'Tis I, the fangirl-writer, Answering Questions. Wow…gotta put this down as a Moment in History…

Ok, I have decided that the pronunciation of 'Gwidhe' shall be "gwee-ay". Objections? Put it in your review. And if you're just going to say, "It sounds stoooopid", don't bother cuz I know..

Now, why is the Dog with a guy who is 'obviously' a villain? Ah—do not be so quick to judge nor to jump to conclusions. Kibby (that's what I call Kibeth, got it?) cannot always choose her master/mistress, but I assure you, fickle Dame Fortune had a sound reason for placing her with Gwidhe. She's got a part to play, Kibby does…

And finally, for any out there who actually had the…whatever to wonder what the heck those strange choices for Sidhe's ship's names meant—it's "owl crusade" in German, Spanish, and French…not exactly accurate either…heh. The name that seemed most popular is (2) Lechuza Cruzada. Personally, it's my favorite as well because it sounds the most like Sidhegureth anyway.

And Now For the Pointless…DISCLAIMER: "Abhorsen", all names, places, and related indicia are the sole property of Garth Nix, whose work I hold in great admiration…. But GWIDHE IS MINE! MINE! YOU CAN'T HAVE HIM! I'M NOT EVEN GIVING HIM TO KAGAEL!! (Sorry, please don't run away; I'm usually not so scary…I just get…possessive.)

CHAPTER FOUR: Assessing the Situation

Gwidhe watched the girl crumple in a heap and relinquished the Charter. He knew he ought to cast a master mark for a spell like that, but it was so much more exhilarating to hang on and let the heat of the magic course through him.

"Smooth," Mihir commented tritely from the shadows.

Gwidhe turned, a satisfied smirk on his face. "That was easy. Who's to carry her?"

"You can."

"I can. But you will."

"Aw, c'mon, Gwidhe…"

"You will, Mihir, because the Wing Commander of Orkaire's Citadel Fleet commands you to."

"Ah, but you can't pull rank with me because I'm not a soldier under you," Mihir evaded smoothly. "But I'll do it anyway," he added quickly as Gwidhe glared.

"No need to bicker, boys, I'll carry the poor child," declared a slightly muffled voice from the pocket of Gwidhe's trousers.

Mihir started. "What—"

The Dog finally! I'll capitalize 'Dog' now because it seems we all know who she is poked her head out of the pocket and quickly wriggled the rest of the way out.

"Erm…I'm not even going to ask," Mihir said.

Kagael didn't quite 'wake up', nor did she exactly 'come to'. There was simply the stifling dark and nothingness, then a sudden sensation of unraveling, and she was free.

Well, not entirely.

Cold ropes swimming with Charter marks bound her hands and wrapped up her legs. Kagael was propped up against a tree; she couldn't turn around and look at it, but she could feel the rough bark through her clothes and look up to see the sunlight struggling through its thick leaves.

The Charter ropes were tight—constraining, but not painful. Stubbornly, Kagael reached for the Charter, seeking the most powerful marks of breaking and unraveling she knew of. It felt like she hit a shield; she even felt a spiritual sort of 'thump'. The next sensation was not unlike stepping into a pitfall, and almost instantly, the Charter seemed to go out.

For a moment, Kagael nearly panicked. Her mother had described a feeling like this once—down the ancient well in the rose garden, when it seemed the Charter was 'gone'. Then she realized that the Charter was there—she was merely blocked from it—and emitted a sigh of relief.

"She's awake," said a low voice and Kagael uttered a small gasp. The tall, dark-haired young man from the inn came around the tree.

"I know," replied a pubescent male voice that was all-too-familiar. "I felt her fall into my little trap."

The silvery-haired young man's pretty face came into view and Kagael tasted bitterness rising up in her throat. He was wearing some sort of snug-looking leather armor and a smile that struck her as more than a touch haughty.

"Good morning, Lady Kagael," he said in a sugary voice. "I hope my pitfall didn't frighten you. You're quite a strong mage—I spent all night weaving the shield spell. I might teach it to you someday if you show me your neat little trick with the moon and stars."

"How do you know my name?"

"I Saw it, along with you," the dark-haired young man provided readily. "My name's Mihir. I'm a Seer and a swordsmith. My friend here is Gwidhe. We really don't mean you harm, so let's not be so hasty and get off to a bad start, alright?"

Kagael glared at him. "What do you want with me, then, and why am I tied up?"

"Well, we don't want anything with you—we're to take you somewhere," Mihir answered rather vaguely. "As for the ropes, well, Gwidhe, shouldn't we untie her now?"

"Fine."

