Terciel and Elinor (9780063049345)

by Nix, Garth

  “I want you to stay in that room until my troopers get there,” said Latimer. “Ensign Macoll and Sergeant Rourke. Are you armed?”

  “I have a bayonet and a knife,” said Elinor. “I hit Hedge with a throwing knife, but it didn’t . . . I don’t think it did anything.”

  She heard Latimer’s surprised intake of breath.

  “Uh, well done. Well done. Stay in the room. Do not open it for anyone except my soldiers. Best you get off the telephone now, keep your attention focused. I believe Hedge is most likely to have gone, but stay alert. Good luck. I will be there myself in a few hours.”

  There was a click as the call disconnected. Elinor set the candlestick part down on the desk and put the earpiece back on its hook. She contemplated sitting in the chair for a moment, then looked down at herself. She was covered in dirt. Instead she retreated to the corner and sat back on her heels, laying the bayonet in front of her so it could be easily snatched up.

  Elinor had never considered the sorcerer who’d hurt her at Coldhallow House might be after her, or that she might not be safe at the school. She had thought all the danger was to come when she crossed the Wall.

  She was still in the corner when the Crossing Point Scouts came, and it was only when Elinor heard Professor Kinrosh as well as the lieutenant and his sergeant that she got up and opened the door.

  Major Latimer arrived several hours later. In that time Elinor had bathed and dressed and packed her single suitcase with her few clothes, juggling balls, and practice knives. She knew, even without Professor Kinrosh actually saying so, that she would have to leave Wyverley College. Even now, her house was ringed with Crossing Point Scouts and policemen. The school was similarly infested with troops searching every building and every part of the grounds.

  The fire had not spread, but the Bain Fire Brigade and multiple engines from the south had responded. Some were still showing up only to be turned away again. The police had removed the bodies of Albert and Edric, doubtless to another coroner’s inquest that would say they died in a straightforward fire.

  Sergeant Rourke found Elinor’s knives and returned them to her. Two of the weapons had been found on the grass near the back door of the main building. The third, which was strangely blackened, had been picked up in the search of the ha ha, the sunken ditch that had once been the moat around the castle, which had been demolished when the school was built. Elinor hadn’t wanted to take the blackened knife at first, but Rourke showed her a Charter spell that would reveal Free Magic taint, and it was clear. So she sat on her bed and sharpened the knives and put them back in the scabbard and when a messenger came to get her, slung it on her shoulder before she put on her coat, which, despite a damp cloth and brushing, still showed streaks of dirt.

  She was escorted to the headmistress’s waiting room by Sergeant Rourke and three troopers, for what she presumed would be some sort of handover to the military authorities, to be taken as if she were a prisoner or a parcel. She hadn’t met Major Latimer yet, but she’d been told of his arrival. The Crossing Point Scouts had all been very nice to her, and admiring that she’d managed to get a knife into Hedge, who Sergeant Rourke told Elinor was a turncoat who had once been a Scout himself, become a most capable and feared Free Magic sorcerer and necromancer.

  Elinor was surprised as she approached the waiting room to hear the faint sound of a piano, though Rourke and her escort did not react. Someone was teasing out a slow version of “When Little Lambs Do Lap the Dew” and with that tune came an almost overwhelming memory of Mrs. Watkins singing in her little-girl voice, that day, that terrible day . . . and now Elinor had failed to avenge her when she had the chance. She should have thrown the knife at his face, she thought, not his torso, even if it was the bigger target.

  She stopped and slowly breathed in, and out, wiped her eyes, and when Sergeant Rourke knocked on the door and opened it, she strode straight into the waiting room.

  “Miss Hallett,” said Professor Kinrosh gravely. She was standing with another woman, both drinking sherry from ludicrously small crystal glasses. The other woman was much younger, perhaps thirtyish, and was wearing an army blue greatcoat several sizes too large for her, disguising whatever she had on underneath, save her very sturdy-looking boots, which had steel plates at the toe and heel. She was blond and blue-eyed, with deep brown skin, a very beautiful combination that sparked a faint memory in Elinor of Mrs. Watkins again, telling her how beautiful her grandmother had been with her skin like the rich loam of the south field and eyes like sapphires—and her slightly regretful addendum that neither Amelia nor Elinor looked like that.

