Chapter 7
A/N: I've simply changed a few grammatical mistakes (Hi, Narn), and added a bit to that insuffiently described battle scene at the end. I'm off on vacation for a week and a half, so you're gonna have to wait for Chapter 8. (It'll be here soon, but not that soon!)
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Riders. Clothed in typical Belisaere style, their banners the red and gold of the Royal Family, emblazoned with a golden tower, the symbol of the Palace. Their helms and shields sparkling, each carry a long sword. Leaving the gates at Belisaere, they ride west.
The vision was muddled, and it had a dream-like quality. When-? Tomorrow? Yesterday? Three weeks from now? Next year!? Yasmel buried her head in her hands, trying desperately to get the vision back, attempting to block out the sounds of the River and the sights of the woods. Nathaniel stirred while waking up, and the vision was lost entirely. She groaned, and Nathaniel jumped, snapping fully awake.
"What?" He pushed his small blanket down from his face, and sat up. "What is it?" He peered around at the trees.
"The Sight," Yasmel sighed. "A Vision, of soldiers riding to the Ratterlin. But it was only a glimpse. I do not know when" she paused, "or if it will happen."
"Oh." Nathaniel, unsure of how to respond, crossed his legs, and waited for her to say something else. Yasmel was silent for a time. "Only the Clayr together can See an event. And sometimes, even all of us together cannot determine when it is going to happen." She said finally.
"Oh." Nathaniel said again. He fidgeted around before opening his pack and doling out dried fruit and bread for breakfast. "I will be so happy to get to the Abhorsen's House, if only to get some real food. I have been craving pan-fried cakes. With berries. Fresh berries!" Nathaniel stared up at the heavy clouds, and imagined all of the good things that would be served when he got back to the Palace, or what he might request at Abhorsen's house. He was brought out of his fanciful imaginings by fat, cold drops of rain on his upturned face.
Yasmel peered upward at the rain clouds with narrowed eyes. "This is not usual."
Nathaniel's nostrils flared as the slight scent of Free Magic hit his nose. "No," He agreed, "This weather has been worked." The odour of forbidden Free Magic was hardly there, but it was there nonetheless. He loosed his sword in its sheath, so it would be easier to draw when it was needed. Gathering the packs, and stuffing the hunk of stale bread in her mouth, Yasmel rose to her feet. "The smell is still faint. Shall we keep pressing south?" Lightening flashed, a white fork in the sky. Yasmel flinched, but recovered without Nathaniel noticing any movement. The rain fell, driven by the growing wind into their faces as the two struggled to shrug their packs on. Very soon, both were soaked right through.
Walking quickly, the travelers left behind the Lesser Sickle Wood, and picking up momentum, they ran three miles to the city of Qyrre. The rain had lessened and they decided to rest for a short time in the beautiful city center. Nathaniel wrung out his hair and tied it back again using a leather strap. Yasmel squeezed the water out of her long sleeves, and shook her head from side to side, sending rain water flying. Nathaniel shuddered at her uncouth behavior, but smiled when he reminded himself that they were far from Belisaere. He gazed around at the sodden city, suddenly realizing that the wind had changed; it was blowing from the south now. And he could still smell Free Magic. The city was surrounded.
Henreid, Prince of the Old Kingdom, Charter Mage, and brother to Princess Faralie (Head Magistrix of the Academy of Belisaere) and Prince Nathaniel (builder of various items, including toys and swords), stared down from Smoky, his stallion, at the soldiers that he was leading out of the Belisaere gates. His helm caught the sunshine and it glinted, dazzling the eyes of the folks who had come to see them off with their best wishes. Henreid did not notice the sun. He stared south, at the clouds building. Henried's duty was not to lead his troops all the way south, but to leave them to the competent command of Sarqin, the Captain of the Royal Guard. Henreid was bound for the Glacier that housed the Daughters of the Clayr. He would lead the company west to the River Ratterlin. There, they would part ways; the troops, (now armed with Charter Spelled blades, and newly learned battle Charter Marks), would go south, Prince Henreid north.
"Welcome, Your Highness. We Saw you coming to us." Qatryn, Daughter of the Clayr, bowed to Henreid when he had dismounted Smoky at the origin of the Ratterlin and the base of the Glacier. Water crashed around them, and Henreid was led inside. He had only visited the Clayr's Glacier once, and that was when he was very young. He was amazed then at the majesty of the great halls, and he was amazed now as he stared around. There were many Clayr, women and men, in the warm hallways. Henreid was led to one of the smaller rooms that were reserved for greeting guests, and holding gatherings.
