A/N: hey! Ok, I've decided to include Mogget in this chapter, but I'm not entirely sure on the shape he would have resumed at this time, despite my suspicions that the white dwarf was his usual form, however, I thought I'd make it a bit more original by using a different form, so no need to point it out to me!
Something warm. Her hands gripped it unconsciously, and slowly the realisation of the heat came to her. Fumbling, her fingers met the handle of the mug and with no real inhibitions; Fanar raised the drink blindly to her lips and sipped.
The liquid was hot and it slid down her throat with the sweet taste of rum and malt plus the potent one of whisky.
Fanar sat up, coughing hard, her eyes watering. She swore, and felt a hard hand thump her back. She opened her eyes, which were bleary from sleep and looked up.
The man before her was tall, his gaze concerned. She slid back off the bench she had been lying on, and, shocked, she pulled herself up again, backing into the wall.
The man smiled sadly, and Fanar gulped. Perhaps it was the murderer the Uliscé police had been so concerned about. Or was this her prison guard? Cell mate? Had she been imprisoned for knocking a policeman unconscious?
Fanar looked about herself carefully, and noted the cavernous roof. He could see no door, and could only imagine that this place was a cove hollowed out from a rock face. Candles lit the grimy place in brackets nailed to the wall with rusty iron pegs. A simple table lay in the centre of the room, and the bench on which she sat turned out to be more comfortable than it looked. She looked back at the tall man, who now clutched the mug he had clearly woken her with.
His chin was handsomely chiselled, and rough black stubble grew along the line of his jaw.
His nose arched proudly between dark eyes, rich and deep beyond entrancing pupils. His hair was drawn back with a length of silver cord, and was so black it contrasted stunningly with his startlingly white skin, skin that was so pale it might have been dead.
He wore black breeches and a shirt that was unbuttoned and hung loosely over his shoulders, revealing a stomach that bore deep scars over hard muscle.
Fanar's gaze was drawn to his arm, where the sleeve was ripped and rolled up to reveal a heavy bandage, dark blood stained the cloth.
A movement in the corner of the cave attracted her gaze next, and Fanar found herself looked at a snowy white owl, whose plumage was as white as the man's fair skin.
It's large eyes were fierce emerald and gave her a truly filthy look before fluttering down from its first perch: a vacated candle bracket to a wooden trunk, from which clothes spilled out from the lid, a sleeve littered with silver keys against a background of deepest blue.
Fanar looked back at the man, who said nothing, and merely offered her the steaming mug once more.
She took it gingerly, and gave the room one more furtive glance, before gulping the contents, not caring what else was in it: at least it had woken her, and she had a feeling her next sleep would not come for a long while.
'That's it.' The man spoke with a rich, deep voice, and his eyes glared at her with a fierceness entirely alien to the usually calm Fanar.
She finished and put the mug down, purposefully. Then she stood, and to her surprise she was only a little smaller than him, three inches at most.
'I am sorry about this.' The man informed her, 'There is much for us to talk about, little one, sit, and let us eat.'
Fanar heard him, but did nothing to show she had. Finally, she held him, her gaze frosty and sharp. 'Who are you?'
The man blinked, and smiled, 'Forgive me,' he said, 'I am Abhorsen, and yourself?'
Abhorsen? Fanar thought, trying to derive the name from some nook or crevice in her head. She had heard it before, but as to where she had heard it, she couldn't place.
'Fanar,' she said quietly, taking his broad palm. The fingers were calloused; the left palm bore a large, shiny burn. Fanar took him in again.
'What happened? Where have you taken me?'
The man sighed, and sat, and, the owl ruffled it feathers impatiently from the corner.
'I am Abhorsen,' he repeated steadily, rubbing his temples with fingertips. 'I...well, of course, this will sound ridiculous.'
'Try me.' Fanar murmured. 'I've had some strange things happening to me even before I caught the train.'
Abhorsen raised a weary eyebrow. 'And I suppose your assumption is I'm that unusual murderer they're all trying to catch?'
'This isn't exactly a welcoming place.' Fanar commented in reply, gesturing the cave.
Abhorsen winced and nodded. 'Thought as much.'
