“The wood-weirds cannot be harmed with normal arrows, of course, and the sorcerers may be warded with spells or charms. But if you can shoot even some of them, or their keepers . . . it will help.”
“I have five Charter-spelled arrows ready, imbued with marks to cut, unravel, and flense,” said Young Laska. As she spoke she lifted her head, her broad-brimmed hat tilting back to show that she too bore the Charter mark on her forehead. “And I have some small store of knowledge when it comes to the more combative marks, as do all Borderers. Some should work against these wood-weirds, and I am happy to put all to the test.”
“Better and better,” said Ferin. She looked up at the sun, noting how much time had passed since Tolther had said the raider would make landfall. She thought they must be close to that point now, and the wood-weirds would soon be loping over the Charter Stone hill and coming down toward them. “But we must get up toward that ridge, and soon.”
“Swinther’s on his way back,” said Karrilke. “Path to the ridge starts over there—you see the gap between those first two great shards where they break through the earth?”
Ferin nodded. She could see the beginnings of a path, a line of bare earth bordered initially by grass and then by the loose shale, fallen from the great folds of rock that thrust up out of the ground, the first buttresses of stone for the larger hill behind.
Without noticing it, they had begun to walk more slowly as they talked, so the stragglers at the rear of the fisher-folk column had gained ground, and were now only two or three hundred paces behind. Swinther came running back, carrying two round metal shields, which, as he got closer, Ferin saw were actually the heavy lids from two large cast iron pots.
“Thought Gebbler would try to bring his pots,” he said, handing one lid over to Ferin and the other to Young Laska. It was heavy iron, with a large handle, and would serve quite well as a shield for the time being, though she would not want to be carrying it about all the time. “This way. I’ll lead. You want to take the rear, Young Laska?”
“Aye,” answered the former Borderer, before Ferin could protest. The older woman looked at her and something not quite a smile twitched across her mouth. “You’ll have plenty of targets yourself, young mistress, I’m sure. I’ll not be hogging them all.”
“Good fortune,” said Karrilke. She briefly touched hands with Ferin and Young Laska and then gave her husband a businesslike kiss on his cheek.
“You also,” said Ferin awkwardly.
Before she could say anything else, a screeching cry echoed behind them from the Charter Stone hill, like a hawk’s that had mistimed its swoop on a juicy pigeon and was complaining of it, but far louder.
“Already at the stone!” exclaimed Karrilke. Her hand fell upon her knife. “We are too late!”
“No, no,” said Astilaran hurriedly. “That is a warning spell I set, to be triggered at the first touch of Free Magic upon the jetty, the warning to be repeated by the Charter Stone. They have landed. But we must hurry, to be sure! I hope we may meet again!”
With those parting words, he ran back to the rear of the column, shouting to the laggards.
“The enemy has landed! You must go faster, or else be slain upon the road!”
Chapter Sixteen
AN UNLOOKED-FOR RETURN
The Clayr’s Glacier, Old Kingdom
The clouds came rolling down as the paperwing flew the last few leagues up the Ratterlin toward the Clayr’s Glacier, a shining blue-white monolith of ice nestled between the dark grey rocky peaks of Starmount and Sunfall, the glacier’s attendant mountains. It grew colder, even within the magically warmed cockpit, and then somewhat miserable as it began to rain. Even though the heavy raindrops were mostly repelled by an almost invisible shield of Charter Magic, they broke into a mist which soon saturated both Lirael and Nick.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get you better clothes,” said Lirael rather worriedly over her shoulder. She had forgotten her irritation from his comments about librarians, and now was only concerned for his well-being. “You must be uncomfortable.”
“It’s nothing,” said Nick, though he was shivering. In normal circumstances he thought he’d be fine and just shrug this off, but in his current weakened state he did feel very cold and ill, and highly uncomfortable. He was basically naked under the borrowed cloak, which would keep billowing open every time he shifted to try and find a better position.
“It’s not far now,” said Lirael. She peered ahead, though she could see little through the rain. “Fortunately the paperwing is very familiar with the way, or I wouldn’t dare go into this cloud and rain so close to the mountains.”
“We’re going straight into that?” asked Nick, peering over her shoulder toward the vast cloud-wreathed glacier and the mountains either side. “Where do we land?”
“There’s a terraced landing field carved out of the side of Starmount, about two-thirds of the way up,” said Lirael. “I’m sure the Clayr will have Seen us arriving, so we should be able to land and slide straight into the hangar, and get warm immediately.”
