CHARTERSTONE
Chapter One
Abhorsen's House
******************
The Queen sits in Belisaere
The Clayr live in their Glacier
The Wallmakers hold up the Stones and the Wall
And the Abhorsen protects from the Dead.
******************
Eimeth sat in her study and pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation.
Sometimes she would simply like a bit of quiet, she reflected, an hour or so
of peace and above all, silence.
During her grandfather Taliel's tenure as Abhorsen, only he had lived in the House. His children, none of whom showed talent for the Charter Magic and bellwork of the Abhorsen's office, had all relocated to other, more stimulating parts of the Kingdom. But Eimeth's mother, when Taliel had died, had insisted on being allowed to stay and help her only daughter with the housework and little things that the Abhorsen did not need to think upon. Never mind the sendings that littered the place, all too eager to do what needed to be done. Only a mother's touch would suffice.
This of course had led to two of her brothers and their children moving in as well over the years, plus an aunt and an elderly great-uncle, and since Adiel's inception they had all become particularly resistant to relocation. The formerly quiet refuge of the Abhorsen had become a noisy inn, Eimeth mused in annoyance.
"Kalo, theit, mueh," she muttered, tasting the tang of the Charter at the tip of her tongue. The chattering from the music room faded and she sighed in relief.
"That's better," she said out loud, sinking back into her favorite chair. She was getting too old for all this fighting and necromancy. But, came the bitter thought from deep within her mind, it's not as if it will last much longer anyway.
With another sigh she stood up from the chair and looked at the map of the Old Kingdom on the wall. She had sent Adiel to deal with the petty uprising of a minor necromancer in Calibe; easy enough for the zealous young man to deal with. He was not expected back for a few weeks, though, since he had stated a desire to visit the royal family in Belisaere after his task was completed.
Even her spell could not keep the noise from the lower levels out. Eimeth growled in exasperation and doublebarred the window, though she was not sure if this helped or not.
"Ever the people person, eh, Abhorsen?"
"Mogget, how did you get in here?" snapped Eimeth, whirling around. "I sealed all the doors a few moments ago." Mogget met her angry gaze with placid cat-eyes, not at all intimidated by her stern tone.
"I was already here," the little white cat replied smugly. "I merely chose to stay silent until I felt you needed someone to talk to."
"And why did you feel I needed someone to talk to?" spat Eimeth. Of all the denizens of Abhorsen's House, she liked Mogget the least. If his peculiar mix of skill and advice had not come in useful on prior occasions, she would have followed the example of her ancestor Kalliel and locked him up, away from all contact.
"You are worried," said Mogget plainly. "Not that it really concerns me, of course, Abhorsen" --he sounded particularly sarcastic this evening, thought Eimeth-- "but I have noticed that you have been gone with increasing frequency these past few months."
"Yes," said Eimeth, sitting back down heavily. The chair held her weight comfortably, conforming to her familiar contours. "Yes. There is something summoning more and more Dead. Villages are being attacked. People are dying. There have even been refugees fleeing across the Wall to Ancelstierre."
"Something big is coming," said Mogget solemnly. He flopped down on the floor in front of her, legs akimbo, and somehow managed to look dignified despite the utterly ridiculous position. "The Clayr told you as much, didn't they?"
"Their vision is clouded. They have seen nothing at all for three weeks now," said Eimeth. "That in itself is something to note, but the Queen seems completely oblivious to any threat. The only sane person in that palace seems to be Rogirek, the Crown Prince."
Mogget sat up suddenly. "Really? Rogirek?"
"He is quite an accomplished Charter Mage, as Adiel tells me," Eimeth said, unnerved at the cat's sudden interest. "And he takes the warnings of the Clayr seriously, though he apparently cannot do much to influence his mother."
"The Blood grows thin," muttered Mogget. "Pity. They used to be one of the less stupid families among you."
Eimeth frowned. "I dare say that was a compliment," she said. "Wrapped inside an insult."
"I am slipping in my old age, then," retorted Mogget. "So what are you going to do about it?" The miniature Saraneth at his throat tinkled gently as he flopped back onto the floor.
