The Silver Tide

Book 3: Copper Cat Trilogy

by Jen Williams

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Sword & Sorcery

Synopsis

The final high-octane installment of 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

Tales of the Black Feather Three and their exploits abound far and wide, and Wydrin of Crosshaven, Lord Aaron Frith and Sir Sebastian have become sell swords in demand. Having foiled powerful mages and evil magic, they now face a challenge unlike any before - in the form of Wydrin's mother.

Devinia the Red, notorious pirate and captain of the Poison Chalice, is intent on finding the fabled treasure hidden within the jungles of the cursed island of Euriale. She needs the skills of her daughter Wydrin and her companions to get there, and our heroes cannot resist the lure of coin and adventure. But no explorer has returned from the heart of the island, and it's not long before the Three find themselves in the clutches of peril. Deep within the island of the gods, there are remnants of forces best left undisturbed...


'Expect dead gods, mad magic, piracy on the high seas, peculiar turns and pure fantasy fun' Starburst magazine

Release date: February 25, 2016

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 688

Sample

‘Williams has thrown out the rulebook and injected a fun tone into epic fantasy without lightening or watering down the excitement and adventure … Highly recommended’ Independent

‘The second outing is as entertaining as the first, being absolutely stuffed with ghoulish action. There is never a dull page’ SciFiNow

‘A highly inventive, vibrant high fantasy with a cast you can care about; fast-moving enough to ensure there is never a dull moment …’ The British Fantasy Society

‘Just as magical, just as action packed, just as clever and just as much fun as its predecessor … You’ll find a great deal to enjoy here’ www.fantasy-faction.com

‘Atmospheric and vivid … with a rich history and mythology and colourful, well-written and complex characters, that all combine to suck you in to the world and keep you enchanted up until the very last page’ www.realitysabore.blogspot.co.uk

‘Everything you need for a great fantasy read is right here’ www.lizlovesbooks.com

‘Nothing short of marvellous – it’s this light, fun, immersive kind of fantasy that kindled my love for the genre in the first place …’ Lucy Hounsom, www.tor.com

‘A fast-paced magical adventure that will enthral you’ Sci-Fi Bulletin

‘This is an excellent follow up to The Copper Promise, Jen Williams expresses a vivid Tolkien-like fantasy imagination in her writing, her wit will make you laugh, her horror will make you gasp’ www.fantasybooks.me.uk

‘I have absolutely adored living with the characters and the world that Williams has created. The Iron Ghost and its predecessor are full of fun, adventure, humour, angst, sorrow, life and magic … I can’t wait for the next book’ www.libertyfallsdown.wordpress.com

‘Fresh and exciting, full of wit and wonder and magic and action, The Copper Promise is *the* fantasy novel we’ve been waiting for’

Adam Christopher

‘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

‘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

‘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’ Quicksilver on Goodreads

‘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’

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

Chen stood on the back doorstep, feeling the sweat cool on his skin. The moon had painted the clouds with light, and they hung in the sky like ghostly courtiers paying homage to their queen. Behind him, the roar of the tavern was constant, even at this time of night; the Banshee’s small company of ships had made port at Two-Birds that morning, and there were a lot of thirsty men and women with coin to spend. For Chen, cook and occasional scrubber of pots at The Blinkered Inn, this meant a long night in a stuffy kitchen. The Blinkered was on the outskirts of the crowded town, where the buildings ended and the rest of the island began, but it was worth the uphill walk for ale that had only been watered down a touch, and, in Chen’s opinion, the best double-meat stew Two-Birds had to offer.

It was a hot night, as most nights on Euriale were. Sometimes the heat would make Chen’s scars itch, and each scored line would become a map of his mistakes, his conflicts, his triumphs. Sighing, he slipped a finger under his eyepatch and scratched at the sweat gathering in the puckered hole that had once been his eye, lost when a line snapped in a storm; it had snaked out of the night like a lightning bolt and turned his eye to jelly in an instant. Chen had seen men have their heads sliced from their necks in such accidents, so he had considered himself lucky at the time. Chen, or Screaming Mad Chen, as he’d been known in those days, believed in looking on the bright side. The Graces had been with him that day.

