Sam reached into the Charter, as much for comfort as to be ready to cast a spell. His breathing steadied as he felt its familiar flow all around him, and almost without thinking he began to draw out Charter marks, whispering their names quietly as they fell into his open hand.

Hedge took another step. He was wreathed in steam now and almost completely obscured, the stream bubbling and roiling both upstream and down. With a shrinking feeling, Sam saw that the necromancer was actually boiling the stream dry. There was already signifcantly less water below him, the streambed was becoming visible, and the Dead Hands were starting to move.

Hedge wouldn't even have to fight him, Sam thought. All he had to do was stand in the stream, and his Dead Hands would cross and finish Sam off. Though he had the panpipes, Sam didn't know how to use them properly, and there were simply too many Hands.

There was only one thing he could do. Sam would have to attack Hedge in the stream and kill him before the Hands could cross. If he could kill Hedge, a little nagging voice said from deep inside his mind. Wouldn't it be better to run away? Run away before you are burnt again, and your spirit ripped out of your flesh and taken by the necromancer....

Sam buried that thought away, sending the nagging voice so far into the recesses of his mind that it was just a meaningless squeak. Then he let the Charter marks he already held in his hand fall into nothingness, reached into the Charter again, and drew out a whole new string of marks. As he summoned them, Sam hurriedly traced the marks on his legs with a finger. Marks of protection, of reflection, of diversion. They joined and shimmered there, wrapping his legs in Charter Magic armor that would resist the steam and boiling water.

He looked down for only ten, or perhaps fifteen seconds. But when he looked back up, Hedge was gone. The steam was dissipating, and the water was flowing again. The Dead Hands were turning their backs to him and lumbering away, leaving the ground churned up and littered with pieces of rotting flesh and splintered bone.

"Either you were born to a different death, Prince," remarked Mogget, who had appeared at Sam's feet like a newly sprung plant, "or Hedge just found something more important to do."

"Where were you?" asked Sam. He felt strangely deflated. He'd been all ready to plunge into the stream, to fight it out, and now all of a sudden it was just a quiet morning again. The sun was even up, and the birds had resumed their singing. Though only on his side of the stream, Sam noticed.

"Hiding, like any sensible person would when confronted by a necromancer as powerful as Hedge," replied Mogget.

"Is he that powerful?" asked Sam. "You must have encountered many necromancers, serving my mother and the other Abhorsens."

"They didn't have help from the Destroyer," said Mogget. "I must say I'm impressed with what it can do, even bound as it is. A lesson for us all, that even trapped inside a lump of silver metal-"

"Where do you think Hedge went?" interrupted Sam, who wasn't really listening.

"Back to those lumps of metal, of course," yawned Mogget. "Or after Lirael. Time for me to have a nap, I think."

Mogget yawned again, then yelped in surprise as Sam grabbed him and shook him, setting Ranna jangling on his collar.

"You have to track the Dog! We have to go and help Lirael!"

"That's no way to ask me." Mogget yawned again, as waves of sleep from Ranna washed over both of them. Sam suddenly found that he was sitting down, and the ground felt so comfortable. All he had to do was lie back and put his hands behind his head....

"No! No!" he protested. Staggering to his feet, he plunged into the stream and pushed his face into the water.

When he climbed out, Mogget was back in his pack. Fast asleep, a wicked grin on his little face.

Sam stared down at him and ran his hands through his dripping hair. The Dog had run off downstream. What had she said? "Lirael went into the reeds."

So if Sam followed the stream to the Red Lake, there was a good chance he'd find Lirael. Or some sign of her, or the Dog. Or Mogget might wake up.

Or Hedge might come back....

Sam didn't want to just sit where he was. Lirael might need his help. Nicholas might need his help. He had to find them. Together, they might survive long enough to do something about this Destroyer trapped in the silver hemispheres. Alone, they could only fail and fall.

Sam packed away Lirael's bow and the dropped arrow. Then he balanced the two packs using a single strap on each shoulder, made sure Mogget would not fall out even though the cat deserved to, and started west, the stream burbling along beside him.

Chapter Eleven.

Hidden in the Reeds LIRAEL MORE THAN half-expected to find a boat made of woven reeds, since the Clayr had Seen her and Nicholas in it on the Red Lake. Even so, she was very much relieved when she did stumble across the strange craft, because the water was now well above her thighs. If it had got any deeper, she would have had to turn back or risk Nick's drowning, since she couldn't carry him any other way than the fireman's lift, which put his head about two feet lower than hers. half-expected to find a boat made of woven reeds, since the Clayr had Seen her and Nicholas in it on the Red Lake. Even so, she was very much relieved when she did stumble across the strange craft, because the water was now well above her thighs. If it had got any deeper, she would have had to turn back or risk Nick's drowning, since she couldn't carry him any other way than the fireman's lift, which put his head about two feet lower than hers.

