Terciel and Elinor (9780063049345)

by Nix, Garth

  “And the messages from Belisaere?” asked Mirelle.

  “The Regent is suffering another fit of madness. She insists on staying in the palace, though it is known to cause these ill humors, none know why. And there is at least one necromancer in the city, within the aqueducts. I had asked for guards to be sent south, to aid us when we moved against Kerrigor, but they will not come now. I did not know he had already taken Nether Upp, three days past. I have been too slow. If we had gone against him three weeks ago, when his strength was so much less . . .”

  “But you didn’t have the chain then,” said Terciel awkwardly.

  “Yes. I spent too long searching for it,” said Tizanael. “And your wounding delayed us more. I should have avoided that also, known what the empty bottle meant. I grow dull with age. But late or not, we must now deal with Kerrigor. Before he can take Uppside, slay all those in the town, and swell his host even more.”

  “But if there is a necromancer in Belisaere, shouldn’t we—”

  “No. Kerrigor is by far the greater danger. The Regent’s guards can track down and slay a mortal sorcerer. There are no burial grounds, no cemeteries within the city’s borders, and it has long been the practice for any corpses to be taken away and burned, whether by the Charter rite or simple fires. There are no corpses, no repository of bones and flesh, nothing for a necromancer to call upon.”

  “There are a great many living people,” said Filris. “Who might be killed.”

  “One necromancer is not a significant threat there,” said Tizanael. “Kerrigor is far more than that. He must be dealt with first.”

  “How?” asked Terciel. He raised his arm and tapped his foot. “I can use this arm, but not at my full strength. The feeling in my foot is coming back, but I’ll be clumsy for a while yet. I can’t carry the chain. Even if I could—”

  “I need Elinor to carry the chain,” said Tizanael. She turned to look directly at the young woman. “If you will help us.”

  “No!” protested Terciel, as Elinor did not immediately reply. After his outburst, there was silence in the hall for several seconds, save for the whispery footfalls of the Sendings.

  “Lerantiel’s chain?” asked Elinor.

  Tizanael nodded gravely.

  “You are an Abhorsen, in blood at least, and I believe you have the strength of will to bear the chain.”

  Elinor frowned, thinking deeply. Terciel had told her about the chain. He had clearly been worried about being anywhere near the thing. He had talked of Kerrigor, too, a foe far more powerful and dangerous even than the Greater Dead who had taken over her mother’s body, more than Hedge who had killed Ham and burned her wrists. Yet Kerrigor was also the one ultimately responsible for what had happened to Mrs. Watkins, Ham, Cook, Maria . . .

  And then there were all the nice things, the beautiful bedroom, the awe-inspiring flight from the Wall, the comfort of the Charter she could feel all around, her sense of belonging as she never had before. Elinor knew there was no price as such for all this. It was a gift, freely given, but gift givers deserved to have their gifts returned in some fashion, paid in whatever coin she had.

  “Yes,” she said slowly and clearly. “I will carry the chain, and do whatever I can to help.”

  “Elinor! You have no idea what you’re getting into,” protested Terciel. “You can’t take my place, I—”

  “I will need you, too,” said Tizanael. “Of course.”

  “But—”

  “Perhaps we should listen to the Abhorsen’s plan, as clearly she has one,” said Filris. “I, for one, am hungry and would like to get past the talking to the eating. It is well past my dinnertime.”

  “Time is the matter that concerns me most,” said Tizanael. “Though not for dinner. We must confront and chain Kerrigor before his forces overwhelm Uppside. That is, within the next few days.”

  “It is forty leagues to Uppside,” protested Mirelle. “Three days on horseback, at the least. If you have mounts hidden nearby. Six days on foot, for the hardy. Impossible to fly in now, in the paperwings, if there are Gore Crows above, and a summoned fog.”

  “We will fly, the paperwings willing, but not directly to Uppside,” said Tizanael. She sketched two Charter marks in the air, closed them in her hand, and dipped her finger in her wine. Withdrawing it, she began to draw on the white linen tablecloth, ignoring the slight stir among the Sendings who stood behind her chair. Her finger did not leave a spreading wine stain, but a sharp black line. She quickly drew a map of the northern end of the Red Lake, showing Uppside and its three rows of defensive canals, fed by both the Upp River and the lake; and the country around the town, particularly the lower slope of Mount Starn.