A figure leaned out of the door behind him. It was Molly, her hair gathered into a kerchief and a look of extreme irritation on her face. Chen could see sweat glistening on her forehead in the moonlight. ‘I’ve got another six orders here, Chen. When you’ve quite finished taking the air, do you think you could give me a bloody hand?’

Chen drew himself up to his full height.

‘I’m collecting ingredients, woman. Don’t you fuss me now. Some of these ingredients, they need to be collected at night. Or do you want just any old stew?’

Molly rolled her eyes at him.

‘Don’t you pull that cook shit with me, old man. Just get what you need and get back in here, or I’ll find some other one-eyed fraud to boil up this slop.’

Chen waved a hand at her and she disappeared back inside the tavern.

‘Slop indeed.’

He left the step and headed to his garden. He had planted it himself over the last few years, buying seeds from the ships that sold such things, watching over the seedlings, even going as far as to cover the more fragile plants with an oilcloth when the worst storms hit. This small garden, his job at The Blinkered Inn – this was his retirement, of a sort. He had sailed with several crews over his long life, and hadn’t regretted a single moment of it, but his bones were too old for sea voyages now. So, it wasn’t exciting and Molly gave him no respect, but it was better than dying at sea. Better than watching a cutlass open your guts, or drowning in the deep, the weight of the sea pushing you down into the dark.

Chen bent and plucked a sprig of colder’s fern, smiling faintly as the crushed leaves gave off a peppery scent. He stuck them in his apron pocket and began a quick circuit of the garden, picking herbs for that night’s stew, as well as for tomorrow’s breakfast. What he’d said to Molly wasn’t complete bullshit; some plants were better picked at night, their flavours sealed in by darkness, and not sweated out by the sun. He chuckled quietly. He was getting to be a poet in his old age. Screaming Mad Chen, dithering under the moon and fussing over herbs. Well, bollocks to it, he thought. The men he’d sailed with would have laughed at him, but most of them were dead.

He paused at the furthest reach of his garden. It backed on to the wild woods, and the trees loomed over him like a bank of storm cloud. That was the end of Two-Birds, pirate port and town, and the beginning of Euriale itself. As he looked at that dark mass, some of his good cheer leaked away. He supposed it suited a pirate to grow old on an island such as Euriale – always close to danger, always close to death – but at night-time, in the dark, the usual bravado and jokes didn’t quite erase the sense of foreboding. You only ever left Two-Birds by sea, you didn’t venture beyond the town, and you certainly didn’t go walking in those trees after dark. Those who did, didn’t come back, and that wasn’t a story made up to tell around a tavern fire. That was the cold truth.

‘Cursed place,’ he murmured, and he scratched beneath his eyepatch again. His skin felt livid with scars, just as though the newest one wasn’t over a decade old. ‘Poison. That’s what it is.’

As he moved to go, his thoughts already turning to the next batch of stew, something pale at the base of the nearest tree caught his eye. It was a clutch of moonroot mushrooms – he’d tried to cultivate them in his own garden several times, and they had never taken. Now here they were, growing just a few steps from his small, neat fence. Growing not in Two-Birds, but in Euriale. The distinction was important.

Chen cleared his throat and glanced back at the tavern. Lamps shone at every window, and beyond it, the gathered lights of Two-Birds curled along the bay like a constellation of impossibly bright stars. Just looking at it made him feel a little braver.

‘I’m Screaming Mad Chen,’ he muttered to himself, before stepping over the fence. He scampered to the treeline, trying not to notice how quickly he was moving, or how his heart had started to beat faster. Immediately it felt colder, and the pleasant scents of his garden were lost. Instead, he could smell the thick, wild scent of the island; it smelled of animal dung and rotten things and madness.

‘Bloody nonsense.’

He knelt and quickly picked several handfuls of the moonroot. Once he’d had a chance to wash these and steep them, tomorrow’s stew would be the best he’d ever made. He allowed himself a smile, pleased with his own luck and no small bravery, and stood up to go back to his garden. Beyond the trees he was startled to see a man standing in the dark, lit from within by some sort of strange, bluish light. The man was tall and broad, his hair curling close to his head. From what Chen could make out, he was handsome, his strong jaw smooth, his posture straight and true. The man seemed to be looking at him, and then he turned away.

