The woman lay there she was dead, but she was not. Not yet, at least. Blood still pumped from the deep wound in her side, its flow slowing as her heart began to fail. Her face was not that of fear or panic, despite her approaching death. There was only peace, tinged with sadness at the edges.
Her hands tried to sketch something in the air, Charter Marks to preserve her body and tools, or maybe to send some message; to alert someone of her death. But they fell away, bled into each other. All she could she her mind was a vast glow, golden and welcoming. But the light was fast fading, its color leeched away by the gray River of Death.The pale hand relaxed, its fingers brushing the dirt. Thoughts of performing a final spell faded, replaced with those of what she would leave behind. Family. Her husband, her children. Everyone, herself included, had known she would die young. She had survived a long time for one of her calling, longer than almost all of her predecessors. Every day, every month, every year had been a blessing.
It had been a good life, and she was leaving a more than worthy successor to replace her. But still . . . to grow old, to watch her children grow, to see her own grandchildren . . .
But that was not her path.
The slightest of noises snapped her from her reverie, and for a moment, she thought that she had failed to banish all the Dead she had been battling. But instead of some rotting, putrescent Hand, a small, white cat picked his way towards her, daintily stepping through the twisted corpses strewn about. The cat wore no collar and half-seen light flickered under his fur.
Once, she might have feared this thing. Now she was beyond all fear. She only watched the cat's slow, unconcerned progress. Her vision was blurring by the time he reached her, mewing and rubbing his head against her arm. She smiled then, a small smile, but it one that lingered. Her hand reached out, petting the cat, leaving a streak of blood across his pure white fur.
"Goodbye, puss," she whispered. And then she died, still smiling.
The cat butted against the quickly stiffening arm once more, then stepped over it. He landed directly in front of her head. The cat leaned down, licking a bit of the blood from her face, his tongue passing over the Charter Mark on her forehead. As if satisfied, he backed away, turning to leave.
Glancing back, he spoke three words that jumped into the air like bright sparks.
They settled, hovering low over the woman's body. The cat nodded once, a strangely human gesture, then started picking his way back through the maze of corpses.
A light like a white flame appeared over the floor in the Palace's throne room, growing until it become a whirling pillar of white light. Forming some semblance of a mouth, it spoke. Its voice was calm and level, tinged with neither sadness nor smug victory.
"Highness, I bring sorrowful tidings. The Abhorsen is dead."