"I do not think that we have much time, Your Highness. You seek information about Tirylese and the growing threat to the Kingdom." Qatryn twined her fingers on her knee and looked at Henreid. "You have been witnessed leading your company south, in the most favourable futures that the Clayr have seen. The company must get to Albalef. Eight days ago, Abhorsen Mosaibe sat where you sit at this moment, asking our advice, as you do now. Free Magic beings are terrorizing the area around Albalef. They are slowly spreading, gaining strength as they sate their hunger in the towns in the South. They will soon be at Estel. You must lead your troops south." Qatryn stared hard at Henreid, her ice-blue eyes boring into him, impressing him with their intensity. He nodded.
As Henreid rose to take his leave, he asked if the Nine Day Watch had Seen Nathaniel. Qatryn shook her head. "We have tried, but we have been focussing mainly on the Abhorsen and on the Free Magic creatures." The Daughter of the Clayr assured the Prince that she and her cousins would send word to the Palace if Nathaniel or Yasmel were Seen in the Clayr's Visions.
Thanking her, Henreid made his way back to the path leading to the front of the Glacier. Smoky, re-saddled and watered, stood awaiting him with a small party to see them off. As Henreid mounted his stallion, he said softly "We're heading south today, Smoky." He patted the horse's neck, then nodded to the few Clayr who had tarried around the Glacier entrance to bid him farewell.
"Where now?" The stench of Free Magic grew in their noses. "Should we keep on going south? Along the river?" Nathaniel glanced about the city center. The residents had gone home in a hurry, leaving the usually bustling park as silent as a crypt. Nathaniel shivered as that likeness rose in his mind, thinking, "It soon will be."
Yasmel felt for the Charter, letting her mind dabble in it, as her fingers dabble in a warm stream on a cool day. It was comforting, more so than the blade in her hand. Only half-present, she answered Nathaniel. "Let's go to the Ratterlin."
As they began to trek through the city's winding streets, they were assaulted by the reek of Free Magic, and laid into by several Dead Hands, who shambled in from all directions. With a flash of golden light, Charter Marks gushing from Yasmel's fingers ignited the three closest Dead hands, while Nathaniel struck at the others with his broad sword. Yasmel joined in the fray, her blade flying through the Dead like a hot wire through wax. Shrieks of fear from the Dead, battle cries from the Prince and shouts of Charter magic from the Daughter of the Clayr filled the normally calm courtyard. Lightening flashed and the wind howled in the trees and between the roof-tops. The rain, which had slowed a bit, now picked up, soaking the cobblestone streets, making movement hazardous.
Panting, Nathaniel wished that Tirylese were here. They had no pipes or bells, and the onslaught was continuous. He yelled to Yasmel to make for the river. Slowly working their way west, they managed to reach the wharf of Qyrre without injury. The Dead, sensing their loss, redoubled their efforts. Pushing from all sides, the Dead struggled, the ones in front falling to the sword strokes, more arriving to take the fallen's place. The wood of the docks was slimy wet with the rain and the large waves brought up by the wind. Pulling her sword out of a particularly large Hand, Yasmel stumbled, overbalanced, and hit the sodden pier. The Dead were upon her in an instant.
Nathaniel turned at her yell, and watched the knot of Dead flesh converge on his friend. He clutched at the Charter, wrenching Marks out furiously. His head hurt with the effort and amount of Marks there. They leaked out of his eyes, like glittering tears, before he released them at the Dead. He shouted the blasting Mark, followed by a spell for protection of Yasmel, which settled around her huddled form like a golden blanket. Screaming Marks for fire, Nathaniel drew with his fingers in the air the spell for throwing blades, which materialized in his hands. They, for the most part, struck the Dead, who burst apart in explosions of sparks. Bits of flesh fell onto Yasmel's curled body. Nathaniel yelled as he ran to aid her to her feet, but she had already seen more of the Dead shuffling towards her, and she struggled to her feet, blood pouring out of her nose and seeping through the sleeves of her surcoat. Staggering forward, she dodged as Nathaniel drew another Charter Mark in the air, and more throwing blades filled his hands. He flung them at the Dead. Most hit home, but a few of the spell daggers went awry and hit one of the struts that held the wharf steady. The dock took a lurch with the wind and waves, and threw some of the Dead into the Ratterlin. Yasmel slid towards the edge, her hands coming out at the last second to grab onto one of the wooden pilings that held the dock. She clung to the wooden pole, ducking as one of the creatures tumbled over her. The waves of the river were violent, and Yasmel clutched the piling tighter. The Dead shrieked as they were tossed into the water. Yasmel stared fearfully at the hundreds of Dead Hands. Resigned, she closed her eyes, let go of the piling, and plunged into the River. Running forward, Nathaniel leapt off of the dock for the deep, cold water of the Ratterlin River.