Author's Note: Hey. Wow. This is getting to be long. Honestly, it's longer that I thought it would be, but that's okay because I'm having fun writing it.

I'm putting a lot of work into this story, and if you've read this far you've put a fair bit of time into reading it, so I don't think it's out of line to ask for reviews. Good or bad, long or short, constructive or not, I don't care. Just write something. Thanks!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Before setting out the next day, Terciel gave Andrael charcoal sketches of Calew and Ferhan. He thought that two new marks at once might satisfy her, but by midday she was begging for more. They had stopped by the side of the road to eat, and Andrael was demonstrating her proficiency with her new marks.

"Anet! Calew! Ferhan!" she shouted, and faint Charter-blades nicked the tree in front of her. Her casting was weak, but there was no doubt that she had learned the marks. "You see?" she said, whirling around to beam proudly at Terciel, "Now will you teach me the diamond of protection?"

"Slow down," he said, "It's better to master the marks one at a time instead of learning many halfway."

"Maybe if you have a proper teacher," Andrael countered, "But I only have you for another week. I have to learn as many marks as I can now. I'll have plenty of time to practice and get better at casting them once I have a home in Sindle."

Terciel couldn't argue with her enthusiasm, so when they set out again he began teaching her the East and South marks. He had to marvel at the change he had seen in her over the days. The bright, eager girl in front of him was virtually unrecognizable as the sullen, wasted one he had met in Aunden. And this despite two attempts on her life in as many days. It seemed that adversity had only made Andrael stronger.

Even her hair was beginning to grow. The stubble was just long enough that it was recognizable as a vibrant shade of red. Andrael caught Terciel staring and grinned, removing her cap to rub the fuzzy layer experimentally. "People in Aunden cut their hair as a sign of mourning," she explained even before he asked, "But since we left, I've been letting it grow."

"I-It's really pretty," he said, blushing. He saw Abhorsen tense suddenly, and he thought she was about to reprimand him for flirting until he noticed that she was reaching for her sword. Then he heard what she had heard: hoof beats approaching from down the road. "It could just be traders," he said, hoping that he was right.

"What could be?" asked Andrael, still oblivious.

Abhorsen ignored her question and answered Terciel, "Or it could be more Hands. Be ready."

Terciel put his hand on the hilt of his sword and waited. Soon the hoof beats were loud enough that even Andrael had noticed them. Terciel could make out that there were at least three horses, and that they were coming at a fast pace. Then his Death sense twinged, and he drew his sword. Abhorsen drew hers at the same time. "Hands," she confirmed, "And more. Andrael, get down and hide in the trees. We'll take care of this."

Andrael looked at Terciel, alarm in her eyes. He nodded grimly. She had done well for herself in the last two skirmishes, but Terciel could feel the pressure of many Dead riding towards them. This was a fight for the Abhorsen, not for a civilian. "Go," he said, and she slipped off the back of Abhorsen's horse to disappear into the underbrush.

She had gone just in time. The sound of hoof beats reached a crescendo and from around a bend in the road came a platoon of Dead. Three horses each carried a Hand, and a Shadow Hand led them, floating eerily through the air. What Terciel first thought was a black cloud proved to be a swarm of Gore Crows that flapped around the heads of the humanoid Dead like a satanic halo. The lot of them filled the road from gutter to gutter, bearing down on Abhorsen and Terciel like a hurricane of rotting flesh and protruding bone.

While Terciel sat, paralyzed by fear, waiting for direction, his horse shifting nervously beneath him, Abhorsen charged. Her cloak came undone and flapped away, leaving her coal-black hair to flap behind her like a banner. Her coat of blue with silver keys, known and feared by all Dead, flashed its colors, and her sword caught the cold light of the sun as it refracted off the layer of snow that powdered the hard earth. She descended into the fray, ringing two bells in concert with only one hand. She looked like an avenging angel.

Terciel shook off his hesitation and kicked his horse into motion. A Gore Crow that dove for his eyes was cloven in two by his sword before he had even thought to swing it; he silently thanked his aunt for the rigorous training that had left him with such speedy reflexes. But Gore Crows never attacked alone. A portion of the flock broke away from Abhorsen to spin around him, closing in and cutting him off from his master. Abhorsen was busy with the Hands. He was on his own.

He swung his sword wildly, trying to keep the Crows' tearing beaks and claws away from his face. But there were too many of them; he could spend all day hacking at them one by one and never kill them all. Plus, he was getting tired quickly, and most of his swings were missing. The sun was shining through gaps in the trees, and the Crows were using these unexpected flashes of light to their advantage, keeping their prey distracted and partially blinded.

But it gave Terciel an idea. Putting his pipes to his lips, he began playing a tune on Kibeth. Though it was only one pipe, it somehow emitted a series of notes over and over that induced all who heard it to walk. Terciel put all of his concentration and skill into it, willing the Crows to fly up, up, through the canopy that shaded them and into the full sunlight that they couldn't abide. He continued to defend himself with his sword, but now every Crow that dove at him was gripped by his music. One by one, they wheeled into the sky. They flew straight into the sun, the wind disintegrating their frail bodies and the light weakening the magic that bound their soul. Moments later, they began flopping back to the ground, a hailstorm of feathers and entrails.

