After Lirael had recounted twice everything she could remember from looking back, Sabriel told her what she had put together, a rapid-fire assessment of what was a much worse situation than anyone had thought only a few hours before.
“Your mother Saw truly indeed, I have no doubt,” said Sabriel. “There is a host on the steppe, doubtless growing by the day. We should know by tomorrow evening if it is at the Field Market, provided Ryelle returns safely . . . actually, I must send a message-hawk to the bridge, to warn her; there will be Gore Crows without a doubt. Hey, you!”
A young Clayr pressing herself against the side of the hallway to allow Sabriel to pass made a shivering reply.
“Yes, Abhorsen?”
“I need you to go to the Mews right now, tell the Hawkmistress or whoever is in charge there to send a message-hawk to the Greenwash Bridge from the Abhorsen Sabriel, for Ryelle of the Clayr. Message is ‘Beware Gore Crows and Free Magic at Field Market.’ Repeat that back to me.”
The girl stammered out the instructions and the message.
“Good work,” said Sabriel. “What’s your name?”
“Blindyl,” whispered the girl.
“Go!” ordered Sabriel, and Blindyl fled. Fortunately in the right direction to get to the Third Front Stair, Lirael noted, the quickest way to the Mews.
“So a host on the steppe, and that other thread definitely led to the Empty Lands, I could tell from the silence. What do you make of that?”
“I don’t know,” said Lirael. “I mean, one thread must lead to the necromancer who made the charm. That would be the Witch With No Face. I mean, Chlorr. Is that right?”
Sabriel stopped suddenly and gripped Lirael by the shoulders.
“Both lead to Chlorr!”
“Oh,” said Lirael, slowly putting it together. “You mean to . . . to Chlorr’s original body as well as her current Dead shape?”
“Yes!” cried Sabriel, striding off again, narrowly avoiding a collision with a steamworks engineer, who had to swing her toolbox behind herself to avoid tangling it up in Sabriel’s legs.
“And your mother told us that too,” continued Sabriel. “Follow the thread to the first Witch With No Face, the thread from the charm taken from an offering. They’re all joined together, just as Arielle Saw.”
“But what are the Empty Lands?” asked Lirael, taking Sabriel’s elbow to direct her to the left-hand door. “What lies beyond the Great Rift?”
“There are some inhabitable lands beyond the western arm of the Great Rift,” said Sabriel. “But beyond the northern arm there is a bleak and featureless plain where nothing lives, nothing at all. That is the Empty Lands. There are no plants, no animals, nothing. There is not even air to breathe.”
“What?”
“Free Magic sorcerers go there to collect spirit-glass, shards of volcanic glass that contain trapped spirits,” explained Sabriel. They were back at the Apple Peelings, and she broke into a run down the sloping corridor. “They use their magic to make bubbles of air around themselves that last long enough for a dash into the Empty Lands, a quick scrabble for spirit-glass and an even swifter return. Many die, of course.”
“But how can we go there?” asked Lirael. “We can’t do that.”
“You could make a bubble of air with Charter Magic, though, couldn’t you?” asked Sabriel.
“Yes,” said Lirael. “But I thought . . . Mother said the Charter isn’t there beyond the Rift.”
“It isn’t,” said Sabriel. “I think it is the remnant of a world destroyed by Orannis.”
“What!” exclaimed Lirael. She stopped mid-stride, suddenly remembering what she had seen in the Dark Mirror before the binding of Orannis. She had seen worlds destroyed, seen the awful power of the Destroyer, the rings of fiery devastation that exploded from it, each larger than the last . . .
“I think it is the remnant of a world destroyed by Orannis,” repeated Sabriel. “The spirit-glass fragments are the last surviving things left, Free Magic creatures that were either allies or enemies of the Destroyer, sufficiently powerful not to be entirely annihilated along with everything else. Come on!”
Sabriel took off again, with Lirael following more slowly. She called out after her half-sister, returning to her previous question.
“But if the Charter isn’t there, how can we make a bubble of air with Charter Magic to go there?”
“By taking the Charter with us!” shouted Sabriel, without slowing down. “Come on!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
WHO WILL SLAY THIS TROUBLESOME CHLORR?
The Clayr’s Glacier, Old Kingdom
There were even more people in the Map Room when Sabriel and Lirael burst back in. Several desks were in use with maps displayed; messengers were hurrying to and from the King or waiting to be heard; a group of librarians had brought in a trolley-load of books and were sorting them at another desk; Clayr on domestic-service duty were arranging wine bottles and glasses on the round table.
And Nick and Sam were sitting on a desk, talking rapidly to each other, with hand gestures and shrugging and smiles. Both leaped to their feet as Lirael came running in behind Sabriel, but she could do no more than smile and wave as she followed the Abhorsen in a beeline to the King.
“It’s all true,” snapped Sabriel from a dozen feet away. “A huge host on the steppe, lots of Dead and Free Magic creatures of all kinds, several tens of thousands of nomads. Almost certainly going to attack a week from tomorrow, on the full moon, or the day after.”
“I see,” said Touchstone calmly. “We might just be ready for them, in that case.”
“There’s more to it,” said Sabriel. She went to Touchstone’s side and briefly embraced him before continuing. “Some skulduggery, because the bridge is not their main target.”
“Not?” asked Touchstone. “But they cannot cross any other way.”
“That we know of,” said Sabriel. “The assault will come at the bridge, but with some other ploy. Sorcery, no doubt. Chlorr will have a great many Free Magic practitioners in her service. A hundred and fifty, or more. I am not sure what they could do together.”
“We will have as many strong Charter Mages,” said Touchstone, watching his wife carefully. “And many more, not so strong.”
“It is not just numbers, as you know,” said Sabriel. “It is knowledge. If they have some prepared spell to cast together, it would be almost impossible to counter in time. In any case, we are fortunate there is a way we might lop off the head that directs this host, and without it, the clans will split and go home. Or fight each other, as they usually do.”
“Chlorr, you mean?” asked Touchstone. “She is vulnerable in some way? I thought you said she cannot be permanently killed.”
“Not unless her original body is slain,” said Sabriel. “But now we know where it is, thanks to Lirael and her Dark Mirror.”
“Where is it?” asked Ferin, levering herself between two Clayr by judicious use of elbows and crutches. “I will kill her!”
“It is in the Empty Lands, beyond the Great Rift,” said Sabriel. “You are brave, Ferin, but you cannot go there. However, it is the charm I cut from you that will lead us to her. So you have done more than your part in bringing that to us, and in delivering your message.”
“It is not as satisfying as driving a knife home,” muttered Ferin, but no one was listening. Touchstone had gotten to his feet, his forehead furrowed as he clenched and unclenched his fingers.
“Uh-oh,” said Sameth, and hurried to his father’s side, with Nick close behind.
“Lead us to her?” asked Touchstone, dangerously quiet. “You cannot mean to go beyond the Great Rift, Sabriel. The Charter does not exist there. Would you use Free Magic? You know the dangers of that, even for an Abhorsen. Especially for an Abhorsen.”
“I do mean to go,” said Sabriel, equally quietly, her voice determined. “But not to use Free Magic. I will take a source of Charter Magic with me. If he agrees to come.”
Touch
stone’s head swiveled to look at Nick and he groaned.
“How do you always find some way to undertake the most dangerous, crazy, ill-thought-out—”
“I beg your pardon,” interrupted Lirael, “but this is not for Sabriel to do. My mother, Arielle . . . she Saw it in the ice of the frozen waterfall. I am the one who must go beyond the Great Rift to slay the first Chlorr.”