chapter xxv

百度搜索 Sabriel (The Abhorsen Trilogy) 天涯 或 Sabriel (The Abhorsen Trilogy) 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.

    “Beg pardon, sir,” said the soldier, saluting at the doorway to the officer’s bathroom. “Duty officer’s pliments and  you e straight away?”

    el Horyse sighed, put down his razor, and used the flao wipe off the remains of the shaving soap. He had been interrupted shaving that m, and had tried several times during the day to finish the job. Perhaps it was a sign he should grow a moustache.

    “What’s happening?” he asked, resignedly.

    Whatever was happening, it was uo be good.

    “An aircraft, sir,” replied the private, stolidly.

    “From Army HQ? Dropping a message der?”

    “I don’t know, sir. It’s oher side of the Wall.”

    “What!” exclaimed Horyse, dropping all his shaving gear, pig up his helmet and sword, and attempting to rush out, all at the same time.

    “Imposs<samp>.</samp>ible!”

    But, when he eventually sorted himself out and got down to the Forward Observation Post—an octagonal strongpoint that thrust out through the Perimeter to within fifty yards of the Wall— it quite clearly ossible. The light was fading as the afternoon wa robably close to setting oher side—but the visibility was good enough to make out the distant airborne shape that was desding in a series of long, gradual loops . . . oher side of the Wall. In the Old Kingdom.

    The Duty Officer was watg through big artillery spotter’s binoculars, his elbows perched on the sandbagged parapet of the position.

    Horyse paused for a moment to think of the fellow’s name—he was o the Perimeter Garrisoapped him on the shoulder.

    “Jorbert. Mind if I have a look?”

    The young officer lowered the binoculars relutly, and hahem across like a boy  deprived of a half-eaten lollipop.

    “It’s definitely an aircraft, sir,” he said, brightening up as he spoke. “Totally silent, like a glider, but it’s clearly powered somehow. Very maneuverable, aifully paioo. There’s two . . . people in it, sir.”

    Horyse didn’t answer, but took up the binoculars and the same elbow-propping stance. For a moment, he couldn’t see the aircraft, and he hastily panned left and right, then zigzagged up and down—and there it was, lower than he expected, almost in a landing approach.

    “Sound stand-to,” he ordered harshly, as the realization struck him that the craft would land very close to the Crossing Point—perhaps only a hundred yards from the gate.

    He heard his and beied by Jorbert to a sergeant, and then bellowed out, to be taken up by sentries, duty NCOs, aually to hand-ked klaxons and the old bell that hung in the front of the Officer’s Mess.

    It was hard to see exactly who or what was in the craft, till he twiddled with the focus, and Sabriel’s face leapt towards him, magnified up tnizable form, even at the current distance. Sabriel, the daughter of Abhorsen,  apanied by an unknown man—or something wearing the shape of a man. For a moment, Horyse sidered  the men to stand-down, but he could already hear hobnailed boots clattering on the duckboards, sergeants and corporals shouting—and it might not really be Sabriel. The sun was weakening, and the ing night would be the first of the full moon . . .

    “Jorbert!” he snapped, handing the binoculars back to the surprised and unready subaltern.

    “Go and give the Regimental Sergeant-Major my pliments, and ask him to personally anize a se of the Scouts—we’ll go out and take a closer look at that aircraft.”

    “Oh, thank you, sir!” gushed Lieutenant Jorbert, obviously taking the “we” to include himself. His enthusiasm surprised Horyse, at least for a moment.

    “Tell me, Mr. Jorbert,” he asked. “Have you by any ce sought a trao the Flying Corps?”

    “Well, yes, sir,” replied Jorbert. “Eight times . . .”

    “Just remember,” Horyse said, interrupting him. “That whatever is out there may be a flying  creature, not a flying mae—and its pilots may be half-rotted things that should be properly dead, or Free Magic beings that have never really lived at all. Not fellow aviators, knights of the sky, or anything like that.”

    Jorbert nodded, unmilitarily, saluted, and turned on his heel.

    “And don’t fet your sword ime you’re on duty, officer,” Horyse called after him.

    “Hasn’t aold you your revht not work?”

    Jorbert nodded again, flushed, almost saluted, then scuttled off down the unication trench. One of the soldiers in the Forward Observation Post, a corporal with a full sleeve of chevroing twenty years’ service, and a Charter mark on his forehead to show his Perimeter pedigree, shook his head at the departing back of the young officer.

    “Why are you shaking your head, Corporal Anshy?” snapped Horyse, irked by his many interrupted shaves and this neotentially dangerous appearance of an aircraft.

    “Water on the brain,” replied the corporal cheerfully—and rather ambiguously. Horyse opened his mouth to issue a sharp reprimand,  then closed it as the ers of his mouth involuntarily inched up into a smile. Before he could actually laugh, he left the post, heading back to the trench jun where his se and the RSM would meet him to go beyond the Wall.

    Within five paces, he’d lost his smile.

    The Paperwing slid to a perfect landing in a flurry of snow. Sabriel and Touchsto in it, shivering under oilskin and boat cloak, respectively, then slowly levered themselves out to stand knee-deep iightly packed snow.