Soon there were only a few Crows left, and Terciel quickly dispatched them with his sword. He looked to Abhorsen, expecting praise, only to see her locked in combat with the Shadow Hand. He turned his horse to go to her aid, but one of the Hands on horseback broke from the fray to meet him. He slashed at it with his sword, but it reigned its horse in, dancing just out of his range.

"Terciel!" Abhorsen's voice shouted over the noise of her bells, "Catch!" She tossed him something, and as the object flew he recognized it as Saraneth. He caught it expertly, letting it continue its arc so the clapper never touched the sides of the bell, then brought it up with a flourish. No longer afraid, and with the confidence of his victory over the Gore Crows still making him lightheaded, he rang the bell.

The clapper swung, and metal hit metal, but no peal sounded. Only a hollow sound, as if the bell were made of wet wood. Terciel felt as if iron bands were squeezing his chest, stopping his heart and his breath. Saraneth was the kindest, most forgiving of the bells, and it had not failed him since he was a novice. But it had, of all times, failed him now.

While he sat there dumbfounded, the Hand prepared to attack. Abhorsen was shouting something, but to Terciel her voice sounded very far away. There was a ringing in his ears and a slowness to the movements around him. He stared at his hand, at Saraneth, feeling shell-shocked and betrayed. All the confidence he had gained in the last few days drained out of him, and he could only watch in horror as the Hand reached for his throat.

Then a voice pierced the haze of his mind, "Anet! Calew! Ferhan!" Charter-blades flashed through the air and slammed wetly into the head and arm of the Hand, toppling it off its horse and leaving it crumpled on the ground. Shaking himself out of his reverie, Terciel quickly performed a coup-de-grace on the slowly-rising form, using his sword to send its head flying off its shoulders.

He twisted in his saddle, looking for the source of the voice, and saw Andrael poking her head out of the trees and waving encouragingly. As she quickly disappeared back into the snowy brush, he felt a burst of mixed emotion towards her. She was like a guardian angel, giving assistance from the wings while he took center stage. But guilt and shame still wormed in his stomach. His affection and pride warred with the humiliation of having been rescued by a novice.

But he had no time to dwell on his feelings. An angry scream snapped his attention back to the fight, and he turned just in time to see Abhorsen fall from the back of her horse. She had dispatched all but one Hand, who now advanced on her prone form. The ground around them was littered with pieces of Gore Crows, and the corpses of the last Hand and two horses lay nearby, draining their blood into the gutters and staining the snow red. From where Terciel stood, Abhorsen's body seemed to disappear into the carnage, the blood and soil on her mantle becoming one with the earth. The Hand stood over her, its arms reaching down.

"No!" Terciel screamed, kicking his horse into one last desperate dash. He heard the sound of bells, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from his left hand. He was ringing Saraneth, and the Hand suddenly froze as the binding spell wove through its wasted body. It hardly had time to realize what had happened to it before Terciel's sword slammed into its head at the level of its eyes, obliterating its brain and sending its soul fleeing the broken shell back to Death.

"Abhorsen!" he shouted, reigning in his horse. He turned to where she had been lying, fearing the worst, but before that fear could take root she stood and began to brush herself off as if nothing had happened. Terciel swung out of the saddle to land beside her, gaping and stammering, "Are you… I thought you were…" He felt like a little child again, and could barely restrain himself from throwing his arms around her. But look from Abhorsen's steely eyes taught him to control himself.

"I'm fine," she said, snatching Saraneth from Terciel's hand. She held the bell aloft, looking ready to smack her pupil over the head with it. "The next time I loan you my bells," she spat, "I expect you to use them properly." She holstered the bell with an expression that Terciel had come to learn meant she was storing away a more complete lecture for later.

Andrael exploded out of the bushes in a flurry of snow. "Is it over?" she gasped, answering her own question by scanning their surroundings, which resembled a butcher's shop. "Gross," she whispered, morbidly fascinated.

"Our enemy is becoming more daring," Abhorsen declared, businesslike, "To attack in the middle of the day was a stupid, desperate move. But the size and strength of this party was formidable. We may be in for tougher fights before we're safe." She picked her way through the battlefield to retrieve her cloak from where it had fallen. As she swung it back around her shoulders she winced almost imperceptibly. Just before the cloak hid her bloody surcoat, Terciel saw amidst the splatters and smears a long tear surrounded by a deep, spreading stain.

"You're bleeding," he said.

"So are you," countered Abhorsen, pointing. Terciel touched his head and his fingers came away bloody. Suddenly he felt the sting of all the scratches the Gore Crows had put in his scalp.

Andrael began to fuss over him, using one of her mittens to wipe the blood away from his eyes. "You should get these looked at," she said, "They're not very deep, but I'm sure those claws weren't clean."

"Later," said Abhorsen, who had begun to collect their horses from where they had wandered, "The road isn't safe. We need to get to Orchyre as soon as possible. If we ride for the rest of the day and through the night, we'll save a day of travel. Here." At the last, she handed Andrael the reigns of a horse. It had belonged to one of the Hands, and so was not one of the battle-trained horses Terciel and Abhorsen rode. But if it was tame enough to carry a Hand, it would do for any living rider.

Terciel helped her into the saddle, and once she was situated she seemed reasonably comfortable for someone who had never ridden a horse.
Abhorsen mounted her horse and kicked it into a gallop, and Terciel and Andrael hurried to keep up. Their horses' hooves left bloody footprints in the snow all along the path.