"What can I do but try to combat the greater numbers of Dead?" said Eimeth wearily. "That is the Abhorsen's task."
Mogget snorted. "You are as stupid as all of your ancestors, Abhorsen," and the title came out in a highly sarcastic tone. Eimeth stood up.
"Do you have a better suggestion?" she spat out, grimly musing that Kalliel's binding-spell was looking better and better.
"As a matter of fact I do," said Mogget delicately, idly examining his claws. "The Clayr See nothing, correct?"
"Correct," said Eimeth, sitting forward in her chair.
"Then what you need is something in which to See for yourself." Mogget jumped up and twined around her ankles. "For example... a mirror?"
"Dyrim's Mirror?" said Eimeth. "That has been lost to time. If indeed it ever existed in the first place."
"The Clayr's library could tell you where it is," said Mogget. "Though I doubt that they would know where in the library to look. But it would be a start."
"Why are you so helpful all of a sudden?" Eimeth asked.
The little cat smiled, or at least made what passed for a smile on his feline face. "I am the servant of Abhorsen," he said. "And there are grave tidings on the wind. I can smell something rising, something dark and dangerous... something Dead."
The Charter-lights around the room flickered and sputtered; Eimeth could no longer hear a single word from the lower levels, and shuddered. "Why do I need a mirror when I have a Mogget?" she joked, but it fell flat, and the little cat did not respond. Sighing, she picked up the bell bandolier from the desk and strapped her sword at her side. With a whistle she extinguished the Charter-lights and unlocked the door-spells, and trotted down the stairs, Mogget whisking around her feet.
She did not bother to tell the other occupants of the House where she was going; they would hardly notice her absence. "I'll grant you this, Abhorsen," said Mogget, "when you decide to do something you do not beat around the bush."
"Another compliment, servant?" she replied idly as she packed a change of clothes and some food and water into a rucksack. "What has come over you of late?"
Mogget merely purred. She slipped her mailcoat on, and then the blue and silver surcoat, emblazoned with silver keys, as the sendings examined her pack and slipped several more things into it. Eimeth did not bother to stop them; she had found over the years that they did a much better job of packing than any Abhorsen ever would. The little cat followed her out into the grounds and over to the Paperwing shed, and to her surprise hopped into the craft as she wheeled it out onto the pavilion.
"Are you coming too?" Eimeth said in surprise. "You've never left the house before."
"You'll need someone with their wits about them," said Mogget, his voice muffled. Eimeth heard rustling and then a plop as the cat settled himself into a comfortable position.
"I expect I shall, at that," said Eimeth softly. She lowered herself into the Paperwing and whistled the wind-spells to lift it from the ground. With a bump and a swoosh they were aloft. Testing the wind, she turned north towards the Clayr's glacier.
It was not until several hours into the flight that she felt the presence of the Gore Crow behind her, its Dead spirit niggling at the edges of her consciousness. "Someone is following us," she said, the wind whipping at her hair.
The Gore Crow squawked and drew closer. Hastily whistling a spell, Eimeth freed her hands and clumsily drew out the bells from the bandolier. Saraneth first, swinging in a complicated two-four pattern, and then, when the Crow's spirit had been dominated by her will, Kibeth to bring it to her and Dyrim to make it speak. "Whose servant are you?" she cried over the noise of the wind. The rushing of the river of Death flowed in her ear; Adiel would have needed to go directly into it to work this spell. But Eimeth had been doing this for twenty-four years, and had picked up a few tricks along the way.
The necromancer sent me, said the Crow's spirit into her mind, chafing under Saraneth's binding.
"What? The one from Calibe?"
The necromancer, said the Crow again. The greatest of all.
And suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, the Crow burst into flames and its spirit catapulted into Death, traveling the Gates so quickly that Eimeth had no time to react.
"I do not think it is the one from Calibe," said Mogget from behind her.
"Nor do I," Eimeth replied, steering the Paperwing due north. "I think we are dealing with something far more dangerous than a mere petty necromancer."
She tasted the acrid tang of Free Magic from the Gore Crow in the air, and summoned a stronger wind to carry her north to the Clayr's glacier. North... to answers.
****************