Lirael and Nick, as promised, set out from Belisaere the next day. They were astride two fine horses, with plenty of food. Lirael had her bell-bandolier strapped on, and her Abhorsen surcoat donned. She also carried, in a sheath, the sword Nehima, her trustworthy weapon that she had carried since she left the Clayr's Glacier. Now, for the first time since she left it, she was going back to it. But it wasn't going to be like the Glacier she departed from. She tried not to think about the half-melted Glacier that she once called home. First, she had to rescue Sabriel and Ellimere. That task alone required all of her concentration.
She and Nick headed west, toward the Glacier, following the general route Sabriel had taken with the Paperwing. Sometimes she would chat with Nick, who always was able to make her smile, but most of the time they rode in silence, just enjoying one another's company. Now that Lirael had accepted that Nick was as determined as she was, she was glad he'd come along with her. She wouldn't have been thrilled if she had to make the journey and face the Dead alone. Nick's presence allowed her to relax slightly.
They stopped after a few hours of riding to have lunch. As Nick reached in one of the saddlebags, a slight hissing made him jump back, alert. "You ought to watch where you're rummaging about," said the saddlebag in a familiar, sarcastic voice Lirael knew too well.
"Mogget!" she said crossly as the white cat emerged, yawning and shaking himself as if to rid himself of something. The collarless cat leaped down nimbly, and began carelessly lick a paw. "What are you doing her?" she demanded of him.
"Riding, obviously," drawled Mogget, looking up at last. "Well, more like bouncing about, enough to scramble my brains—he clearly needs more riding practice," he added, and Nick sheepishly scratched his head.
"But why did you come with us?" Lirael asked, losing her anger. It was hard to stay mad at the cat.
Mogget looked up, his gaze flat. "Do you expect a girl who can look in the past and a boy who a few years ago didn't even believe in magic to defeat an entire army of the Dead, and then to go on and stop a Glacier from melting?"
"So maybe a little white cat who can change into a dwarf will be able to do it instead?" Nick retorted.
"No," replied Mogget, showing complete indifference to Nick's returning insult, "I'm just here to tell you how hopeless this mission is, and, if you continue to pursue it, maybe lead you away from falling into the same trap the Abhorsen did. Maybe. If I'm in the mood."
"Typical," muttered Nick. "A pessimist's opinion."
"Not pessimist," Mogget corrected; "Realist."
"Well," cut in Lirael, her feeling of uneasiness increased. "Let's eat, and then we can decide what to do."
As they ate, Nick and Mogget argued. Nick would rather be doing something useful than sitting around twiddling his thumbs all day, he said. Mogget continued in his calm persistence that at least Nick would be alive to twiddle his thumbs if he didn't persever on such a fruitless task. Nick argued that he would do some good, and with his and Lirael's skills, they were the best ones eligible to save Sabriel and her daughter. Mogget merely said that if that were the case, they might as well consider Sabriel and Ellimere dead already. At this point Lirael intervened.
"Mogget, why don't you help us? With your abilities, we could probably save Sabriel and Ellimere."
"I'll sleep on it," replied the cat, and he instantly closed his eyes and fell asleep. Lirael sighed, slightly frustrated. Since Mogget was no longer controlled by Ranna, he didn't sleep as much as he used to, but apparently he still liked to at least pretend to sleep when he didn't want to talk with humans.
"We're going," said Nick firmly.
Lirael looked at him and smiled sadly. "Of course. It would take much more than a cat to persuade me to stop. I just hope he considers coming along. We could use his help."
Nick looked dubious. "A white cat?" he asked uncertainly.
"A white cat who happens to be Yrael, the one who turned the tide against Orannis," Lirael replied softly.
Nick flinched at the name, then nodded, but Lirael could tell he was still doubtful. After all, he hadn't been present at the binding, so had never seen Mogget at his full strength.
They finished their lunch and resumed their journey. Lirael was expecting to recognize the place of Sabriel's capture from what she had seen in the Dark Mirror, but all that was before was open plain. Here, nearly everything looked alike, so it would be nigh impossible to distinguish one part of the plain from another. Still, she was determined to succeed.
They rode until sunset. As Nick and Lirael set up camp and prepared to eat, Mogget finally awoke. He crawled out of the saddlebag he had been riding in and curled up by the small fire Nick had made. "Is it wise, lighting a fire for all to see, on a rather flammable dry plain?" he inquired.
Nick scowled at the cat, finding him more agitating than ever. "We'll put it out soon," he grumbled.
Mogget now spoke to Lirael. "I'll come with you," he informed her. "Partly because it's too far to travel back to the palace myself. In any case, I may as well stick with you two, since I have served the Abhorsen so long I'm continuing to do so out of mere habit. But mind you, I don't have to help you."
Lirael smiled at the cat, having expected this. "Of course. You're doing this on your own free will. I'll never forget it."
But Mogget had already fallen asleep again, or so it seemed.
Nick, true to his word, put out the fire once they had finished warming their food. It was a spring night, so thankfully it was not terribly cold. "I'll take the first watch," he told Lirael.
She nodded, grateful. "Thank you, Nick," she said, stifling a yawn as she entered the little tent. "Wake me if you see anything." For the night was the time the Dead wandered the world most.
Nick watched the tent a little while after Lirael had gone in, then sighed and turned back to the lonesome duty of keeping watch. At times, he felt as though his eyelids would close on their own accord, but he forced them open to stare at the open plain before him. Nothing for miles and miles that he could see.
Several hours later, he was almost ready to turn the watch over to Lirael, when something caught his eye. A small black shape, blocking out a few stars in the sky as it moved overhead. Nick watched it with narrowed eyes, trying to see in the meager moonlight what it was. An owl, perhaps, seeking its hunt? Or something more…sinister?
Nick realized what it was a second before it disappeared from his sight. A single Gore Crow. A scout for the Dead.
He turned to wake Lirael, feeling an ominous emotion rise in his chest. The Dead were watching…
A/N: Yes, a rather short and pointless chapter. I've been getting a lot of these lately…but this is leading up to the next chapter, which will be (hopefully) much more excitable. -nods- Yes. Apologies for the inconviences. Really. Truly.