Mice chewed books. All librarians disliked mice, and Lirael was no exception. She was quite pleased to discover that becoming an Abhorsen had not removed that essential part of the librarian in her. She still hated silverfish as well.

"There is no point bargaining with the creature," said the Dog. "He will do as he is told."

"Fish when available, and mice, and a songbird," said Mogget, emerging from the pack, his little pink tongue tasting the air as if the fish were even now in front of him.

"No songbird," said Lirael firmly.

"Very well," agreed Mogget. He cast a disdainful glance at the Dog. "A civilized agreement, and in keeping with my current form. Food and lodging in return for what help I care to offer. Better than being a slave."

"You are a-" the Dog began hotly, but Lirael grabbed her collar and she subsided, growling.

"There's no time for bickering," said Lirael. "Hedge let Mareyn-the Guard-go, intending to enslave her spirit later-a slow death makes for a more powerful spirit. He knows roughly where she died, and he may have had other servants in Death who will report my presence. So we need to get going."

"We should ..." Sam began as Lirael started to walk off. "We have to give her a proper ending."

Lirael shook her head, a diagonal motion that was neither agreement nor refusal, but simply weariness.

"I must be tired," she said, wiping her brow again. "I promised her I would."

Like the bodies of the merchant party, Mareyn's body, if left here, could become inhabited by another Dead spirit, or Hedge might be able to use it for even worse things.

"Can you do it, Sam?" Lirael asked, rubbing her wrist. "I'm a bit worn out, to be honest."

"Hedge may smell the magic," warned the Dog. "As may any Dead creatures that are close enough. Though the rain will help."

"I've already cast a spell," said Sam apologetically. "I thought we were being attacked-"

"Don't worry," interrupted Lirael. "But hurry."

Sam went over to the body and drew the Charter marks in the air. A few seconds later, a white-hot shroud of fire enveloped the body, and soon there was nothing left for any necromancer save the blackened rings of mail.

Sam turned to go then, but Lirael stepped forward, and three simple Charter marks fell from her open hand into the bark of the tree above the ashes. She spoke to the marks, placing her words there for any Charter Mage to hear in the years ahead, for as long as the tree might stand.

"Mareyn died here, far from home and friends. She was a Royal Guard. A brave woman, who fought against a foe too strong for her. But even in Death she did her duty and more. She will be remembered. Farewell, Mareyn."

"A fitting gesture," said the Dog. "And a-"

"Fairly stupid one," interrupted Mogget, from behind Sam's head. "We'll have the Dead down on us in minutes if you keep doing all this magic."

"Thank you, Mogget," said Lirael. "I'm glad you're helping us already. We are leaving now, so you can go back to sleep. Dog-please scout ahead. Sam-follow me."

Without waiting for an answer, she struck off up towards the ridgeline, heading for a point where the trees clustered more thickly together. The Dog ran up behind her, then slipped around to get ahead, her tail wagging.

"Bossy, isn't she?" remarked Mogget to Sam, who was following more slowly. "Reminds me of your mother."

"Shut up," said Sam, pushing aside a branch that threatened to slap him in the face.

"You do know that we should be running as fast as we can in the other direction," said Mogget. "Don't you?"

"You told me before, back at the House, that's there's no point running away or trying to hide," snapped Sam. "Didn't you?"

Mogget didn't answer, but Sam knew he hadn't fallen asleep. He could feel the cat moving around in his pack. Sam didn't repeat his question, because the slope was becoming steeper and he needed all his breath. Any thoughts of conversation quickly slipped away as they climbed farther, weaving between the trees and over fallen logs, torn out of the hillside by the wind and their inability to set deep roots.

At last they reached the ridge, sodden despite their oilskins, and wretchedly tired from the climb. The sun, lost somewhere in cloud, was not far off setting, and it was clear they couldn't go much farther before nightfall.

Lirael thought of calling a rest, but when she gestured at the Dog, the hound ignored her, pretending she couldn't see the frantic hand signals. Lirael sighed and followed, thankful that the Dog had turned to the west and was following the ridge now, instead of climbing down. They kept on for another thirty minutes or so, though it felt like hours, till at last they came to a point where a landslide had carved out a great swathe of open ground down the northern face of the ridge.