Kagael tipped forward as the ropes evaporated. She steadied herself against the tree for a brief moment, then launched herself at Mihir. He grabbed at her, but she ducked. He swiped again, catching her arm, but she twisted and flung him behind her in a single quick motion like Prince Sameth had shown her when she was eight. Not looking back, Kagael dashed toward the trees. Mihir wasn't very fast, which surprised her, but of course she didn't mind.

She never made it. Stars exploded in her vision as she toppled, darkness claiming her.

This time we can say that Kagael 'came to'.

"You still shouldn't have hit her so hard," Mihir's voice was saying in a disapproving tone.

"That was not hard. You've pounded me harder," growled Gwidhe's voice. "Besides, it was your stupid idea to let the little bitch outta the ropes, else I wouldn't have had to hit her.

"What's the big deal, Gwidhe," Mihir sighed.

Kagael smelled stew cooking and her stomach rumbled. She opened her eyes.

Gwidhe abruptly stood, grabbing his bow, and went off angrily into trees, muttering.

"Sure," Mihir called after him, "but I'm getting tired of rabbit."

Kagael was bound in Charter ropes again, just tight enough to keep her from getting up from her sitting position. Mihir had started a small, smokeless fire in the middle of the clearing and was cooking something in a smallish pot.

Mihir looked up as she stirred. And dammit, the man was smiling at her as though he hadn't tried to cut off her escape a little bit before. "You're awake. How're you feeling? Does your head hurt?"

"No," she muttered halfheartedly.

"Oh, good. So maybe he didn't hit you that hard after all. Gwidhe, I mean. He could've stopped you right from the start; I'll bet he just wanted me to fumble about like a fool before he made his move," Mihir chuckled. "But Gwidhe's not all bad," he was quick to reassure her, "He's quite a fellow if you get to know him."

"Sure."

"Are you hungry? I mean, you have to be, right? This is lunch already." Kagael couldn't help it—Mihir's insufferable grin and good humor reminded her of Daniel. She nodded.

"I'm sorry about this," he continued, "You're definitely not enjoying it."

Kagael shrugged. For some reason, Mihir's concern had improved her mood a great deal. "You're not that fast," she ventured. "I'd thought you'd have caught me right away."

"No I'm not," Mihir admitted sheepishly. "Gwidhe's the speedy one. I'm just a swordsmith. He's a so—he's a warrior."

"Ah. I can imagine. So you stand around pounding slabs of metal all day in an intensely hot room?"

"Well, no. That's someone else's job. I'm more of a craftsman." Mihir sprinkled a couple of pinches of something into the stew he was making and stirred it several times. "You live at the Abhorsen's House, right?" he asked.

That was out of the blue, Kagael thought. Why would he ask? Was it curiosity? Was he some sort of spy, seeking information out of her? Well, they obviously already knew who she was. Kagael weighed the odds, and made do with a slight nod.

"How's it like?"

"Boring," she replied quite frankly. See how much he could get out of that. "Where're you from?" she shot back.

"Around," he answered with an irritating smile that said 'see how much you can get out of that'. "Why don't you tell me a bit about your life?"

The key to being effectively boring, Lirael had once told her daughter, is to tell everything that doesn't matter.

"I practically grew up at the capital," Kagael informed him. "The weather's fairly pleasant year round, you know, because of the sea. Have you ever been to Ilgard? I use to take trips there fairly often before I moved back to Abhorsen's house. Ilgard's an awfully nice place in the summer—lots of nice beaches and swimming areas. Do you know how to swim? Daddy taught me when I was six years old. I haven't swum in quite a while, now that I think of it; I mean, the Ratterlin's hardly a safe place to swim—"

"Erm, Kagael?"

"—But I can always go boating. It's especially fun in the—"

"Kagael!"

"—summertime. Yes?"

Mihir studied her over the cookpot. "You're being exasperatingly and randomly talkative on purpose. I can tell. Now please, I would rather you just shut—"

"That's fine. I know plenty of people who can't stand randomness. I can understand. It's quite—"

"Stop…being random!"

Kagael couldn't help it; she was enjoying this. "Oh, then would you rather I flirt?"

"No—"

"Or recite poetry? I have several lovely pieces in mind. My favorite at the moment is from a knight to his princess—"

"No! No poetry—"

"I could sing—"

"I'm begging you, now."

"Perhaps if you tell me exactly what's going on—"

"You two sound like the biggest damn idiots on earth," growled Gwidhe's voice as he emerged from the trees. "Shut up, Kagael, or I'll hit you."

Kagael shut up.

Gwidhe had his bow in one hand and carried a fat pheasant in the other. He tossed it down by Mihir, who flinched slightly away before smoothly recovering by congratulating his friend on the hunt.

The stew seemed to be pretty much done. Kagael's ropes vanished as Mihir handed her a spoon.

"We, er, don't have any bowls so, er, you'll just have to, you know, eat from the pot," he said rather apologetically. "Hope that's alright with you."

