The Copper Promise (46 page)

The world spread out below them like the richest tapestry ever woven.

Frith clung to the griffin as best he could, one hand gripping the odd mixture of fur and feathers, the other gingerly wrapped around Wydrin’s waist. Just beyond his feet he could see green valleys veined with silver rivers, fields of crops like squares of precious metal, and flurries of forest so deep in their greenness they were almost black. They were flying over the lands of Litvania, now so far enough north that the sprawling forest was broken up with wide stretches of open land.

Wydrin said something, but the words were snatched away in the wind and the thundering of the griffin’s wings. Frith lowered his head so that his ear was closer to her face.

‘What?’

‘The birds can’t keep up with us!’

Frith saw that she was right. White and grey gulls passed below, lost in their wake. Just in front of them Sebastian and Ip shared a griffin, and to the left Gallo flew on alone, his eyes on the distant horizon. He alone seemed unconcerned by their mode of travel.

‘This is strong magic,’ he murmured. It almost seemed to him that the air itself parted to make way for them.

Wydrin leaned forward, pointing to a series of hills in the distance. They were the faint blue of dusk, and carved into one of them was a tall, humanoid shape. The sun broke through the clouds above and the raw chalk was briefly illuminated, glowing white against the blue.

‘What’s that?’ she yelled.

‘It’s the King of the Under,’ he said. ‘Will you please stop moving about?’

‘King of the what?’ Wydrin half twisted round to look at him, pressing her shoulder-blade into his chest. Her hair whipped around her head, blown in every direction by the wind.

‘The Under.’ When she still frowned at him he sighed and leaned forward to talk directly into her ear. ‘There are legends of a kingdom beneath the hills, full of a long-lived folk who sometimes snatch the unwary to go and live with them.’ He sucked in another breath. ‘The people of this land carved the image into the chalk in the hopes that the King would stop stealing their children away.’

‘Did it work?’

Frith frowned. Wydrin shifted about, pushing back against him to get a better grip on the griffin’s neck. Sitting with her so close while they both clung on for dear life was very uncomfortable. He could feel the warmth of her, could smell the leather she wore.

‘I have no idea. Can you keep still? You’ll have us both off in a minute.’

‘I love stories like that,’ said Wydrin. ‘Kings hidden under hills, magic in the ground.’ She went quiet for a moment. ‘Although it’s less entertaining when it’s actually happening to you.’

They flew on for hours, through clouds that soaked them to the bone, through blazing sunshine that baked the moisture right off them. The land moved under them like a fast-flowing river, and Frith had to admit it was extraordinary to see Litvania laid out below him in such vast detail. There were places he had never seen, passing beneath them in shadow and sunlight, all the secrets of the lands spread out before him. His father would have been entranced by such a view.

The sun began to set in the west, softening the edges of the sky into a subdued rainbow of violets, pinks and indigos. Stars appeared, a handful at first, and then thicker bands of starlight that shone like dew on a web. Frith was so caught up with watching the heavens come to life just above their heads that it was quite dark before Wydrin elbowed him again.

‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t fancy flying much further in this light.’ The wind had died down considerably but she still had to raise her voice. ‘It makes the drop look worse, for one thing.’ Before he could stop himself Frith glanced beyond the tip of the griffin’s wing; the blanket of trees directly below them was now a featureless black mass. It was like looking into a deep cave. ‘Not only that, but my arse is killing me,’ she continued. ‘Shall we stop for the night?’

Frith didn’t much like the thought of trying to land the griffins amongst the high trees.

‘Where? There’s no space.’

‘Look.’ Wydrin pointed to the north-east, where it was still possible to make out a plain beyond the trees that bordered a huge lake. The water was silver and black, and on the shores were a number of bright white lights clustered together. For a confused moment Frith took them to be stars reflected in the lake, but they were much too bright and close. ‘There are people down there.’

‘Yes,’ said Frith. ‘They will be Cherolia, travelling people. They move their tents up and down Litvania, Pathania and Istria, moving on when the weather grows worse.’

‘Do they take in travellers?’

Frith started to shrug, and then thought better of it.

