Disclaimer: All materials of the Old Kingdom, including characters, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, and everything else, belongs to Garth Nix.
This begins after Abhorsen, after Lirael and the other seven defeat Orannis.
Please do not use any part of text without explicit permission from author or original author Garth Nix, be it ideology, plot, character, objects, places, aspects, powers, possessions, events, themes, bloodlines, concepts, etcetera.
Awakening Plots
"Are you certain? The Abhorsen is in Clayr's Glacier?" The guttural hiss snaked across the room, and the necromancer stiffened.
The room was decorated in black, dull, and dark colours. A bastard sword hanged from a peg, and numerous bandoliers of bells glinted behind the mahogany table. Bells, Kanneth knew, which belonged to the previous two necromancers which were recently slain. Bells which Kanneth had been sent to retrieve.
"Yes, Master. Our contact in the Glacier has informed us it is so."
"Is your… contact… reliable? I would not be very pleased to find that it is not."
"No, master. She is very reliable. I laid the binding on her myself." Kanneth could not help but shiver in the presence of his omnipotent Master.
"Very well. Know that it is to be on your head if your contact is wrong. Or – (and here an eye glinted) – if you do not perform up to standard."
Kanneth gulped. Of the last, he was certain himself. Masters rarely spared servants who made mistakes… least of all the sadistic necromancers, who did have use of their underlings' deaths.
Another burst into the room. "Master! The assault on Nestowe has been turned back by the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, Goldenhand. Just as in Callibe, our agent – Valkos this time - was lost."
The Master, the Tsar, hissed in annoyance. "Valkos couldn't take Goldenhand? Why did he fall so quickly? Was Goldenhand alone?" As the Master said the last, his face turned and stared directly into Kanneth's eyes.
Kanneth inadvertently gulped at the last, at the spiteful and venomous tone invested in those words.
"No. The Abhorsen was not present."
"So. It appears your contact was correct, after all –" Kanneth breathed a sigh of relief, quietly, at this "- and so you shall inform me of your contact. You shall command her to come to me, and I shall bind her myself. Then she may return."
Kanneth grew fearful again. "Master, what of myself?"
The Master, if his mouth was discernable, would have grinned at this. "Why, Kanneth, you are to have the honor of assembling the Dead and leading an assault on Roble's town. We are not too far away from it, but there is the Red Lake to cross."
Kanneth's throat was dry. He managed a weak croak, though. "M-me, Master?"
"Is there anything wrong with your aural faculties, now, Kanneth, or would you want a quick death here and now?" The hissing voice had suddenly gone icy cold.
"N-no, my Master, certainly I would do your bidding."
"Then go."
He rose, and left the room hastily, lest his Master change his decision. The Master, for his part, smiled. All the lesser necromancers he was training now would serve as adequate distractions from the real threat. As always, the shard reminded the Master that it was the only reason the Master could wield such Free Magic forces, could have a corporeal form, could shuck his bonds and walk not truly as a living being but close enough. If any of the lesser necromancers had dared peer closely, they would realize that the Master did not merely have dark skin. In fact, he had no skin, and if not for the terrible lighting and black theme of the room it would be inexplicable. Almost inexplicable, that is.
"Rest easy," crooned the wizened Master, as he cradled the shard that lay within his bloodstream in his hand. Suddenly, it shifted and flew straight to the heart, and the Master stiffened, before relaxing again. "Soon", the Master crooned, "soon."
He then uttered words of power, which summoned to him two servants – the kind humans called Mordicants. They were experienced and powerful ones, and were merely the first of a host of Free Magic creatures that bowed down to him, and the shard within him. Now that the original plans were disrupted, the only viable option was to weaken the binding, and that meant the obliteration of those bloodlines to which the binding was bound to. Which meant, the dark sorcerer thought darkly, the King, Touchstone, the Clayr, Sanar and Ryelle in particular (for there were a thousand and half as many again), the royal Princess Ellimere, the royal Prince Sameth, and Wallmaker to boot, the Abhorsen Sabriel now in refuge in the cavern of the northern icy witches, and last, but possibly the most powerful, in the Master's opinion – for Sabriel was now aging fast and her glory days were over – Lirael Goldenhand, the relatively new but quickly rising threat to the necromantic community.
Despite what the common folk might think, the Princess was the most vulnerable, and her host of guards no major threat. The King specialized in Battle magic and the Prince was highly attuned to the Charter, besides being a good fighter, and thus both were overruled.
However, the shard had advised her – him, he cursed, not her – to take out the King first, as "Ranna is the least in prominence, weakest amongst the Seven, and Ranna's power runs in him". The Master did not exactly know what it meant – how was Ranna to interfere, or, for that matter, any of the other Seven? – but he had learnt not to doubt the shard's judgement.
And so all the attacks on the towns were nothing more than ruses to draw out the King. It had succeeded in drawing out the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, Goldenhand, but the shard told him that Goldenhand was "to be last, as she represents Astarael".
And so Kanneth was sent. He did not mind that loss, for Kanneth was merely one of the remaining sixteen senior necromancers, even though he was one of the inner council of the Master – the others being the late Valkos, the ancient Borthin, the grizzled warrior Anarchiel, the powerful necromancer Ariel, the adept Balthos, and brother of Valkos, and finally Lumefth, a powerful Free Magic adept.
Five inner councilors. That was fine, mused the Master. Enough to train the new cadre of forty-seven necromancers. For the purpose of his tactics so far were to alarm the King, and throw the Kingdom into further disarray following the devastating aftershocks of the freeing of Orannis and the loss of Kibeth. Now that Abhorsen Sabriel was in the Glacier – she was sixth to go, anyway – it made things even easier.
The Mordicants had arrived. "Go and stir up some fun in Orchyre. Ensure that the villagers will send word to Belisaere, and inform me when the King arrives on the scene."
He was pleased with his own choice. Orchyre was too close to Belisaere for that dratted King to ignore. With his daughter immersing in the regal way of life and his son caught up with his own trinkets, it would be left to the King to take care of Orchyre.
After all, Ganel and Uppside would soon experience assaults, and Goldenhand would have to deal with the disposable tools.
A slight, manic grin appeared. Now, the Master merely awaited the personal action of the King, who was to be the role model of his people.
I think I am attempting to imitate the writing style of 'SanaRyelle' and failing miserably.
And I think it is obvious who the 'Master' is, actually. The ending to this is still fuzzy. I don't have a clear one, but I intend to have tragedy. I know I'm a sadist.
Yes, there is a traitor in the Clayr family (and again, credit for this idea goes to SanaRyelle). Goodness, I need to start getting original soon.