The Dog stopped there, choosing a stand of ferns that would shelter them. Lirael sat down next to her, and Sam staggered in a minute later and collapsed like a broken concertina. As he sat, Mogget climbed out of his pack and stood on his hind legs, using Sam's head as a rest for his two front paws.

The four of them looked down through the clearing, out and along the valley, all the way to the Red Lake, a dull expanse of water in the distance, lit by flashes of lightning and what little of the setting sun made it through the cloud.

Nick's pit was clearly visible too, an ugly wound of red dirt and yellow clay in the green of the valley. The land around it was constantly struck by lightning, the boom of the thunder rolling back to the four watchers, a constant background noise. Hundreds of figures, made tiny by the distance, toiled around the pit. Even from a few miles away, Lirael and Sam could feel that they were the Dead.

"What are the Hands doing?" whispered Lirael. Though they were hidden high on the ridge amongst the trees and ferns, she still felt that they were on the verge of detection by Hedge and his servants.

"I can't tell," replied Sam. "Moving something-that glittering thing-I think. Towards the lake."

"Yes," said the Dog, who was standing absolutely stiff next to Lirael. "They are dragging two silver hemispheres, three hundred paces apart."

Behind Sam's ear, Mogget hissed, and Sam felt a shudder run down his spine.

"Each hemisphere imprisons one half of an ancient spirit," said the Dog. Her voice was very low. "A spirit from the Beginning, from before the Charter was made."

"The one you said to Mogget not to name," whispered Lirael. "The Destroyer."

"Yes," said the Dog. "It was imprisoned long ago, and trapped within the silver hemispheres; and the hemispheres were buried deep beneath wards of silver, gold, and lead; rowan, ash, and oak; and the seventh ward was bone."

"So it's still bound?" whispered Sam urgently. "I mean, they might have dug up the hemispheres, but it's still bound inside them, isn't it?"

"For now," said the Dog. "But where the prison fails, little hope can be placed in the bonds. Someone must have found a way to join the hemispheres, though I cannot guess how, and where they are taking them....

"I am sorry to have failed you, Mistress," she added, sinking down on her belly, her chin digging into the ground with misery.

"What?" asked Lirael, looking down at the dejected Dog. For a moment she couldn't think of anything to say. Then she felt a little voice inside her ask, "What would an Abhorsen do?" and she knew that she must be what she was supposed to be. Undaunted, even though she felt exactly the opposite.

"What are you taking about? It's not your fault."

Her voice trembled for a second, but she disguised it with a cough before continuing.

"Besides, the ... the Destroyer is still bound. We'll just have to stop those hemispheres joining or whatever it is Hedge plans to do with them."

"We should rescue Nick," said Sam. He swallowed audibly, then added, "Though there's an awful lot of Dead down there."

"That's it!" exclaimed Lirael. "That's what we can do to start with, anyway. Nick will know exactly where they plan to take the hemispheres."

"She plans like your mother, too," said Mogget. "What are we supposed to do? Walk down there and ask Hedge to hand over the boy?"

"Mogget-" Sam started to say, and the Dog growled, but Lirael spoke over them. A plan of sorts had come to mind, and she wanted to get it out before it started to sound hopeless even to her.

"Don't be silly, Mogget. We'll rest for a while; then I'll put on the Charter-skin I made on the boat and fly down as an owl. The Dog can fly down too, and between both of us, we'll find Nick and sneak him away. You and Sam can follow us down, and we'll rendezvous near running water-that stream over there. By then we'll have daylight and running water, and we can find out what's happening from Nick. What do you think?"

"That is only the fourth-most stupid plan I have ever heard from an Abhorsen," replied Mogget. "I like the part about sleeping for a while, though you neglected to mention dinner."

"I'm not sure you should be the one to fly down," said Sam uncomfortably. "I'm sure I could get the hang of the owl shape, and I might be better able to convince Nick to come with us. And how can the Dog fly?"

"There won't be any convincing required," growled the Dog. "Your friend Nick must be largely a creature of the Destroyer. He will have to be compelled-and we must be wary of him and any powers he may have been granted. As to flying, I just make myself smaller and grow some wings."

"Oh," said Sam. "Of course. Grow some wings."