  “There are still stoat fingers watching us here, and perhaps others as well. To avoid their observation we will go north along the Ratterlin, as if heading for Belisaere, until well out of sight. Then we turn to the west and fly, not directly to Uppside, but to the high plateau between Mount Starn and Mount Rewan, here. There is a sunken stream, a ravine we can follow down, into the giant blackwoods, where Kerrigor’s followers are cutting timber. I have been that way several times; I know the path well.”

  She sketched in this ravine and drew some trees and an X.

  “According to the Borderer who reported the felling of the trees, Kerrigor has set up a kind of court in the fringe of the forest, overlooking the siege camp below and the town beyond. He has done this before, aping his living betters, thinking himself some sort of king or chieftain. We will attack him there. Terciel and I will quell the Dead, Elinor will throw the chain upon whatever living form Kerrigor inhabits, then Terciel and I will take the chained spirit deep into Death and fix him there. Once Kerrigor is gone into Death, most of the Hands will dissipate, doubtless those Dead who do not, and his mortal followers, will flee in fear.”

  Silence greeted Tizanael’s words.

  She scowled, and continued. “It is not as foolhardy as it might sound. We will need tonight to prepare Elinor as well to carry the chain, but we can leave tomorrow before the dawn and be at the high plateau by the end of the morning, even the roundabout way. We walk to the head of the ravine, camp there overnight, then descend in the morning. We would arrive at Kerrigor’s court in the forest around noon. The weather is bound to stay clear after the storm that has passed. It always does for a few days.”

  “You just told us there is a summoned fog about Uppside and the forest!” exclaimed Terciel. “It might as well be night!”

  “The Dead still feel the presence of the sun above the fog,” replied Tizanael. “They will be weaker. The two of us can quell any number of Lesser Dead long enough to wrest Kerrigor’s spirit from his body, and—”

  She turned to look at Mirelle, before going on. “I hope you will help us, too, Mirelle. A ranger of the Clayr will be invaluable to keep any mortal followers of Kerrigor at bay, while we do what needs to be done.”

  “You also need me to fly Elinor in our paperwing,” said Mirelle dryly.

  “I do,” replied Tizanael.

  Terciel shook his head.

  Elinor glanced at Tizanael, and then at Terciel. She was reminded very much of the final battle scene from Breakespear’s Arbiter John, where the aged Arbiter argued with his daughters, desperate for one final victory over the nobles to secure the constitution that even today underpinned the government of Ancelstierre. In the play, the Arbiter convinced his daughters, and they triumphantly won the battle. Elinor had a vague memory this was not the historical outcome, which had been a lot messier.

  “It seems all would be staked upon a single throw of the dice,” said Filris quietly. “Are there no alternative courses of action?”

  “Unlike you, I cannot look into the future and See a hundred or a thousand paths ahead,” said Tizanael, with some bitterness. “All I know is that if we do not move against Kerrigor now, it will become ever more difficult to do so. I would I had acted sooner, but I could not. He will grow only stronger. We will grow weaker. I will
grow weaker. And thousands will die who place their hope in the Abhorsen, to defend them against the Dead.”

  “We could bring three, maybe four score of my rangers down by boat to Qyrre, have horses waiting, ready to strike west,” said Mirelle.

  “That would take a week, probably more,” replied Tizanael. “By then Uppside will have fallen, thousands will be dead, and Kerrigor’s host will be all the mightier. Besides, when have you Clayr ever moved quickly for something you have not Seen?”

  “Valid criticism, on both points,” said Filris. “I hope you are not going to ask Sazene and myself to help you, Tizanael. I believe we should go to Belisaere. I may be able to help the Regent regain her senses. I am not so sure all will be well there.”

  “What have you Seen?” asked Tizanael.

  “Me personally? Nothing,” replied Filris. “But when we departed the Glacier, the Voice was calling a Watch of one thousand five hundred and sixty-eight, to try to see more clearly into the very tangled futures around the capital. That is never good, when so many paths lie ahead, and none are clear enough to find a way.”

