by Jen Williams
‘I am sorry, Regnisse.’
‘Sorry? What have you got to be sorry for?’ She peered up at him shrewdly. Sebastian suspected she knew very well what he was sorry for. ‘You know, it’s funny. The buildings we blew up have been cleared away, and yet the tunnels beneath the town are all still standing. Whoever made them certainly knew what they were doing.’
Sebastian nodded, unsure how much to say. ‘That is remarkable.’
She pursed her lips at that. ‘Your friend. Did he find you?’
‘My friend?’
‘There was a man here asking after you and the girl. He had blond hair, and he looked ill.’
‘Ah.’ Sebastian ran his fingers over the leather cover of one of the books. ‘Yes, he found us. Thank you.’
‘I hope that boy got some rest. He was the sickest man I’ve seen still walking and talking.’
Sebastian cleared his throat. ‘Yes, he did. Dreyda, the gauntlet that was recovered after we blew up the tower, the one that belonged to Enri …’
‘You want it, do you?’ She pulled a wooden box out from beneath a table and dragged out a handful of oil rags. Underneath it was the gauntlet, the twin to the one they’d taken from Roki. The final piece of Bezcavar’s armour. It was very warm inside the little room. ‘Take it then, I’m not touching it.’
Sebastian picked it up, turning it over in his hands. ‘Thank you.’
‘And what are you planning to do with it, exactly?’ Dreyda sniffed. ‘It’s the work of a demon, you know that. No good came of it. Men and women have died—’
‘We need it.’ Sebastian cut across her, the words tight in his throat. ‘We’re going to kill the dragon that’s terrorising your home, Dreyda. We need every advantage we can get.’ Sebastian wondered who he was trying to convince. ‘Frith has figured out the spell and it’s time to – it’s time to make things right.’
‘Ah, the lordling.’ Some of the hostility left the Regnisse’s face to be replaced with pointed interest. ‘He went to Whittenfarne, then? Did he learn the forbidden words?’
‘He did.’ For some reason Sebastian found he no longer wanted to be in this little alcove, or in the temple at all. Not with this woman who looked at him like she could see every dubious decision he’d ever made. ‘He did, and now we think we have a way to kill the monster, so I must go.’
She laid a hand on his arm as he turned away.
‘The armour is cursed, Sir Sebastian. You know that well enough. It was dedicated to a demon in the name of suffering, and suffering is all it will bring you.’
Sebastian pulled his arm away, faster than he’d meant to. ‘If it helps us to undo what we’ve done, then I will wear it.’
He swept aside the curtain and walked out of the temple without looking back.
Outside the cool air was like a balm on his face, and he felt a surge of annoyance for the temple and the tattooed woman within it. What did she know of suffering?
He was out of the gates and pounding the road back to the castle when a soft voice called to him from the trees.
‘Sebastian?’
A slim figure slipped from the shadows, and for a strange moment Sebastian almost didn’t recognise him. I knew this man, he thought, in another life, perhaps. And then Crowleo laughed gently at the confusion on his face and it came back to him. Too much wine in a dishevelled room, a young man with warm brown eyes, and the grass glittering with broken glass.
‘Your face, Sebastian, is filled with thunder,’ said Crowleo. They stood on the path together, and for the second time that day Sebastian felt himself under the close scrutiny of a pair of clever eyes. ‘How are you? It looks as though your road was a rough one, yes?’
‘You could say that. What are you doing, skulking about in the trees?’
Crowleo laughed again. Sebastian remembered the boy they had left, his face creased with grief. At least some of us are getting better.
‘I was on my way to visit Dreyda,’ he said. ‘She’s partial to the strawberries I’ve been growing in the backyard.’ He held up the small covered basket he was carrying. ‘There’s so much space, and Holley never used it for anything and I – well.’ He cleared his throat and looked vaguely embarrassed. ‘I might have seen you in one of the glasses, walking through Pinehold. Thought perhaps I could catch you, yes?’
