The Copper Promise Read online

  A faint rustling from above stopped Gallo in his tracks. It reminded him of the sound ropes make on the docks when the boats cast off – rough hessian rubbing against splintered wood. He looked up, but Chednit’s torch cast only the faintest of glimmers towards the ceiling.

  ‘What is that?’ he said, his fear briefly lost in curiosity. ‘Say, can you see something?’

  There was a brief suggestion of movement, followed by a blood-curdling scream from behind him. Gallo turned in time to see Chednit’s legs vanishing upwards, his body pulled up into the darkened ceiling. Like most men who sell their sword for money Gallo was as quick as a cat. His arm shot out and grabbed hold of his guide’s boot.

  ‘Help me, help me!’ squealed Chednit. The torch dropped down onto the steps, smouldering and smoking. Whatever had him was fearsomely strong. Gallo pulled down on Chednit’s boot but the force pulling him up only increased, nearly yanking him up with the hapless guide. He tried to drop the sword to grab on with both hands, but his hand would not obey.

  ‘Chednit!’

  As quick as that the boot was gone, and Chednit flew up into the dark recesses of the ceiling. Gallo held his sword over his head as, unseen, his guide began to scream, over and over. There was a patter of what felt like warm rain against his upturned face, and something small and round dropped down past his nose, to chink against the stone steps and then bounce away into the dark beyond. He saw it only for a second in the guttering light of Chednit’s torch, but he recognised the jade eye with the silver pupil, now lost to the shadows at the bottom of the unending steps.

  The whole thing had taken no more than a handful of heartbeats. Gallo picked up the torch and blew it back into life, noticing that it was now sticky with blood. When the light was strong again, he held it up over his head, half fearing to see Chednit’s grinning corpse flattened to the ceiling, a hole in his face where his eyes should be … but there was nothing there. He saw more of the same grey stones, the same green mould, and no sign of his guide. Gallo swallowed hard and tightened his grip on his sword.

  ‘The place is cursed,’ he spat. As the terror passed, he was filled with a black fury. How dare it take his guide from him? To suffer such a loss at the very beginning of the adventure was unthinkable. Sebastian would be insufferable, for a start. ‘A foul thing, to pick off an unarmed man from above.’

  ‘Would you prefer to meet face to face, young warrior?’

  The voice was so close behind him Gallo could feel the tickle of warm breath on the back of his neck. He spun, sword out, but what met him on the steps of the Citadel drained all the strength from his arms with one slow smile.

  ‘I thought not,’ it said, with a note of long-suffering humour. ‘They never do.’

  3

  ‘You’re a dirty cheat! Everyone knows it! That’s what everyone says.’

  Wydrin drew the last of the cards towards her across the table, snatching a quick glance at whoever might be listening in the crowded tavern. Good rumours, bad rumours; they were all the same to her. Unfortunately, an early summer’s evening in The Hands of Fate tavern was a busy time, and no one was paying much attention to an argument over a game of cards. Not until it gets bloody, anyway, she thought.

  ‘Have you forgotten the rules again, Sammy?’ She smiled up at him, and was pleased to see his face turn a darker shade of pink. ‘I’ll be glad to explain them to you, but the gist of it is, well, you lost. Fair and square. The Copper Cat plays a clean game. Well, clean card games, anyway.’

  ‘I want my money back.’ Sam Larken slammed his fist down on the table, causing the small pile of coins to jump. ‘You’ll give it back now, you lying little thief.’

  Wydrin leaned back in her chair and patted the two daggers at her belt.

  ‘Thief, is it? You want to take that up with my claws here?’

  There was a slight hesitation from Sam Larken now, and this, too, pleased Wydrin. It seemed he wasn’t a total fool after all.

  ‘I just want what’s mine, that’s all, or I’ll tell everyone—’

  Wydrin drew the dagger, too fast for him to follow, and then very slowly flipped one of the cards over with the point. It was the eight of cups.

  ‘You’ll tell everyone what?’

