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CHARTERSTONE
Chapter Seven
Dreams in the Mirror
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Abhorsen, come! Abhorsen, go!
Ring and send and build and grow!
Where the Dead would lie awake
Crush them down! Bind and break!
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Walking north, neither the Abhorsen or her niece spoke. The pain in Eimeth's arm kept her mind unfocused and murky, fogged with visions of Mirel and Tallie and Adiel, all somehow turned into one. She felt very old and foolish. At the same time, she felt like an errant child scolded by its mother. Mirel led the way, acting the adult, oddly reversing their roles.
Far above their heads both of them felt Gore Crows searching for them, but never did the Dead things get close enough to see them. Mirel held the shard of Dyrim's Mirror in her hand the whole time, keeping the other perched atop the long sword that had also been Eimeth's grandfather's. Still red with Eimeth's blood from the last time, the Abhorsen wondered if Mirel was Seeing something in the shard. Perhaps, and perhaps not. She did not know, and when she tried to garner enough courage to ask, one look at the back of the girl's head stopped the words in her throat.
When the last rays of the sun had nearly gone down over the horizon, Mirel halted on the bank of a wide, deep stream. "We should stop here," she said softly. "There's a little island out there. The running water will help protect us." She did not add from the Dead but Eimeth knew perfectly well what she meant.
A tree limb had fallen from the bank to the island, and they crossed on that, Mirel steadying her aunt's stumbling feet with a sturdy arm. Eimeth cleared a spot to camp while Mirel pulled the makeshift bridge all the way onto the island, so nothing else could cross.
"Sit down," said the girl, brushing off her hands as she came back to the campsite. "You're injured."
"I'll be all right," said Eimeth shortly.
"No, you won't," said Mirel, and her tone brooked no argument. Eimeth surrendered to the weariness sweeping over her bones and lay down on the soft moss carpeting the little island. Mirel busied herself, rummaging through the packs for any food, though there was little more than emergency supplies since neither of them had expected to have a two-day trek to Belisaere. She handed a packet of hardbread to Eimeth and took one for herself, and they sat together, listening to the woods around them rustle and the brook gurgle.
"I am sorry," said Eimeth after a long while.
She saw Mirel's head turn towards her, silhouetted against the starry sky. But the girl did not speak.
"I should have watched more carefully what the Clayr saw. They showed me, you know. And I saw a girl dressed in exactly what you are wearing now, with exactly the same bells and sword. I believed it to be Tallie. Perhaps it was, at that time, because she too read the Book of the Dead and knew the workings of the bells. But she only knew a little; I was too--too motherly, I suppose--to teach her very much, because I wanted her to be a child still and not grow up too quickly." Eimeth sighed and clenched both fists, ignoring the pain that shot up her left arm. "I do not know what is right. I will take you as Abhorsen in-Waiting if that is what you wish, and if Adiel was Seen correctly, then I will take you both, and that is all I can promise."
Mirel sighed too, and did not answer until Eimeth had nearly dropped off to sleep. "Do you find it odd, aunt," she said quietly, "that Rogirek said backwards is Kerrigor?"
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They were up and gone from the little island before the sun rose the next morning, hurrying northwards. Eimeth's head had cleared with the night's rest, albeit short and troubled, and they made much better time than they had the day before.
"No one but Rogir could keep up the defenses," fumed Eimeth as they crashed through the forest. Her head was clear now, but the pain in her arm made her sharp. And the clues she had missed made her all the more angry. "Of course not! He is our necromancer, he is our Dead sorcerer that gives power to all these petty little necromancers that keep popping up. He only summons the Dead when he leaves the city, that's why!"
"I looked in the Mirror last night after you fell asleep," said Mirel. "He is coming north very quickly. He knew I was watching and so I could not get too much, but if we hurry we will reach Belisaere only a little after him."
"What does he have in mind?" growled Eimeth. "Why did he go to Ancelstierre? Why did Adiel go to join him? That must be where he is... By the Charter! Lies and treachery, from everyone!"
"Not everyone," said Mirel. "Not everyone lies. You were merely blinded by trickery. You can still stop him."
"If we knew what he was doing, maybe," said Eimeth. "I wish we could get a message to Belisaere. Warn them. But we have no way of doing so."
Mirel only shrugged and redoubled her pace, leaving the Abhorsen to scramble after her in a most undignified fashion.
