Frost Child

  FROST CHILD

  Gillian Philip

  Sithe captain Griogair MacLorcan is his queen’s fighter of choice, skilled and ruthless at clearing her glens of the vile Lammyr. He is not used to them coming back, so when they defiantly return, holding a young Sithe girl captive, Griogair doesn’t hesitate to rout them and free the child.

  But the girl Lilith has been a long time with Lammyr, and keeps secrets of her own.

  The most vulnerable of creatures can be the most deadly.

  A prequel to Gillian Philip’s acclaimed FIREBRAND, FROST CHILD tells how Seth’s parents Griogair and Lilith met - and the first deadly consequences.

  With thanks to Kathryn Evans & Jennie Hood

  and to Andrew Brown

  The REBEL ANGELS series:

  FIREBRAND

  BLOODSTONE

  WOLFSBANE (August 2012)

  SNOWLINE (August 2013)

  “Utterly thrilling... like Alan Garner, Philip reforges our most popular myths... [Her] clear prose is as fiery as whisky”

  Amanda Craig, The Times

  “Often stark and brutal, but with moments of heartbreaking beauty”

  Mary Hoffman, The Guardian

  “Adventure writing of immense and energetic skill”

  Keith Gray, The Scotsman

  “One of the best faerie fantasy books I’ve ever read... Philip has taken her own mythic heritage and made it into something rare, new and infinitely exciting”

  Lucy Coats, Scribble City Central

  “Everything fantasy should be: vital, charismatic characters; intensely personal stories; big arching themes of power and greed, love and loyalty”

  Jill Murphy, The Bookbag

  Copyright © Gillian Philip 2011

  Published by Very Bad Wolf

  Cover design by Andrew Brown of Design for Writers

  All rights reserved.

  Gillian Philip asserts her right always to be identified as the author of this work. No part may be copied or transmitted without her written permission.

  All characters in this work are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Also by Gillian Philip and available on paperback and Kindle

  from Bloomsbury Publishing PLC:

  CROSSING THE LINE

  THE OPPOSITE OF AMBER

  And in paperback from Strident Publishing Limited:

  BAD FAITH

  Find Gillian Philip on the web at:

  www.gillianphilip.com

  www.facebook.com/gillianphilipauthor

  And follow her on Twitter: @Gillian_Philip

  FROST CHILD

  One

  If I’d had my way I wouldn’t have been up to my knees in pond-muck with my eyes full of sweat and my nostrils full of gods-knew-what stench from below, but if I’d had my way there wouldn’t have been any need.

  I’d told my queen ten years back that Lammyr were nesting in this glen. It wasn’t like her to be complacent but the dark hollow in the hills was many miles from her caverns, and besides, she knew they were afraid of me. And her indifference had infected me, and I’d put off the work, unwilling to argue my case when there were other tasks to be handled, more congenial quarrels to settle. She’d left it too long, and so had I, and now the creatures would be all the harder to prise from their hole.

  It was a good day for it: by which I mean it was silent and still and as grey as death. I should say, it was an appropriate day. As far as approaching the Lammyr unheard and unseen, it was the worst we could have picked.

  ~ Griogair, said Niall Mor MacIain.

  I glanced across to where he crouched, silent, at one of the cavern entrances. It was no more than a slit in the rock, black and dank, the cold breath of underground seeping from it like marsh gas. The gods knew how deep it was, or where it led, but Niall’s sword blade was bare and he couldn’t repress half a smile; he’d been longing for this. He was rash, was Niall, and he loved a fight, and though I often disapproved, I’d liked him enough to make him my lieutenant.

  And after all, I could understand his attitude. Peace and quiet were all very well, but we were getting bored, and fat, and lazy, and so were our fighters. And nobody ever pitied a Lammyr.

  ~ Quietly, then, I told him. ~ On three.

  ~ Onetwothree, said Niall, and jumped.

