Chapter 6 :: Capture

She was a tall figure of a woman, but she was not alive. Far from it, indeed. She was one of the Greater Dead, and she had influential powers beyond that of any ordinary Dead creature. A bronze mask glinted in the bare starlight of the night as she waited. This was the rendezvous, the spot where she would meet with her ally and arrange their next plan.

Chlorr of the Mask usually did not like working with necromancers. Her first experience with one, named Hedge, gave her little advantage; indeed, because of that agreement she'd had to flee from Ancelstierre in the form of a bird. Still, that flight was better than the alternative; giving way to Saraneth's call and going beyond the Ninth Gate, a place Chlorr never wished to see. Yet this pact with the necromancer was necessary, and quite beneficial.

Chlorr turned as a noise approached, along with the corrosive tang of Free Magic. But Chlorr reveled in that scent; it was, ultimately, what she was after. It was Free Magic that had forced her to necessity and work with a necromancer. But this necromancer was quite unlike Hedge: she was malleable.

The woman named Elixiol strode forth into the clearing, wearing the customary bell-bandolier that most Dead like Chlorr so feared. But she had no reason to fear Elixiol, since she knew honor would bind the necromancer more tightly than any rope. This was why Chlorr enjoyed working with Elixiol, because of that wonderful honor.

Elixiol pushed back dark brown hair to reveal glaring green eyes that challenged Chlorr. "Let's make this fast, Mask," she said, and there was a hint of a snarl in her voice. She always insisted on calling Chlorr by her title rather than by name. "I have places to go, things to do."

"That I highly doubt," hissed Chlorr. "But in any case. What news have you?"

The necromancer stood a little straighter, because Chlorr was acting as though she was a queen, and Elixiol nothing but a pawn. "No information that you don't already have, I'm sure," she said cuttingly, "because you are so wise, and your Dead see all."

Chlorr laughed bitterly. "Give it up, mortal. You know something. Now, I suggest you speak, since we are in this together…you won't get any of that Free Magic without my help."

This seemed to impact Elixiol especially, but she didn't show it. "Then," she said somewhat reluctantly, "I will tell you that the Abhorsen and her daughter are on their way to the Glacier."

This was news. Chlorr  took an interest. "From where?"

"Belisaere, of course."

"By what?"

"Air. They're in a Paperwing."

"So," the Greater Dead muttered. "So news of it has reached as far as Belisaere. That's too bad." She turned back to Elixiol. "Can they be intercepted?"

"By Gore Crows."

"We have plenty of those, both of yours and mine."

"Yes," Elixiol agreed somewhat gruffly, seemingly not pleased.

"Should we wait until they land, and attack with our armies instead?"

"No. That will give them time to get to running water and form diamonds of protection. It is best to attack while they are still airborne, where they are most vulnerable."

"But Gore Crows are weak, and this is the Abhorsen," Chlorr mused. "Perhaps—we can force them to land, and not give them time to flee, so we can attack from the ground as well."

"We should designate an area where the Gore Crows will be released, and force them to land," Elixiol agreed.

"But we do not know their route."

"It will not be far from the Glacier. We can do it safely enough there—and we'll be stronger the closer we are."

Chlorr agreed, but was uncertain still. "What of the Clayr?"

"The Clayr are too busy trying to See a way to stop their precious Glacier from melting, and some of them are being struck down by the Free Magic, while others tend to those who are sick. They are preoccupied, and probably wouldn't notice if we kidnapped the Abhorsen and her daughter from right under their noses." Elixiol sounded positive.

"Then it is agreed," Chlorr said. "Tomorrow we shall both send out numerous flocks of our Gore Crows, to attack the Paperwing containing the Abhorsen and her daughter. They will, undoubtedly, be forced to land, where they can fight the Crows more easily; and there our Dead armies will be waiting to ambush them. The Abhorsen is strong, but not strong enough to conquer numerous Dead Hands and Shadow Hands. Not to mention that, if we capture her daughter first, she will be compelled to comply. But we must not harm them if we can; they will serve as precious hostages. Is that clear?"

Elixiol curled her lip. "Crystal," she said icily.

"Good. Now go."

Instantly Saraneth was in Elixiol's hand, and she held the clapper menacingly toward Chlorr. "You had better not talk to me like that, Mask," Elixiol hissed. "Remember who has the greater power here. Remember who can send whom into Death!"

But Chlorr was not disturbed. "Remember who needs who here. Remember also who lacks the experience of sending the Dead back where they belong; that is solely the Abhorsen and the Abhorsen-in-Waiting's job. You wouldn't dare, mortal," sneered the Greater Dead. "Now run along. And one more thing to remember: true power lies not in physical force, but in nerve as well."

Elixiol, seething, could only do what Chlorr suggested. She replaced Saraneth angrily, and stalked off, enraged. Chlorr was not concerned. Elixiol had thrown these little temper tantrums before, and Chlorr had pacified her just as she had. There was no doubt who had the greater power among the two. Chlorr drifted away without any fear whatsoever.