Chen would never know why he followed him into the trees. He simply dropped the last of the moonroot and went after him, stepping from the light into the dark. The man was already some distance away, moving silently between the tree trunks. Chen caught sight of a section of his broad back, still lit from within with that strange light, and then a glimpse of the back of his head, and then he was no more than a distant glow. Chen stumbled, holding out one hand and catching on a nearby trunk for support.

‘What am I …?’

Chen blinked rapidly. It was like waking up after dozing off by the fire; sounds seemed louder, lights brighter. There was a rustling in the trees that seemed to come from all around, although there was no breeze to speak of.

‘Stupid old man.’ He took a few rapid steps backwards. The trees pressed in on all sides, their darkness suffocating, but despite the closeness he felt terribly exposed. ‘I must be getting feeble.’

He turned back, searching for Two-Birds’ lights through the trees. Thick vines hung everywhere, obscuring his view.

‘Graces be damned.’

The glowing figure had been an odd shadow, or a bit of moon magic. Perhaps he’d mistaken the mushrooms, and just the touch of their skins had given him a strange dream. He’d made a mistake, a big one, but it wouldn’t matter. He’d go back inside, and it wasn’t as if he’d tell anyone about it, oh no …

There was a low thud, and Chen was pushed violently forward. Only a lifetime spent keeping his balance on storm-lashed decks stopped him falling to his knees. He looked down to see something long and glistening sprouting from his chest. It took him a second to realise that it was the head of an arrow.

‘You shouldn’t have left your world, godless one.’

To his right the darkness between the trees shimmered, as though the air was as thick as water, and a woman appeared. Chen would have sworn that seconds ago that space was empty, but she was utterly solid, no ghost made of blue light. In the gloom he could make out that she was short, with skin as white as paper and untidy black hair that came down to her jaw and curled under there. She was beautiful, with almond-shaped eyes and a full mouth painted red, but a shadow lay against her neck. Chen narrowed his eyes at that, sure it was familiar, but the pain in his chest was starting to push all other thoughts aside.

‘I … why would you? I was just …’

She came closer. The woman moved with grace through the undergrowth, barely making a sound, and she wore a strange combination of fur and leathers, beads and bones and other trinkets at her ears and wrists. In her hands was a pair of long curved swords. She was not carrying a bow.

‘You have entered the world of the Twins now.’ She smiled at him, and Chen felt his bladder release in a sudden hot torrent. It was the smile of a wolf. ‘Such as you must stand in sacrifice.’

She looked over his shoulder and nodded, and a man came out of the shadows, a bow held loosely in one hand. He did not simply appear out of the air as the woman had done, but he moved just as silently, and he wore dark clothes.

‘He will do,’ she told the new man, her tone kind now. ‘A bit scrawny for your first, maybe, but we will find the meat on him.’

Laughter came from beyond the trees. Chen looked around, trying to see who was there, but the woman reached out and pushed him to the ground. He cried out; the stench of the island had increased when she had touched him, and it felt like an invasion. He didn’t want to die here, with that stink in his nose.

‘Please,’ he said, aware from the taste of blood in his mouth that he was as good as dead already. ‘Please, I can give you coin. I spent most of it, but I hid some too. I can tell you where, I can—’

The woman laughed. Now that she was closer Chen could see that the shadow on her neck was a tattoo – it covered her neck, reaching up to the line of her jaw, and apparently continued below the leather vest she wore. It was too dark to see what it depicted.

‘Old pirates,’ she said, almost fondly. ‘Always the same offers, the same threats. This is the disadvantage of meat that can talk.’ She looked up to the man with the bow and held out one of her swords. ‘Make the cuts the way I taught you, and the gods will bless our feast this evening.’

Wydrin passed the folded cloth across the table. ‘Go on. Have a look.’

Frith glanced up at her, frowning slightly. The chik-choks house was busy, full of the gentle clatter of men and women moving their pieces across their game boards, the murmur of quiet conversation and the occasional disagreement. Their own board had been colonised by several empty glasses, the game pieces – crystal monkeys, as was Wydrin’s preference – scattered to either side. Frith had picked up the game after only a few demonstrations and was dangerously close to winning his first match. He suspected this was why Wydrin had developed a habit of disrupting the game with elaborate orders of drinks.

‘What is it?’

She nodded at the cloth. ‘Nothing awful, I promise. Well, a bit awful.’