  ‘Uh …’

  A shadow suddenly loomed over them. Wydrin looked up to see a tall, broad-shouldered man with long black hair tied into a braid and an enormous broadsword slung over his back. He was carrying a tankard in each hand, and he gave Wydrin a pained look before turning to Sam.

  ‘I’ve told you before, Sam. If you still insist on playing cards with her you can’t keep complaining you’ve lost all your money. Rats learn faster than you.’

  Sam backed away from the table awkwardly, half taking the chair with him. His eyes were glued to the sword.

  ‘Fine, keep it then.’ He shot a poisonous look at Wydrin. ‘Can’t get an honest game in this shit hole of a city.’

  Wydrin watched him back away into the crowd. She gave him a little wave.

  ‘Really, Sebastian,’ she said as the big man sat down, carefully placing the tankards away from the cards. ‘I wasn’t even cheating this time. As soon as he gets some decent cards it’s written all over his stupid face.’

  Sebastian shifted in his seat and glanced back towards the door. He was a big man, muscled and powerful, but with a kind face, a long nose and blue eyes, which Wydrin liked to tease him about. No fearsome knight had eyes that pretty, she said.

  ‘It would be helpful if you could avoid starting any fights while we’re waiting to meet a potential client.’

  Wydrin rolled her eyes and took a mouthful of ale. It was warm and tasted of oats. Not bad for Krete.

  ‘What’s the matter with you? You look like someone’s pissed in your beer.’

  Sebastian sighed and picked up his tankard.

  ‘This job. I’m not certain it’s wise. After what happened we should be all the more cautious.’

  ‘This is what you wanted, Sebastian.’ Wydrin slid her dagger back into its scabbard and lowered her voice. ‘We can find him this way. Gallo was an idiot, and we’re not. We’ll be fine.’ Catching the look on his face she changed her tone. ‘Besides which, anyone stupid enough to explore the Citadel will be paying through the nose for it. We’ll be set for the rest of the year. No more working for tiresome little merchants who want their poxy wagon trains guarded.’ She sniffed. ‘I was thinking of getting some new leather armour, too. Red, maybe, to match my hair.’

  Sebastian laughed at that; her hair was short, scruffy, and carroty.

  ‘I suppose,’ he said eventually. ‘We have to go in there after him, and this is as good a way as any. We can’t even afford to bribe the guards by ourselves.’

  ‘Who is this client, anyway?’ asked Wydrin. ‘I’m curious to know what sort of fool is so eager to go exploring such an infamous death trap.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Besides Gallo, of course.’

  ‘A lord of some sort.’ Sebastian took a sip of his ale, and shrugged.

  ‘A lord! Bound to have plenty of coin, then.’

  Wydrin’s eye was caught by a slim figure pushing his way through the crowded tavern. He walked with a stick and had a shock of white hair, but as he got closer she saw that he was startlingly young; no older than her, certainly. He had a livid scar down one cheek, and he was glaring around at the patrons as though they had each done him a personal insult.

  Wydrin looked at Sebastian and tipped her head towards the newcomer. Sometimes they would keep an eye out for easy targets, men or women who wouldn’t last the night in a city like Krete and might be in need of protection. It was an easy way to make some coin.

  Sebastian looked, and then sat up straighter in his chair.

  ‘By Isu, I think that’s him.’

  Wydrin raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I thought you said he was a lord?’

  Spotting them, the white-haired man came over, doing his best not to limp too obviously. He wore a heavy black clo
ak that didn’t quite disguise his emaciated frame.

  ‘My lord?’

  The man eyed them, an expression of distaste turning his mouth down at the corners.

  ‘You are Sir Sebastian Carverson, the Ynnsmouth knight? And the … Copper Cat of Crosshaven?’

  ‘We are, my lord.’ Sebastian gestured to a seat and the man sat.

  ‘I’m the Copper Cat.’ Wydrin thrust a hand across the table and when he didn’t move to take it, picked up her tankard instead. ‘Although you can just call me Wydrin. The Copper Cat thing, well, it’s my meat and gravy but it takes half a bloody day to say it.’

  ‘We are told that you have a journey in mind, one that needs a couple of strong sword arms.’ Sebastian waved at the barkeep for more drinks.