  “What do we do if it’s a trap?” asked Terciel suddenly. “If Kerrigor expects us to come, the way you plan? Or things go wrong?”

  “We will do our best to defeat him anyway,” said Tizanael. “Elinor has said she will bear the chain. Will you wield your sword and bells? Our chance of success would be greatly lessened without my Abhorsen-in-Waiting.”

  Terciel looked at Elinor, who met his gaze steadily.

  “I’ll do my best,” she said.

  “Then so will I,” said Terciel. He raised his splinted arm and flexed his fingers. “I only wish my best was currently rather better.”

  “And you, ranger?” Tizanael asked Mirelle.

  The Clayr shrugged. “I said I would bring Elinor to the Glacier. It seems we will be taking a twistier path to get there than I expected.”

  “Now can we eat?” asked Filris.

  Tizanael nodded, and Sendings leaned in to remove the covers from the many dishes already on the table, and more Sendings streamed out of the kitchen, bearing steaming platters of roast beef, ducks stuffed with sage, and at the end a confused Sending stared at the platter that a few moments before had held an entire baked fish and now was empty, the fish lost somewhere between the kitchen table and the door.

  Later, after the final course of a frozen ice confection of pear and rosewater that Elinor presumed must have been made with the aid of magic, because it was so delicious, she went with Tizanael and Terciel up to the Abhorsen’s study. Tizanael climbed the tower stairs slowly, but Elinor was so full from dinner she was in no hurry either. As they climbed, she was thinking of the copy of The Wise Woman and hoping there would be time to finish reading the play before they left.

  The study was a smaller version of the reading room below, the ceiling lower, with a trapdoor and ladder in one corner. It was dominated by a redwood desk with carved dragon heads at each corner and taloned feet on the legs, which Elinor noticed with interest. Were dragons real in the Old Kingdom? she wondered, and was about to ask Terciel when Tizanael spoke.

  “Stand at the end of the table, Elinor.”

  Elinor obeyed. Tizanael went to a glass cabinet, the only one among the otherwise open bookshelves. A single book was in the cabinet, a small tome of pale green leather with silver edges and clasp. Elinor’s eye was drawn to it, but it was the kind of fascination you might have on spotting a venomous snake. She couldn’t take her eyes away but she also wished it wasn’t there.

  Tizanael did not take the book, but a sheaf of papers from the shelf underneath. She laid these out on the table, a dozen pages covered with the symbols used to represent Charter marks. It was the guide for an immensely complicated spell, and Elinor recognized these as the pages that had been on Terciel’s bed. But she only glanced at them. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the green book in the cabinet.

  “That is The Book of the Dead,” said Tizanael, when she had finished laying out the pages. “Do you feel a desire to read it?”

  “No,” whispered Elinor. “I do not.”

  “You have been with people when they die,” continued Tizanael. “When they did, did you feel as if you might be able to follow them? Sense they had gone somewhere you could also go?”

  “No,” said Elinor. “What do you mean?”

  “Necromancers, and we Abhorsens, who are a sort of uncommon necromancer, are able to walk in Death and return to Life,” said Tizanael. “You have heard of this?”

  “A bit,” said Elinor nervously. “But I have never felt like I could do that!”

  Terciel cleared his throat, as if to speak, but fell silent at a quelling glance from Tizanael.

  “Have you felt people or animals die?” asked Tizanael. “That is, sensed a sudden absence, and later seen it was where someone or something died?”

  “No,” said Elinor, shaking her head.

  “It is difficult to explain the death sense to someone who does not have it,” said Tizanael. “It seems you do not, or it is undeveloped. Likely the potential is there, given your heritage.”

  “I don’t think I want it,” said Elinor. She looked at Terciel, who grimaced. “Sorry.”

  “It is not material at this time,” said Tizanael. She hesitated, then added, “I thought perhaps you might be a candidate as a future Abhorsen-in-Waiting.”

