Ahead of him Hedge burst out of the tunnel and turned back to gesture at Nick. He felt the gesture like a physical grasp, dragging him forward even faster. The golden fire reached out to him everywhere it could, but there were too many Night Crew, too many burning bodies. The fire could not reach Nicholas, and finally he staggered out of the tunnel, away from the golden flames.

He had crossed the Wall and was in Ancelstierre. Or rather in the No Man's Land between the Wall and the Perimeter. Normally this would be a quiet, empty place of raw earth and barbed wire, made somehow peaceful by the soft whisper of the wind flutes that Nick had always presumed to be some sort of weird decoration or memorial. Now it was wreathed in fog, fog eerily underlit by the low, red glow of the setting sun and flashes of lightning. The fog thinned in places as it rolled inexorably south, revealing scenes of awful carnage. The white mass was like the curtain of a horror show, briefly drawing back to show piles of corpses, bodies everywhere, bodies hanging on the wire and piled on the ground. They were all blue capped and blue scarved, and Nick finally recognized that they were slain Southerling refugees, and that in some horrible way, that was who Hedge's Night Crew had also been.

Lightning crackled above him, and thunder rumbled. Fog billowed apart, and Nick caught a glimpse of the hemispheres a little way ahead, roped onto the huge sleds that Nick knew had been waiting for them when they off-loaded the barges at the Redmouth. But he couldn't remember that happening, or anything between talking to Lirael in the reed boat and his awakening just before crossing the Wall. The hemispheres had been dragged here, obviously by the men who were dragging them now. Normal men, or at least not the Night Crew. Men dressed in strange, ragged combinations of Ancelstierran Army uniforms and Old Kingdom clothes, khaki tunics contrasting with hunting leathers, bright colored breeches, and rusty mail.

The force that had propelled him though the tunnel suddenly retreated, and Nick fell at Hedge's feet. The necromancer was at least seven feet tall now, and the red flames burning around his flesh and in his eye sockets were brighter and more intense. For the first time, Nick was frightened of him, and he wondered why he hadn't been all along. But he was too weak to do anything but crouch at Hedge's feet and clutch at his chest, where the pain still throbbed.

"Soon," said Hedge, his voice rumbling like the thunder. "Soon our master will be free."

Nick found himself nodding enthusiastically and was as frightened by this as he was by Hedge. He was already drifting back into that dreamy state where all he could think about was the hemispheres and his Lightning Farm, and what had to be done- "No," whispered Nick. What must not not be done. He didn't know what was happening, and until he did know, he wasn't going to do anything. "No!" be done. He didn't know what was happening, and until he did know, he wasn't going to do anything. "No!"

Hedge recognized that Nick spoke with an independent voice. He grinned, and fire flickered in his throat. He lifted Nick up like a baby and cradled him to his chest, against the bandolier of bells.

"Your part is nearly done, Nicholas Sayre," he said, and his breath was hot like steam and smelled of decay. "You were never more than an imperfect host, though your uncle and father have proved to be more helpful than even I could have hoped, albeit unwittingly."

Nick could only stare up at the burning eyes. Already he had forgotten everything that had come back to him in the tunnel. In Hedge's eyes he saw the silver hemispheres, the lightning, the joining that he knew once again was the single high purpose of his own short life.

"The hemispheres," he whispered, almost ritually. "The hemispheres must be joined."

"Soon, Master, soon," crooned Hedge. He stalked over to the waiting bearers and laid Nicholas down on the stretcher, stroking his chest just above his heart with a blackened, still-burning hand. What little was left of Nick's Ancelstierran shirt dissolved at Hedge's touch, showing bare skin that was blue with deep bruising. "Soon!"

Nick watched dully as Hedge walked away. No independent thought was left to him. Only the burning vision of the hemispheres and their ultimate joining. He tried to sit up to look at them but didn't have the strength, and in any case the fog was thickening once again. Wearied by the effort, Nick's hands fell to the ground on either side of the stretcher, and one finger touched a piece of debris that sent a strange feeling through his arm. A sharp pain and a gentle, healing warmth.