  ‘It is a journey, yes, but not a long one. I need to get inside the Citadel, to explore its lower chambers.’ The white-haired man rested his stick against the table. ‘There are stories about the Citadel and what it contains. I assume you have heard them?’

  Sebastian nodded.

  ‘Legends, yes, everyone knows them. Even in Ynnsmouth our old women tell tales of the long-dead mages of the Citadel.’

  Wydrin leaned over the table eagerly.

  ‘I’ve heard there’s an entire hall filled to the ceiling with gold coins and jewels from across Ede, and that they had a sword that sang in the presence of demons and a set of armour that summoned an army of ghosts.’

  Sebastian glanced at his colleague before turning back to their client.

  ‘I’m afraid tales are all they’re likely to be, my lord.’

  ‘All rumours contain an element of truth. The Kretian council keeps a guard on the one entrance, but I have already taken care of the bribe. My main concern is the interior of the Citadel itself.’ The white-haired man took a slow breath. ‘It is said to be a labyrinth in there.’

  ‘That is where we may be able to help you.’ Sebastian reached into his belt and pulled out a length of parchment covered in inky squares and circles. ‘My friend had a map to the Citadel, and I have a partial copy. It may get us part of the way at least.’

  ‘Where is your friend now?’ asked the white-haired man.

  Sebastian frowned.

  ‘I don’t know. He … went ahead without us.’

  ‘Then you must assume him dead?’

  Sebastian looked down at his tankard.

  ‘He is not so easy to kill,’ he said eventually. ‘He may still be in there, exploring the lower reaches, or else he has made his way back out again under the cover of night, too ashamed by his failure to seek me out. If we get into the Citadel and find him, we can make use of the complete map.’

  The white-haired man leaned forward to glance at the parchment, and as his hair fell across his brow Wydrin saw that there was a gnarled lump of scar tissue in place of one of his ears. It had been cut off and none too carefully either.

  ‘It is a start.’ He sat back in his chair and looked at them both. Wydrin didn’t like the assessment in that gaze. ‘Now, if I am to employ you I would ask some questions.’

  ‘All you need to know is that we’re the best,’ said Wydrin with a shrug.

  The white-haired man raised an eyebrow at her, perhaps suggesting that he was yet to be convinced, before turning to Sebastian.

  ‘Why did you leave the Ynnsmouth knights?’

  ‘Who says I left?’ There was a flicker of anger in Sebastian’s voice. ‘I still carry the shield of Isu.’ He indicated a badge sewn to the shoulder of his cloak. It depicted the outline of a jagged mountain top picked out in silver thread against a red, storm-laden sky. There was a series of letters in an alphabet Wydrin could not read sewn along the bottom, which Sebastian had told her spelt ‘Isu’. ‘My sword was blessed at the mountain spring of the god-peak.’

  ‘Every man I spoke to told me how you were expelled from the order for some unspecified crime. They all knew the truth of this, although none of them knew exactly what it was you had done. I will not go on this journey with a man whose crimes are an unknown factor. I must trust you both to some degree.’ The white-haired man glanced at Wydrin. ‘And the last I heard, the Knights of Ynnsmouth do not take up petty mercenary work.’

  Sebastian pursed his lips, scowling down at his ale as though it had turned to bile. In the silence the barkeep bustled over bringing three fresh tankards. Sebastian waited for him to leave before he spoke again.

  ‘The Order of the Knights of Ynnsmouth, in their wisdom, exiled me. I will not speak of why, but I will tell you that I do not consider what I did to be a crime, and that you are certainly in no danger.’

  Wydrin laughed at that. ‘Let us just say that his idea of brotherhood was not quite the same as his superiors’.’

  Sebastian shot her a dark look before turning his attention back to their client.

  ‘You are correct, my lord, raiding temples is hardly a knightly pursuit, but a man trained in the way of the sword has to make a living somehow.’ His lips creased into a faintly bitter smile.

  ‘Actually, I have a question.’ Wydrin took a gulp of ale and belched none too quietly into her hand. ‘You intend to come with us on this trip to the bowels of the Citadel?’

