Copyright © 2015 Jen Williams
The right of Jen Williams to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2015
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 1 4722 1118 7
Cover images © Hein Nouwens, DM7, Cindi L and DarkGeometry Studios, all at Shutterstock.com
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About Jen Williams
About the Book
Also By Jen Williams
Praise
Dedication
Part One: Heart of Stone
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part Two: The Riven Soul
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Part Three: The Graces’ Own
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Part Four: In the City of the Dead
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Acknowledgements
Discover where the journey began . . .
About Jen Williams
JEN WILLIAMS lives in London with her partner and her cat. She started writing about pirates and dragons as a young girl and has never stopped. Her short stories have featured in numerous anthologies. The Iron Ghost is her second novel, and the follow-up to her widely-praised debut, The Copper Promise.
About the Book
Beware the dawning of a new mage . . .
Wydrin of Crosshaven, Sir Sebastian and Lord Aaron Frith are experienced in the perils of stirring up the old gods. They are also familiar with defeating them, and the heroes of Baneswatch are now enjoying the perks of suddenly being very much in demand for their services.
When a job comes up in the distant city of Skaldshollow, it looks like easy coin – retrieve a stolen item, admire the views, get paid. But in a place twisted and haunted by ancient magic, with the most infamous mage of them all, Joah Demonsworn, making a reappearance, our heroes soon find themselves threatened by enemies on all sides, old and new. And in the frozen mountains, the stones are walking . . .
By Jen Williams and available from Headline
The Copper Promise
The Iron Ghost
Short Story
Sorrow’s Isle
Praise for Jen Williams and The Copper Promise:
‘The Copper Promise is dark, often bloody, frequently frightening, but there’s also bucket loads of camaraderie, sarcasm, and an unashamed love of fantasy and the fantastic’ Den Patrick, author of The Boy with the Porcelain Blade
‘A fresh take on classic tropes, this debut novel of dragons, lost magic and dungeon adventure is 21st century fantasy at its best’ SFX magazine
‘The Copper Promise is near-perfect fantasy-adventure fun and a breath of fresh air in a genre choking on its own grittiness. Read it and remind yourself what made you fall in love with fantasy books’ Starburst Magazine
‘A gripping, fast-paced adventure that’s a must-read’ SciFiNow
‘The Copper Promise is an excellent book, stuffed with all the ingredients of sword and sorcery mixed to a fresh new recipe. It’s a shamelessly good old-fashioned blood-and-thunder tale, heroic fantasy the way it’s meant to be’ Joanne Hall, www.hierath.wordpress.com
‘Williams’ vivid imagination and worldbuilding will take her far, along with a real talent for dialogue’ Glen Mehn, www.glen.mehn.net
‘The characterisation is second to none, and there are some great new innovations and interesting reworkings of old tropes . . . This book may have been based on the promise of copper but it delivers gold’ www.quicksilverreads.wordpress.com
‘It is a killer of a fantasy novel that is indicative of how the classic genre of sword and sorcery is not only still very much alive, but also still the best the genre has to offer’ www.leocristea.wordpress.com
‘If there was one word I'd use to describe The Copper Promise, it would be “joyful”’ www.graemesff.blogspot.co.uk
‘Fast-paced and wonderfully-realised, Jen Williams’ first novel is a delight. The reader will encounter pirates, dragons, zombies, gods and demons, to name but a few, on their journey through this exciting new world’ www.readerdad.co.uk
‘Each page is a wild ride into the unknown and follows a cast of characters that you will root for from start to finish. An immensely enjoyable debut’ www.sleeplessmusingsofawellgroomedmoustachedman.wordpress.com
‘A wonderful sword and sorcery novel with some very memorable characters and a dragon to boot. If you enjoy full-throttle action, awesome monsters, and fun, snarky dialogues then The Copper Promise is definitely a story you won’t want to miss’ www.afantasticallibrarian.com
‘The Copper Promise is such a gem . . . the kind of story that got me reading fantasy in the first place and I honestly believe this will one day be looked on as a classic of the genre’ www.ebookwyrm.blogspot.co.uk
For Marty, with love.
PART ONE
Heart of Stone
1
She touched the tips of
her fingers to the pitted rock of the cliff face behind her, taking satisfaction in its familiar solidity. Below her the tiny province of Apua crowded within its crevasse, the stacked red bricks of the monasteries fighting for space, and on the far side, the twin to the cliff she now perched on sat like a thick bank of storm cloud. Between the two cliffs hung the greatest of the sky-chains; the sky-chain for the Walk of Accuracy.
