The Copper Promise (45 page)

‘What is it?’ asked Wydrin.

‘Those tunnels we lined with explosives in Pinehold? If you look at them from above – I never saw it before because I didn’t know – they depict the words of power.’ He looked up at O’rin, narrowing his eyes. ‘There was a Regnisse in Pinehold. She saw the maps. Why didn’t she recognise it?’

‘The words of
Power
are forbidden, remember? Only the mystics of Whittenfarne are permitted to know them. The knowledge never leaves the island.’ O’rin reached out one hand to smooth down the map. ‘Your father, though. I wonder if he knew something? A clever man for sure.’

‘We’ll never know now.’

‘So, the tunnels spell out magic words,’ said Wydrin. She took a sip from a flask at her waist and shrugged. ‘What good does that do, exactly?’

‘Words, my dear girl, channel the Edenier, or the magic, as you would put it. Lord Frith, I believe we require a demonstration for the young lady, please.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now.’

Frith took a length of linen from his belt, and an ink pot and brush from inside a small bag at his hip; he’d taken to having both on him at all times while O’rin was teaching him. He crouched at the crate and began to paint the words for Fire and Control onto the white strip.

‘Edenier is the magic that comes from pure will,’ said O’rin, his voice taking on a slightly pompous quality. ‘It is powerful but erratic. With the words we gave the mages, humans can control it.’

Frith tied the bandage around the palm of his left hand. The ink was cool against his skin.

‘Thousands of years ago, I excavated tunnels beneath the skin of Ede. I wrote secret words beneath the earth, just in case I should ever need to subdue my siblings. Words written in the fabric of Edeian, the natural magical force of the world, to be activated by Edenier, the magic of will.’

On cue, Frith held his arm up, facing out to sea, and a ball of bright fire appeared at his fingertips. A smile twitched at his lips. It was good to be powerful again.

‘Would you mind putting that out?’ said Jarath. ‘Enough of my ship has burned down already.’

Frith closed his hand and the fireball vanished.
Peasants
.

‘So the princeling here now has the power to activate your weapon? That’s what you’re saying?’

‘He does, but it is a complicated spell of many parts. Many words, I should say. You will need to travel to each and activate each in a certain order.’

‘We don’t have time for that!’ Wydrin gestured at the ship, still blackened in places with dragon fire. ‘And why can’t you do it, anyway? It’s your bloody weapon.’

‘I gave the Edenier back, did I not? Besides which, I have no wish to alert my sister to my continued existence. I haven’t survived all these years just to wave at her and ask to be destroyed.’

‘You have to help us,’ said Wydrin, lifting her chin slightly.
She really has no fear of him
, thought Frith,
or she is very good at hiding it
. ‘You’re a god, it’s practically your job.’

O’rin laughed long and deep at that.

‘If you truly believe such things, girl, then you know nothing of gods at all.’ He glanced up into the rigging, where his ever-present black birds waited. ‘Although … it was always my biggest weakness, you know, my affection for your people. I will give you two more gifts, Lord Frith. Use them wisely.’ O’rin pulled one of the long sticks from his back, tapped it to the floor once, and suddenly it was a long roll of parchment. He shook it by a corner until it unrolled, revealing what appeared to be an ancient map of the Eastern continents. The parchment was slightly yellow, and the landmasses had been coloured here and there with faded inks.

‘You will travel here,’ said O’rin, pointing with one grey finger at a green shape in the top right-hand corner. ‘It is a place called the Rookery. It was once my home, when this world was young. I kept many of my secrets there, and it is there that you will find more of the maps your father was collecting, along with the details of the spell capable of destroying the god of destruction.’ He paused, nodding. ‘Not a bad piece of work, if I do say so myself.’

Jarath was peering closely at the map.

‘That’s practically on the other side of the world.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘We’d have to go down past Old Gods’ Cape and on through the Sea of Bones, and north through the Demon’s Strait.’ He straightened up. ‘Even if we survived that, it would take six weeks to get there, at the very least.’

‘And that brings me to my second gift.’ O’rin turned to Frith once more. ‘I give you my honour guard, Lord Frith.’

There was a dry whirring of feathers and three black birds landed on the deck in the space between them.

‘You will forgive me, Jolnir, but I will personally be very glad to see the back of your flying vermin.’