  ‘Of course. It is imperative that I come. There are certain items, certain knowledge that I must acquire.’

  ‘Exploring the Citadel is likely to be dangerous and exhausting, and that’s even if we don’t meet with some nasty surprises down in its darkest depths.’ She turned over a few more cards at random; the ace of wands, the crystal ball, the bear. ‘We will need to be quick, and strong. And you do not look quick – or strong.’

  The white-haired man looked down at the table for a moment, every line in his face rigid.

  ‘You do not know me, Wydrin of Crosshaven, otherwise you would not ask such a question. I am Lord Frith of the Blackwood, and the Friths are not so easily put aside.’ Again there was that look, as though he were holding on to a rage he could barely contain. ‘I’m stronger than I appear.’

  Wydrin shrugged.

  ‘Fine. That brings me on to my favourite subject, our fee.’

  Lord Frith glanced at Sebastian and then back to her.

  ‘I have already spoken of this to your contact. We agreed a fee then. I see no reason to negotiate further.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know; I enjoy a bit of negotiating myself.’ Wydrin winked at Frith. ‘What have we got? Expenses, danger money, a spot of body guarding too, I reckon. Let’s go over the details once more for fun, shall we?’

  There then followed a protracted argument over their fee that cost Lord Frith the promise of a further eight hundred pieces of gold and Sebastian two more rounds of ale. When everything was agreed Wydrin sat back in her chair feeling pleased with herself; an interesting job for a ridiculous amount of coin, and someone new to argue with.

  ‘That’s settled then, we’ll leave in the morning. Consider our swords at your service. And the copper promise should always be sealed with a toast.’ Wydrin lifted her tankard. ‘To sacking the Citadel!’

  Sebastian and Frith raised their own drinking vessels reluctantly, and she crashed her tankard into theirs, spilling more than a little over Lord Frith’s embroidered cuff.

  ‘We’ll have such stories to tell.’

  4

  ‘Krete is less a city and more an infection,’ muttered Frith as he hobbled his way through the crowded streets. The Citadel was the pustule in the middle of it, rising from the city’s heart to stare blindly across the desert lands beyond; the houses and taverns and markets, the brothels and warehouses and gambling dens that grew beneath its walls, were the signs of its feverish pestilence. Even in the early morning light the day was already too hot, and the sun was a white disc in the pale sky.

  ‘A hideous place.’ He limped around a market stall selling birds roasted on sticks. They’d left the brightly coloured tail feathers on. ‘So many people, so little space. And the stink.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ The mercenary called Wy
drin walked just ahead. ‘It doesn’t smell half as fishy as Crosshaven. Where I’m from this would be considered an especially fragrant day.’

  Frith frowned. ‘I’m sure it would.’

  He had heard many stories on his long and painful journey from Litvania. The Copper Cat of Crosshaven, they said, was a fearsome swordswoman with flaming red hair, a pair of daggers at her hips and a love of danger almost matched by her love of men and gold. It was said there was no deadlier dagger for hire in all of Crosshaven, and, given the latter’s reputation for privateers and scoundrels, that was quite impressive in itself. Her partner, they said, was a cold-eyed killing machine filled with the fury of his icy mountain gods, with as much warmth and mercy as those perilous peaks.

  Frith had imagined a tall, curvaceous woman, with hair as red as blood tumbling unbidden to her waist, a pair of green eyes as playful and cruel as a cat’s, and armour that perhaps did not leave much to the imagination. In truth the Copper Cat was a young woman of average height with short, carroty hair, freckles across her nose and almost every inch of her covered in boiled leather armour. As he watched, she paused to kick a lump of something unmentionable off one of her boots; it didn’t appear to make the boots any more presentable.

  The Ynnsmouth knight at least looked formidable. Even on such a warm day he wore the traditional armour of his Order, a mixture of boiled black leather, fine mail and silvered plate, and people seemed naturally to move out of his way, like a river flowing around a rock. Other than his size and the enormous broadsword slung across his back, he gave no further impression of barbarism. His face was long-featured and clean-shaven, his eyes clear and blue.