Carefully, she unloaded him into the center of the canoe-like boat, quickly grabbing the sides as it tipped. The boat was about twice as long as she was tall, but very narrow apart from its midsection-so there would be only just enough room for both of them.

Nick was semiconscious, but he rallied as they sat quietly in the boat, and Lirael considered her options. The reeds leaned over them, creating a secret bower, and small waterbirds called plaintively nearby, with the occasional splash as one dived after some fishy treat.

Lirael sat with her sword across her lap and a hand on the bell-bandolier, listening. The marsh birds would be happily piping and fishing, then they would suddenly go silent and hide deeper in the reeds. Lirael knew it was because Gore Crows were flying low overhead. She could feel the cold spirit that inhabited them, single-mindedly following the orders of its necromancer master. Searching for her.

The boat was exactly as the Clayr had said it would be, but Lirael felt a strange new fear as she sat rocking in it. This was the limit of the Clayr's vision. They had Seen her here with Nicholas, but no further, and they had not Seen what Nicholas was. Was their Sight limited because this was the end? Was Hedge about to appear through the reeds? Or would the Destroyer emerge from within the slight young man opposite her?

"What are you waiting for?" Nick asked suddenly, showing himself to be more recovered than she'd thought. Lirael jumped as he spoke, setting the boat rocking more violently. Nick's voice was loud, strange in the quiet world of the reeds.

"Silence!" ordered Lirael in a stern whisper.

"Or what?" asked Nick with some bravado. But he spoke more softly, and his eyes were on her sword.

A few seconds passed, then Lirael said, "We're waiting for noon, when the sun is brightest and the Dead are weak. Then we'll head along the lakeshore and, hopefully, make it to a meeting place where your friend Sameth will be."

"The Dead," said Nick with a superior smile. "Some local spirits to appease, I take it? And you mentioned Sam before. What's he got to do with this? Did you kidnap him, too?"

"The Dead ... are the Dead," replied Lirael, frowning. Sam had mentioned that Nick didn't understand, or even try to comprehend, the Old Kingdom, but this blindness to reality could not be natural. "You have them working in your pit. Hedge's Dead Hands. And no, Sam is working with me to rescue you. You obviously don't understand the danger."

"Don't tell me Sam has fallen back into all this superstition," said Nick. "The Dead, as you call them, are simply poor unfortunates who suffer from something like leprosy. And far from rescuing me, you have taken me away from an important scientific experiment."

"You saw me as an owl," said Lirael, curious to find exactly how blinkered he was. "With the winged dog."

"Hypnosis ... or hallucinations," replied Nick. "As you can see, I'm not well. Which is another reason I shouldn't be in this ... this compost heap of a craft."

"Curious," said Lirael thoughtfully. "It must be the thing inside you that has closed your mind. I wonder what purpose that serves."

Nick didn't reply, but he rolled his eyes eloquently enough, obviously dismissing whatever Lirael had to say.

"Hedge will rescue me, you know," he said. "He's a very resourceful chap, and he's just as keen to stay on schedule as I am. So whatever mad belief has seized you, you should give it up and go home. In fact, I'm sure there would be some sort of reward if you returned me."

"A reward?" Lirael laughed, but with bitterness. "A horrible death and eternal servitude? That's the 'reward' for anyone living who goes near Hedge. But tell me-what is your 'experiment' all about?"

"Will you let me go if I tell you?" asked Nick. "Not that it's terribly secret. After all, you won't be publishing in Ancelstierran scientific journals, will you?"

Lirael didn't answer either question. She just looked at him, waiting for him to talk. He met her gaze at first, then faltered and looked away. There was something unnerving about her eyes. A toughness he had never seen in the young women he knew from the debutante parties in Corvere. It was partly this that made him talk, and partly a desire to impress her with his knowledge and intelligence.

"The hemispheres are a previously unknown metal that I postulate has an almost infinite capacity to absorb electrical energy for later discharge," he said, arching his fingers together. "They also create some sort of ionized field that attracts the thunderstorms, which in turn create lightning that is drawn down by the metal. Unfortunately, that ionized field also prevents working of the metal, as steel or iron tools cannot be brought close.

"It is my intention to connect the hemispheres to a Lightning Farm, which a trusted associate of mine is building in Ancelstierre even as we speak. The Lightning Farm will be composed of a thousand connected lightning rods that will draw down the full electrical force of an entire storm-rather than just a number of strikes-and feed it into the hemispheres. This power will ... ah ... repolarize ... or demagnetize ... the two hemispheres so they can be brought together as one. This is the ultimate goal. They must be brought together, you see. It is absolutely essential!"