He tried to close his hand on the object, but his fingers refused. With considerable effort Nick rolled over to see exactly what it was. He peered down from the stretcher and saw it was a piece of broken wood, a fragment of one of the smashed wind flutes, like the one whose stump he could see a few feet away. The fragment was still infused with Charter marks, which flowed over and through the wood. As Nick watched them, something stirred in the recesses of his mind. For a moment he remembered who he really was once more, and recalled the promise he had given to Lirael.

His right hand would not obey him, so Nicholas leaned over even more and tried to pick up the wooden fragment with his left hand. He succeeded for a few seconds, but even his left hand was no longer his to command. His fingers opened, and the piece of the wind flute fell on the stretcher, between Nick's left arm and his body, not quite touching on either side.

Hedge did not walk far from Nicholas. He strode through the fog, which parted before him, straight to the largest pile of Southerling corpses. They had been killed by the Dead that Hedge had raised earlier that day from the temporary cemeteries around the camps. He was amused by the notion of using Southerling Dead to kill Southerlings. They had also killed the soldiers in the quaintly named Western Strongpoint, and the sailors in the lighthouse.

Hedge had crossed the Wall three times that day. Once to set the initial attacks in motion in Ancelstierre, which was no great task; second to go back to prepare the crossing of the hemispheres, which was much more difficult; and the third time with the hemispheres and Nicholas. He would never need to cross again, he knew, for the Wall would be one of the first things his master would destroy, along with all other works of the despised Charter.

All that remained to be done here was to go into Death and compel as many spirits as he could find to return and inhabit these bodies. Though Forwin Mill was less than twenty miles away and they should be able to reach it by morning, Hedge knew the Ancelstierran Army would attempt to prevent their breaking out of the Perimeter. He needed Dead Hands to fight the Army, and most of the ones he'd brought from the north and those created earlier that day in the Southerling camp cemeteries had been consumed in the crossing of the Wall, used up in order to get the hemispheres across.

Hedge drew two bells from his bandolier. Saraneth, for compulsion. Mosrael, to wake the spirits who slumbered here in No Man's Land, now freed from the chains of the hated Abhorsen's wind toys. He would use Mosrael to rouse as many as possible, though use of that bell would send him far into Death himself. Then he would come back through the gates and precincts, using Saraneth to drive any other spirits he could find into Life.

There would be plenty of bodies for all.

But before he could begin, he sensed something coming through the darkness. Ever careful, Hedge put Mosrael away, lest it sound of its own accord, and drew his sword instead, whispering the words that set the dark flames running down the blade.

He knew who it was, but he did not trust even the bounds and charms he had laid upon her. Chlorr was one of the Greater Dead now. In Life she had come under the sway of the Destroyer, but in Death she was somewhat beyond that control. Hedge had forced her obedience by other means, and as always with a necromancer's control over such a spirit, this obedience could be tenuous.

Chlorr appeared as a shape of darkness that was only vaguely human, with misshapen appendages upon a bulky torso that suggested two arms, two legs, and a head. Deep fires burned where eyes should be, though the fires were too large and too widely set apart. Chlorr had crossed the Wall with Hedge the first time and had led the surprise attack on the Ancelstierran Army garrison, in their Western Strongpoint. They had not expected an assault from the south. Chlorr had reaped many lives and was all the more powerful for it. Hedge watched her warily and kept a firm grip on Saraneth. The bells did not like to serve necromancers, and even a bell that an Abhorsen would find steady had to be shown who was master at all times.

Chlorr bowed, somewhat ironically in Hedge's estimation. Then she spoke, a misshapen mouth forming in the cloud of darkness. The words were a gibberish, slurred and broken. Hedge frowned and raised his sword. The mouth firmed up, and a tongue of blood-red fire flickered from side to side in the hideous maw.

"Your pardon, Master," said Chlorr. "Many soldiers are coming on a road from the south, riding horses. Some are Charter mages, though they are not adept. I slew those who came first, but there are many more behind, so I returned to warn my master."

"Good," said Hedge. "I am about to prepare a new host of Dead, which I will send to you when they are ready. For now, gather here all the Hands that you can and attack these soldiers. The Charter Mages in particular must be slain. Nothing must delay our lord!"

Chlorr bent her great, shapeless head. Then she reached back behind her and dragged forward a man who had been hidden by the fog and her dark bulk. He was a thin, little man, his coat ripped off his back to show a classic clerk's white shirt, complete with sleeve protectors. She held him by the neck just with two huge fingers, and he was almost dead from terror and lack of air. He fell to his knees in front of Hedge, gasping for breath and sobbing.