  *

  There was one advantage to leaving it this long: the Lammyr were every bit as sluggish as we’d been. The first of them turned on me in the gloom with a grinning snarl, but I had the advantage of it and it went down fast. But they were all over the tunnels, quiet and fast and deadly, slinking into their holes like angry snakes. And it was hard to know where those tunnels ended, so we had to dive after them and engage them in the darkness.

  I caught the glinting light of yellow eyes to my right; lunged for it. My blow was glancing and I ended up on the rocky floor, grunting as the air was knocked out of my lungs. The Lammyr pattered out of reach and I breathed hard in the silence, listening for its next move.

  ‘They’ll try to run,’ murmured Donal behind me, his sword raised. ‘They always do.’

  ‘They should have tried already.’ I frowned. The Lammyr always had an escape route; much as they loved death and a battle, they didn’t see the point of losing fighters unnecessarily. I fully expected them to turn tail, to try and squirm out of some back entrance when they realised we meant business.

  Usually I didn’t care where they went; the idea was to kill enough of them to encourage the rest to relocate their foul nest. But these had been here too long, and worse, they’d slunk back after the first time I routed them. Who knew why? I wasn’t asking; I was here to wipe them out. I didn’t give Lammyr a second chance. I valued my throat.

  I hated this work. I hated being separated from most of my fighters, with just one man at my back to guard it.

  And I hated that my backup wasn’t Leonora.

  It wasn’t as if she was handy with a blade; it was only that with Lammyr, there was no more useful fighting partner than a witch. And while I’d never intended to fall for anyone as dangerous and capricious as a witch, I had, and I’d never regretted it.

  Ahead of me, wounded, the Lammyr hissed. ‘Missing your bondmate, Griogair?’

  ‘No,’ I said, annoyed at myself for leaving my block down. Quickly I shuttered my mind.

  It giggled. ‘Shouldn’t think so loud.’

  ‘Shouldn’t goad me.’ I went still, aware that the pinprick light of its eyes had vanished again. To my left there was a faint rustle, a skittering slither, and the man behind me gave a yelp of shock and rage. I felt his blood spatter my arm, and then he was cursing to beat the pain.

  ‘Donal?’ I said.

  ‘Fine,’ he snarled.

  He wasn’t, but he’d have to wait. And I wasn’t about to drop my block again to ask him properly.

  The Lammyr giggled again, but I ducked as a thrown blade sliced the air above my head, then rolled back. I caught its bony ankle more by chance than skill, yanked it down hard as it leaped for the unseen ceiling, and snatched for its wrist before it could reach for another blade.

  Gods, it was a strong one. We rolled and struggled in a silent death-grip, and I couldn’t swing my sword-arm, and Donal was evidently out of action. Dropping my sword, I found the Lammyr’s skinny neck with my hands.

  There was mucal blood on its dry papery skin, and I wanted to recoil, but I only shuddered and crushed its throat. I was used to the touch of Lammyr blood after all this time, and it wouldn’t burn me, but it wasn’t pleasant. One of its flailing hands grabbed my own neck, but it was wounded and I wasn’t, and I had the better angle and the better grip. It died with an exasperated rattling sigh.

  They lived to kill, but when it ca
me to the end, they didn’t mind dying. That was always the trouble with Lammyr.

  I stumbled back off it, wiping my hands, then turned to seek out the light of Donal’s eyes. They still glinted in the darkness, though dully.

  ~ So how fine are you really?

  ~ I’d like to see Grian fairly fast. His teeth showed in whatever light seeped from the cavern walls.

  I gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet. Yes, he needed the healer; I could tell from the quantity of blood. I didn’t want to follow this tunnel further anyway. Distant sounds and energetic shouts told me my men were having better luck than Donal and me, and I wanted to rendezvous with them in the deeper heart of this nest. The plan had been to drive the Lammyr from the narrow passageways and into their central quarters. Lammyr, armed and forewarned and lurking in tunnels, were at their most lethal. Herd them to a hall for a fair fight, and you always had a chance of fewer casualties.