Frith picked up the material and unfolded it. Inside was a small piece of gold, rounded and dented into a familiar shape. ‘Wydrin,’ he said, ‘is this a tooth?’

She nodded. ‘Not bad work, either. Bit flashy for my tastes.’

‘And why am I holding a tooth?’

Wydrin picked up her glass and took a gulp. ‘That was left for me outside our room this morning. Wrapped in parchment, my name scribbled on it. Nothing else. No note, no instructions.’

‘You left the room this morning?’

‘I went out to get some fresh air. You were still asleep. It was as if you were worn out or something.’ She gave him a look over the top of her glass, and Frith smiled. It was strange, even now, to smile like that, but her green eyes demanded it. He put the gold tooth down on the chik-choks board.

‘Do you know why someone would send you a gold tooth? Is someone paying a debt they owe perhaps?’

Wydrin laughed, although he noted the bitter tone of it. ‘You could say that. You remember when you went swanning off to Whittenfarne to learn your mages’ words?’

‘Of course.’ Without thinking about it, Frith’s hand moved to the staff leaning against the chair next to him, fingers briefly brushing against the words carved there. These days Selsye’s staff never left his sight.

‘Seb had buggered off too, so I went back to Crosshaven, and—’ She paused, swirling the last of the mead around the bottom of her glass. ‘Well, I got involved in some stuff I probably shouldn’t have. Pirate business.’ He could see real regret in her eyes, not an expression he often associated with Wydrin. ‘I helped a man called Reilly rob a man called Morgul, but the stupid little bastard pushed it too far, and a lot of people died. It was a bloody mess.’

Frith raised his eyebrows. ‘You made some enemies then, I assume.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s not the first time it’s happened. I had to leave Crosshaven for a while, which was fine because we ended up, you know, having to deal with the god of destruction in the form of a dragon.’ She waved a hand airily.

‘I do seem to remember something like that.’

‘But when I came back I was careful. I asked around. Checked all the usual sources, and everything suggested that the Morgul situation had blown over. Those seeking revenge were apparently sated, and no one was muttering my name in dark alleys any more. Or no more than usual. And then this.’ She tapped the tooth with the end of her finger. ‘Reilly had a gold tooth. He thought it made him look dashing.’

‘So it’s a warning.’ Frith leaned back in his chair. ‘A threat.’

‘It seems so.’ Wydrin put her glass down, knocking over one of the crystal monkeys. ‘Nothing I can’t handle, but it might be worth—’

There was a crash from the front of the chik-choks room. A woman had just walked in and thrown the door back with more violence than was strictly necessary, catching the edge of a nearby chair and scattering game pieces. The man at the table stood up angrily – his drink appeared to have landed in his lap. He began shouting at the woman, who stood looking at him with a faint expression of curiosity on her face.

‘Oh shit,’ said Wydrin.

The woman looked as though she was in her fifties, with deep red hair tumbling in an untidy cloud to the middle of her back. It was braided here and there, Frith noticed, and tied with black ribbons. Her skin was tanned, and she wore salt-blasted leather trousers and vest, with a black silk shirt underneath. There was a pair of well-used cutlasses at her belt, along with a range of smaller daggers.

‘Who is it?’ There was a look of sheer alarm on Wydrin’s face now. Frith rested his hand on the staff. The solidity of it was comforting. ‘Is this one of the pirates you’ve angered?’

‘You could say that.’

The man was still shouting, his face growing redder and redder. The woman with the cutlasses seemed to grow abruptly tired of it, and in the middle of his rant she reached out with both hands, grabbed hold of his shirt, and brought her forehead up smartly to meet his nose. Even across the other side of the room, Frith quite clearly heard the crunch as small bones shattered. The man howled, pressing his fingers to his face as blood flowed from his broken nose.

The woman turned away from him, her eyes scanning the room for her next victim.

‘By all the Graces …’ Wydrin stood up and waved frantically. ‘Hello, Mum!’

Wydrin called for another round of drinks and fetched an extra chair from a nearby table. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the proprietor watching her with sudden attentiveness – even in Crosshaven, they didn’t get too many brawls in gaming houses, and she could tell that she had rapidly become his least favourite patron. She ignored him.

