A/N: I apologize for the long wait! I just finished my Shakespeare class, and I had my major essay to work on, and a final exam to study for. But now it's over, so I can go back to writing! To make it up to you, this chapter is extra-long. I hope you enjoy it.

A New Bloodline

"Damn Abhorsen, damn Abhorsen, damn Abhorsen… Damn him!" Tirelle chanted this litany over and over as she steeled herself for the task. With a further curse that promised serious retribution to be visited upon a certain young man, the Seer gathered up her wits – and her skirts – and jumped.

Her heeled boots skidded on the stepping-stone as she landed, and only by frantically windmilling her arms was she able to keep her footing. She paused to steady her wildly-beating heart, and turned her face away from the river's spray. When she felt that she was sufficiently rested, the Clayr picked up her skirts once more in a business-like way, focussed on the next stepping stone with a ferocious glare, and jumped.

Upon landing, Tirelle felt her feet slipping out from under her. In desperation she threw herself down, and her gloved hands latched onto the surface of the stone. She lay like this for a while, sprawled unceremoniously over the stepping-stone, her cheek resting on her hand. "Damn that stupid man!" Tirelle hissed between her teeth. "And curse his ridiculous stepping-stones!" She struggled to her feet, brushing her hair impatiently out of her eyes. Only one more jump to the platform, and then this nonsense would be over.

The Seer let out a little growl of frustration, and frowned down at her soiled dress. Oh yes, Abhorsen would pay dearly for this. She gauged the distance carefully, bent her legs, and took a flying leap.

To her credit, Tirelle managed to land on her feet, and staggered into the wooden steps. She was cold, wet, and bruised, but otherwise unharmed by the experience. "I'm getting too old for this", she grumbled as she straightened her skirts and smoothed down her hair in an attempt to look presentable.

Once Tirelle was more or less ready, she climbed the wooden steps to the gate, which was unlocked, and let herself in.

The walls surrounding Abhorsen's House were complete and quite impressive, but the house itself and grounds were another story. The building's second floor was under construction, and the stone gaped emptily up at the darkening sky. The setting sun threw long shadows over the stretch of dirt and rubble that surrounded the house. The courtyards had been paved, but were strewn with half-hewn blocks of stone, and a stretch of dirt with bagged saplings marked the very beginnings of an orchard.

Picking her way around the mess, Tirelle walked gingerly up to the door of the house. She could hear voices inside, and only hesitated for a second before knocking.

The door creaked slightly open, and Tirelle peered into the dimly-lit entrance hall. Nobody was there! Shivers ran up her spine.

"Ahem!"

Tirelle looked down, and saw a little white-robed man holding the door open. He was so short that she had glanced completely over his head. And telling from the heated glare issuing from those green eyes, the little man was not pleased about being overlooked.

The Seer gave a polite nod, just barely managing to keep from smiling. "Hello, Mogget," she said courteously. "I didn't see you when I was here before. It's been two years since we've last… met, hasn't it?"

The albino dwarf gave a derisive snort before yanking the door completely open. He jerked his head, and Tirelle obediently stepped over the threshold. The House was dark, lit by sputtering torches and a few hastily-cast Charter marks. She had only a brief glimpse of a high stone roof before Mogget turned left. She followed him into an enormous hall.

About twenty Wallmakers looked up at her entrance, and Tirelle blushed as they all sprang to their feet to bow or curtsey. "Good evening, Lady Clayr," several of them said politely.

"Good evening," said Tirelle as she looked around the hall. It was not furnished, and telling by the row of straw palettes, this room was serving as the Wallmakers' lodgings for the time being. It seemed that they were in the process of fashioning spelled stained glass for the windows.

A Wallmaker with a scrubby black beard stepped forward, and Tirelle recognized him as Master Malfas. "They're through there," he beckoned at a side door. Tirelle nodded gratefully at him, and followed Mogget into a smaller circular room.

"May I announce Lady Tirelle, Clayr to King Ber–"

"That's enough, Mogget!" Abhorsen snapped. "You don't need to go announcing every visitor we have!"

"But I thought I was a servant", Mogget remarked, wisely keeping his voice to a whisper. Abhorsen was in no mood to be trifled with.

The young man looked almost frantic with worry, and ran right up to Tirelle. "Come and see her," he said urgently, grabbing the Clayr by the hand and pulling her further into the room, where three women were gathered around a fourth. The fourth was, of course, Malia. Sweat plastered the woman's hair to her forehead in damp brown curls, and her large eyes were wide with panic.

"Lady Tirelle," the young woman gasped. She reached up weakly with a pale hand. "You came after all."

"Of course," the older woman said as jovially as she could. "I said I would come, didn't I?" She grasped Malia's hand in her own and squeezed it comfortingly.

The young woman gestured at two young ladies at her side. "My friends," she said haltingly, and pointed next at a wizened old woman. "They brought the midwife Radine."

Tirelle locked eyes with the midwife, who drew closer to her. "Her water has broken," the old woman whispered. "The contractions have started. The baby is large. She's in for a hard night, milady."

The Clayr gave a brief nod. She looked around the circular room, noting the fresh straw spread on the floor and the Charter marks for light on the walls. Abhorsen hovered nervously near the door, obviously unsure of what to do.

Tirelle immediately took charge. "Lord Abhorsen," she said briskly, "This is no place for you. Go outside and wait with the Wallmakers." With a last wretched glance at his wife, the younger man obediently left the room. Tirelle moved to kneel behind Malia in the straw, bracing the young woman's back against her body. She looked up at Malia's two friends. "What are you waiting for?" she snapped. "Take her hands!"