  I was eager to get Donal out of the way. I didn’t think he was mortally wounded – not that I’m an expert – but the sooner he got to the healer the happier I’d be, and besides, I wanted to keep an eye on Niall Mor’s back. If he was overenthusiastic he could easily get himself killed.

  I found three of my fighters guarding the entrance I’d used, so I left Donal with them; then I was running down the cleared passageways in the direction of the battle-howls.

  The remaining Lammyr were backed together in a cavern lower down the tunnel system where the air was cold and dank, unwarmed by the feeble light of flames in wall recesses. Each had a blade in its hand but while Niall Mor and his men circled them warily, the leader watched me enter, licking its dry lips and half-smiling.

  ‘Crickspleen,’ I said. ‘Been a while.’

  ‘Hello, Griogair.’ It tossed its curved blade lightly from bony hand to bony hand. No hilts for these creatures; it simply bled where the steel caught its skin, and the colourless drops hissed on the stones at its feet. ‘Safe passage, and we’ll stay away?’

  ‘Oh come on, Crickspleen. We had that deal forty years ago, and here you are again.’

  It shrugged, amused. ‘You were softer forty years ago. Over the Veil, then. We’ll go to the otherworld.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘You know that isn’t allowed.’

  ‘Oh, of course. That’s why you’ll never find a Lammyr in the otherworld.’ It smirked.

  I bit my lip, eyeing it, while Niall Mor fidgeted beside me.

  ~ Come on, Griogair. Let’s get it done.

  ~ Don’t be in such a rush. ‘What are you defending?’ I asked it abruptly.

  It was a wild shot in the dark, but I saw wariness flicker in its eyes. My hunch was right, then. They hadn’t run because they owned something worth keeping.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Crickspleen at last.

  Despite my mind-shield, it knew that I knew it was lying. Its mouth quirked.

  ‘You’d have my word,’ it crooned. ‘You know my word is binding.’

  ‘I don’t want it. If I let you go again, Kate would have my guts for a hat.’

  ‘It was worth a try.’ It gave a bleakly contented sigh. ‘No deal then.’

  It flew at me; an arc of blade-light cut the air, but I hit the cavern floor, feeling the breath of the blade-edge on my scalp. The speed of the damn things could still catch me by surprise, but I wasn’t much slower.

  I swore as I rolled, dodged, sprang back up. It was nothing but a moving shadow but I’d fought them before. Anticipating its moves was the trick. I bent backwards to avoid the next blow, then came at it low and brought my sword blade with me as I spun.

  They look so fragile, so ephemeral. It feels almost wrong as the blade strikes. You’d think the impact in its flesh would be barely discernible, but you have to keep control to finish the blow. Like slicing metal wire.

  But I had a good blade. Crickspleen toppled in two halves, the rattle of satisfaction escaping its yellow lips and leaving it lifeless.

  The others hadn’t been idle, either Lammyr or Sithe. As I rebalanced and lifted my sword again, the chaos and carnage around me was in full-throated roar. I wiped sticky Lammyr-blood from my face and sought another, but we’d had them outmanoeuvred from the start, and in here they hadn’t the space to use their speed to full advantage. There was nothing for me to do but finish a few scraps my fighters had started.

  When the last blade had fallen we stood in the silence, alert for a stirring hand or limb or a sucked breath, hearing nothing but the slow oozing drip of blood.

  I was glad to be able to drop my block and communicate properly. And, of course, scan the caves. ~ Any of us wounded?

  Niall Mor raised a questioning eyebrow at a fighter whose blood streamed from her scalp down the side of her face and neck. She shook her head, angry but not weakened.

  ~ Nothing serious.

  I narrowed my eyes at the woman, half-blinded by her own blood. ~ Dobhran, go back to Grian. The rest of you, follow me. I frowned as I peered into the darkest corners. ~ And block again.

  ‘We took them all, Griogair,’ said Niall Mor, though he kept his voice low.

  ‘Maybe. I want to know what else is here. Search the whole warren.’