    Touchstone smiled at Sabriel, his nose bright red and eyebrows frosted.

    “We made it.”

    “So far,” replied Sabriel, warily looking around. She could see the long grey bulk of the Wall, with the deep honey-colored sun of autumn on the Aierran side. Here, the snow lay banked against the grey stone, and it was overcast, with the sun almost gone. Dark enough for the Dead to be wandering around.

    Touchstone’s smile faded as he caught her mood, aook his swords from the  Paperwing, giving the left sword to Sabriel. She sheathed it, but it was a bad fit—another reminder of loss.

    “I’d better get the books, too,” she said, bending in to retrieve them from the cockpit. The two Charter Magic books were fine, untouched by snow, but The Book of the Dead seemed wet.

    When Sabriel pulled it out, she found it wasn’t snow-wet. Beads of dark, thick blood were welling up out of its cover. Silently, Sabriel wiped it on the hard crust of the snow, leaving a livid mark. Theucked the books away in the pockets of her coat.

    “Why . . . why was the book like that?” asked Touchstorying, and almost succeeding, to sound curious rather than afraid.

    “I think it’s reag to the presenahs,” Sabriel replied. “There is great potential here for the Dead to rise. This is a very oint—”

    “Shhh!” Touchstoerrupted her, pointing towards the Wall. Shapes, dark against the snow, were moving in aended liowards them, at a deliberate, steady pace. They carried bows and spears, and Sabriel, at least, reized the rifles slung across their backs.

    “It’s all right,” Sabriel said, though a faint stab of nervousouched her stomach. “They’re soldiers from the Aierran side—still, I might send the Paperwing on its way . . .”

    Quickly, she checked that they’d takehing from the cockpit, then laid her hand on the nose of the Paperwing, just above its twinkling eye. It seemed to look up at her as she spoke.

    “Go now, friend. I don’t want to risk you being dragged into Aierre and taken apart.

    Fly where you will—to the Clayr’s glacier, or, if you care to, to Abhorsen’s House, where the water falls.”

    She stepped back, and formed the Charter marks that would imbue the Paperwing with choice, and the winds to lift it there. The marks went into her whistle, and the Paperwing moved with the rising pitch, accelerating along till it leapt into the sky at the peak of the highest note.

    “I say!” exclaimed a voice. “How did you do that?”

    Sabriel turo see a young, out-of-breath Aierran officer, the single gold pip of a sed lieutenant looking lonely on his shoulderstraps.

    He was easily fifty yards in front of the rest of the line, but he didn’t seem frightened. He was clutg a sword and a revolver, though, and he raised both of them as Sabriel stepped forward.

    “Halt! You are my prisoners!<mark></mark>”

    “Actually, we’re travelers,” replied Sabriel, though she did stand still. “Is that el Horyse I  see behind you?”

    Jorbert turned half around to have a look, realized his mistake, and turned back just in time to see Sabriel and Touchstone smiling, then chug, then out-and-out laughing, clutg at each other’s arms.

    “What’s so funny?” demanded Lieutenant Jorbert, as the two of them laughed and laughed, till the tears ran down their cheeks.

    “Nothing,” said Horyse, gesturing to his men to encircle Sabriel and Touchstone, while he went up and carefully placed two fingers on their foreheads—testing the Charter they bore within. Satisfied, he lightly shook them, till they stopped their shuddering, gasping laughter.

    Then, to the surprise of some of his me an arm around each of them ahem back to the Crossing Point, towards Aierre and sunshine.

    Jorbert, left to cover the withdrawal, indignantly asked the air, “What was so funny?”

    “You heard the el,” replied Regimental Sergeant-Major Tawklish. “Nothing. That was an hysterical rea, that was. They’ve been through a lot, those two, mark my words.”

    Then, in the way that only RSMs have with junior officers, he paused, crushing Jorbert pletely with a judicious, and long delayed “Sir.”

    The warmth ed Sabriel like a soft bla as they stepped out of the shadow of the Wall, into the relative heat of an Aierran autumn. She felt Touchstone falter at her side, and stumble, his face staring blindly upwards to the sun.

    “You both look done in,” said Horyse, speaking in the kindly, slow tone he used on shellshocked soldiers. “How about something to eat, or would you rather get some sleep first?”

    “Something to eat, certainly,” Sabriel replied, trying to give him a grateful smile. “But not sleep. There’s no time for that. Tell me—when was the full moon? Two days ago?”

    Horyse looked at her, thinking that she no longer reminded him of his own daughter.

    She had bee Abhorsen, a person beyond  his ken, in such a short time . . .

    “It’s tonight,” he said.

    “But I’ve been in the Old Kingdom at least sixteen days . . .”

    “Time is straween the kingdoms,”

    Horyse said. “We’ve had patrols swear they were out for two weeks, ing ba after eight days. A headache for the paymaster . . .”

    “That voice, ing from the box on the pole,”

    Touchstoerrupted, as they left the zigzag path through the wire defenses and climbed down into a narrow unication trench. “There is no Charter Magi the box, or the voice . . .”