To his own surprise Sebastian found he was smiling. ‘And you did.’
They found a patch of grass beyond the trees and sat for a while. Crowleo had brought more than strawberries; his wicker basket also contained bread, cheese and a bottle of sweet red wine. Sebastian opened his mouth to make some small words about the weather or the state of the town, and instead found himself telling Crowleo everything. All of it. The monsters in the Citadel, the dragon and her children, the voices that seemed to crowd the edge of every night’s sleep, and the demon who’d come to him as a small girl. And the armour, of course, the armour worn by the man who’d killed Holley.
Once it was all out, they sat together in silence. The forest seemed to rush to fill it with soft forest sounds. Sebastian found himself hoping that no one would ever speak again, so he could sit here for ever in the gentle music of the trees.
Eventually Crowleo reached into his pocket and pulled out a small glass globe. It was a deep indigo, like the sky on the very edge of night.
‘I made you this.’
Sebastian stared at him.
‘That is all you have to say?’
Crowleo held the bauble out to him until he was forced to take it. ‘I believe it is important, yes. Keep it with you, please.’
‘But everything I have told you – are you not shocked? Angry? I have sworn my sword to the very demon who killed your mistress! I have killed in his name.’
Crowleo regarded him steadily. The easy humour had disappeared from his face, but there was no hate there either.
‘You do not need me to tell you what is right, Sebastian. You know what you must do. You know what is right.’
‘I do, do I?’ There was no keeping the bitterness from his voice.
‘I know it.’
‘Fine.’ Sebastian got to his feet, knocking over the last of the wine in his hurry. ‘I am glad that you are so certain.’
‘Sebastian—’
‘Thank you for the gift.’
He turned and left Crowleo where he was sitting and headed back to the road. It was a long walk to the castle and it wasn’t wise to be in the forest after dark.
78
The long table was covered in strips of linen, all of them inscribed with the looping black patterns of ink. Wydrin picked up another, wondering what it meant. The one part of the table not taken up by the strips was covered in the shattered eggshell pieces, which were now, finally, arranged in their original shape, or at least as close as they could decipher. Next to that were the maps. Frith had spent all night poring over them, arranging the order of the spell.
‘Bind that one to my right arm,’ said Frith.
He was standing stripped to the waist with his arms held out in front of him. She had already tied several of the strips to his left arm, and several around his chest. He thinks that if he takes all of the words, we cannot fail, thought Wydrin. She hoped it was that simple.
‘Here you go.’ She looped the fabric around his bicep until it was tied into place.
‘Your hands are cold,’ he complained again.
‘Do you think the ancient mages had servants to do this for them?’ She picked up another bandage, running it between her fingers. ‘Or scantily clad ladies, perhaps, all perfumed and oiled?’
Frith coughed. ‘You’ll do.’
‘Oh, thanks very much.’
More strips, more spells. More ways to channel the Edenier. He was leaving nothing to chance.
‘Why did you change your mind?’ When he frowned at her she shrugged. ‘I mean, before you didn’t seem particularly keen on facing the dragon. You’d got your home back, and the revenge you’ve been after all this time. I thoug
ht you’d decided to let someone else deal with it. But now you’ve got me doing this.’
Frith cleared his throat. ‘It has become clear to me that some things are too important to ignore. Certain events have made me see things from a new angle. And yes, I have my castle back and the Blackwood will be cleared of Istrian scum, but what will that matter when Y’Ruen crosses the Yellow Sea? The Blackwood will be nothing but ash, my castle a pile of rubble. I must act.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear that. I don’t think we’d get very far without your magic.’
She tied the next piece of fabric around his narrow waist, letting her fingers brush against the taut muscles of his stomach. He jumped a little, and Wydrin bit down a smirk. The bandages looked very white against his skin, a contrast that pleased her for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She found herself wondering how that warm brown skin would look against clean white sheets, for example.
‘We thought you were dead.’