‘Here.’ The god bowed shortly. ‘I believe they will be of more use to you in this form.’

There was the briefest pause followed by a great rush of air that threatened to blow them all off their feet. The black birds ruffled their feathers, indignant at this sudden change of weather, but as Frith watched they began to grow. They swelled and bulged, suddenly the size of cats, then dogs, and now they had four legs and their heads were thickening, wet eyes bulging.

‘Hell’s teeth,’ cried Wydrin.

Beaks that were small and sharp became huge and curved, more suited to a giant bird of prey, and their wings became long and smooth, sharp as blades. The feet that had been wrinkled and tipped with talons were now flat, powerful paws, like those of a huge cat.

When the wind stopped, Frith found himself pressed up against the guardrail with Wydrin, Gallo and Jarath, all instinctively trying to put as much space between them and the monsters as possible.

‘My griffins,’ said O’rin fondly. He patted one on the head and it opened its beak, revealing a dark pink throat. It made an odd keening warble. Now fully grown, they were roughly the size of large horses; animals with the bodies of giant, lithe cats and the heads and wings of eagles. They were still black, but the feathers on their wings shone with a soft, oily rainbow of blues, greens and yellows. ‘Yours to command now, Lord Frith. They will do as you say – and, believe me, they can fly like the wind.’

Wydrin slowly shook her head. ‘Ye gods and little fishes. What are you supposed to feed those things?’

When the shadow passed over them, Sebastian shoved Ip down into the dirt and covered her body with his own. The shield he’d picked up from the battlefield was still strapped to the mule, but there was no time to wrestle it free. He would have to hope that Y’Ruen would miss them on this first pass, and there would be time to protect themselves sufficiently before she came back …

‘What are you doing?’ Ip’s voice was slightly muffled.

‘Trying to stop you from getting burned to cinders.’ Sebastian tensed, waiting for the roar that would precede their grisly deaths. But it didn’t come. Instead, he very much thought he could hear laughter on the wind. Familiar laughter.

He risked a glance upwards. There in the sky were three of the biggest birds Sebastian had ever seen. They circled above, casting gigantic shadows onto the scrubby grass below, and it was only when they swept in to land that he realised they weren’t birds at all. They had the heads and wings of eagles, certainly, but their bodies were those of huge, four-legged animals, thickly muscled and powerful. As they came closer, a pale face with a shock of red hair leaned over the side of one, partially obscured by a giant black wing. A slim arm covered in tattoos waved. Sebastian stumbled backwards, nearly knocking Ip off her feet.

‘Wydrin?’

‘You should see the look on your face!’

The griffins – the word came to Sebastian then – landed one by one, powerful wings sending up clouds of dust and pushing waves through the short grass. Wydrin was perched on the back of one, her hands curled around the straps of a makeshift leather harness. She dismounted on slightly wobbly legs, laughing wildly.

‘I tell you what, you have to be bloody careful about holding on. I’m not sure if I want to throw up or not.’

There were two other passengers. Lord Frith climbed down from the back of another griffin, looking rather paler than when Sebastian had seen him last, and another man he didn’t recognise who looked absolutely dreadful. Sebastian started to turn to Wydrin, but something drew his eye back to the stranger, with his grey skin and deeply sunken eyes. His hair had been blond once, but now it hung in darkened, greasy clumps. The shape of him, the way he held himself …

Sebastian looked down at the ground, blinking rapidly.
I’ve been under this sun too long,
he thought.
The dragon attack, the demon child – it’s all been too much
.

Wydrin threw her arms around him, solid and strong and most definitely there. She squeezed him tight, unmindful of the armour he wore.

‘I’ve missed you, you idiot,’ she said. Her voice was tight, somehow on edge, but her hair smelled as it always did, of smoke and ale and a lack of soap. She pulled away to peer up into his face. ‘You look like a sack of dog’s testicles, you know that? And I don’t mean that in a nice way.’

‘Thank you. Where did you find the griffins?’

‘They are my honour guard.’ Frith stepped forward. He appeared to be adjusting a thick bandage around the palm of his hand, although Sebastian could see no wound. ‘A gift from a god, now mine to command.’ He paused, looking pleased with himself, and nodded at Sebastian. ‘It is good to see you are in one piece, Sir Sebastian.’