    “Ah,” replied Horyse, looking ahead to where a loudspeaker was announg stand-down. “I’m surprised it’s w. Electricity runs that, Mr.

    Touchstone. Sot magic.”

    “It won’t be w tonight,” Sabriel said quietly. “No teology will be.”

    “Yes, it is rather loud,” Horyse said, in a strong voice. More softly, he added, “Please don’t say anything more till we get to my dugout. The men have already picked something up about tonight and the full moon . . .”

    “Of course,” replied Sabriel, wearily. “I’m sorry.”

    They walked the rest of the way in silence, slogging along the zigzagging unication trench, passing soldiers in the fighting trenches, ready at their stand-to positions. The soldier’s versations stopped as they passed, but resumed as soon as they turhe  zig  and were out of sight.

    At last, they desded a series of steps into el Horyse’s dugout. Tweants stood guard outside—this time, Charter Mages from the Crossing Point Scouts, not the regular garrison infantry. Another soldier doubled off to the cookhouse, to fete food. Horyse busied himself with a small spirit-burner, and made tea.

    Sabriel drank it without feeling much relief.

    Aierre, and the universal forter of its society—tea—no longer seemed as solid and dependable as she had ohought.

    “Now,” said Horyse. “Tell me why you don’t have time to sleep.”

    “My father died yesterday,” Sabriel said, stony-faced. “The wind flutes will fail tonight.

    At moohe Dead here will rise with the moon.”

    “I’m sorry to hear about your father. Very sorry,” Horyse said. He hesitated, then added,  “But as you are here now, ’t you bind the Dead anew?”

    “If that were all, yes, I could,” Sabriel tinued.

    “But there is worse to e. Have you ever heard the name Kerrigor, el?”

    Horyse put his tea down.

    “Your father spoke of him once. One of the Greater Dead, I think, imprisoned beyond the Seventh Gate?”

    “More thaer, possibly the Great,”

    Sabriel said bleakly. “As far as I know, he is the only Dead spirit to also be a Free Magic adept.”

    “And a renegade member of the royal family,”

    added Touchstone, his voice still harsh and dry from the cold winds of their flight, unquenched by tea. “And he is no longer imprisoned. He walks in Life.”

    “All these things give him power,” Sabriel tinued.

    “But there is a weakhere, too.

    Kerrigor’s mastery of Free Magid much of his power in both Life ah, is depe on the tinual existence of his inal body. He hid it, long ago, when he first chose to bee a Dead spirit—and he hid it in Aierre. he village of Wyverley, to be exact.”

    “And now he’s ing to fetch it . . .” said  Horyse, with terrible presce. Outwardly, he looked calm, all those long years of Army serviing a hard carapace, taining his feelings.

    Inwardly, he felt a trembling that he hoped wasn’t being transmitted to the mug in his hand.

    “When will he e?”

    “With the night,” replied Sabriel. “With an army of the Dead. If he  emerge out of Death close to the Wall, he may e earlier.”

    ‘‘The sun—” Horyse began.

    “Kerrigor  work the weather, bring fog or dense cloud.”

    “So what  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 wearihat already pressed upon her, but she forced herself to answer.

    “Kerrigor’s body is in a spelled sarcophagus under a , a  atop a little hill called Docky Point, less than forty miles away. We o get there quickly—aroy the body.”

    “And that will destroy Kerrigor?”

    ‘‘No,” said Sabriel, shaking her head wistfully.

    “But it will weaken him . . . so there may be a ce . . .”

    “Right,” said Horyse. “We’ve still got three or four hours of daylight, but we’ll o move quickly. I take it that Kerrigor and his . . .

    forces . . . will have to cross the Wall here? They ’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 ’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 desd on Aierre?”

    “ly,” replied Sabriel. “I would like to fig<tt>?９９ｌiｂ?t>ht 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 thirtyfive 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 suffit to send them bato Death.”

    “And the rest of the garrison? We’ll just stand aside a 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 ag as the General Officer anding 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 and to those of us who wear the Charter mark. So the decision is mine . . .”

    He stopped pag, and stared back at Sabriel and Touchsto his eyes seemed to see something well beyond them and the rusty cated iron that walled the dugout. Finally, he spoke.

    “Very well. I will give you twelve Charter Mages—half of the full plement of the Scouts—but I will also add some more mundane force. A detat to escort you to . . . what was it? Docky Point. But I ’t promise we  won’t fight on the Perimeter.”

    “We need you, too, el,” Sabriel said, in the silehat followed his decision. “You’re the stro Charter Mage the Garrison has.”

    “Impossible!” Horyse exclaimed emphatically.

    “I’m in and 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 announg the arrival of a mess orderly oeps. “<q></q>e 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’ pany, Lieutenant Aire from the Scouts, the RSM and the Quartermaster. In the Operations Room in ten minutes. Oh . . . call iransport Officer too. And warn the Signals staff to stand by for g.”

百度搜索 Sabriel (The Abhorsen Trilogy) 天涯 或 Sabriel (The Abhorsen Trilogy) 天涯在线书库 即可找到本书最新章节.