  She wore no hat, bonnet, or headscarf, and there was a Charter mark on her forehead. Elinor knew instantly who the woman must be. She had come earlier than expected, but she was certainly the messenger of the Clayr.

  It was the soldier who had been playing the piano. An officer who looked to be in his fifties, in bottle-green regimentals. His low shako, dark grey overcoat, and one of the medieval-looking swords used by the Scouts were on a nearby chair, and he had a holstered revolver on his belt. His hair was a stubbled white and when he turned around, Elinor saw he also had a Charter mark on his forehead.

  “Good morning, Miss Hallett,” he said. He got up from the piano stool. “We spoke on the telephone. I’m Major Latimer. I command the Crossing Point Scouts.”

  “And I am Mirelle,” said the woman with the Charter mark. She tapped her forehead and gestured at Elinor’s. “I am a ranger of the Clayr. May we test your mark? And you do likewise, of course.”

  Elinor glanced at Professor Kinrosh.

  “Go ahead, Elinor. I do not have the mark myself, but Magistrix Nestor was a close friend, and no headmistress of Wyverley College can be ignorant of the Charter and the Old Kingdom. We are too close to the Wall. If I had my way, we would be more open about the study of magic and all it entails, but the board is mostly composed of southerners, so we must all pretend there is no magic and do our best to hush up anything that suggests otherwise. As will be done after the events of last night, no doubt.”

  “You are of course correct,” said Latimer. “As with my superiors, the first instinct of our governmental authorities is to hide things under the carpet and hope they go away.”

  “Have you found Hedge?” asked Elinor.

  “We’ll talk in a minute,” said Latimer. “First, let us be sure of each other’s mark.”

  Elinor slipped off her bandanna and reached for the major’s forehead. It was a strong connection, stronger than she usually felt with the schoolgirls. He had, Elinor realized, come from closer to the Wall, closer to the Old Kingdom, closer to the Charter she yearned to know better.

  “Your mark is true,” said Major Latimer.

  “And yours,” whispered Elinor.

  She turned to Mirelle and they both reached out at the same time. The Clayr’s mark was stronger again than Latimer’s, and Elinor felt herself sway and almost lose her balance as she experienced the sudden onrush of the Charter. Mirelle grabbed Elinor’s shoulder with her left hand to steady her, a grip that felt like it could crush skin and bone if the wiry ranger wanted to. She let go as they broke contact.

  “True, again,” said Elinor.

  “And you are a Clayr, cousin,” said Mirelle, with a slight smile. She had somehow found more from that brief contact than Elinor had, something the younger woman noted for future research. She looked Elinor up and down. “It is very interesting that children born to us outside the Glacier physically take after the other parent, whereas those of us born there nearly always come out looking all too similar.”

  She gestured at her own face.

  “I know practically nothing about the Clayr,” said Elinor. “I never really knew my grandmother.”

  “Myrien,” said Mirelle. “I looked her up. We’re only fifth cousins, but your great-grandmother is still alive and so is one of Myrien’s sisters—your great-aunt—and Charter knows how many closer cousins than I.”

  �
��What?” stammered Elinor. “My great-grandmother!”

  “Some of us live a long time. Rappanne, your great-gran, she can’t be over a hundred and ten. She’s a Deputy Librarian now, very important, though she was the Chief Librarian before I was born, she stepped down to let someone else have a turn. And your great-aunt Ylsen, she’s probably eighty or so—”

  Latimer cleared his throat, very loudly. Mirelle stopped talking and gestured for him to speak.

  “There’ll be time for family catching up later,” said Latimer. “For now, you need to come with us.”

  “Come with you where?”

  “Ultimately, south, far south,” said Latimer. “Though Mirelle has complicated matters by arriving with another option.”

  “Why would I go south?” asked Elinor.

  “To be safe from Hedge,” said Latimer.

  “Who exactly is this Hedge?” asked Professor Kinrosh.

  Latimer looked embarrassed.