"We'll have to watch out for Hedge, too," added Lirael, who was belatedly wondering if perhaps there wasn't a better plan after all. "But it will have to be me who uses the Charter-skin. I made it to my size-it wouldn't fit you. I hope it isn't too crumpled in my pack."

"It'll take me at least two hours to get down to that creek-since I can't fly," said Sam, looking down the ridge. "Perhaps we should all go on later tonight; then you can fly from there. That way I'll be closer and ready immediately if there's any trouble. And you could lend me your bow, so I can spell some arrows while I'm waiting."

"Good idea," said Lirael. "We should go on. But the bow won't be much use if it keeps raining-and I don't think we can risk any more weather magic to stop it. That will give us away for sure."

"It'll stop before dawn," said the Dog with great authority.

"Humph," replied Mogget. "Anyone could have told them that. It's stopping now, for that matter."

Sam and Lirael looked up through the canopy of the trees, and sure enough, though the storm to the northwest was constant, the clouds above and to the east were parting to show the fading red wash of the sun and the first star of the night. It was Uallus, the red star that showed the way north. Lirael was heartened to see it, though she knew it was only a shepherd's tale that said Uallus granted luck if it was the first star in the sky.

"Good," said Lirael. "I hate flying in the rain. Wet feathers are a pain."

Sam didn't answer. It was getting dark, but the lightning around the pit made it possible to make out some things down in the valley in a sort of stop-start way. There was a square-shaped blob that could easily be a tent. Presumably Nick's tent, for there were no others visible.

"Hang on, Nick," whispered Sam. "We'll save you."

First Interlude TOUCHSTONE'S HAND CLASPED Sabriel's shoulder as they lay under the car. Neither of them could hear after the explosion, and they were dazed from the shock. Many of their guards were dead around them, and their eyes could not process the dreadful human wreckage that surrounded them. In any case, they were intent on their would-be assassins. They could see their feet approaching, and their laughter sounded muffled and distant, like noisy neighbors on the other side of a wall. Sabriel's shoulder as they lay under the car. Neither of them could hear after the explosion, and they were dazed from the shock. Many of their guards were dead around them, and their eyes could not process the dreadful human wreckage that surrounded them. In any case, they were intent on their would-be assassins. They could see their feet approaching, and their laughter sounded muffled and distant, like noisy neighbors on the other side of a wall.

Touchstone and Sabriel crawled forward, their pistols in their hands. The two guards who had also made it under the car crawled forward, too. One was Veran, Sabriel saw, still clutching her pistol despite the blood that ran down her hands. The other survivor was the oldest of all the guards, Barlest, his grizzled hair stained and no longer white. He had a machine rifle and was readying it to fire.

The assassins saw the movement, but it was too late. The four survivors fired almost at the same time, and the laughter was drowned in an assault of sudden gunfire. Empty brass cartridges rattled on the underside of the car, and acrid smoke billowed out between the wheels.

"To the boat!" shouted Barlest to Sabriel, gesturing behind him. She couldn't hear him properly at first, till he had shouted it three times: "Boat! Boat! Boat!"

Touchstone heard it, too. He looked at Sabriel, and she saw the fear in his eyes. But it was fear for her, she knew, not for himself. She gestured back towards the lane that ran between the houses behind them. That would take them to Larnery Square and the Warden Steps. They had boats there, and more guards disguised as river traders. Damed had carefully prepared several escape routes, but this was the closest. As in everything, he had thought only of the safety of his King and Queen.

"Go!" shouted Barlest. He had changed the drum on his automatic rifle, and he began firing short bursts to the right and left, forcing any of their attackers who had made it back to cover to keep their heads down.

Touchstone gripped Barlest's shoulder for a brief, final moment, then wriggled around and moved across to the other side of the car. Sabriel crawled next to him, and they briefly touched hands. Veran, next to her, took a deep breath and hurled herself out, leaping to her feet and running the second she was clear of the car. She got to the lane, crouched behind a fire hydrant, and covered Sabriel and Touchstone as they followed. But for the moment there were no shots apart from the disciplined bursts from Barlest, still under the car.

"Come on!" roared Touchstone, turning at the entrance to the lane. But Barlest did not come, and Veran grabbed Touchstone and Sabriel and pushed them down the lane, shouting, "Go! Go!"