Kagael would've liked to say no, that there was no way she would eat out of the same vessel as Gwidhe. But at the moment he frightened her too much.

"If it's not alright with her she can just starve for all I care," Gwidhe stated in a rather unforgiving tone.

Kagael bit back a response and plunged her spoon into the stew. She swallowed the mouthful, which was still rather hot. "This is really good," she told an expectant Mihir. "You cook often?"

"It's a hobby," Mihir replied, sounding rather pleased. "I enjoy working with things that are potentially edible." Then to Gwidhe, who was pointedly ignoring them: "How's the stew?"

"Delicious, as usual. Do you really need to ask?"

"No need to be like that, Gwidhe," Mihir said, grinning, "You know everyone loves compliments from Sir Ulseil."

Kagael choked.

"What's the matter?" Mihir asked.

"Nothing," Kagael said quickly. "Piece of tuber…tried to swallow it…didn't quite chew it enough…" Ulseil? screamed a voice inside her mind. As in Hedge Ulseil? Wasn't Mihir talking about Gwidhe?

They finished the stew fairly quickly; both Mihir (especially Mihir) and Gwidhe ate a great deal more and much faster than Kagael, as young men do. Mihir decided he was going down to the stream to wash out the pot and spoons and start preparing the pheasant for the day's dinner. Gwidhe unbuckled the knife from his belt and tossed it (sheathed, of course) to Mihir, who promptly tossed it back muttering about sanitation. Gwidhe shrugged.

Feeling in much better spirits now that she was full (and much bolder) Kagael declared she wanted to go for a walk.

"Too bad, you can't," Gwidhe told her promptly.

"I don't think it's that serious," Mihir argued on Kagael's behalf. "She can walk down to the stream with me."

Kagael hurried to add, "I can help with washing—"

Gwidhe cut her off. "Shut up, Kagael. And she can also run away from you, Mihir. The girl's not going anywhere."

"I'm not going to run," Kagael announced. "I don't know where I am anyway. I'd only get lost."

Gwidhe fixed her with an unreadable stare. Kagael couldn't help getting warm in the face—Gwidhe might be a cruel captor, but he was still one very good-looking young man, ashamed as she was to admit it. "Makes sense," he said after a moment, flicking a pale lock of hair away in a rather careless gesture. "You help Mihir with the washing, and don't try anything." He buckled his knife back on. "I'm going on ahead to scout a bit. I'll be back in roughly twenty minutes," he informed them, "Then we leave immediately and travel steadily till dark."

Kagael watched him disappear into the trees and it finally dawned on her what a hopeless situation she was in. She'd left her home in a temper with every intention of locating her missing mother and making everything better. Now she was tangled up in a mess that she couldn't get out of anytime soon. Kagael thought of her father, Nicholas, and wondered if he or Sameth had come to Qyrre after her yet. Would she be found? These men, Mihir and Gwidhe, did not seem to be common bandits or kidnappers. Were they simply holding Kagael for a ransom, her being the Abhorsen's daughter? But they were also quite obviously taking her somewhere, to someone. It occurred to her, suddenly, that perhaps her mother had been abducted, as well as Aunt Sabriel.

"Are you alright?" Mihir had obviously seen the troubled expression on her face.

"I'm fine," she replied, still frowning. "Let's go."

---

The little carving turned, sunlight from the window glinting off the figure's long, spiraled horn and cloven hooves, its jeweled eyes taking on an almost lifelike sparkling luster.

"Captain, will you please put that down?"

The Lord Prince Sulumor came into his workroom through his office door. Sidhegureth set the carving back down on the dark wood of the shelf and looked up with a smile. He made an elegant bow, long blond hair cascading over his shoulders. "Your Highness, forgive me. I was merely admiring the work. I recall you giving my mother such a piece."

Sulumor smiled, too, at the memory. "Actually, that is the piece. I made it for her seventeenth birthday. Yukiel was very fond of it, wasn't she?"

"Naturally," Sidhegureth replied. "A skillfully crafted piece from her dear brother. You have created quite a collection since then, Lord Uncle."

"A useless pastime. I haven't made any for years. Soon I shall have no need of silly replicas such as these."

Sidhegureth's brow furrowed slightly as he looked from the Prince to the array of carved dragons, unicorns, mythical birds, and other fantastical creatures.

Sulumor cleared his throat. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything by calling you here, Captain. You were quite punctual."

"Actually, I was in the middle of quite a pleasant sparring session with my lieutenant," Sidhegureth informed him, putting on a small pout that only he had the way of doing without looking petulant. "Of course it's no problem at all if you needed me, Your Highness." He paused, the pout disappearing. "If I might be as frank as to add, my lord, I was feeling slightly stressful after the luncheon with Lord Torrigan."

Sulumor lifted his brows inquiringly. "Stressful, Sidhegureth?"