  If anybody grumbled, they kept it behind their own blocks, but they went to the task without enthusiasm. This was no place for a Sithe, or not for my Sithe anyway. If someone liked living underground he could go to be the queen’s bondsman, and even Kate’s lair felt like the sweet open air next to this place. It was as if the rocks above us were pressing down slowly, shrinking the spaces between, reluctant to let us leave. I suppressed a shiver.

  There were faint lights in the lower tunnels, muted by iron sconces that were surprisingly beautifully made. The Lammyr could still astonish me. There were times I could almost like them. But it never got beyond almost.

  The air was cold and stale, but the rankness that accompanied Lammyr occupation was mostly absent. There were only the scents of earth and water and small squirming creatures. I made my way with care, and I kept my blade unsheathed, and so did Niall Mor at my back.

  All the same, I might easily have missed her. She was only a shadow, small and dark, huddled in the corner of a side room. It was Niall’s intake of breath that alerted me, since his eyesight was so much sharper than anyone’s.

  I went still, watching for movement. The child might have been a corpse, so stiff was she, but her eyes were wide, unblinking, and lit with the silver glow of a Sithe. No full-mortal girl, then, brought from the otherworld on one of their illicit forays, but a captured Sithe child. Their brazenness was breathtaking, but even this didn’t explain their reluctance to leave.

  I stretched out my hand to the child, made a beckoning motion. If anything, she pressed even closer against the wall.

  Niall stepped cautiously past me. ~ Come, child. It’s safe.

  I didn’t have time to swear at him for dropping his block. He reeled back with a short scream, clawing at his forehead, and the Lammyr came down on him like a falling demon, its leather coat swirling around it.

  I lashed with my sword, hacking its wrist more by accident than skill, and it was only by that outrageous chance that Niall avoided having his throat opened. Its hand spun and bumped to the stone floor, and I had to duck to dodge the squirt of blood. Niall rolled out of its way too, reaching out for the girl in the corner. But instead of taking his hand, she scuffled along the wall towards the wounded Lammyr. It gave me a twisted smile.

  Still rubbing his head, Niall glanced up to ensure there were no more Lammyr skulking in the roof; I could only stare at the girl, huddling behind her captor, more afraid of us than she was of it. The Lammyr shook the stump of its wrist at me, mockingly, scattering thick clotting droplets.

  ‘She’s ours, Griogair,’ it hissed.

  I shook my head. ‘How young did you get her?’

  ‘Young enough.’

  ‘You might as well give her back.’ Niall Mor lifted his sword with a snarl, as angry with himself as he was with the Lammyr. ‘
The rest are dead.’

  ‘It was worth a try,’ said the Lammyr, and sprang at us.

  I felt its second blade whisper past my skull, and an instant later the sting of pain, but I’d dodged in the right direction and Niall had leaped high to come down on it. His first strike missed as the creature twisted sideways, but his backslash caught its belly, making it slump with a groan to the ground. I finished it with a thrust to its back.

  The girl did not look at us, but at the Lammyr. Not with grief exactly, but perhaps regret. She did not move from her dark nook, keeping her arms wrapped round her knees. When she finally did catch my eye, through a straggling curtain of black hair, I didn’t know what I saw there. The strongest impression was of nothing. Her mind-block was astonishing in its thoroughness, its smooth glassy impenetrability.

  Niall was quicker than I was to break the strange deadlock. Sheathing his sword on his back, he crouched in front of her, his fingers linked so that she could see them.

  ‘Child, you’ll have to come with us. You don’t belong here.’

  She looked from him to the corpse of the Lammyr and back, then got to her feet. For a moment she looked terribly old, but then she nodded quite meekly.

  ‘Where am I going?’ she asked.

  It was almost a shock to hear her speak. ‘To be with your own kind,’ Niall said.

  Again she glanced at the Lammyr before studying the two of us. Her reply was almost indifferent. ‘All right.’

  It wasn’t Niall she approached; she sidled close against me. Niall might have put a reassuring arm round her thin shoulders; I refrained, though, and I suspected, then and now, it was why she chose me. And she stayed close enough to touch me – though she didn’t – as I led the way out of the tortuous caverns.