Ghosts of the Citadel

Book 1: Copper Promise

by Jen Williams

Genres: Fantasy; Epic Fantasy; Historical Fantasy; General Fiction; Action & Adventure; Friendship

Synopsis

Part I of THE COPPER PROMISE, the first in the exhilarating British Fantasy Award-nominated Copper Cat Trilogy. Epic fantasy for fans of Robin Hobb and Jay Kristoff's Nevernight series.

'A fast-paced and original new voice in heroic fantasy' Adrian Tchaikovsky , author of Children of Time


It is said that the Citadel is haunted, and that anyone foolish enough to enter will never return. When a mysterious nobleman offers them a small fortune to explore its depths, sellswords Wydrin and Sebastian decide they can afford to be a little foolish - it's a chance for adventure, riches, and they might even have a tale or two to tell in the tavern afterwards. But they will soon discover that sometimes there is truth in rumour...


The complete novel, THE COPPER PROMISE, is available from Headline in Paperback and Ebook

Release date: December 20, 2013

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 172

Sample

All the other cells in the dungeon stank of fear, but not this one. Lord Frith’s last surviving son was simply too proud to be afraid. Even now, as Yellow-Eyed Rin laid out his instruments on the blood-stained bench, holding each wicked blade up to the torchlight, the young man kneeling on the stone floor had only anger in his eyes.

The blood of his father is on that bench. His brothers’ too, thought Bethan. And soon his as well, but he’ll defy us to the end. Stubborn bastard.

The dungeons of Blackwood Keep were small and thick with shadows, which meant that Bethan had to stand rather closer to Yellow-Eyed Rin than she would have liked. He was a greasy wart of a man; shiny bulges of flesh poked through his leather tunic, and lank strands of grey hair stuck to his bulbous scalp. The rheumy eyes that gave him his name watered constantly, but not out of any sympathy for his victims. Rin might be foul to look upon, but his ability to summon excruciating pain with a few carefully placed cuts was invaluable to Bethan.

Despite the rough treatment they’d shown him so far, young Aaron Frith was another matter. With the strong jaw and grey eyes of all the Friths, his brown skin and fashionably long dark hair, he was a comely young man. Bethan had an appreciation for beautiful things; she had commanded that the finest paintings in the castle be taken down from the walls and packed into crates for her personal perusal later. It pained her greatly to spoil that warm skin, those pretty eyes. In the initial scuffle Frith had taken a blow to the temple, and now the dried blood was making his hair stick up at strange angles on one side. And Yellow-Eyed Rin would only make things worse, of course. Such a waste. Still, they needed him to talk, and soon. If they went another day without answers, then Fane might come up to the Blackwood himself, and no one wanted that.

‘Anything more to add, Aaron, before this gets bloody? Or should I call you Lord Frith now? Your father died in here yesterday.’

Aaron Frith slumped a little where he knelt, glancing away from her. For a brief moment she felt sorry for him, but the sensation didn’t last. The black velvet and silks he’d been wearing when they took the castle were stained and ragged now, but this was a man who’d been born into a privileged life. A silver brooch in the shape of a tree was still pinned to his breast, with tiny chips of sapphire in the branches that could have been leaves or could have been stars. It was fine work; Bethan made a note to make sure that it ended up in her pocket at the close of this messy business.

He looked back up at her and his eyes were dry.

‘I have nothing to say to Istrian scum.’

Bethan sighed, and looked around the squalid cell. The torches only made the corners darker.

‘You want to end your days here, Lord Frith? For the sake of what? Some jewels, some gold? Coin you’ll probably never get around to spending?’

Frith said nothing. Bethan felt a stab of impatience.

‘We know the vault is hidden somewhere in the forest, Frith. Everyone knows that. We’ll find it eventually, but I’d much rather you told me. It’s a lot quicker that way.’

To her surprise, Frith grinned.

‘You think you’ll find the location scribbled on a piece of parchment, a footnote in my father’s will perhaps? I’m not sure you understand how secrets work.’

‘You tell me, then. You’re the last. I may even keep you alive. The Istrian people are fascinated by the aristocracy of their neighbours, and they’ll pay good coin to come and gawp at you.’ She tried to inject a reasonable tone into her voice. ‘Tell me now, Aaron Frith, and I swear this will go better for you. You’ve nothing to gain from adopting the stubbornness that killed the rest of your family.’

‘Tristan was nine years old. He was not stubborn, he was terrified.’

Bethan took a step towards the prisoner. She could feel her face growing flushed, much to her annoyance.

‘You would end your life here, in the dungeon of your own castle? Hundreds of years of the proud Frith family, and you’ll all end up in unmarked graves in your own damn forest.’

In answer, Aaron Frith spat on her boot.

‘Enough talk,’ said Rin through a throat full of phlegm. He picked up a vicious blade no longer than Bethan’s smallest finger. ‘Time to see the colour of the young lord’s blood. I heard it’s black, like their trees, but it’s all been red so far. Very disappointing, that.’

Bethan shook the spittle off her boot.

‘Get started.’

Bethan left Rin to his work – there was, in the end, only so much of it she could watch – and spent some time patrolling the castle, checking on her men and their search through old Lord Frith’s private documents. The servants had been rounded up in the Great Hall, and Carlson, her second-in-command, had made some attempts to beat the information out of them, but they clearly knew nothing of use.

The question of the vault was a vexing one. The Frith family were famous not only for their wealth, but also for their paranoia. Several generations back the Lord at the time, one Erasmus Frith, had ordered a great vault built out in the middle of the Blackwood. Each day, the men who worked on it were taken to the location blindfolded, with one member of the Frith family on hand at all times to supervise the plans. Hundreds of years later, and all anyone seemed certain of was that it was in the Blackwood somewhere, hidden in that huge and unknowable forest. The Frith family fortune, just waiting for someone to steal it.

A number of hours later Bethan returned to the dungeon. As she approached the cell she listened for the noises men made when they’d reached the end of their endurance, but the stone halls were quiet.

‘Please tell me you have some answers, Rin.’

The torturer wiped his hands on a bloody cloth, grimacing.

‘The boy is just as big an idiot as the rest of them.’

Aaron Frith was strapped to the bench, his arms held down by his sides with iron cuffs. Rin had long since removed the expensive velvets and silks, so that he lay shivering in his smallclothes. One side of his face was slick with blood, and one hand was red to the wrist. His chest was livid with burn marks, and Bethan could smell the hot, sweet scent of scorched flesh.

‘I’ve done all the usual. Hot pokers, burning needles under the fingernails – once that didn’t work I just ripped ’em off – some cuts here and there. Took one of his ears, and I thought he might give in then, but it doesn’t look like he’s paying much attention now. You want me to put one of his eyes out?’

Bethan watched the young lord carefully. His eyes were closed, his breathing rapid and shallow. He looked like someone caught in the midst of a deep fever, but she thought he could hear them, all the same.

‘Hold off for a moment.’

She went over to the bench and took hold of Frith’s jaw, turning him to face her. One of his eyes flickered open; the other was caked shut with blood from a deep cut on his cheek.

‘Put away your pride, Lord Frith. Tell me where the vault is.’

For a moment the look in his one open eye was confused, as though he . . .