The chain itself was a wonder, each link a foot wide, and made of gold. Or at least, that was what Father Tallow said, although personally, Siano suspected the gold was only a covering and, underneath, the chain was made of something a little more reassuring. It stretched away from her and dwindled to a fine golden line high above even the tallest of the monasteries, until it met the far wall. Beneath it, Apua was teeming with people going about their daily lives, but you could be sure that there would always be a few pairs of eyes looking up, because you never knew when someone might attempt to walk a sky-chain. You never knew when someone might fall.
Siano had walked all three chains more times than she could count.
She stepped out from the small platform built into the rock and placed her foot on the first great link, testing its strength, feeling the soft thrum as the wind pushed against it, and the slower, more gentle rocking underneath that. She had taken her boots off and her bare foot looked warm and brown against the sun-bright gold.
‘Are you going to take all day, Siano?’ came a voice from behind her. She glanced back to see Leena grinning at her, nervous energy making her step from foot to foot. She was another of Father Tallow’s pupils, but she had yet to walk a single sky-chain or take a single life. Siano pitied her.
‘Please.’ Siano stepped fully onto the chain, the drop yawning away beneath her feet, and sketched a brief bow. ‘If you have finally gathered your courage, you are more than welcome to go first.’
She watched a grimace spasm across Leena’s face.
‘Just get on with it.’
Siano smiled and turned back to the chain in front of her. To either side the other sky-chains stretched into the distance: black iron for the Walk of Silence, blistered lead for the Walk of Secrecy. Taking a deep breath, she let herself feel the weight of her own body and its place in the universe. She let herself feel the texture of the link under her feet, warm and rough and solid. And then she walked.
I’m the best there is. Leena knows it, and Father Tallow knows it. She held her hands out to either side, feeling the wind beginning to push at her now she was out from under the shelter of the cliff face. I will be a weapon to turn the fate of the world.
There were shouts from below, although whether they came from observers of her walk or just people going about their general noisy lives, she couldn’t tell. Her eyes wandered to the tall segmented building that lay on the far side of the chain, directly under its path; the House of Patience, its broad, red bricks painted with rich images of dragons, birds and women. Some people believed that places such as the House of Patience should be hidden from view, that they should be disguised as more wholesome establishments, but Apua was famous for the profession. Why hide it? For a little while, she forgot entirely about the golden links and the deadly drop inches from her feet. In there, right now, Father Tallow would be teaching his children all the ways of Patience, and none of them would be quite as skilled as Siano.
The wind picked up a little, blowing her hair across her eyes. Most people would tie it back before attempting to walk across a sky-chain, but Siano had barely thought about it.
She was over three quarters of the way across and enjoying the thin sliver of sunlight warming her back when the bells began to toll, over and over. Siano paused, the wind pulling playfully at her jacket. When the children of the House of Patience were small, they were given a song of their very own. Each one was subtly different, and they all learned their own by heart. It was their second name, their signature. Siano listened, and after a few moments, smiled. They were calling her name.
Siano spread her arms and ran the rest of the way across the chain.
‘Siano, my child, come with me.’
The monks in their scarlet robes had ushered her up to the top floor of the House of Patience, ignoring all of her frantically whispered questions, and now Father Tallow himself was here to greet her. He was a tall, painfully thin man with a fringe of grey beard on his chin, the hair on his head oiled back into a long braid. His hands were long and delicate, a woman’s hands, save for the thick yellow fingernails. He grasped Siano’s shoulder with one of those hands now, and the girl was reminded of the strength hidden in them.
‘What is it, Father?’
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, and speak only when spoken to.’ Father Tallow led her through the opulent Receiving Room, where clients were served iced wine and tiny honeyed cakes – the cakes and wine were usually left untouched, since their clients were, by necessity, uncommonly paranoid – before being plied with reassurances and relieved of their money. Next to this was an anteroom that Siano had never been in, and this was where Father Tallow led her now. Before going in, he squeezed Siano’s shoulder again, apparently responding to the girl’s questioning look. ‘An important client, Siano. It is a great honour.’