“We’re landing on a terrace two-thirds of the way up one of those mountains?” asked Nick. “They must be at least ten thousand feet high!”
“Feet?” asked Lirael. “Oh, your Ancelstierran measure, much the same as our pace. They’re not that tall. Starmount is the higher of the two, about eight thousand paces compared to Sunfall’s seven and a half. There are higher mountains in the Kingdom.”
“Those two are high enough,” said Nick, with feeling. He was suddenly glad to be in a magical aircraft, for a Beskwith or a Humbert Twelve would crash here for certain, if anyone was fool enough to try to land on the side of a mountain over a glacier, under thick cloud. While it was raining no less, or as it was now, beginning to snow. It would be crazy at any time, at least back in Ancelstierre.
Nick tried to think about something else.
“What happens when we get there?”
“Ah, I’m not entirely sure,” said Lirael, who had been thinking about this herself. “But first of all a hot bath, clean clothes, dinner . . .”
“I meant beyond the immediate necessities,” said Nick. “Though all of those will be very welcome.”
“The Infirmarian will need to look at your wounds and see how you are, in general,” said Lirael. “And . . . I think probably the Librarian and some others should investigate the Free Magic that is a result of you . . . of you having had the shard of Orannis in your body.”
Nick was silent for a moment. “Sam wrote to me about that, a little, and tried to explain your Charter Magic as opposed to Free Magic. I’m not sure I entirely understood. He said I somehow have both within me . . . and I need to understand. I need to know what I have become!”
“The Clayr will help you do that,” said Lirael.
“Yes,” said Nick. He had forgotten his momentary irritation as well. “I . . . um . . . want to thank you again. For coming to get me.”
“I wanted to,” said Lirael, almost without thinking, and blushed at this honesty.
“Good,” said Nick. “I’m . . . I’m happy you did. That it was you.”
Both were suddenly very aware of their closeness in the cockpit. For a few seconds, they were suspended together somewhere else, a kind of shared space and time, suddenly gone as the paperwing tilted and began to climb, bursting through the fall of wet snow and into whiter, less heavy cloud that was still sufficiently dense they could see no farther than the nose of the craft.
“Oh!” exclaimed Lirael. “We’re climbing up to the landing ledge. I had better whistle the wind around to the south, make it easier for our friend.”
She reached out of the cockpit and patted the side of the fuselage fondly, much as she used
to do to the Dog. The paperwing wiggled the ends of its wings and continued to steeply climb as Lirael began to whistle, golden Charter marks blowing out of her pursed lips, joining a cloud of frosted breath.
The wind shifted in answer to Lirael’s whistled spell, Nick marveling that it did so. He could see the cloud moving, shredding apart as the wind changed, the slushy snow going with it, so that all of a sudden there was a gap between wisps and he caught a glimpse of a flat white area to their left and now somewhat below them, with one side the patchy grey rock and ice of Starmount continuing ever upward and the other side a frightening absence, a drop down to the blinding blue-white glacier far, far below.
Nick shut his eyes and would have crossed his fingers, but he somehow thought the paperwing might be able to tell if he did that, and become offended. So he had to be content with fixing his eyes very closed, leaning back in his hammock chair, and hoping that Lirael’s extreme confidence in their magical craft was entirely justified.
A few minutes later, when he had felt no sudden bump, or for that matter, a half-expected smashing impact with the mountainside, Nick opened his eyes again. He blinked several times, for he couldn’t believe they had actually landed. It had happened so gently he hadn’t even felt it as any different from the tiny bumps and adjustments of their travel in the air.
The paperwing was in the middle of that flat ledge, in front of a vast gate in the mountainside. By Nick’s estimate it was at least seventy feet across and twenty-five feet high. The gate was made of some dark wood, perhaps ebony, and was studded all over with greeny-bronze bolts arranged in the shape of stars, dozens of star patterns in different sizes.
“The Starmount Gate,” said Lirael, a note of puzzlement in her voice. “I’d have thought it would be open, and someone here to meet us; they always See visitors at least a few hours ahead of time, if not days before. Stay here, it will remain warm . . . or at least warmer . . . in the cockpit.”
She climbed out, her boot heels crunching through the thin layer of icy snow on the landing terrace. Nick noticed there was a lot less snow there than there should be, as there were high drifts to either side. It was as if the terrace had been freshly swept and raked, though there was no sign of anyone doing such work. He also noted that Lirael took up her sword and buckled it on, and she hadn’t taken off the bell bandolier at any stage. So even here, where he would have supposed it must be safe, she took no chances. He wished he had a sword himself, or at least a knife.