'Well, if you're not a murderer then why were they all screaming and firing at you. The first policeman I saw seemed genuinely worried.' She frowned, and suddenly looked worried herself. 'What did you take me for?'
Abhorsen's fingers returned to his temples and Fanar found the desire within her to reach up and prize his fingers away.
There was no way this man was a murderer. For one, she was almost certain that he would have killed her by now... unless something else was on his mind... but he had not looked at her in a sexual way even once, and a quick inspection of her clothing was enough to tell her no one had unbuttoned or shifted anything. She relaxed by a hair. He may not be a murderer but whatever else he wanted he had still taken her and she was suspicious of some other duty he wanted of her. She sat up on the bench and coughed. He looked up and smiled, 'Sorry. The Policemen at Uliscé were mistaken. They saw me lay to rest two of the dead, and mistook me for some crazy murderer. One of their number had to know me... but that makes no sense!' he stood up suddenly, and Fanar sighed.
'So, do you think, maybe, if you'd be so kind, maybe you could let me go?'
Abhorsen fixed her with a hard stare and she stared back, mouth set.
'I saw you take down the policemen with a simple hold.' He said. 'Ingenious.'
'Thank-you.' Fanar replied, smiling rather smugly. She was the best in her class at fighting arts...
'Forgive me,' Abhorsen was talking again, 'You weren't what I expected. How old are you exactly?'
'Eighteen.'
Abhorsen's dark eyes widened.
'You're in what, sixth form?'
'Yes.' Fanar replied.
'Impressive.'
'Thank-you.' Fanar replied, and then suddenly burst, 'So, tell me, if you're not a murderer what were you doing with those bells the policemen kept talking about? And how did you get me to sleep?'
A formidable sound rang out from the trunk and the owl stretched it's wings and came to perch on Abhorsen's shoulder.
It was then Fanar noticed the red anklet the owl bore around one talon, and the silver bell that dangled on the tag intrigued her. As the owl shifted position it rang, and Fanar felt the formidability shiver over her, a great sense of a power behind that bell, and something of it's purpose. It was not there to look pretty or make a nice sound, and she kept that in mind as she trained her eye on it.
'A miniature Saraneth.' Abhorsen said proudly, reaching to touch the bell softly with a finger.
The owl hooted and fixed it's gaze on Fanar. She was not surprised when it spoke, green eyes glittering dangerously.
'I'd watch this one, Abhorsen. She's thinking far to much for a schoolgirl.'
'Hush, Mogget.' Abhorsen snapped. The owl only glared at him contemptuously.
'Look, Fanar, meet my servant, the Mogget.'
Abhorsen reached up to stroke the owl's snowy feathers and he hooted comfortably.
Fanar let her eyelids flutter. 'Servant?' she wondered aloud.
'Not just of this fool,' the owl hooted indignantly. 'Of the charter also.'
'Of the charter.' Fanar said slowly.
She knew a great deal about the charter, and was something of a mage herself, but she had never heard of a servant of the charter, nor did she know what Abhorsen meant by 'miniature Saraneth.'
'What's a Saraneth?' she asked.
Abhorsen nodded at her. 'The Binder.' He reached behind him and came up with a large leather bandoleer. Fanar watched, fascinated as Abhorsen fitted the bandoleer across his chest, diagonally. Seven pockets were shining with what looked like beeswax, and from each pocket a leather handle showed, charter marks traced into the polish.
Fanar stared, mesmerised.
'What are they?' she asked, finding the answer as Abhorsen lifted the flap of the first pocket and pulled out a bell, one no larger than a pillbox.
The handle gave way to charter-infused silver that glittered in the light of the candles and without thinking, Fanar reached out to touch it.
The silver met with her skin and she shivered as something ran through her, like a charge, and Fanar felt a sudden completeness within herself. It was as if she had never complete before and the connection with the bell brought her to it.
Either way, she felt an alarming will to trust Abhorsen, and so it was, and she found herself looking deep into his eyes. There was something there, some will that held her and made sure there was no way on earth she could look away. A connection, something clicked into place and the two were looking upon each other with a renewed respect.
'Sorry to break the tender moment.' Came a snooty hoot, 'But we ought to go, Abhorsen, the Uliscé have found us.'
Well?