“All these things give him power,” Sabriel continued. “But there is a weakness there, too. Kerrigor’s mastery of Free Magic, and much of his power in both Life and Death, is dependent on the continual existence of his original body. He hid it, long ago, when he first chose to become a Dead spirit—and he hid it in Ancelstierre. Near the village of Wyverley, to be exact.”
“And now he’s coming to fetch it . . .” said Horyse, with terrible prescience. Outwardly, he looked calm, all those long years of Army service forming a hard carapace, containing his feelings. Inwardly, he felt a trembling that he hoped wasn’t being transmitted to the mug in his hand.
“When will he come?”
“With the night,” replied Sabriel. “With an army of the Dead. If he can emerge out of Death close to the Wall, he may come earlier.”
‘’The sun—” Horyse began.
“Kerrigor can work the weather, bring fog or dense cloud.”
“So what can we do?” asked Horyse, turning his palms outwards, towards Sabriel, his eyes questioning. “Abhorsen.”
Sabriel felt a weight placed upon her, a burden adding to the weariness that already pressed upon her, but she forced herself to answer.
“Kerrigor’s body is in a spelled sarcophagus under a cairn, a cairn atop a little hill called Docky Point, less than forty miles away. We need to get there quickly—and destroy the body.”
“And that will destroy Kerrigor?”
‘’No,” said Sabriel, shaking her head wistfully. “But it will weaken him . . . so there may be a chance . . .”
“Right,” said Horyse. “We’ve still got three or four hours of daylight, but we’ll need to move quickly. I take it that Kerrigor and his . . . forces . . . will have to cross the Wall here? They can’t just pop out at Docky Point?”
“No,” agreed Sabriel. “They’ll have to emerge in Life in the Old Kingdom, and physically cross the Wall. It would probably be best not to try and stop him.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that.” replied Horyse. “That’s what the Perimeter Garrison is here for.”
“A lot of your soldiers will die to no purpose then,” said Touchstone. “Simply because they’ll be in the way. Anything, and anybody, that gets in Kerrigor’s way will be destroyed.”
“So you want us to just let this . . . this thing and a horde of Dead descend on Ancelstierre?”
“Not exactly,” replied Sabriel. “I would like to fight him at a time and a place more of our choosing. If you lend me all the soldiers here who have the Charter mark, and a little Charter Magic, we may have enough time to destroy Kerrigor’s body. Also, we will be almost thirty-five miles from the Wall. Kerrigor’s power may only be slightly lessened, but many of his minions will be weaker. Perhaps so weak, that destroying or damaging their physical forms will be sufficient to send them back into Death.”
“And the rest of the garrison? We’ll just stand aside and let Kerrigor and his army through the Perimeter?”
“You probably won’t have a choice.”
“I see,” muttered Horyse. He got up, and paced backwards and forwards, six steps, all the dugout would allow. “Fortunately, or unfortunately perhaps—I am currently acting as the General Officer commanding the whole Perimeter. General Ashenber has returned south, due to . . . ah . . . ill health. A temporary situation only—Army HQ is loath to give any sort of higher command to those of us who wear the Charter mark. So the decision is mine . . .”
He stopped pacing, and stared back at Sabriel and Touchstone—but his eyes seemed to see something well beyond them and the rusty corrugated iron that walled the dugout. Finally, he spoke.
“Very well. I will give you twelve Charter Mages—half of the full complement of the Scouts—but I will also add some more mundane force. A detachment to escort you to . . . what was it? Docky Point. But I can’t promise we won’t fight on the Perimeter.”
“We need you, too, Colonel,” Sabriel said, in the silence that followed his decision. “You’re the strongest Charter Mage the Garrison has.”
“Impossible!” Horyse exclaimed emphatically. “I’m in command of the Perimeter. My responsibilities lie here.”
“You’ll never be able to explain tonight, anyway,” Sabriel said. “Not to any general down south, or to anyone who hasn’t crossed the Wall.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll think about it while you have something to eat,” Horyse declared, the rattle of a tray and plates tactfully announcing the arrival of a mess orderly on the steps. “Come in!”
The orderly entered, steam rising around the edges of the silver dishes. As he put the tray down, Horyse strode out past him, bellowing.