  “A deserter from the Scouts, before my time, who became a Free Magic sorcerer. I have been told the scar on his forehead is a sign of allegiance to a powerful Dead entity called Kerrigor. His followers call themselves Servants of Kerrigor. They can disguise it as a Charter mark, but not from close inspection.”

  “And not from the rain,” whispered Elinor. “Why did he come after me again?”

  Latimer looked at Mirelle.

  “It is possible for a very powerful Free Magic sorcerer to break a Charter Stone with their magic and the fresh blood of a Charter Mage,” said Mirelle. “That of the five bloodlines works best: Abhorsen, Clayr, Royal, and the two strands of Wallmaker. Of these, the Wallmakers are gone, as is the Royal line. We Clayr are numerous, but we rarely go far from the Glacier, which is heavily defended. Which makes a stray such as yourself very tempting for a sorcerer who wants to break Charter Stones. Even if they have to cross the Wall to fetch you away.”

  “What is a Charter Stone?” asked Elinor.

  “The Wallmakers made them,” said Mirelle. “They are like a gateway to the Charter. It is easier to cast magic around them, even easier if you are touching the stone. And they inhibit Free Magic. That is why the sorcerers destroy them, wherever they can. But it is not a simple task. Only the most powerful can manage it. If they also have the blood to spill.”

  Elinor nodded, and absently rubbed her wrists. Becoming aware she was doing so, she stopped, pushed her cuffs back, and looked at the skin. The scar tissue was red again, and could be clearly seen to be made by fingers hot as fire.

  “It’s where he grabbed me, back at Coldhallow,” she said quietly. “I thought it was completely healed, but it began to pain me again last night, and it grew worse when he was close.”

  Professor Kinrosh looked at Latimer and Mirelle.

  “Is there a continuing danger?” she asked. “There is no north wind. This Hedge is surely without his sorcerous powers?”

  “Weakened, definitely,” said Mirelle. “But not without. We can reach the Charter here, which means he will also have some sorcery.”

  “He killed Albert with his magic. A bolt of fire,” said Elinor. She looked at Latimer again. “Do you know where he is?”

  “We haven’t found him,” admitted Latimer. “But he will be very cautious now. The police are bringing dogs, we will continue the search. But the fact of the matter is you are the object of this sorcerer. If you are out of his reach, I am sure he will try to return to the Old Kingdom. We will escort you to the station, and I’ll organize others to safeguard you on the train and get you quickly south.”

  “I am sure you can provide a similar escort northward, to Fort Entrance, where I landed my paperwing,” said Mirelle. “From there, we can fly to the Glacier. Home, to your family.”

  “The Glacier . . . you don’t really live in a city made of ice, do you?” asked Elinor.

  Mirelle laughed.

  “No! I suppose we call it the Glacier because it is the prominent landmark, but the city is actually within the mountain that cradles the ice. But it is no dark maze of holes or anything like that, as I see from your face you are imagining. We have many windows and skylights and Charter-spelled ceilings in great caverns, with gardens and great halls and plenty of air and light and space. We are not really a subterranean folk, for all we may inhabit a mountain. We live in light, not darkness.”

  “So will it be to the north or south?” asked Latimer.

  “I had hoped to stay long enough to see the play open,” said Elinor. “Another two weeks, that’s all. I guess that’s impossible now.”

  “A play?” asked Mirelle.

  “The Court of the Sad Prince,” said Elinor. “I don’t suppose you know it. Do you have plays in the . . . the Glacier?”

  “Of course I know it! Charlotte Breakespear was from the Old Kingdom. You got her works from us, not the other way around. And we certainly do have plays. There’s always a couple of productions underway. Music, too, and dancing.”

  “Charlotte Breakespear was not from the Old Kingdom,” said Professor Kinrosh with great authority. “Her history is well known, despite those people who claim the work was done by the Arbiter’s nephew who was the patron of her troupe—”

  “Something to discuss another time, Professor,” interrupted Latimer. “We should take Miss Hallett away at once.”

  “What is your decision?” asked Mirelle. “North or south?”

  “Oh,” said Elinor. “North. With you, to the Glacier. I was always going to the Old Kingdom.”

  She looked at Professor Kinrosh.