"This is yours, or so he says," said Chlorr. Then she strode off, her hands reaching out to touch any Dead Hands that were close by. As she touched them, they shuddered and jerked, then slowly began to follow her. But there were surprisingly few Hands left, and none at all in the tunnel through the Wall. Chlorr was careful not to go near the brooding mass of stone that still shimmered every now and then with golden light. Even she did not take crossing the Wall lightly, and possibly could not have done it without Hedge's help and the sacrifice of many lesser Dead.

"Who?" demanded Hedge.

"I'm ... I'm Deputy Leader Geanner," sobbed the man. He proffered an envelope. "Mister Corolini's assistant. I've brought you the treaty letter ... the permission to cross ... to cross the Wall-"

Hedge took the envelope, which burst into flame as he touched it and was consumed, grey flakes of ash falling from his blackened hand.

"I do not need permission," whispered Hedge. "From anyone."

"I've also come for the ... the fourth payment, as agreed," continued Geanner, staring up at Hedge. "We have done all you asked."

"All?" asked Hedge. "The King and the Abhorsen?"

"D ... d ... dead," gasped Geanner. "Bombed and burnt in Corvere. There was nothing left."

"The camps near Forwin Mill?"

"Our people will open the gates at dawn, as instructed. The handbills have been printed, with translations in Azhdik and Chellanian. They will believe the promises, I'm sure."

"The coup?"

"We are still fighting in Corvere and elsewhere, but ... but I'm sure Our Country will prevail."

"Then everything I need has been done," said Hedge. "All save one thing."

"What's that?" asked Geanner. He looked up at Hedge but barely had begun to scream before the burning blade came down and took his head from his shoulders.

"A waste," croaked Chlorr, who was returning with a string of Hands shambling behind her. "The body is useless now."

"Go!" roared Hedge, suddenly angry. He sheathed his sword all bloody and drew Mosrael again. "Lest I send you into Death and summon a more useful servant!"

Chlorr chuckled, a sound like dry stones rattling in an iron bucket, and disappeared off into the night, a line of perhaps a hundred Dead Hands shambling after her. As the last one crossed into the forward trenches, Hedge rang Mosrael. A single note issued from the bell, starting low and gradually increasing in both volume and pitch. As the sound spread, the bodies of the Southerlings began to twitch and wriggle, and the mounds of corpses became alive with movement. At the same time, ice formed on Hedge. Still Mosrael sounded, though its wielder was already stalking through the cold river of Death.

Chapter Eighteen.

Chlorr of the Mask LIRAEL AWOKE WITH a start, her heart pounding and her hands scrabbling for bells and sword. It was dark, and she was trapped in some chamber ... no, she realized, coming fully awake. She was sleeping in the back of one of the noisy conveyances-a truck, Sam called it. Only it wasn't noisy now. a start, her heart pounding and her hands scrabbling for bells and sword. It was dark, and she was trapped in some chamber ... no, she realized, coming fully awake. She was sleeping in the back of one of the noisy conveyances-a truck, Sam called it. Only it wasn't noisy now.

"We've stopped," said the Dog. She thrust her head out the canvas flap to look around, and her voice became rather muffled. "I think rather unexpectedly."

Lirael sat up and tried to banish the sensation of being recently clubbed on the head and made to drink vinegar. She still had her cold. At least it was no worse, though the Ancelstierran spring had yet to fully flower and winter had not given up its grip on nighttime temperatures.

The stop certainly seemed unexpected, judging from the amount of swearing coming from the driver up front. Then Sam drew back the flap completely from the outside, narrowly escaping a welcoming full-face lick from the Disreputable Dog. He looked tired, and Lirael wondered if he'd been able to sleep after hearing the terrible news about his parents. She'd fallen asleep almost as soon as they'd got in the ... truck ... though she had no idea how long she'd been asleep. It didn't feel long, and it was still very dark, the only light coming from the Dog's collar.

"The trucks have stalled," reported Sam. "Though the wind's practically a westerly. I think we're getting too close to the hemispheres. We'll have to walk from here."