He collapsed back with the last word, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"How do you know?" asked Lirael. To her it sounded like the sort of waffle used by false seers and charlatan mages, as much to convince themselves as anything.

"I just know," whispered Nick. "I am a scientist. When the hemispheres are in Ancelstierre, I will be able to prove my theories, with proper instruments and proper help."

"Why do the hemispheres have to be brought together?" asked Lirael. That seemed to be the weakest point of his belief, and the most dangerous, for bringing the hemispheres together would make whatever was trapped inside them whole. It was only as she asked it that she realized there was a more important question.

"They have to be," replied Nick, puzzlement showing clearly on his face. Obviously he couldn't think clearly about it at all. "That should be obvious."

"Yes, of course," said Lirael, soothingly. "But I'm curious about how you will get the hemispheres to Ancelstierre. And where exactly is your Lightning Farm? It must be hard to set something like that up. I mean, it would take an awful lot of space."

"Oh, it's not as difficult as you might think," said Nick. He seemed relieved to be moving away from the subject of bringing the hemispheres together. "We'll take the metal down to the sea in barges, and then follow the coast south. Apparently the waters are too disturbed and the weather too foggy as a rule to go all the way by sea. We'll take them ashore just north of the Wall, drag them over that, and then it's only a matter of ten or twelve miles to Forwin Mill, where my Lightning Farm is being built. It should be just about completed by the time we arrive, all being well."

"But ..." Lirael said, "how will you get them over the Wall? It is a barrier to the Dead and all such things. You won't be able to get the hemispheres across the Wall."

"Rubbish!" exclaimed Nick. "You're as bad as Hedge. Except that he at least is prepared to try, provided I let him do some mumbo jumbo first."

"Oh," said Lirael. Obviously Hedge-or more likely his ultimate Master-had found a way to get the hemispheres across the Wall. It had been a vain hope anyway, because Lirael knew Hedge had crossed more than once, and Kerrigor and his army had crossed years ago. She'd just hoped the hemispheres would be prevented.

"Won't ... ah ... won't you have difficulties with the authorities in Ancelstierre?" Lirael asked hopefully. Sam had told her about the Perimeter the Ancelstierrans had built to stop anything from entering their country from the north. She had no idea what she could do if the hemispheres were taken out of the Old Kingdom.

"No," said Nick. "Hedge says there won't be any trouble he can't handle, but I think he was a bit of a smuggler in the past, and he does have rather unconventional ways. I prefer to work within the law, so I got all the usual customs permits and approvals and so on. Though I admit that they're not for things from the Old Kingdom, because officially there is no Old Kingdom, so there are no forms. I also have a letter from my uncle, granting approval for me to bring across whatever I need for my experiment."

"Your uncle?"

"He's the Chief Minister," Nick replied proudly. "Seventeen years as CM this year-with a three-year break in the middle when the Moderate Reform lot got it. The most successful CM the country has ever had, though of course he's having trouble now, with the continental wars and all the Southerling refugees pouring in. Still, I don't think Corolini and his ragtag bunch will get the numbers to unseat him. He's my mother's oldest brother, and a damn good chap. Always happy to help a deserving nephew."

"Those papers would have burned in your tent," suggested Lirael, clutching at another hope.

"No," said Nick. "Thanks to Hedge again. He suggested I leave them with the fellow who's meeting us over the Wall. Said they'd rot, which in hindsight is absolutely true. Now-are you going to let me go?"

"No," said Lirael. "You're being rescued, whether you like it or not."

"In that case I shan't tell you any more," Nick proclaimed petulantly. He laid himself back down again, rustling against the rushes.

Lirael watched him, thoughts churning in her head. She hoped Ellimere had received Sam's message, and at this moment there might be a strong force of Guards riding to the rescue. Sabriel and Touchstone might also be rushing north from Corvere. They could even be about to cross the Wall.

But all of them would be heading for Edge, while the hemispheres that held the bound thing slipped away-into Ancelstierre, where the ancient spirit of destruction could gain its freedom, free from interference by the only people who understood the danger.

Nick was watching her, too, she realized, as those thoughts clamored in her mind. But not with puzzlement or enmity. He was just looking, tilting his head on the side, with one eye partly closed.

"Pardon me," he said. "I was wondering how you knew Sam. Are you a ... um ... a princess? Only, if you're his fiancee or something, I thought I should know. To ... ah ... offer my congratulations, as it were. And I don't even know your name."