Wydrin blinked rapidly, trying to drag her mind back to the task at hand. ‘What?’
‘When you were missing, and I used the Edenier to find you, we saw you lying prone on the table. We couldn’t tell if you were alive or dead. Not then.’
Wydrin chuckled, slipping the end of one piece of linen under another. Pulling it tight, making a knot.
‘Aw, don’t tell me you were worried?’
Frith didn’t reply. The silence drew out until she had to look up into his face to see what was wrong. His grey eyes were dark, the colour of an oncoming storm.
‘What if I was?’ he said.
He took hold of her hand, snatching it up from where it was still tying knots, and he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the delicate skin on the underside of her wrist. ‘What if that’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you?’
There was not a scrap of humour in his eyes. Wydrin thought she’d never seen a face so far from smiling. ‘Frith—’
‘I find it difficult to – care for other people. Dangerous. And yet you are an impossible woman.’
‘And you are an impossible princeling. I’m sure I’ve said that before.’
He drew her closer. To her own surprise she found her heart was beating faster, like a frightened bird, and there was a warmth coming from his body, a warmth her own body was returning. When his other hand pressed at the small of her back and she reached up to touch his face, a single thought flew across her mind like a comet – this is new – and then he was bending his head to her own and—
The doors to the hall crashed open and they jumped apart like they’d been pinched. Sebastian was striding into the hall, the gauntlet gripped in one hand. There was a look like black fury on his face.
‘By all the graces,’ cried Wydrin, ‘don’t you ever bloody knock?’
He glared at her. ‘Since when were you one to stand on ceremony? I have the last piece of the armour now.’
Wydrin let out a shaky breath and rubbed a bead of sweat from her forehead. She found she couldn’t quite bring herself to look at Frith, who was standing up very straight.
‘Do you even know what the armour does when you have all the pieces together?’
Sebastian looked down at the gauntlet in his hands. ‘I suppose we shall see. What of the spell?’
‘I have rearranged it,’ said Frith. He walked over to the table and smoothed down a piece of parchment. ‘And copied it again here. There are essentially four parts to the spell. Once we have located Y’Ruen, we must lure the dragon to the location of O’rin’s first trap.’ He picked up a map. ‘They form a square. The first word is written underneath the ruins of Gostarae in Relios, the second under Pinehold itself, the third—’
‘Do we know what the spell does when it goes off?’ said Wydrin. ‘I mean, is it going to affect the places above the tunnels?’
‘O’rin gave us no information on that,’ replied Frith, picking up another map. ‘As Sebastian says, I suppose we shall find out. The third sits under the Horns, and the final piece of the trap is to be activated in Ynnsmouth.’
‘Oh good, so we are going around in a circle,’ said Wydrin.
‘Ynnsmouth?’ Sebastian scratched at the scar under his eye. ‘Whereabouts in Ynnsmouth?’
Frith consulted the map once again.
‘The God-Peak Grove. Do you know it?’
Sebastian looked down at his feet. ‘I do. It is one of our most sacred places, in the centre of a city called Baneswatch. It is very ancient, so it is entirely possible that a god had some say in its construction.’
Frith nodded. ‘We must move Y’Ruen from location to location, and once she is over the traps I will summon the words and use the Edenier to activate the tunnels. Assuming they are still all in place, assuming we get the dragon to where we need her to be, assuming that we survive being in close proximity to a dragon, and assuming that O’rin, a trickster god, didn’t just lie to us –’ Frith cleared his throat – ‘then it should work.’
‘Well,’ Wydrin slapped him on the shoulder, ‘when you put it like that, princeling, I don’t see how it could go wrong! I tell you what, I’d hate to be a dragon right now, not with us on the job. Is there any wine in your kitchens yet, by any chance? Maybe some rum? Something with a bit of kick might be handy.’