"Where are we?" Lirael asked. She stood up too quickly, and her head hit the canvas canopy, just missing one of the steel struts. There was a lot of noise outside now-shouting and the crash of hobnailed boots on the road-but behind all that there was also a constant dull booming. In her half-asleep state, it took a moment for her to understand it wasn't thunder, which she half-expected, but something else.

The Dog jumped out over the tailgate, and Lirael followed, somewhat more sedately. They were still on the Perimeter road, she saw, and it looked like early morning. The moon was up, a slim crescent rather than the nearly full moon of the Old Kingdom. It was subtly different in shape and color, too, Lirael noted. Less silver, and more a pale buttercup yellow.

The booming noise was coming from farther south, and there was a faint whistling with it. Lirael could see bright flashes on the horizon there, but it was not lightning. There was thunder as well, to the west, and the flashes from that direction were definitely lightning. As she looked, Lirael thought she caught the faintest whiff of Free Magic, though the wind was indeed a southerly. And she could sense Dead somewhere up ahead. Not more than a mile away.

"What is that noise, and the lights?" she asked Sam, pointing south. He turned to look but had to step back before he could answer, as soldiers started to trot past the trucks.

"Artillery," he said after a moment. "Big guns. They must be far enough back, so they aren't affected by the Old Kingdom or the hemispheres and can still fire. Um, they're sort of like catapults that throw an exploding device several miles, which hits the ground or blows up in the air and kills people."

"A total waste of time," interrupted Major Greene, who had come puffing up. "You can't hear any shells exploding, can you? So all they're doing is lobbing what might be as well be big rocks over, and even a direct hit with an unexploded shell won't do anything to the Dead. It'll just be a big mess for the ordnance people to clear up. Thousands of UXBs, and most of them white phosphorus. Nasty stuff! Come on!"

The Major puffed on past, with Lirael, the Dog, and Sam following. They left their packs in the trucks, and for a moment Lirael thought Mogget was still asleep in Sam's. Then she saw the little white cat up ahead behind the first double-timing platoon, dashing along the roadside as if he were chasing a mouse. As he pounced, she recognized that was exactly what he was doing. Hunting something to eat.

"Where are we?" asked Lirael as she easily caught up to Major Greene. He looked at her, took a coughing breath, and nodded his head at Lieutenant Tindall, who was up ahead. Lirael got the hint. She ran forward to the younger officer and repeated her question.

"About three miles from the Perimeter's Western Strongpoint," replied Tindall. "Forwin Mill is about sixteen miles south of there, but hopefully we'll be able to stop this Hedge at the Wall-First Platoon, halt!"

The sudden order surprised Lirael, and she ran on a few steps before she saw the soldiers in front had stopped. Lieutenant Tindall barked out some more orders, repeated by a sergeant at the front, and the soldiers ran off to either side of the road, readying their rifles.

"Cavalry, ma'am!" snapped Tindall, taking her arm and urging her to the side of the road. "We don't know whose."

Lirael rejoined Sam and drew her sword. They stared down the road, listening to the beat of hooves on the metaled road. The Dog stared, too, but Mogget played with the mouse he'd caught. It was still alive, and he kept letting it go, only to snap it up after it had run a few feet, holding it frantic and terrified in his partly open mouth.

"Not Dead," pronounced Lirael.

"Or Free Magic," said the Disreputable Dog with a loud sniff. "But very afraid."

They saw the horse and rider a moment later. He was an Ancelstierran soldier, a mounted infantryman, though he had lost his carbine and saber. He shouted as he saw the soldiers.

"Get out of the way! Get out of here!"

He tried to ride on, but the horse shied as soldiers spilled out on the road. Someone grabbed the bridle and brought the horse to a halt. Others dragged the man roughly from the saddle as he tried to slap the horse on with his hands.

"What's going on, man?" asked Major Greene roughly. "What's your name and unit?"

"Trooper 732769 Maculler, sir," replied the man automatically, but his teeth chattered as he spoke, and sweat was pouring down his face. "Fourteenth Light Horse, with the Perimeter Flying Detachment."

"Good. Now tell me what's going on," said the Major.

"Dead, all dead," whispered the man. "We rode in from due south, through the fog. Strange, twisty fog ... We caught them with these big silver ... like half oranges, but huge ... They were putting them on carts, but the draft horses were dead. Only they weren't dead, they moved. The horses were pulling the carts even though they were dead. Everyone dead ..."