They heard Barlest shout a battle cry behind them, heard his footsteps as he charged out from under the car on the opposite side. There was one long shuddering burst of automatic fire and several louder, single shots. Then there was silence, save for the clattering of their own boots on the cobbles, the pant of their labored breaths, and the beating of their hearts.

Larnery Square was empty. The central garden, usually the habitat of nannies and babies, was completely devoid of life. The explosion had probably happened only a few minutes ago, but that was enough. There had been plenty of trouble in Corvere since the rise of Corolini and his Our Country thugs, and the ordinary citizens had learned when to retreat quickly from the streets.

Touchstone, Sabriel, and Veran ran grimly through the square and clattered down the Warden Steps on the far side. A drunken bargeman saw them, three gun-wielding figures splattered in blood and worse, and was not so drunk that he got in the way. He cowered to one side, hunching himself into as small a ball as possible.

The Sethem River flowed dirtily past the short quay at the end of the steps. A man dressed in the oilskin thigh boots and assorted rags of a tide dredger stood there, his hands inside a barrel that he'd presumably just salvaged from the muddy river flats. As he heard the clatter on the stairs, his hands came out holding a sawed-off shotgun, the hammers cocked.

"Querel! A rescue!" shouted Veran.

The man carefully decocked the shotgun, pulled a whistle out from under his many-patched shirt and blew it several times. There was an answering whistle, and several more Royal Guards leapt up from a boat that was out of sight beneath the quay, the river being at low tide. All the guards were armed and expecting trouble, but from their expressions none expected what they saw.

"An ambush," exclaimed Touchstone quickly as they approached. "We must be away at once."

Before he could say any more, many hands grabbed him and Sabriel and practically threw them onto the deck of the waiting boat, Veran jumping on after them. The craft, a converted river tramp, was six or seven feet below the quay, but there were more hands to catch them. Even as they were hustled into the heavily sandbagged cabin, the engine was going from a slow idle to a heavy throb and the boat was shuddering into motion.

Sabriel and Touchstone looked at each other, reassuring themselves that they were still alive and relatively unhurt, though they were both bleeding from small shrapnel cuts.

"That is it," said Touchstone quietly, setting his pistol down on the deck. "I am done with Ancelstierre."

"Yes," said Sabriel. "Or it is done with us. We will not find any help here now."

Touchstone sighed and, taking up a cloth, wiped the blood from Sabriel's face. She did the same for him; then they stood and briefly embraced. Both were shaking, and they did not try to disguise it.

"We had best see to Veran's wounds," said Sabriel as they let go of each other. "And plot a course to take us home."

"Home!" confirmed Touchstone, but even that word wasn't said without both of them feeling an unspoken fear. Close as they had come to death today, they feared their children would face even greater dangers, and as both of them knew so well, there were far worse fates than simple death.

PART TWO.

Chapter Nine.

A Dream of Owls and Flying Dogs.

NICK WAS DREAMING the dream again, of the Lightning Farm, and the hemispheres coming together. Then the dream suddenly changed, and he seemed to be lying on a bed of furs in a tent. There was the slow beat of rain on the canvas above his head, and the sound of thunder, and the whole tent was lit by the constant flicker of lightning. the dream again, of the Lightning Farm, and the hemispheres coming together. Then the dream suddenly changed, and he seemed to be lying on a bed of furs in a tent. There was the slow beat of rain on the canvas above his head, and the sound of thunder, and the whole tent was lit by the constant flicker of lightning.

Nick sat up and saw an owl perched on his traveling chest, looking at him with huge, golden eyes. And there was a dog sitting next to his bed. A black and tan dog not much bigger than a terrier, with huge feathery wings growing out of its shoulders.

At least it's a different dream, part of him thought. He had to be almost awake, and this was one of those dream fragments that precede total wakefulness, where reality and fantasy mix. It was his tent, he knew, but an owl and a winged dog!

I wonder what that means, Nick thought, blinking his dream eyes.

Lirael and the Disreputable Dog watched him look at them, his eyes sleepy but still full of a fevered brightness. His hand clutched at his chest, fingers curled as if to scratch at his heart. He blinked twice, then shut his eyes and lay back on the furs.

"He really is sick," whispered Lirael. "He looks terrible. And there's something else about him ... I can't tell properly in this shape. A wrongness."