Silence bloomed between them then, as they stood by the table filled with maps and spells. Wydrin thought back to the first time they’d met Frith in Creos, how he’d limped into The Hands of Fate tavern like a man who lived under the constant shadow of death. It had seemed like a simple job, a quick job, sure to lead to riches and stories and danger, yes, but nothing they couldn’t handle. A copper promise, sealed in ale and dipped in bravado, and here they were now. Really, it was a gift of the Graces that they weren’t dead already.
‘This is really it, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘This is the end of it.’
Frith caught her eye again for the first time since he’d taken her into his arms. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens next, this is the end.’
79
The mountains of Ynnsmouth rose against the horizon like a line of broken teeth tearing at the sky. The god-peaks, thought Sebastian, although he looked away before the names of the gods could come back to him. Instead he looked down, where silvered lakes and valleys were passing below them, and the city of Baneswatch belched smoke from a hundred fires.
‘There she is,’ called Wydrin from the back of her own griffin. She was bent low over its neck, and she was pointing to the marshland beyond the city. At first Sebastian couldn’t make out anything thanks to the thick clouds of black smoke, but a shard of sunlight caught a shivering of blue scales, and there was Y’Ruen, rising out of the fog like a gaudy snake. The western wall of the city was obscured with flames.
‘This is the place?’ called Frith. The young lord’s arms were wrapped in spells, the ends of which were flapping in the wind like banners. Those over his chest were covered in a black velvet doublet. He’d decided against armour in the end, reasoning that the weight would slow the griffin down, and if he were caught in Y’Ruen’s fire it was unlikely to save him anyway. Sebastian had made no such compromise: Bezcavar’s armour was all he could bring to the fight so he wore it despite the heat and the weight. The helm was wedged between his legs.
‘Baneswatch,’ answered Sebastian. ‘Ynnsmouth’s greatest city. God-Peak Grove is at its heart.’
‘Damn.’ Wydrin craned her neck to look. ‘Jolnir’s tunnels are sturdy, but, you know, I wouldn’t be surprised if the fire power of another god could destroy them.’
‘We’d best get moving,’ said Frith.
They flew on, and soon the southern gates of Baneswatch were in sight. There were hundreds of people there, swarming in a mass of panic and fear. Some of them appeared to be trying to flee the city, while others were fighting the brood army.
‘I see Y’Ruen brought her children to the party,’ shouted Wydrin against the wind. They were a green storm, locusts moving over a field of wheat, and where they t
ouched the army of Baneswatch it fell back in pieces. Sebastian scanned the crowds, pushing the griffin lower and lower, until he could see the standards. Bright squares of material amongst the churning chaos, most of them the blue and red of Baneswatch, but there were others. Light blue and silver, orange and white – the colours of the Order.
‘There are knights down there. They must be the remnants of the Order!’ His throat was suddenly tight.
‘Let’s hope they can hold the gates,’ called Wydrin. ‘Perhaps if they do that—’
‘I have to go to them,’ Sebastian cut over her, already urging his griffin to land.
‘What?’
‘We stick to the plan,’ bellowed Frith. His griffin swept in to Sebastian’s left as though to shove him back into line. ‘You and Wydrin must lead the dragon away, while I—’
‘Your spell will come to nothing if God-Peak Grove is destroyed by dragon fire,’ Sebastian shouted back. ‘If I can help them hold the city, we might have a chance. It’s where I need to be.’
‘I don’t—’
‘Frith, let him go.’ Wydrin’s voice was resigned. ‘I can get the dragon where we need it.’
Sebastian looked at them both. Frith was scowling as ever, while Wydrin just looked sad. Her red hair fell across her face and was whipped back by the wind, again and again.
‘Good luck,’ he said, and meant it. ‘I will see you again.’
He turned the griffin and dropped from the sky, the freezing wind roaring in his ears. The city wall came up to meet him, and he caught a few shouts from below as some of the army within the city caught sight of what was falling towards them. There were even a few arrows flying up past him, and then he was down and dismounting. He was immediately surrounded by bristling swords and spears.
