The Copper Promise (6 page)

‘What are you made of, spit and paste?’ she laughed, but the third Culoss wasn’t content to listen to her taunting. He ran at her, eyes like empty holes, and his first blade was only turned away by the thin mail over her leather vest. The second he threw up towards her face, and for a terrible moment Wydrin thought she’d lose her nose, but Sebastian was there, pulling the Culoss off her by the scruff of his neck.

‘Bastard thing nearly had my face off,’ she had time to say before they were rushed by five more. It was around this point that Wydrin thought to wonder how Frith was faring. She saw him some distance away, his white hair the brightest thing in the room. He was leaning awkwardly on the wall, but he had a rapier in his hands and was holding the Culoss at bay, the blade almost moving too quickly for her to follow.

Where did that come from?

There were dead Culoss by his feet, but even from where she stood she could see the exhaustion on his face.

She hacked, and slashed, parried and stabbed, over and over, until her shoulders began to sing from the ache of it. She stole glances at Sebastian occasionally, shouted encouragement or mockery, but his face was closed and still, as it always was during a fight. The Culoss just kept coming, always pushing them back towards the door, stepping over the torn bodies of their brothers and producing their strange blades from within their bodies. Wydrin felt sweat begin to trickle down her back. They were trying to press them back, towards the exit, and they were succeeding.
They might be short and strange-looking, but they are so many, and for every one, two blades.
Wydrin took a breath, preparing to tell Sebastian it was time to run for it, when there was a shuddering crash and the chamber was filled with bright, greenish light. She almost lost her footing, but when she looked up she saw around fifteen freshly dead Culoss, and Frith standing beyond a veil of smoke.

‘What the hell was that?’

Wydrin saw hope in Sebastian’s eyes and knew he was thinking of Gallo, but as she watched, Frith reached into his cloak with his free hand and produced something small and round. He threw it on the ground nearest a group of the Culoss and there was another bang. This time, Wydrin saw the brief burst of green flame and the curling cloud it produced. Several of the Culoss were thrown back by the initial impact, but those who were caught in the cloud began to writhe and scream, their powdery white skins turning black. The Culoss who were attacking them paused in their efforts, looking back at their brothers in apparent horror.

‘What are you doing?’ she cried, but Frith, apparently seeing them both for the first time, motioned impatiently for them to take cover. Hurriedly she threw herself into the corner, before Frith hurled another of his grenades right into the midst of the stunned Culoss. This time the explosion was so close it made her ears ring, and she cringed away from the poisonous cloud.

The Culoss that were left turned and fled then, back through the far door where Yarrowfoot and Inkberrow had first appeared. Wydrin slid down the wall, exhausted. Frith came over to them, his slim sword thick with black dust and tattered pieces of bandages. She watched him retrieve his stick from the floor, and slide the blade back into its hiding place. The Copper Cat of Crosshaven began to laugh.

‘So why did you employ us at all, princeling?’

They had left the chamber of the Culoss, moving slowly, wary of another attack. Now they walked through a series of low-ceilinged rooms, many of which contained empty glass tanks. Frith saw several that seemed to hold Culoss who had not lived long enough to protect their precious Citadel; they were mouldering piles of bandages, dust, and short, rusted blades. Why those ones had not survived he couldn’t say, but there had certainly been enough of them to cause trouble. He watched carefully, searching every shadow for a hidden assailant, until his head began to ache.

Every part of Frith ached. His right arm and shoulder were especially tender; it had been a very long time since he’d swung a sword in defence of his own life, and the sell-sword woman seemed amused that he could fight at all.

‘Your clothes are torn,’ he said.

Wydrin looked down at her forearm and seemed surprised to see her shirt had been shredded by the Culoss blades.

‘Huh. They did all that, and never managed to cut me. Useless.’

With a sharp tug she pulled the remains of her sleeve away from the rest of her shirt, revealing a tattoo that curled all the way to the top of her shoulder.

‘Sharks?’ asked Frith when finally the pattern was revealed. There were three of them depicted in slim black lines, twisting sinuously around her arm.

‘The Graces,’ replied Wydrin, holding her arm out. ‘The Three Graces of Crosshaven.’

‘Your gods are fish?’