‘They sell everything they can, including floor space. I’m sure we will find shelter there.’

Wydrin turned round and began to wave at the griffins behind, sliding dangerously to one side. Frith grimaced and put one hand on her hip to hold her steady.

‘We’re landing!’ she yelled. ‘Follow us!’

They landed in the cover of the trees and the three griffins returned to normal bird size, much to Sebastian’s horror. They approached the settlement slowly, cautious of what they’d find, but the gathering of tents and people was busy and welcoming. The Cherolia were a tall people with burnished copper-coloured skin and tightly curled auburn hair, but there were plenty of locals there too, shopping at stalls filled with a range of produce collected from all over the continent. It was a mobile town of brightly coloured tents, and they soon found someone willing to rent them shelter for the evening.

‘Be ready to move again at dawn,’ said Frith, pulling open the entrance flap of his tent. The three black birds fluttered down to perch on the top of it. ‘I won’t be waiting around.’

Gallo and Ip were already climbing into their own separate quarters, the girl yawning so widely her head threatened to topple off. Sebastian was looking at the narrow entrance to his own tent with his lips turned down at the corners.

‘I will have a devil of a time sleeping in there.’

‘Just remember to take your armour off first,’ said Wydrin, ‘that might help.’ She paused. In the pearly light of the lamps Sebastian’s armour looked very fine indeed, the delicate gold chasing on the mail glittering like the scales of an exotic fish. It was the first time she’d really looked at it closely, and there was something familiar about it. ‘Where did you get that from?’

Sebastian rubbed at his beard, his eyes not quite meeting hers.

‘It belonged to the Ynnsmouth knights.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was given it before – well, before the attack.’

‘They gave you that?’ Wydrin leaned against a tent pole, crossing her arms over her chest. One of the advantages of being a champion level liar was being able to spot those less skilled in the art. ‘From what I remember, you weren’t on the best of terms with the Order.’

‘Perhaps they were desperate enough to feel they needed me on their side.’ Sebastian began to unbuckle the straps that held his breastplate. ‘For all the good that did them.’

‘Do you need a hand getting out of that?’

‘I’ll manage.’

And with that he crouched and went into his own tent.

Wydrin sighed. She glanced up at the birds, who were watching her with black liquid eyes.

‘And you can take that look off your beaky faces.’

Inside, the tent was narrow and cosy, with a thick carpet of blankets that smelled only slightly of horse, and long strings of prayer beads hung from the ceiling. A small spherical lamp sat in one corner on top of a block of wood, the only piece of furniture in the tiny room. Wydrin unbuckled her own leathers, noticing as she did so that the light from the neighbouring tents cast soft shadows onto the fabric walls. She could see the outline of Frith, sitting up with what was probably a map spread across his knees, and on the other side was Sebastian’s huge bulk, already lying down and preparing for sleep. It was a strange inn, she thought, where the only privacy was a sheet of crimson silk.

Wriggling beneath the blankets, she stared up at the prayer beads. They were carved to represent animals – a fox, a cow, a bear, a bird. One of them, she noticed, was a shark, so she leaned up out of the blankets to touch it with her fingertips. After all, she’d done little to earn the love of the Graces lately and they needed all the luck they could get.

Wydrin woke a few hours later to a cold blade pressed to her throat. It was dark, the little lamp having burned out a long time ago, and there was only a faint red glow from a distant tent to show the face leering above her. Roki’s skin was waxy and slick with sweat, and strands of his golden hair were stuck to his forehead.

‘Good evening.’ His voice was quiet, less than a whisper, as though it were coming from very far away. ‘You are almost pretty when you’re asleep, did you know that?’

Wydrin cringed at the wave of revulsion that passed through her. How long had he been here in the dark, just watching?

‘Whereas you look half dead.’

Roki bared his teeth in something that might have been a grin.

‘I feel more alive than I ever have.’

‘You can’t be anywhere near us now. We flew across seas, across Litvania. Nothing could follow us. How are you here?’

The metal was cold at her throat, and all too real.

‘Last time I saw you, you told me to bring a blade,’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘So here I am. Tell me, do you like it?’