‘Likewise.’

The other man took a few steps nearer. He was hesitant, unsure, as well he might be. Sebastian swallowed hard. There was bile in his mouth and his head was throbbing again.

‘And who is this?’

Wydrin’s sunny expression disappeared, and she bit her lower lip. It was her face more than anything that told him it was true.

‘I think you know me, Sebastian,’ said Gallo.

Sebastian pulled his sword from its sheath. Its newly silvered surface glittered under the sun like frost on a lake.

‘Last time I saw you, Gallo, you were running away, clutching a dagger covered in my blood. I assume Wydrin must have brought you here so I can return the favour.’

The man claiming to be Gallo held up his hands in a gesture of submission. The fingers were bruise-black, the skin on the palms thin and torn.

It can’t be him. I’d rather think of him dead under the stones of the Citadel than this walking ruin
, Sebastian thought.

‘I came here to help, if I can,’ said Gallo. It was his voice all right. A little ragged perhaps, but there was an echo of his old charm there. ‘If anyone can help you deal with Y’Ruen, it’s me. She was in my mind, Sebastian, controlling my actions while all I could do was watch. And now, if her mind is touching yours, then I know what you’re going through.’

Sebastian felt his hands tighten around the pommel of his sword, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a grimace. Unbidden, memories of the slaughter at the ruins rose up, rich with blood and
freedom
. So much easier just to silence the voices than listen. The pain in his head would ease, and he would be stronger …

Wydrin stepped between them. ‘We’ve obviously got a lot to talk about, and I for one could do with sitting down for a time. You wouldn’t believe what riding one of those things does to your rear end.’ She walked over to one of the griffins and unbuckled a heavy pack from its back. ‘Jarath packed us some food and ale, and I propose we sit and eat it before anyone starts cutting anyone else to pieces.’

Sebastian lowered his sword and took a long steadying breath.

‘Food, then.’

‘Food!’ cried Ip. She skipped up to Wydrin and tried to snatch the pack from her arms. Wydrin frowned and held it up out of the child’s reach.

‘All right,’ she glared at Sebastian, ‘who’s the brat?’

‘What do you remember of it?’

Gallo didn’t answer immediately, looking up at the moon instead. Off to their right Wydrin, Frith and Ip sat round the fire, sharing the last of Jarath’s cured pork and black bread. Sebastian dragged his eyes away from his old lover to watch them for a moment, trying to find some peace in the normalcy of the scene. Just people breaking bread together, no dragons, no demons, no dead men. Wydrin and Ip were squabbling over a cup of wine while Frith ignored them both.

‘It was like being underwater,’ Gallo said eventually. A cloud passed over the moon and his ravaged face, turned away from the fire, was hidden. ‘That’s the best way I can describe it. I could see what was going on, and hear it, but everything was muffled, and any attempt to free myself …’ He took a slow breath. ‘The pressure of her mind, Seb. It crushed me like an ox crushing a beetle under its hoof. I saw my hand with the dagger, saw it pierce you. How do you imagine that felt?’

‘How do you imagine it felt to be stabbed?’ replied Sebastian, although there was no heat behind his words. ‘I nearly died. I would certainly be dead if Frith hadn’t healed me.’

‘Yes, he’s a strange one.’ Gallo glanced over to the small group. ‘What does he want, I wonder?’

‘What do
you
want, Gallo? What are you even doing here?’

‘To help you, of course.’ Gallo took a step towards him. Sebastian looked away. ‘What else can I do to make up for what happened?’ He lowered his voice. ‘She was in my head. I know what that is like. You have a connection to her, don’t you?’

‘Sometimes, when I dream, I think I can sense her.’ Despite the chill of the night, Sebastian found he was sweating. ‘And her army. I think I hear their voices.’

‘You must be cautious, Seb. Men were not made to know the minds of gods. It nearly broke me.’ He shrugged and gestured at his rotting skin. ‘Hell, it did break me. But it may be useful too. The connection goes both ways, I’m almost sure of it.’

‘What good will that do?’ He was thinking of the strange note found on the battlefield, now folded within his belt.

‘I don’t know, my old friend, I don’t know. But I believe you are in great danger, all the same.’

‘You are not my friend,’ said Sebastian. ‘Whatever you are, you are not my friend.’