They stopped at a small farming village at midday. Eimeth sent Mirel to buy food and went herself to the blacksmith's forge. She met the girl back at the town fountain, leading two old but still-strong mares. "Can you ride?" she asked her niece.
"Only a little," said Mirel, gazing up at the horse with wide eyes. "Is this really faster?"
"We'll be to Belisaere by tonight if we ride instead of walk," said Eimeth shortly. Her black mood had not dissipated. The pain in her arm did not help, either. She stood on the fountain to mount the gray mare, leaving the smaller black to Mirel. Her arm jiggled up and down with every step the horse took, but she bit her lip and ignored the pain. Mirel watched her ride around the fountain with narrowed eyes.
"For the Kingdom, I suppose," said the girl, and clumsily mounted the black mare. Eimeth smiled at the look on Mirel's face when the horse began to follow the gray, walking with a bouncing step.
"Here. Hold the reins like this," she said, showing her niece how, "only you do it with both hands. Gently pull in the direction you want to go and the horse will go that way. Hold on with your knees if we gallop, but I think we'll make good enough time without that. It would tire the horses out too quickly in any case." Mirel nodded, gripping the reins so hard her knuckles turned white.
Despite her misgivings she caught on quick enough, at least to settle into the rhythm of the horse's trot. Eimeth, though long accustomed to the saddle, found it difficult to keep her head upright. The pain in her arm doubled and redoubled until fire shot from fingertip to shoulder. Still she said nothing, feeling more and more of the cold chill of Death as they neared Belisaere. Mirel reined in the black mare as they rode over the crest of the hill around the city.
Below them, sparkling in the twilight, the lights of Belisaere glittered as brightly as the darkening sky above. Eimeth squinted but she could see little of the people in the city--even from here, though, she felt the Dead straining against the poorly-cast spells of the Charter mages within. Mirel shuddered, sensing the same presence, and laid her hand on the hilt of her sword.
"What shall we do, aunt?" she asked softly. Though her chin and shoulders were straight and proud, black against the red and orange sunset, the girl's voice shook. A tiny quaver, a mere tremble, but the fear was there.
Eimeth heard it and disdained to comment. When she replied, her own voice remained steady and strong, but if she had let it show the same fear would have crept out. "We go in through the gates to the west. As we go, we will reinforce the Charterspells to keep out the Dead. Keep your wits about you. I will do the spells, but you must cover us from anything that tries to attack."
She reached over and gripped Mirel's shoulder with her good arm. "You will be all right, child. We are Abhorsen. Whatever happens, we will be strong." Carefully Eimeth pulled her sword from its scabbard and handed it to Mirel, who gazed wide-eyed at the Charter marks flickering along its length. "I won't be able to use it, so you take the better sword. Once we are inside the city walls we will go to the Queen and have her rally the army. When Kerrigor arrives we will be ready for him."
Eimeth, privately, admitted that live soldiers against Dead ones would not be a happy battle, but what else could she do? Mirel rendered the idea useless, in any case, by remarking, "Do you feel the chill to the south? Kerrigor will be here in mere hours. We do not have time to mass the army." Mirel shivered. "I think I should not have looked in the Mirror. It just made him hurry."
The Abhorsen cursed; she had missed the cold tang of the Free Magic and Death in her concentration upon Belisaere. And once Mirel pointed it out, she wondered how she could have missed it, the coldness loomed so greatly on the southern horizon. "It is not your fault. I think this thing is quick no matter what," she said, staring south into the dark hills.
It moved quickly indeed, far more quickly than any living thing. It was nearly upon them, in fact; only a few miles separated the Abhorsen from the necromancer. As darkness fell completely she could see it: a pale white fog that covered everything in its path.
"We must go now, then," said Eimeth, wheeling the gray mare around. "Forget the Charterspells. Just get to the palace!"
Mirel's shout echoed her own as the two horses reared, and then galloped headlong toward the city, the silver fog racing along behind them, devouring all in its path.
Kerrigor was coming...
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Sorry, I intended to get this chapter out a lot sooner, but real life keeps getting in the way. It's really hard to write when you have appendicitis and spend a week with stomach pains and then two days in the hospital, which is basically how I spent New Year's. Happy 2004, eh? Good lord. Anyway, I'm mostly better so look for updates somewhat more frequently.