He increased the pressure, the edge just beginning to bite into her skin. Wydrin suddenly found it very hard to swallow.

‘It’s a pretty sword,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘Almost as pretty as you and your brother. Although I reckon Enri has lost some of his looks to the worms by now.’

Roki snorted, spraying saliva through his teeth. Wydrin saw the drops of moisture but didn’t feel them land on her face. He was little more than a ghost – if only she could say the same for his blade. The enchanted gauntlet glowed softly in the darkness, touching the walls of the tent with a sickly orange light. Slowly she inched her hand through the blankets towards her sword belt.

‘I will enjoy killing you,’ said Roki. ‘I will do it slowly, and by the end of it you will be begging to join my brother in the ground.’

‘You do everything slowly, Roki. It’s very boring. How are you here? Where are you really?’

‘I have made certain … sacrifices.’ Roki’s grin widened, and for a moment Wydrin felt real fear make a grasp for her heart. There wasn’t a scrap of sanity in that smile. ‘You made it easy, really.’ He held up the stump in front of her face. ‘Bezcavar rewards those willing to shed blood in his name, even when it’s your own blood. I can find you, wherever you are. I can come to you when you are resting, sleeping, when you think you are safe.’

Wydrin’s questing fingers closed around the hilt of Glassheart.

‘Making a deal with a demon doesn’t sound like a very clever idea to me. Not the move of an intelligent man. Why am I not surprised?
Sebastian!
’

Roki jumped at her sudden shout, and glanced towards the tent wall as Sebastian sat up, his shape shadowed against the fabric. It was enough for Wydrin to get her free hand under the blade and push it firmly away from her throat. There was a sting as the sword cut into her fingers but then she was standing with Glassheart held out in front of her, keeping Roki’s weapon at bay.

‘What’s going on?’ Sebastian was rising and already she could hear Frith complaining in the tent on the other side. Roki scrambled back towards the entrance to the tent.

‘I’ll come back for you, little girl,’ he said. Wydrin flew forward, Glassheart flashing like steely death in the dark and she met his blade with tremendous force, hoping to break it and render him harmless, but the sword held. There was a loud ripping noise from just behind her as Sebastian tore a long slash in the tent wall with his own sword.

‘Wydrin? What’s happening?’

Lights were flickering on in adjacent tents, and in the soft red glow she could see a smear of her own blood along the edge of Roki’s blade. Suddenly furious, she surged forward with a flurry of blows, pushing the last of the Children of the Fog to the front of the tent, where he staggered out into the night. She followed, bellowing threats, even as somewhere in the cooler part of her head she knew very well she could no more harm him in this form than she could mould the clouds with her hands.

‘That’s the way, little kitten,’ he called softly as he blocked one shattering blow after another. ‘Show me everything you have.’

Wydrin became aware that the others had come out of their tents and were standing behind her, so she paused in her onslaught and took a few swift steps backwards, trying to get her breath back, to regain some control. Sebastian appeared at her elbow dressed only in a vest and a long pair of undertrousers that came down to his knees. As he stepped into the light Roki’s grin only widened.

‘You as well? This is quite the reunion!’

‘Do you know where Fane is?’ Frith was pulling his bearskin cloak over his shoulders. Despite her anger, Wydrin took a moment to notice the taut muscles on his narrow waist. ‘Or the Lady Bethan? What of her whereabouts?’

Roki laughed, his voice as shrill as the wind. He waved his sword at them as though it were a tankard of ale and Frith had just made a particularly good joke.

‘Fane? The man who left me for dead in that piss-soaked little town? I would sooner cut off my other arm than—’

All at once his ravings dried up. Ip, ghostly and slight under the white lamps, stepped in front of Sebastian. Roki’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

‘You!’ He looked from the little girl to Sebastian and back again. ‘But how can you …? I don’t understand …’

Ip tipped her head to one side, the gesture of a child contemplating which leg to pull off the spider next. Roki stumbled backwards, appeared to be about to say something else, and then vanished.

For a few heartbeats there was silence, before everyone started talking at once.

‘Who the hell was that?’

‘I thought we killed him in Pinehold!’

‘Is he close? The power of the armour—’