  “What?” asked Terciel. He looked carefully at Tizanael, searching for any sign he might have missed that she was failing. She looked as indomitable and unchanged as ever, but he felt an ache in his chest, one that was part apprehension and part something else he couldn’t identify. A sense of impending loss.

  “It is of no matter,” said Tizanael. “What we must do now is reinforce you against Free Magic, so you can bear the chain of Lerantiel, as we have already done for Terciel. Terciel, you are ready?”

  “I am,” said Terciel. “I still need to follow the reference for that last spell.”

  He looked at Elinor, sensing her shift nervously.

  “Don’t worry. The spell isn’t dangerous. To you, I mean. Only to us if we get it wrong, it uses a dozen master marks.”

  “All right,” said Elinor. She thought of the dinner, and wondered how much wine the two Abhorsens had drunk. She hadn’t really been paying attention. Terciel hadn’t drunk much, but Tizanael? “Be . . . be careful. Maybe we should wait till morning? I mean, the wine at dinner . . .”

  Tizanael smiled, something Terciel had seen very rarely, and Elinor had never seen before.

  “I do not drink wine in the evenings, child. I haven’t for years. Only plum juice and water, with a little honey. It is quite delicious. You will need to stand still, for a quarter hour I judge. It might help to shut your eyes.”

  “Can I keep them open?” asked Elinor. “I’d like to see how you cast such a spell.”

  “You may,” said Tizanael. “Mirelle said you have surprising facility with Charter Magic, given how recently it has come to you. But you must not interfere. Do not focus too much on any one mark, or Charter forbid, try any spell yourself while we work.”

  “I understand,” said Elinor gravely.

  “Then I will begin,” said Tizanael. “Terciel, you will cast the next part, after the first master mark, we will then alternate. But be ready if I falter. I will do likewise for you.”

  “Yes, Abhorsen,” said Terciel. He came to stand by her side. They faced Elinor, two paces away, and Tizanael reached for the Charter and began the spell.

  Elinor felt no different when the spell was done, but Terciel and Tizanael in particular were evidently exhausted. Sendings, who had not been present for the casting as far as Elinor could tell, made their silent appearance and helped the old Abhorsen downstairs to her bed. Terciel collapsed in a chair and put his leg up on the table, and Elinor stood where she’d been for the spell-casting, touching her skin to watch Charter marks she didn’t know rise up like some temporary, glowing tattoo, before disappearin
g again.

  “How long will this last?” she asked.

  “Until the new moon,” said Terciel wearily. “Maybe not so long, if you have to handle the chain for any length of time, unprotected. Or you are subjected to other Free Magic. I am sorry about this. If that snake-eel thing hadn’t got me—”

  “It’s all right,” said Elinor. She drew out a chair and sat down opposite him. “Gosh, these are uncomfortable.”

  “They are,” agreed Terciel. He yawned and said, “I should go to bed.”

  But he did not move, and neither did Elinor. They sat in silence, together, looking at each other across the polished redwood. It was very quiet, all the Sendings had gone with Tizanael. It was just the two of them.

  Terciel cleared his throat and started to say something, but didn’t. His eyes spoke for him, a yearning look that Elinor felt must be echoed in her own gaze, recognition that they might only have this moment, this brief bubble in time, to let each other know what they felt.

  “Can I come, too?” Elinor said suddenly, made brave by the knowledge that come daybreak they would be set on a path to incredible danger, quite possibly to death. There might be no second chances.

  “To bed?” asked Terciel. “With me? I wanted to ask you . . . uh, that is what you mean?”

  “Yes. I’d like to go to bed with you,” confirmed Elinor. Her vision of them together was strong in her mind. She’d been older in that, much older, but surely that didn’t mean she had to wait? “Since I first saw you, I suppose, though I didn’t know that’s what it was then. The feeling, I mean.”

  “I’ve been thinking about you, too,” said Terciel. He reached across the table and their hands met with a tingling shock that made them both rise and lean forward, but the table was too broad and they laughed and edged around until they stood close together at the end, Terciel looking down, Elinor looking up, their faces very close together. “Ever since you slammed the door on my face, I’ve been thinking of you, hoping I would see you, hoping I could kiss you—”