‘Not gods, as such, more … priestesses. The sea is the only god we worship. If you come back to Crosshaven with me, I will show you.’

To his own horror, Frith felt his cheeks grow slightly warm. ‘Why would I want to go to that pirates’ den?’

‘You don’t want to, believe me,’ said Sebastian. ‘Anyone outside of Crosshaven tends to find the rites of the Graces somewhat grisly. Or anyone with any sense, anyway.’

Rather than looking offended, Wydrin laughed.

‘It makes for a good day out,’ she said. ‘Besides, our princeling here has a stronger stomach than you give him credit for, Sebastian. There were bits of those dwarves all over that chamber by the end of it.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Sebastian. He gave her an appraising look. ‘You realise your other sleeve is torn too, on the back?’ She twisted round to look, and swore. ‘That shirt is ruined.’ He turned back to Frith as the Copper Cat began to tug her shirt out from under her leather bodice. ‘What were those spheres you were throwing? And what was in them?’

Frith hurriedly averted his eyes from Wydrin, who was now pulling the remnants of the ruined material over her head, and in doing so revealing more cleavage than he thought was seemly in a sword for hire. He took one of the remaining acid grenades from within his cloak and passed it to the knight.

‘Handle it carefully. You have to throw them quite violently for the chemical process to begin, but it is always best to assume they are dangerous. There is the initial explosion, of course, which is enough to cause a reasonable amount of damage, and then the acidic cloud that spreads afterwards, certainly the more unpleasant way to die. Fortunately, it disperses quickly, or we’d all have boiled lungs by now.’

‘Where did you get these from?’

Sebastian was turning the ball over in his hand. They were small, innocuous-looking things, round and greenish, with a slightly greasy texture. If you made enough of them your fingers started to turn green. Frith’s father, who had spent much of his time studying chemicals and their uses, always had faintly green fingertips despite every effort with a scrubbing brush. His study, Frith remembered, always carried the slightly caustic whiff of his experiments. All gone now, of course.

‘I have some education in the alchemical arts.’

‘Very bloody handy,’ said Wydrin. She’d removed her shirt, and now her arms were bare save for the leather vanbraces and copper bracelets at her wrists. ‘As was that hidden sword. Our princeling has many secrets, it seems.’

Frith clutched his stick, ignoring the steady ache in his shoulder.

‘And they are still none of your concern.’

They continued on through the next series of chambers, occasionally pausing to consult what they could of Sebastian’s map. They were sloping gradually downwards still, and the further down they went, the warmer it grew. Frith’s heavy black cloak was stifling, seeming to push down on his back with every step, but he would not take it off. To do that would reveal his thin, wasted body, and even if his companions already knew he was weak, he was not ready for them to see the full extent of the damage.

Wydrin took his arm suddenly, startling him.

‘You were miles away then. Care to tell us what you were thinking, with your handsome face so tense?’

Frith shook her off awkwardly.

‘A man’s thoughts are his own.’

Wydrin sighed.

‘And curiosity killed the cat.’

She walked off ahead, pausing to scratch another cross on the wall before moving on, eager to see what was through the next door. The queer golden lights of the Culoss chamber had continued beyond it, so that they no longer needed the oil lamp.

‘You fascinate her, I think,’ said Sebastian in a low voice. ‘She has a weakness for mysterious men.’

Frith pulled his cloak closer around him.

‘I have no reason to reveal my business to her.’

‘I don’t know about that.’ Sebastian’s tone was light. ‘We’re down here with you, aren’t we? Fighting side by side. Would it be so terrible to let us in on your plans?’

‘You know all you need to know,’ said Frith.

The big knight was quiet for a few moments. When he spoke again his tone was one of mild speculation.

‘If the tales of what is hidden here are even partially true, it would be a significant find. The remnants of magic could still be powerful. A man could do a lot with such power.’

Frith frowned, not looking at the knight.

‘You are perceptive, and free with your words. Is that why your Copper Cat likes you?’

Sebastian chuckled.

‘If only Wydrin listened to half of what I said. I told you, she likes mysteries, not explanations.’

‘You two are not … lovers, then?’

This time Sebastian guffawed, his surprised laughter echoing off the flat stones. Frith turned to him, raising an eyebrow. Seeing the look, Sebastian reined in his laughter, and shook his head in apology.

