The Copper Promise

by Jen Williams

  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.

  ‘Careful!’ shouted Sebastian. ‘Something’s pushing up through the stones.’

  They were all in the centre of the room, too far from either set of steps for immediate safety. Frith climbed awkwardly to his feet, leaning on his walking stick. Now he could see it. A glowing green substance was pushing up through the joins between the stones, pushing them apart like a great eldritch sea. The flagstone he had his weight on tilted to one side and his boot was briefly doused in the substance. There was a hissing sound, and the scent of boiling leather.

  ‘Don’t touch it,’ he said, his voice hoarse with panic. ‘It burns.’

  Wydrin was swearing loudly and attempting to hop from one flagstone to another, but many were already sinking beneath the green lava, leaving her fewer and fewer places to step. Sebastian was faring even worse, his size and the weight of his sword keeping him off balance. The edge of his cloak was already smoking from contact with the liquid.

  Frith jumped awkwardly from one stone to the next, each step sending a stab of pain up his weak leg. His limbs felt numb from the previous sword fight and he had nothing to lean his stick against. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck.

  ‘There’s something else here!’ Wydrin was closest to the far side, but she had stopped in front of a wide trench of the treacherous green goo and seemed unable to go further. ‘Something under the slime!’

  ‘What?’

  As Frith watched, the surface of the poisonous pool began to seethe, and a long shape disturbed the surface. It was sinuous and thick with muscle, and barbs bristled from its slimy skin. From all around them came a loud chittering sound that made all the hairs on the back of Frith’s neck stand up. Wydrin drew her daggers and balanced herself as best she could, but the shape under the green surged towards her, revealing a long tapering tentacle with sharp, teeth-lined mouths on the underside. It swept at her feet, trying to knock her into the slime, but she jumped over it and brought both daggers down on its fleshy hide. The chittering turned briefly into squealing and it retreated rapidly beneath the surface. Wydrin only avoided following it when Sebastian took hold of her waist and pulled her back. Her daggers came out of the creature with a sickening pop, and a jet of bright blue fluid spurted over her leather bodice.

  ‘Quick! While it is injured!’ cried Frith, struggling to catch up with them, but the creature was already stirring in half a dozen places, other tentacles rising up out of the slime like cobras.

  Frith took one of the acid bombs from the bag inside his cloak and threw it at a flagstone near the creature, but it sank harmlessly into the green. He drew his sword instead, trying to ignore how his boots were smoking and the flagstones were gradually sinking. A tentacle struck at him, clinging to his cloak with a hideous sucking noise, and another wrapped around his left leg. He struck down at it with the point of his rapier, jabbing with all the strength he could muster, and smiled grimly at the blue blood that leaked out of it. The tentacle around his ankle withdrew, but the one on his cloak was now tangled in it, dragging him out towards the acid. He turned and slashed, slicing through the thick material but completely missing the monster. Behind him, Wydrin was releasing a continual stream of curse words and Sebastian was shouting commands, and all the time there was the endless clacking and squealing of the huge thing beneath them.

  A tentacle crashed onto the stone between his feet. Frith fell to his knees and cried out in pain as the green substance burned into his legs. For a brief second he was back in the dank little dungeon cell, and Yellow-Eyed Rin was leaning over him with a hot poker.

  He lashed out with the rapier again, this time cutting the tentacle clean in half with one stroke. He scrambled up and away from it, very nearly stepping right back into the green slime, but the chamber was suddenly full of yellow light. For an instant everything was black and white. One of the tentacles flailed past him, a burning arrow jutting up from its barbed flesh. There was a whoosh, another blaze of light, and the creature was squealing in agony. The green acid below began to seethe ever more violently. He had to crouch to keep from going straight in it.

  ‘Make for the edge, friends!’ came a voice from behind him. ‘It doesn’t much like the touch of my hot fingers.’

  Frith turned to see a man standing on the far steps with a bow in his hands, cocked and ready with a fiery arrow. He was short and slim, with wavy blond hair and a small pointed beard. The man took aim and fired once more, the arrow finding another length of tentacle and biting deep. The creature began to withdraw, pulling its arms below the surface. Ahead of Frith, Sebastian and Wydrin were clambering awkwardly to the far steps, hopping from one broken flagstone to the next. They were both shouting excitedly, although Frith could not understand why. He hobbled over as best he could and almost made it to the edge before losing his balance. He pin-wheeled backwards, waving his arms desperately for balance but then Wydrin was there, dragging him with her onto the steps. His boots splashed through some of the green acid but he did not fall.

  ‘That was close,’ said Wydrin. Frith looked at her sharply, sure she was mocking him again, but rather than her usual crooked smile she looked pale, her hair hanging in her eyes. On the steps in front of them, S
ebastian was marching up to the blond man, who had slung his bow onto his back.

  ‘Sebastian!’ he cried. ‘You’re looking well.’

  ‘And so are you, Gallo.’ The big knight looked confused for a few seconds, before breaking into a huge grin. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’

  He swept the smaller man up into a bone-crushing hug.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Gallo,’ said Wydrin. She waved to the smaller man as Sebastian put him back down. ‘You always did have a fine sense of timing. Been having fun?’

  Gallo grinned.

  ‘But of course. Let’s find a friendlier chamber. This could take a while.’

  Gallo and Sebastian stood together, laughing and clapping each other on the back, exchanging exclamations of surprise and cries of ‘Well, you took your time!’ and ‘Fancy seeing you here!’. Wydrin had found a pile of rocks and was perched on its edge, using the point of her dagger to scrape the last of the green ooze from her clothes. Frith crouched beside her, watching the two men.

  ‘That is definitely him?’ he asked Wydrin in a low voice.

  Wydrin glanced up and shrugged.

  ‘It is. I’d know that smug little beard anywhere.’

  Frith frowned. Finding Sebastian’s partner here, in the depths of the Citadel, was disconcerting. A corpse would have been easier to deal with.

  ‘Is he trustworthy?’

  Wydrin slid her blade back into its scabbard and laughed.

  ‘Gallo? Of course not. He’s a scoundrel.’ She paused. ‘I’ve always liked him.’

  ‘And yet Sir Sebastian seems to be an honourable man.’

  ‘Well, you know they say opposites attract.’ She grinned up at him in an unnerving fashion. When he scowled at her she stretched her arms above her head until the bones in her shoulders popped. ‘You know where I first met Sebastian? In the middle of a street brawl.’ The two men were still talking animatedly, taking little notice of their companions. Even so, she lowered her voice. ‘When those pompous bastards threw him out of the Order he was heartbroken. And grieving.’ A shadow passed over her face. ‘He’d goaded a bunch of Crosshaven scum into a fight – five on one it was, the idiot, and he was keeping them off with his bare hands. Didn’t even draw his sword. I happened to be passing and, well, I didn’t like the odds so I joined in. When they’d gone, skittering back up the street like rats, I realised that the giant knight with all the hair was stone-cold drunk.’