  “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” she said. “Could you say goodbye from me to Madame Lancier and the Sarge, and everyone in the play, and Corinna and—”

  “The girls in your magic class,” interrupted Kinrosh. She smiled. “Yes, I knew. I told Hazra it could continue as long as she followed your own rules. The first two, anyway.”

  Elinor shook her head ruefully. “I should have guessed.”

  “You’ll always be welcome here,” said Kinrosh, taking both her hands and drawing her into a hug. “To visit, or to help us with a play. And I know we all wish you good fortune in the Old Kingdom.”

  She did not need to say that Elinor would need it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The third day after finding the chain, Terciel’s arm was much less painful and healing well. But his leg wasn’t. It continued to hurt, and Terciel was frightened to discover that he couldn’t feel his toes, even when Tizanael first pinched them and, when that didn’t work, stuck him with a pin.

  “The Free Magic contamination is insidious,” said the Abhorsen, casting yet another healing spell over Terciel’s leg. The marks lingered on his skin as if reluctant to go further, but eventually sank in.

  “But you can . . . you can make it better,” said Terciel. He tried to sound calm, but he was already imagining the Free Magic contamination spreading from his leg up through his entire body, until he was completely paralyzed.

  “No,” said Tizanael thoughtfully. She sighed and sat back in the chair a Sending had carefully placed by the bed for her to sit on while making her examination.

  “What!” gasped Terciel. He had never known Tizanael to acknowledge anything was beyond her, and he certainly didn’t want to be hearing it now about his leg.

  “I cannot,” repeated Tizanael. She scowled and added, “I have asked the Clayr to send Filris, their Infirmarian. She is older even than I, and has greater experience with this sort of thing. But I will have to put up with her advice, and not simply on the healing you need!”

  “That seems a small price to pay,” muttered Terciel, the panic that had surged in him still making his heart race.

  “The Clayr are too ready to tell everyone what they should do,” grumbled Tizanael. “They always have been. But do not fret. The spells I have set should hold back the contamination. I have already sent a message-hawk, urging Filris to come at once.”

  “She might not come?” asked Terciel. He was unab
le to keep a tremor from his voice.

  “As ever, it depends what they think they’ve Seen in the ice,” said Tizanael. “Curse this delay! Every day lost is a gift to Kerrigor, and we will still have to finish reinforcing you to bear the chain. At least you have learned the last of the spells.”

  “Well, almost,” said Terciel defensively. “It is the most difficult.”

  “Learn it,” snapped Tizanael. “We must get on.”

  She stood up very forcefully, her chair tilting backward. It was caught and whisked out of the way by the Sending as the Abhorsen marched out of the room.

  Terciel sat up and drew his leg in so he could poke himself in the foot. He tried to move his toes back and forth, but they did not respond. He had no sensation at all in the front half of his foot, though he could still feel a pinch at his heel. Everything looked normal enough. The skin was not discolored; it didn’t feel hot. It was simply completely insensitive.

  The ringed bruises higher on his leg were still very much apparent, though less livid than they had been. Terciel pressed his finger against them, and felt the kind of pain you would expect from poking three-day-old bruises.

  He slid his legs out, got his stick ready, and stood up, very slowly. When he had tried this earlier he’d fallen backward onto the bed, so he was even more careful this time. One of the Sendings who’d been nursing him moved forward, but he waved it back and took a tentative step forward, supporting himself with the stick. He had to pause to regain his balance immediately after he’d done so, but it meant he could move, albeit with difficulty.

  Very slowly, he limped over to the large eight-paned window that overlooked the orchard: the apple, orange, and apricot trees were bare and stark, branches skeletally white, pruned back for the season. It had been clear earlier but it was snowing now, and getting heavier by the minute, obscuring the view. He looked out, glad to be inside the well-heated room. Even the glass here was not entirely what it seemed, being heavily laced with Charter marks that surfaced as he touched a pane. He couldn’t quite identify the spells—most of the marks remained hidden within the glass—but one was for reinforcement to make it as strong as or stronger than stone, and one was not exactly for warmth but something to do with insulation, preventing the transfer of heat or cold.