The girls hurried to comply, and Malia gripped them fiercely. She bit her lip as another contraction shook her thin frame. Tirelle looked at the midwife. "How many?"

"That's the twelfth," the old woman replied. "She should deliver within twenty." The midwife slapped some ointment onto her palms, and pushed up Malia's dress to rub it over her belly. "There, now," she clucked comfortingly.

Malia tilted her head back on Tirelle's shoulder to look at the Clayr, fright evident in her large eyes. "It will be all right," Tirelle assured her. "Women have been giving birth since the dawn of time."

The young woman nodded, and closed her eyes as another contraction wracked her body. Suddenly she flung her head back, nearly giving Tirelle a black eye, and her mouth opened in a silent scream. The Clayr gripped Malia tightly beneath the arms, holding her upright, and supported the young woman's frail convulsing body with all her strength. Malia's two friends drew instinctively closer, holding tight to the woman's arms. Malia's scream shattered the air, and Tirelle instinctively closed her eyes.

She smelt the tang of blood, and opened her eyes just in time to see the midwife Radine tying off and cutting the umbilical cord. Beside her, one of Malia's young friends looked away, her face slightly green. Tirelle reflected that the young lady was probably not so keen on having children now. The midwife cleared the baby's throat of mucus, and breathed lightly into the little mouth.

A tiny cry split the air, and the old woman's face broke into a grin. "Look, Lady Malia," she exclaimed, "You have a fine son."

Malia opened her eyes, and even in her exhausted state was able to smile.

Tirelle embraced the woman gently, and she and the two younger ladies tended to the new mother as Radine looked after the child. Soon Malia was washed and wearing a clean dress, as her friends helped her swallow a mug of hot milk and honey.

Radine had bathed and swaddled the child in linen, and placed the babe in the mother's arms to be suckled. The two friends cooed over the "adorable" sight, but Tirelle had just about had enough of those two silly girls. "Help Mistress Radine pack up her things," she told them sharply.

The Clayr was never one to be argued with, and soon Tirelle and Malia were looking down at the babe in silence while the other ladies fussed in the background. The child was a healthy pink, and the fine hairs on his head were dark and straight. He would take after his father, then. "What will you call him?" she asked.

Malia blinked sleepily, and smiled in remembrance. "Gabriel and I discussed this. A daughter we would name after my mother, Iva. A son we would name after his father." She looked at the slumbering babe in her arms, and smiled. "Cassiel." Malia held the child up, and Tirelle took him. "Let Gabriel see him," the new mother murmured, her lids closing in sleep.

Tirelle walked to the door of the hall, the precious bundle held carefully in her arms. She was met with a strange sight: Abhorsen was standing a few feet from the door, arguing with the four Wallmakers who were holding him back. "…but I heard her screaming," the young man insisted indignantly. "Why can't I go in?"

"Women scream during childbirth," a female Wallmaker reasoned patiently, "And it would not be seemly to–" She broke off when she saw the Clayr, and Abhorsen and the Wallmakers swung their heads in her direction.

Tirelle stepped into the hall, and approached Abhorsen. "Your son," she said gently, laying the small bundle in the young man's faltering arms. The Wallmakers backed away to give the new father some room. Abhorsen looked down at the tiny face, then looked up at Tirelle, who nearly laughed aloud at his expression of shock. "Come on," she said kindly, leading Abhorsen over to one of the wooden benches that stood against the wall.

They sat side-by-side in silence for a long time. Finally, Abhorsen said, "How went your business in Belisaere?"

Tirelle did laugh at that. "Lord Abhorsen, I'm surprised at you," she teased. "Your son has just been born, and all you can talk about is business?"

The young man cracked a smile, before turning thoughtful. "All of this… your coming to help Malia and everything… What I mean is, why are you so friendly all of a sudden? You did not like me before."

"You did not like me either," Tirelle pointed out.

Abhorsen shook his dark head. "It wasn't that I disliked you," he explained haltingly. "It was just – well – I suppose that I was jealous." Tirelle turned her head sharply to look at him, but the young man didn't notice her reaction. "You and the King were always such good friends," he mumbled, "And I desperately wanted – no, needed – his approval. Between us there was always the fact that I had once been a necromancer. I never knew if he really trusted me."

"What?" Tirelle exclaimed, unable to keep silent any longer. "You were jealous of me? Abhorsen, which one of us was given the powers of a Shining One? You do not know how long that thought has tortured me. And of course, there's your popularity at court, with all your fine stories of battling Free Magic and the Dead. And me? All I get are rumours of what goes on in my bedchamber!"

Abhorsen grinned and nodded down at his son. "I think I'll hardly be at court, now that I have a family, so you can expect to see less of me. I suppose that's for the best."

"Yes," Tirelle agreed. "It's been difficult trying to get along with you." They smiled at each other.

"Can I see Malia?" Abhorsen asked anxiously, cradling the baby.

Tirelle got to her feet obligingly. "I will see if she is ready. If she's awake, we can perform the baptism at once."

"I'd be honoured if you would preside," Abhorsen said humbly, and the blond woman blinked in surprise.

"I would be most happy to, Abhorsen," she answered, "Although I should leave tomorrow morning. But I do hate to think of going over those stepping-stones again."

When she had gone, a low voice said from the region of Abhorsen's knee, "Why don't you conjure up that bridge for her like you did before?"

Abhorsen turned to see Mogget standing beside him, unnoticed as usual. The young man smirked. "Let's just keep that particular spell between you and me, Mogget."

A/N: That Abhorsen is quite a rascal, isn't he? I love reviews of all shapes and sizes, and welcome any questions.