"Lirael," Lirael replied shortly. "I'm Sam's aunt. I'm the Ab- Well, let's say I sort of work with Sam's mother, and I also ... was ... a Second Assistant Librarian and a Daughter of the Clayr, though I don't expect you know what those titles mean. I'm not at all sure myself at the moment."

"His aunt!" exclaimed Nick, a flush of embarrassment rather than fever coloring his face. "How can you be-I mean, I had no idea. I apologize, ma'am."

"And I'm ... I'm much older than I look," Lirael added. "In case you were going to ask."

She was a little embarrassed herself, though she couldn't think why. She still didn't know how to talk about her mother. In some ways it was more painful thinking about her now that she knew about her father and how she had come to be conceived. One day, she thought, she would find out exactly what had happened to Arielle, and why she had chosen to go away.

"Wouldn't dream of it," replied Nick. "You know, this sounds stupid, but I feel much better here than I have for weeks. Never would have thought a swamp could be a tonic. I haven't even fainted today."

"You did once," said Lirael. "When we first took you from the tent."

"Did I?" asked Nick. "How embarrassing. I seem to be fainting a lot. Fortunately it tends to be when Hedge is there to catch me."

"Can you tell when you're about to faint?" asked Lirael. She hadn't forgotten the Dog's warning about how long the fragment would be subdued, and she was fairly certain she could not quell it again by herself.

"Usually," said Nick. "I get nauseous first and my eyesight goes peculiar-everything goes red. And something happens to my sense of smell, so I get the sensation of something burning, like an electric motor fusing. But I do feel much better now. Perhaps the fever's broken."

"It isn't a fever," Lirael said wearily. "Though I hope it is better, for both our sakes. Sit still now-I'm going to paddle us out a bit farther. We'll stay in the reeds, but I want to see what's happening on the lake. And please keep quiet."

"Sure," said Nick. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Lirael almost apologized, but she held it back. She did feel sorry for Nick. It wasn't his fault he had been chosen by an ancient spirit of evil to be its avatar. She even felt sort of maternal to him. He needed to be tucked in bed and fed willow-bark tea. That thought led to the idle speculation of what he might look like if he were well. He could be quite handsome, Lirael thought, and then instantly banished the notion. He might be an unwitting enemy, but he was still an enemy.

The reed boat was light, but even so it was hard work paddling with just her hands. Particularly since she also had to keep an eye on Nicholas in case of trouble. But he seemed content to lie back on the high prow of the reed boat. Lirael did catch him looking at her surreptitiously, but he didn't try to escape or call out.

After about twenty minutes of difficult paddling, the reeds began to thin out, the red water paled into pink, and Lirael could see the muddy lake bottom. The sun was well and truly up, so Lirael chanced pushing the boat to the very fringe of the reed marsh so she could look out on the lake but keep hidden.

They were still covered overhead because of the way the reeds leaned into one another. Even so, Lirael was relieved to discover that she couldn't sense any Gore Crows about. Probably because there was a strong current beyond the reedy shores, combined with the bright sun of morning.

Though there were no Gore Crows in sight, there was something moving out on the surface of the lake. For a second Lirael's heart lifted as she thought it might be Sam, or a force of Guards. Then she realized what it was, just as Nick spoke.

"Look-my barges!" he called, sitting up and waving. "Hedge must have got the other one-and loaded already!"

"Quiet!" hissed Lirael, reaching out to drag him down.

He offered no resistance but suddenly frowned and clutched his chest. "I think ... I think I was counting my chickens before-"

"Fight it!" interrupted Lirael urgently. "Nick-you have to fight it!"

"I'll try-" Nick began, but he didn't finish his sentence, his head falling back with a dull, reedy thud. His eyes showed white, and Lirael saw a thin tendril of smoke begin to trickle from his nose and mouth.

She slapped him hard across the face.

"Fight it! You're Nicholas Sayre! Tell me who you are!"

Nick's eyes rolled back, though smoke still trickled from his nose.

"I'm ... I'm Nicholas John Andrew Sayre," he whispered. "I'm Nicholas ... Nicholas ..."

"Yes!" urged Lirael. She put her sword down by her side and took his hands, shuddering as she felt the Free Magic coursing in the blood under his cold skin. "Tell me more about yourself, Nicholas John Andrew Sayre! Where were you born?"

"I was born at Amberne, my family home," whispered Nick. His voice grew stronger and the smoke receded. "In the billiard room. No, that's a joke. Mother would kill me for that. I was born all proper for a Sayre, doctor and midwives in attendance. Two midwives, no less, and the society doctor ..."

Nick closed his eyes, and Lirael gripped his hands tighter.