The Abhorsen's Sword

Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Old Kingdom, Charter Magic or many of the titles and place names. They all belong to the brilliant mind of GARTH NIX!!! Read his books! They're good!

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Mosaibe hung on. The river swirled around his legs, cool and inviting, tempting but not hurrying. Mosaibe knew he could not hang on much longer.

Tirylese cradled her uncle and mentor's head and wept briefly. She peered around the glade, reaching out with her death sense. Nothing. Only her uncle's death was felt, harsh and biting. She groped for death and stepped into the river. Removing faithful Kibeth from its pouch, she walked alone in the First District.

She searched the shallow river for a while before finding him. Mosaibe was very pale, almost snow white. His brown eyes peered questioningly at her.

"Tirylese? What happened?" He asked weakly as Tirylese bit back a sob. "Weren't we heading up to the Clayr's Glacier?"

Tirylese shook her head. "Uncle, that was days ago. The Dead, they…" she stopped and collected herself. "They attacked. You had gone to find out why the Dead armies were growing. You went to Albalef. Do you remember finding anything?"

Mosaibe shook his head, brown eyes blank.

Tirylese opened the pouch of Belager, the thinker. Mosaibe had been in the river too long. Very carefully and deliberately, she poured her will into the one chime she pealed out, enough to restore Mosaibe's memory. He began to speak quickly in a monotone, describing the time after they left the Clayr's Glacier. He re-spelled his sword and went to find the source of the Free Magic. "I went to Albalef and slayed many Dead. There were many Free Magic creatures. Hish, Jakomes, Stilken, Mordicants. The Charter in my sword was being eroded. There were too many. I ran. Back to Estel. Tirylese was to be there. The both of us with our bells may have worked. She wasn't there. The Dead army followed me. My sword broke. My arm was hurt." Mosaibe looked at his arm and seemed surprised to see it intact. "I died."

Tirylese wiped tears from her face and whispered "Oh, I am so sorry."

Mosaibe smiled weakly at his niece. "It is not your fault. Never think that. I love you."

Tirylese stepped back and swung Kibeth in a "J" pattern and ordered Mosaibe to walk beyond the Ninth without being afraid.

"Thank-you, Abhorsen." He began to walk. Very soon, he was gone.

Tirylese wiped her face again and reached for the warm brilliance of Life. As she came back, she could still hear the falls of the First Gate in her mind, the soft rushing of water, ever falling like the hot tears that ran down her face and bounced off of her blue surcoat.

Slowly, Nathaniel made his way to the swift creek that ran through the trees, winding its way to one of the tributaries of the River Ratterlin. The soft burble of water was the only sound besides the crunch of the pine needles under his and Yasmel's feet and the chip-chirrup of the small song birds in the trees. Nathaniel stopped at a large tree and looked for Yasmel behind him. She was picking her way through the smaller bushes that seemed to want to block their way. She stood at his side and looked up and down the creek. There was no one and nothing in sight. The sun was just disappearing behind the horizon of trees. The twilight was setting in.

Sloshing into the small creek, they followed it downstream until it was large enough to set up a Diamond of Protection in. Neither of them could smell Free Magic or sense any kind of Dead, but they prepared to cast a Diamond anyway. Golden light burst as Yasmel spoke the Northmark, and pointed with her sword, which glowed with a brightness she had never seen. Nathaniel spoke the Southmark and the Eastmark, and Yasmel finished the Diamond with the West. Sitting down on the pebbly bottom of the creek, Nathaniel looked at the corners of the Diamond. They glowed, and the walls shimmered with Charter Marks. Nathaniel was exhausted, but this was the strongest Diamond he had ever cast. He leaned back on a rock jutting out of the water and closed his eyes, enjoying the cool water.

Nathaniel staggered as he completed the sword for Yasmel. The double-edged blade had just been ground, the hilt wrapped with wire, and the pommel of green stone polished with a Charter Spell. Yasmel let him lean on her until he recovered enough to stand on his own. Gasping, he made his way across his workshop to a stool.

"I can't do this, Yasmel." He gasped, straining for air. His throat hurt and his muscles were getting sore from hefting his hammers.

Yasmel set her new sword down. She was amazed at how light and easy to hold the sword was. Kneeling in front of Nathaniel, she began to weave a spell with her small fingers. She spent many minutes plucking Marks out of the Charter, connecting them together, and fastening them. Drawing on all of her knowledge of the Charter, she cast a spell of renewal, strength and healing. Nathaniel glimmered with Charter Marks, and soon he was able to stand up and make preparations for the next sword.

"Before you start, rest." Yasmel sat him back down after the preparations were made. She left him there to watch the forge heat up, and the little Charter eating lizard feast on the unused Charter Marks. His shoulders weren't sore anymore, and he felt he was able speak a Charter Spell again. Yasmel was talented. She returned a short time later with Nathaniel's family. His father stood in the corner of the room, speechlessly staring around at the bladesmithing forge and anvil. Faralie was also quiet, her eyes were downcast. Queen Lorileth held the Abhorsen's sword, examining it. Henreid smiled at his younger brother, and began to weave another renewal and sustainment spell. Nathaniel stood up and took the plain sword from the armouries that Yasmel handed to him. Thrusting it into the forge, he reached for his hammer as Henreid cast the first of many strength spells.

Faralie began to entwine complementary Charter Marks into Henreid's spell, harmonizing with it, strengthening it. Marks for revitalization and repair, for concentration and potency; all woven into one golden strand that split into many as it settled onto Nathaniel's head and arms. The hammer pounded the metal in a seemingly unending rhythm, broken only by the roar of the forge and the hiss of the quenching tank. Nathaniel did not notice when his parents began their spells. All he saw was the Charter, until the blade was nearing completion several hours later. The Charter began to fade form Nathaniel's tired mind, and his fatigued body was beginning to give out. He was checking the heat in the forge, and readying the barrel of oil when he swayed. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths. Henreid steadied his brother and took the sword from him. The prince plunged the sword into the quenching tank, the hiss filling the room. "Thank-you," Nathaniel murmured, knowing that if the blade hadn't been quenched at the right time, the whole process would have been for nothing. He regained his strength as Yasmel wove another sustainment spell, and Nathaniel was able to temper and complete the blade.

Sorry this Chapter was so short. Life has been busy, other stories have demanded my attention. Please review, I'll be updating soon!