‘Frith,’ she said, as her mother took the offered seat. ‘This is Devinia the Red, notorious captain of the Crimson Sea Witch, scourge of the Bararian flotilla, first pirate to sail the Shadow-Bone Pass without smashing her ship to pieces, popularly referred to as the “Succubus of the Silent Sea”—’

‘No one has ever called me that,’ put in her mother, evenly.

‘… The Eighth Wonder of Crosshaven, or the Terror of the Torrent,’ continued Wydrin. ‘She is wanted in several countries with rewards healthy enough to set you up for life, if you live to claim it. She is also my mother.’

‘Thank you, Wydrin, that’s enough.’ Devinia looked her over, her dark blue eyes narrowing. ‘You do not look to have changed much since I saw you last.’

‘And when was that?’ asked Wydrin. She felt the brittleness in her tone and was powerless to change it. ‘Three years ago? Four?’

‘Possibly.’ A waiter arrived with their drinks, and Devinia peered with interest at the flagon of ale set before her, but did not move to drink it. ‘It’s the Poison Chalice now, not the Crimson Sea Witch. I have a new ship.’ She transferred her icy gaze to Frith. ‘Who is this, then? Where’s the other one? The big one?’

Wydrin grimaced. Frith was looking at the pair of them with a faintly stunned expression, but he recovered well.

‘Madam, I am Lord Aaron Frith of the Blackwood. It is an honour to meet such a distinguished lady, especially one with such a remarkable reputation.’

Devinia raised her eyebrows. There were a few beats of silence.

‘An honour, is it?’ Devinia turned back to Wydrin. ‘Where did you find this one?’

‘Frith and I have been travelling together for a while now. Saving the world from dragons, mad mages. That sort of thing.’

‘So I have heard,’ said Devinia, leaning back in her chair. Her face remained cool, disinterested, and Wydrin felt a flicker of irritation. It was as if fighting dragons and foiling evil magic was a regular occurrence, something Devinia did on a slow day perhaps, when she was bored. ‘Stories of the Black Feather Three abound in every port. I thought it was your usual ploy of spreading elaborate rumours, but the same tales were being told everywhere and, of course, your brother can attest to the reality of your dragon.’

Quickly, the irritation turned to anger. She didn’t say it outright, of course she didn’t say anything, but the accusation was there in the slight downward turn of her mouth.

‘Jarath is fine,’ said Wydrin, with more heat than she intended. ‘I saved him. We saved him.’ She glanced up at Frith, who said nothing. ‘He’s a pirate, Mum, like you. He’s hardly a bloody stranger to risk.’

‘A stranger to dragon fire though,’ replied Devinia, before shaking her head as if knowing Wydrin wanted to argue the point further. ‘That’s not why I’m here, anyway.’

‘Then why are you here? Not that it isn’t a pleasure to see you of course, out of the blue and with no prior warning.’ And in truth, it was good to see her. Devinia had a few more lines at the corners of her eyes, and the first few grey hairs were beginning to show at her temples, but otherwise Devinia looked as she ever had; strong, immovable and defiant. And like a spectacular pain in the arse. ‘Why exactly have we been blessed with your presence?’

Devinia cocked her head slightly.

‘This is your new young man, isn’t it? That’s why you’re showing off?’ Before Wydrin could answer, she carried on. ‘I’m here, Wydrin, because you have shown yourself to be an extremely capable sell-sword with a remarkable reputation won in a short space of time. You also have some interesting friends, with some interesting abilities.’ She glanced at the staff leaning against Frith’s chair. ‘And so I have come to ask you if you would like to join me on a small adventure.’ For the first time, Devinia smiled, just a little. ‘I think it might be your sort of thing.’

Wydrin sat back in her chair, suddenly wary. She could count the occasions that Devinia had asked for her assistance on the fingers of one hand, and still leave enough to hold a tankard of mead. She looked at Frith, who shrugged his shoulders minutely.

‘Oh? Exactly what sort of adventure are we talking about, Mum?’

Devinia leaned forward over the table, lowering her voice. ‘You remember the island of Euriale?’

Wydrin frowned. ‘Of course. It’s where the port town of Two-Birds is. You took me there often enough as a kid.’ Catching Frith’s questioning look, she turned to him slightly. ‘Two-Birds is a pirate town, full of – well, people like my mum here. Beyond Two-Birds, though, there’s nothing but wild jungle. It’s generally believed to be cursed.’ She smiled. ‘I was a terror for stories about Euriale when I was a kid.’