Major Greene shook him, very hard. Lirael put her hand forward as if to stop him, but Sam held her back.

"Report, Trooper Maculler! The situation!"

"They're all dead but me, sir," said Maculler simply. "Me and Dusty fell in the charge. By the time we got up, it was all over. Something made us sick. Maybe there was gas in the fog. Everyone in the reconaissance troop went down, the horses, too, or running free. Then there were these things lying all around the carts. Bodies, we thought, dead Southerlings, but they got up as we fell. I saw them, swarming over my mates ... thousands of monsters, horrible monsters. They're coming this way, sir."

"The silver hemispheres," interrupted Lirael urgently. "Which way did the carts go?"

"I don't know," mumbled the man. "They were headed south, straight at us, when we ran into them. I don't know after that."

"Hedge is across and the hemispheres are already on their way to the Lightning Farm," said Lirael to the others. "We have to get there before they do! It's our last chance!"

"How?" asked Sam, his face white. "If they're already across the Wall ..."

Lieutenant Tindall had the map out and was trying the switch on a small electric flashlight, which failed to work. Suppressing a curse with an apologetic glance at Lirael, he held the map to the moonlight.

As he did, Lirael felt her Death sense twitch, and she looked up. She couldn't see anything down the road ahead, but she knew what was coming. Dead Hands. A very large number of Dead Hands. And there was something else, too. A familiar cold presence. One of the Greater Dead, not a necromancer. It had to be Chlorr.

"They're coming," she said urgently. "Two groups of Hands. About a hundred in front, and a lot more farther back."

The Major barked out orders and soldiers ran in all directions, mostly forward, carrying tripods, machine-guns, and other gear. A medical orderly led Trooper Maculler away, his horse following obediently behind. Lieutenant Tindall shook the map and squinted at it.

"Always on the bloody folds, or where a map joins!" he cursed. "It looks like we could head southeast from the crossroads back there, then cut southwest and loop up to Forwin Mill from the south. The trucks might work if we do it that way. We'll have to push them back to start with."

"Get to it then!" roared Major Greene. "Take your platoon to push. We'll hold out here as long as we can."

"Chlorr leads them," said Lirael to Sam and the Dog. "What should we do?"

"We cannot reach the Lightning Farm before Hedge on foot," said Sam quickly. "We could take that man's horse, but only the two of us could ride, and it is sixteen miles in the dark-"

"The horse is done in," interrupted Mogget. He was chewing, and the words weren't very clear. "Couldn't carry two if it wanted to. Which it doesn't."

"So we'll have to go with the soldiers," said Lirael. "Which means holding off Chlorr and the first wave of the Dead long enough to get the trucks pushed back to where they'll work."

She looked down the road past the soldiers, who were kneeling behind a tripod-mounted machine-gun. There was just enough moon- and starlight to make out the road and the stunted bushes on either side, though they were stark and colorless. As she watched, darker shapes blotted out the lighter parts of the landscape. The Dead, shambling close together in an unplanned and unorganized mob. A larger, darker shape was at the fore, and even from several hundred yards away, Lirael could see the fire that burned inside the shadow.

It was Chlorr.

Major Greene saw the Dead, too, and suddenly shouted right near Lirael's ear.

"Company! Two hundred yards at twelve o'clock, Dead things en masse in the road, fire! Fire! Fire!"

His shouts were followed by the mass clicking of triggers, loud even after the shouts. But nothing else happened. There was no sudden assault of sound, no crack of gunfire. Just clicks and muttered exclamations.

"I don't understand," said Greene. "The wind's westerly, and the guns usually work long after the engines stop!"

"The hemispheres," said Sam, with a glance at the Dog, who nodded. "They are a source of Free Magic on their own, and we are close to them. Hedge has probably also worked the wind. We might as well still be in the Old Kingdom, as far as your technology goes."

"Damn! First and Second Platoon, form up on the road, two ranks on the double!" ordered Greene. "Archers at the rear! Gunners, take your bolts and draw your swords!"

There was a sudden bustle as the machine-gunners took the bolts out of their weapons and drew their swords. Lirael drew her sword, too, and after a moment's hesitation Saraneth. She wanted to use Kibeth for some reason-it felt more familiar to her touch-but to deal with Chlorr she would need the authority of the bigger bell.