‘I’m sorry, my lord. Wydrin is a good friend, that is all. But I do not … I do not believe I am her type, as it were.’

Frith took a deep breath.

‘Whereabouts are we?’ he said. ‘What does the map tell you?’

Sebastian held the sheet of parchment up to the light. After a few moments, he frowned.

‘We’ve gone off course, actually. That’s what comes of letting Wydrin go ahead, I suppose. We’ll have to turn back, take another turning.’ He cupped his hands round his mouth and called his companion. ‘Wydrin! We have to go back a bit!’

They heard her light footsteps on the floor before she came through the door.

‘Got us lost already, Sebastian?’

‘Come on.’

As they turned to retrace their steps, the floor beneath them rumbled, nearly throwing Frith off his feet.

‘What is that?’ cried Wydrin.

The low grinding below continued, growing in volume until dust and debris on the ground began to jump with the vibrations.

‘The door,’ said Sebastian. ‘Quick!’

But before they could reach it an iron portcullis swept down, its sharp points hitting the floor with a crash. The way back was cut off.

Frith and Sebastian tried desperately to pull the portcullis up, but its bars were solid and heavy, despite their age.

‘But the Culoss wanted us to leave,’ said Sebastian. ‘Why would they cut off our retreat?’

‘Maybe they’re not the only ones in the Citadel,’ said Wydrin. Her usually cheerful face was troubled. ‘They did say they were fighting a war, and it didn’t sound as though they were winning.’

Frith nodded reluctantly.

‘We must carry on, then,’ he said. Their progress was slow, much too slow. ‘Is there a way we can turn around later, according to what we have of the map?’

Sebastian looked at it again, and shrugged.

‘In all honesty, if we keep heading in this direction this piece of parchment becomes more useful as lantern fuel. I just didn’t get enough time to copy it this far.’

Frith shook his head.

‘It matters not. It seems there is only one way we can go now.’

And so they did, now wary that each entrance might contain another portcullis. The passages were growing narrower, the walls danker and lined with moss and mould. There was an old, dark smell, that spoke of centuries of neglect, and the deeper they went the more Frith fancied he could feel the weight of the stones above pressing down on them. Every now and then they heard a faint but unmistakable rumble, and a vibration would pass through the stones and up through their feet.

‘Is it following us, do you think?’ said Wydrin after a while. She had paused to take a drink from the skin at her belt. When she passed it to Frith, he was surprised to find it filled with a sour red wine.

‘Is what following us?’

‘The noise, that movement. Whatever you want to call it.’ She slapped the wall to her left. ‘It’s like something very large is moving alongside us, watching what we’re up to.’

‘That’s preposterous,’ said Frith, his voice slightly unsteady. He looked at the walls, and wondered what would happen if something powerful decided to push them down on their defenceless group.

‘The sooner we get out of these passageways, the happier I’ll be,’ said Sebastian. He was looking distinctly less comfortable the further down they went. There was sweat on his forehead now, and his mouth was tense at the corners, almost as though he were concentrating very hard on not being sick. ‘It’s all too narrow. If we get caught here there’s no room to fight.’

To Sebastian’s obvious relief they eventually came to an entrance that led down to a widening set of stone steps. The room beyond was larger than any they’d been in for hours, its floor covered in big square flagstones. On the far side was another set of steps leading to a tall wooden door, and the yellow lamps hanging from the ceiling revealed a pair of carvings in the dark grained wood: a nude woman emerging from a great lake, water running from her cupped hands, and on the other side, a naked man doing the same. Wydrin hooted with amusement.

‘Filthy buggers!’ She walked down the steps onto the square flagstones. ‘Someone has put a lot of work into that. I’ve never seen one of those where they’ve actually managed to get the shape—’

‘The mages were said to be great artisans,’ said Frith, hurriedly.

‘Artisans with an eye for a decent pair of—’

Without warning, Wydrin pitched forward violently. Sebastian made to grab her, but he also lurched to one side. Frith opened his mouth to shout to them when the flagstone beneath his feet dropped several inches, causing him to fall heavily onto the stone floor. He cracked his elbow badly, but worse than that was the sickening sense of movement; the stones beneath were rising and falling as though they were being disturbed by something below.