‘Some of those stories involved gold,’ cut in Devinia. She took a sip of the ale. ‘Gold and treasure, and wonders unlike any other place on Ede, all hidden at the very centre of the island.’

Frith shifted in his chair. ‘And you expect me to believe no one has yet claimed this treasure? When the closest town is full of pirates?’

Devinia gave him a cool look. ‘Whether the island is cursed or not, it certainly is dangerous. No one has been known to survive more than a handful of days when venturing into the island.’

Wydrin shook her head. ‘It hardly matters anyway, Mum. Unless you have some magical way to get to the centre of the island without getting killed?’

‘Actually, you’re the ones that have that.’ Devinia leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘I just have the map.’

Wydrin snorted. ‘A map of the interior of the island? No such thing exists. Nothing reputable, anyway.’

‘I have one and I assure you, it certainly is real.’ And then to Wydrin’s surprise, her mother turned away from her and addressed Frith directly. ‘The problem, Lord Frith, is one of transportation. The island of Euriale is split by a great spiral of waterways that lead to the very centre, banked all along the way by high cliffs of black rock. With the right vessel it would be possible to sail almost all the way—’

She paused as Wydrin scoffed into her drink.

‘But Euriale is dangerous. Small boats and ships are surely doomed, overwhelmed within days.’

‘Overwhelmed?’ asked Frith. ‘Overwhelmed by what?’

‘The local wildlife,’ replied Devinia dryly. ‘The only reliable way through would be with a big, tough ship, one where the crew are kept as far away from the water as possible. A ship like the Poison Chalice.’

‘But Mum—’

Devinia silenced her with a look. ‘The difficulty is that the Poison Chalice is a ship with sails. And once we’re deep in those waterways with the cliffs rising on either side of us, we will lose most of the wind we need to move. The waterways are deep, but they are also cramped, and the Poison Chalice has no oars to keep her moving when we are becalmed. This is where you come in, with your staff and your magic.’

Frith toyed with one of the crystal monkeys on the table. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

‘I’ve heard the stories of the Black Feather Three.’ Devinia tipped her head to one side. ‘You can hardly avoid them, around here. I’ve heard all sorts about what you can do with your magic.’

‘Are you asking him to move your entire bloody ship for you?’ Wydrin shook her head slightly.

‘I am asking him to provide our means of propulsion.’ Devinia looked directly at Frith. ‘What do you think? Is it possible?’

For a long time Frith said nothing. He looked at the staff, leaning next to him. Wydrin knew that he was limited to the words that Selsye, long-dead mage and crafter of the Edeian, had carved into the wood itself, but she also knew that, thanks to the ministrations of the mad mage Joah Demonsworn, he now knew more about the elusive magic than anyone else on Ede. Thinking of what that had cost him caused a bitter taste to flood Wydrin’s mouth. She fidgeted in her chair.

‘I think it is possible,’ he said eventually. And then he nodded, more certain of himself. ‘Yes, I believe so. I have the word for Force, and the ability to send it in several directions at once. And my mastery of the spell itself has vastly improved. I could sail your ship for you.’

Devinia’s mouth quirked up at the corner. ‘You can leave the sailing to us, I just need you to provide a fair wind. What do you say?’

Frith caught Wydrin’s eye, and she saw that he was open to the idea. There would be treasure, yes, and adventure, but more importantly there would be a way to use his knowledge of the Edenier, something she knew he had been craving. And there was Sebastian to think about. She had been avoiding that problem for too long.

‘It seems you have gained yourself the services of the Black Feather Three, Mum.’ Wydrin took a sip of her mead. ‘Now we just need to discuss the fee. There will be no family discounts, of course.’

Sebastian slipped into the crowd, pushing to the front easily enough. From the corner of his eye he saw a few men and women turn to him angrily, but once they caught a glimpse of his broad shoulders and muscled arms, they quickly turned back to the action in the pit. They were here to watch a fight, not to pick one.

It was a busy day at the Marrow Market, and the air was full of the smell of roasted meat and spilt beer as the people of Crosshaven sought out their afternoon’s entertainment. Sebastian leaned on the wall at the edge