“Messenger! I want the Adjutant, Major Tindall and the CSM from ‘A’ Company, Lieutenant Aire from the Scouts, the RSM and the Quartermaster. In the Operations Room in ten minutes. Oh . . . call in the Transport Officer too. And warn the Signals staff to stand by for coding.”
chapter xxvi
Everything moved rapidly after the tea was drunk. Almost too rapidly for the exhausted Sabriel and Touchstone. Judging from the noises outside, soldiers were rushing about in all directions, while they ate their belated lunch. Then, before they could even begin to digest, Horyse was back, telling them to get moving.
It was somewhat like being a bit player in the school play, Sabriel thought, as she stumbled out of the communication trench and onto the parade ground. There was an awful lot happening around her, but she didn’t really feel part of it. She felt Touchstone lightly brush her arm, and smiled at him reassuringly—it had to be even worse for him.
Within minutes, they were hustled across the parade ground, towards a waiting line of trucks, an open staff car and two strange steel-plated contraptions. Lozenge-shaped, with gun turrets on either side, and caterpillar tracks. Tanks, Sabriel realized. A relatively recent invention. Like the trucks, they were roaring, engines belching blue-grey smoke. No problem now, Sabriel thought, but the engines would stop when the wind blew in from the Old Kingdom. Or when Kerrigor came . . .
Horyse led them to the staff car, opened the back door and gestured for them to get in.
“Are you coming with us?” Sabriel asked, hesitantly, as she settled back in the heavily padded leather seats, fighting a wave of tiredness that threatened immediate sleep.
“Yes,” replied Horyse, slowly. He seemed surprised at his own answer, and suddenly far away. “Yes, I am.”
“You have the Sight,” said Touchstone, looking up from where he was adjusting his scabbard before sitting down. “What did you see?”
“The usual thing,” replied Horyse. He got in the front seat, and nodded to the driver—a thin-faced veteran of the Scouts, whose Charter mark was almost invisible on his weather-beaten forehead.
“What do you mean?” asked Sabriel, but her question was lost as the driver pressed the starter switch, and the car coughed and spluttered into life, a tenor accompaniment to the bass cacophony of the trucks and tanks.
Touchstone jumped at the sudden noise and vibration, then smiled sheepis
hly at Sabriel, who’d lightly rested her fingers on his arm, as if calming a child.
“What did he mean ‘the usual thing’?” asked Sabriel.
Touchstone looked at her, sadness and exhaustion vying for first place in his gaze. He took her hand in his own and traced a line across her palm—a definite, ending sort of line.
“Oh,” muttered Sabriel. She sniffed and looked at the back of Horyse’s head, eyes blurring, seeing only the line of his cropped silver hair extending just past his helmet rim.
“He has a daughter the same age as me, back at . . . somewhere south,” she whispered, shivering, clutching Touchstone’s hand till his fingers were as white as her own. “Why, oh why, does everything . . . everyone . . .”
The car started forward with a lurch, preceded by two motorcycle outriders and followed by each of the nine trucks in turn, carefully spaced out every hundred yards. The tanks, with tracks screeching and clanking, took a side road up to the railway siding where they would be loaded up and sent on to Wyverley Halt. It was unlikely they would arrive before nightfall. The road convoy would be at Docky Point before six in the afternoon.
Sabriel was silent for the first ten miles, her head bowed, hand still clutching tightly on Touchstone’s. He sat silently too, but watching, looking out as they left the military zone, looking at the prosperous farms of Ancelstierre, the sealed roads, the brick houses, the private cars and horse-drawn vehicles that pulled off the road in front of them, cleared aside by the two red-capped military policemen on motorcycles.
“I’m all right now,” Sabriel said quietly, as they slowed to pass through the town of Bain. Touchstone nodded, still watching, staring at the shop windows in the High Street. The townspeople stared back, for it was rare to see soldiers in full Perimeter battle equipment, with sword-bayonets and shields—and Sabriel and Touchstone were clearly from the Old Kingdom.
“We have to stop by the Police Station, and warn the Superintendent,” Horyse announced as their car pulled in next to an imposing white-walled edifice with two large, blue electric lanterns hanging out the front, and a sturdy sign proclaiming it to be the headquarters of the Bainshire Constabulary.