead her brood sister also seemed unable to look away from the crushed body of Talisman.

‘Brave,’ agreed Ephemeral. She tested the word in her mouth, tasting it and all the other words it brought to mind.
Strength, risk, choice.
She took her sister’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Talisman was brave, and we shall be braver.’

A few days later, Wydrin and Sebastian walked through the forest in the early afternoon’s light to visit Crowleo. The apprentice had gone back to the Secret Keeper’s house to see if there was anything salvageable left amongst the blackened timbers. Frith had left the tavern they were staying in earlier that day, muttering something about some business he had to wrap up. Wydrin had still been in bed at that time, of course.

‘It’s a fine day,’ she said, nodding at the greenery around them. The forest itself seemed a more forgiving place with the disappearance of Fane; sunshine filtered through the leaves, casting a cool green light over everything, and from all around there were the sounds of small animals and birds preparing for another day of virulent life. ‘When it’s like this I can almost see why he wanted to come back here.’

Sebastian grunted in response, not looking up from his feet. He was paler this morning, with dark circles under his eyes, and he’d barely touched their breakfast of eggs and cured sausage.

‘Just as long as there’s a warm fire and a roof over my head at the end of it, mind you.’ Wydrin paused. As fond as she was of the sound of her own voice, this was starting to become tiresome. She put her hand on Sebastian’s arm.

‘Sebastian, if you do not tell me what is wrong, I shall christen my new sword by lopping your annoying head off with it.’

That earned her the ghost of a smile.

‘It is nothing. I am just tired.’

Wydrin returned his smile. ‘I’m fairly bloody knackered myself.’

‘Do you remember when we first met?’

Wydrin snorted laughter.

‘Of course I do. You were so drunk you couldn’t get your weapon out of its scabbard and you were still winning a brawl against several of Crosshaven’s worst. One of my most treasured memories, that.’

‘I was so angry.’ Sebastian kept looking ahead, his face shrouded in dappled shadow. ‘I wanted to burn the world down, for what they’d done to me.’

‘Understandable. You’re better off without the Order, Seb.’ Wydrin kicked a stone off the path with more force than was strictly necessary. ‘They were ignorant fools.’

Sebastian shook his head slowly.

‘I should have been better. They were wrong, but what we have done …’ He paused, and rubbed at his eyes. ‘I am so tired.’

Wydrin nodded.

‘We’ll have a rest from adventuring for a while, then. Head back to Crosshaven, drop in at the Marrow Markets, perhaps, and see if we can find my brother.’ She grinned at a sudden upturned memory. ‘Do you remember last time? I don’t know why they call it a festival if they can’t take a joke. Might be an idea to ask around before we visit, actually; there could be one or two merchants with long memories …’ Her voice trailed off and she looked up at Sebastian, but he was gone again, his blue eyes grave and searching a landscape she couldn’t see. They walked in silence the rest of the way, and for Wydrin the forest seemed ominous once more.

When they reached the Secret Keeper’s house they found Crowleo standing out on the path, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows and one of Holley’s old aprons around his waist. There was a rug beside him covered in various instruments and pieces of old glass, and an old iron bucket filled with broken things. He waved as they approached.

‘We’ve brought you lunch,’ said Wydrin, placing a basket full of bread and cheese down on the rug. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Sorting through everything that is left,’ said Crowleo. He gestured at the stone room where the Secret Keeper had worked. ‘There is not a lot, truth be told, but much of the equipment was too sturdy or heavy for the Children of the Fog to break, and so I have that.’

‘What will you do now?’ asked Sebastian.

‘I have decided to stay here and rebuild what I can,’ said Crowleo, a small smile on his lips. ‘The priestess woman, Dreyda, has promised to help and she seems to be well versed in getting the people of Pinehold to do as she pleases. There will be people coming with timbers. But listen, I have something for you.’ He reached into his apron and withdrew a piece of yellowed parchment. He looked apologetic for some reason. ‘Your friend was here this morning.’

‘Frith?’ Wydrin eyed the parchment uneasily.

‘He came up to visit the vault. Walked all the way across there by himself.’ Crowleo shook his head. ‘I don’t think I shall ever get used to seeing a man walk across thin air. He said he was retrieving some final items, and he asked me to give you this.’

Crowleo handed Wydrin the parchment. She unfolded it. In simple, neat handwriting was a brief message:
Your assistance is no longer required – Lord Aaron Frith.

In spite of herself, Wydrin laughed.

‘Not even a thank-you from our princeling,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why I’m surprised.’

‘There was also this.’ Crowleo bent to the rug and retrieved two heavy-looking coin purses, which he passed to the two adventurers. ‘He said that should be the last of the copper promise. You know what this means, yes?’

‘I know what it means,’ said Wydrin, surprised at the sour note in her own voice. ‘Did he say what he was doing next?’

Crowleo shook his head.

‘He will go to the Nowhere Isles,’ said Sebastian, tying the coin purse to his belt. ‘To Whittenfarne, if it exists.’

‘Then he is a fool,’ said Wydrin. ‘The people of Pinehold think he’s their saviour. He could take back the Blackwood piece by piece from there, but –’ She shrugged suddenly. ‘What does it matter? Let him go wandering all of Ede, for all the good it will do him.’