Inside, the room was dark and stuffy. Small red lamps lined the walls and there were richly decorated screens to all sides. Siano’s training immediately provided her with a hundred places to hide, and a hundred places to expect danger. There were thick rugs on the floor and small clay pots burning incense that smelt of scorpion oil and lilies, and in the middle of the room was a low table. In the centre sat a large black lacquered box.
The room was crowded, small, dark – perfect for a job – but there was no one else present. Even behind the screens, Siano sensed there was no one. Perhaps the client would be brought to her?
‘Here, Siano, you will kneel.’ Father Tallow indicated the space in front of the table. Siano went to her knees in the waiting posture, her palms lying face-up on her thighs, showing no weapons: a gesture of respect. ‘Good. I have taught you much, Siano. As much as anyone learns at the House of Patience before plying their trade out in the world, perhaps. I ask you now particularly to remember the lessons of secrecy and stillness.’ Siano glanced up, trying to read her old teacher’s face. She felt her own stomach clench. ‘Are you listening, Siano?’
‘Yes, Father.’
Father Tallow nodded, and then walked forward and knocked three times on the lacquered box. There was a curious change in the atmosphere of the room; rather than stuffy, it now felt cold. The darkness was no longer a useful tool, it was threatening. Siano shivered.
‘I am here.’
The voice came from the box.
Siano let out a low cry of surprise, quickly silenced by Father Tallow’s warning look. Her teacher reached forward and opened the box, revealing a bloody severed head sitting upon a plump cushion. The head was either not particularly fresh or had experienced a rough journey, as much of the skin was missing, and the eyeballs had been gouged out. Strange angular shapes had been carved into the small pieces of flesh that had been left intact.
‘Good, good. This is the one, is it? She looks an eager sort.’ The voice was old, and cultured. It sounded relaxed, and faintly smug. ‘Your best, you say?’
Siano swallowed hard. She was untroubled by the sight of the severed head – she would not have lasted long at the House of Patience if such things worried her – but the voice was something else.
‘Siano has trained in all the methods of Patience, my lord, and excelled at them all.’ Father Tallow’s voice was steady, to his credit. ‘We feel she has a natural talent for the business.’
‘Ah, good. A child of mine, then. Yes, this will be perfect.’ The severed head did not move inside the box, but that was where the voice was coming from. ‘You have the names?’
‘Yes, my lord. We have the list, and information on all the families mentioned. It will not be a problem.’
‘Excellent. Blood
and names, it always comes down to that, in the end. Siano, is it? Look at me, girl.’
Siano raised her head respectfully, gazing on the bloody holes where the thing’s eyes should be.
‘Magic has returned to the world, do you know that?’
Siano nodded, and, at a glance from Father Tallow, cleared her throat. ‘Yes, my lord. There was a dragon in Creos, and griffins were seen to fly across Ynnsmouth.’
‘Heh, griffins.’ The voice sounded both amused and sour. ‘Ede is thick with magic once more. Places and creatures that have been dormant, shall rise. And so it is time for a friend of mine to return, for old debts to be repaid. And you are going to help me with that, young Siano. You will be my instrument.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Siano.
‘I have given your master a list of names,’ continued the voice. ‘Many years ago I hid the seeds of a spell in the blood of three men.’
Siano frowned slightly at the mention of a spell, but she kept her silence. The voice coming from the severed head continued.
‘These men were servants of mine, and they agreed to carry the seed in their blood for the granting of certain . . . privileges. I do find it quite fascinating, my young friend, how much a person will agree to when it is not them who will pay the price.’ Siano kept very still. She had no idea what the voice was talking about, but she assumed that either Father Tallow knew or it would be explained to her in time. ‘The descendants of these men have carried the seed in their blood, a quiet little passenger through the centuries, and it is time for this blood to be spilled, and the spell set in motion. There are three families on this list, Siano, and you will kill them all, and you will collect vials of their blood. Do you understand? You must be fast and deadly and quiet, a dark hawk on the wing.’
‘Yes, my lord.’ Siano realised that she could smell the head now, even over the heady scents of scorpion oil and the warm echo of polished wood. The head smelt like the back entrance of a butcher’s on a hot day, when the floors were washed and waves of pink water came down over the step.
‘The House of Patience can do this.’ Father Tallow came and stood behind Siano and briefly rested his fingers on the back of her neck in a gesture of support. ‘It is my belief that Siano was brought to us for this very purpose. To be your weapon, lord.’