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"Is something wrong, Mother?" asked Ellimere nervously as they flew through the air.

For Sabriel's Death sense was tingling. "Ellimere," she said calmly, "you must not panic. We are going to land. There are Gore Crows here."

"Gore Crows!" Sabriel could hear the horror in her daughter's voice.

"You must remain calm, Ellimere. Promise me that." Silence. "Promise me that!" Sabriel repeated, more forcefully.

Then, a tiny voice from the passenger's seat: "I promise."

Sabriel whistled sharply, and the Paperwing began to glide down. Sabriel had encountered Gore Crows when she first rode a Paperwing, but now she was more experienced. She guided the Paperwing down, carefully, for there was nothing ahead of them but open plain. A landing should be simple and easy, and then Sabriel could disengage the Gore Crows from below.

It wasn't the Gore Crows themselves that Sabriel was worried about. It was Ellimere. It was true, her daughter had been through more than any average Princess, but the quaver in Ellimere's voice when she promised she would stay calm…it would be infinitely better if Sabriel fought the Gore Crows on the ground, where Ellimere would be safe, than in the air, where Crows would attack from all sides.

The flock broke through, and Sabriel nearly stopped whistling. It was an enormous flock! Never had she seen larger. Too much for a single necromancer to summon…but Sabriel didn't have time to ponder the mystery. She swiftly guided the Paperwing down, ignoring the Gore Crows until they were safe on land.

But they wouldn't be safe! Sabriel almost had the Paperwing landed when her Death sense tingled again, and it indicated something much larger than Gore Crows. Dead Hands, undoubtedly…even Shadow Hands. But the Ratterlin was close; if they could just get there…

Instantly, the Gore Crows attacked! Ellimere whimpered, but tried to stifle it, knowing that if she made any sound she might break her mother's concentration. But Ellimere suddenly felt like a little girl again, instead of a young woman: helpless, vulnerable, frightened. But she promised her mother…

Sabriel found it difficult to both navigate the Paperwing and get out a bell at the same time. She selected Kibeth, the Walker, who would send many Gore Crows' spirits walking back to the Ninth Gate. Of course, if she took out one crow, she would be taking out many, since several crows shared the same spirit. Sabriel let the clapper go and rang the bell, forcing her will into the sound, making the crows walk. Many nearby screeched and fell, rotting crows no longer animated by the Dead. Ellimere was, no doubt, appalled by the sight of the numerous crows dropping soundlessly.

But there were too many, and Sabriel realized she had to land, or else the crows would tear apart the Paperwing. So she whistled the last Charter Mark, and the Paperwing landed, clumsily, but it remained intact.

Instantly Sabriel leapt out, exchanging Kibeth for Saraneth, and ringing the deep heavy bell. More Gore Crows stopped as she bound them to her will and sent them back into Death. But there were still many more…

And the Dead Hands were coming…

Dead Hands and Shadow Hands…

Sabriel rang Saraneth with all her might, forcing as many Dead who could hear it to her will. But they still kept on coming…

So Sabriel fought on, despite how the odds were terribly against her, and she still had to protect Ellimere. She was even considering taking out Astarael, the largest and most sorrowful of them all, and telling Ellimere to run far away, so she wouldn't be affected…but just as Sabriel was reaching for the coldest bell, a voice stopped her.

"Cease this, Abhorsen."

Sabriel knew that voice. The voice of so many years ago, of a creature of the Greater Dead—once an Abhorsen herself, Chlorr of the Mask was still as formidable as ever. Sabriel turned toward where Chlorr was.

Ellimere lay in the Greater Dead's arms, fainted.

"No need for unnecessary heroics, Abhorsen," Chlorr added, seeing Sabriel once again reach for Astarael's pouch. "Just surrender to us, and I promise we won't hurt you. Isn't that right, Elixiol?"

A dark-haired, green-eyed woman stepped out from behind Chlorr. A necromancer! A faint ring of familiarity struck Sabriel. Perhaps she'd heard of that necromancer…a northern necromancer, far north from Belisaere. Elixiol.

"No," Elixiol agreed, her green eyes glittering with menace. The terrible smell of Free Magic accompanied her and Chlorr, so that Sabriel nearly fainted with the odor. "We shan't hurt you, Abhorsen."

"Surrender," Chlorr urged. "Don't make us use your daughter to influence you. I'd really rather you'd come of your own will. Give up the bandolier, Abhorsen."

Sabriel, above all, wanted no harm done to Ellimere. Cursing herself for her weakness, she replaced Saraneth and hesitantly handed the bandolier over to Elixiol, who took it eagerly. Sabriel had submitted to the will of these terrible Dead creatures.

"Good," said Chlorr approvingly. "Now come with us."