"Yes. I'm not so use to…feeling like a villain."

Sulumor laughed, not unkindly. "'A villain'? Ah, but Captain, you had done nothing villainous." He laughed again.

"I know, Your Highness, but we were hiding things from Torrigan and Uncle Semur. Isn't that wrong?"

"Stop this now, Sidhegureth," Sulumor said, suddenly stern. "You remind me so of my sister, but really I do not appreciate this angelic act of yours."

"My apologies. My conscience is merely grateful that I am not quite as…involved—"

"Then I am sorry to disappoint you, Captain."

Sidhegureth's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"It is why I called you here. You are to take your citadel-ship down to Oncet Pass in the Old Kingdom at dawn two days from now. You will be receiving your brother and his…companions."

"Gwidhe…"

"I am not finished, Captain. You will then join General Noegduch above the northernmost peak in the Glaciers of the Clayr. Is this understood?"

Sidhegureth's mind was roiling, but outwardly he revealed nothing. "Yes, Your Highness. I will begin preparations of the Cruzada immediately." He saluted, accompanied by his usual charming smile and pivoted smartly, then left the room.

Prince Sulumor watched the young captain move down the hallway, then disappear down the stairs. He reached down and picked up the carving Sidhegureth had been admiring, absently fingering its smooth mane.

"Her name is Snow," a nine-year-old Sulumor said, holding his precious creation up to his elder sister. "I named her after you."

"Oh…! Oh, Sullie, I can't take this! You worked so hard on it." Yukiel couldn't seem to take her eyes off it.

"I don't need it," Sulumor told her quite seriously. "I'll find a real one someday and we'll get to be friends."

"Thank you. This is so beautiful…I…I don't know what else to say." Yukiel bent down and hugged her little brother.

"I'll find one someday," he let her know, "Vogsako calls them unicorns. He said they are beautiful and wild but very dangerous unless you know how to shackle them. He says there were dragons, too, and halcyons, but the Great Charters banished them."

Yukiel's eyes said that those were just stories, but she did not say so. She merely smiled at her younger brother. "I wish you the best of luck," she whispered.

Sulumor smiled at the memory. "Do you know what luck is, dear departed sister? Luck is for fools who believe that sort of thing. You cannot wish it. One must make it. I have always made my own luck, and soon I shall be making it for all of the land."

Sidhegureth walked through the palace courtyard at a brisk pace, making plans as he moved. He reached the tall storage building where the ships that were not often used were kept. He stepped inside the high double doors, which were ajar, and flipped a switch along the wall that triggered a chain of Charter marks that lit the vast chamber from the ceiling.

The Lechuza Cruzada was a large, silvery craft, made of a sort of material that Orkaire's sorcerers had developed over long years. The substance had high magic conductivity and absorption and, despite its apparent shininess, very little reflective properties. Old, powerful spells caused any spell aimed at the vessel to be absorbed and instantly activate the cloaking device. The ship was at rest at the moment. Other, slightly smaller vessels in the hangar still had their levitation spells hovering like so much mist around their underbellies, which meant they were regularly in use.

Sidhegureth sent a page scurrying to find Lieutenant Kynned.

A sturdily built young man with brown hair, an open face, and an air of exuberance arrived shortly. "What's up, Cap'n?" he asked.

"Quite a lot," Sidhegureth replied grimly. "Pirates have struck Calwyar Cove; the Owl must take to the coasts again."

Kynned's cheerfulness was instantly replaced by a deep scowl. "When do we leave, Cap'n?" He understood Sidhegureth's meaning, and was clearly as distressed as his superior by the situation.

"Two dawns."

"Very good, Cap'n. I'll round up the men immediately."

Sidhegureth did not watch as his lieutenant departed. He walked over to the Lechuza Cruzada and placed a hand upon her cool surface.

"Looks like we're flying again, old girl," he said softly. "If that's how the winds of fate blow, I suppose we'll just have to make the best of it."

O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O-o-O

Author's Note: I'll bet y'all are bursting to point out my drastic mistake from the previous chapters with messagehawks--that they're enchanted to speak the message rather than carry thin scrolls like homing pigeons. Believe it or not, the "mistake" is intentional. If Gwidhe shot your average-Abhorsen-trilogy-style messagehawk out of the sky, the message would've gone bye-bye like the birdie. Ergo, the whole reason for the "mistake" is just a bit of dramatic emphasis.

Next chapter…erm…is chapter five, yeah! I'll write the liddle preview here when I've got a little more of the actual chapter written. .;;

Once again, there shall not be a new chapter UNLESS I receive at least one new review. Go on…hate me… And in your review, please let me know if you find my habit of putting some words in bold annoying. I enjoy doing it, dunno why, but if it bothers you, lemme know and I'll stop.