“I am not one to blame a messenger for idings,” said ea over to Sabriel, able c you bring t news I have heard for many years.”
“At least I am a living messenger . . . and a friendly one,” Sabriel said quietly. S really t beyond o expand o understand t
to different people. udy at yverley College, cting about ierre tecer Magic and necromancy—ed vieing t only captured one dimension of the man.
“il Abo Sabriel’s remembrance of eacup in udy disappeared, banisea slopping over in her enamel mug and burning her fingers.
“O till w?”
“terated, patiently. “ill the dead are free?”
Sabriel t back to grimoire s every s of it still made her shudder.
It looked innocuous enougarnis if you looked closely, botcer marks. Marks of binding and blinding, closing and imprisonment. Only a trained necromancer could open t book . . .
and only an uncorrupted Cer Mage could close it. it s, and alook it a the end.
“It depends,” so consider tion objectively, letting emotion interfere. Sried to recall t ses, ters on music and ture of sound in truly dead, tes under t of t full moon. If rapped before te, tinue until ter icularly strong spirit breaks the weakened bonds.”
“So tell, in time,” said horyse.
“e een days till it is full.”
“It is possible I could bind the dead anew,”
Sabriel said cautiously. “I mean, I done it on t of scale. But I kno beyond te, to , I must get to hings . . . check some references.”
“ing look on his face.
“I don’t know,” replied Sabriel.
“?”
“I don’t kno four. I t’s supposed to be a secret.
Fat just among tty necromancers, Free Magic sorcerers, ches—”
“You don’t seem disturbed by your lack of directions,” interrupted t time, a of doubt, even fat into due to er Mage and necromancer.
“Fataugo o call a guide wions,” replied Sabriel coolly.
“And I kno’s less travel away.”
t silenced least for t.
anding cautiously, so t, o a steel filing cabinet t ing from t oozed betment.
Opening t iced out on table.
“e’ve never been able to get our —it just looked like a square of calfskin to me. A small magic, since teac, per so small . . .
Anyest version of our patrol map, so it only goes out about ten miles from t. tanding orders strictly forbid us to go further.
Patrols tend not to come back beyond t distance.
Maybe t, or maybe . . .”
one of voice suggested t even nastier to trols, but Sabriel didn’t question ion of t on table and, once again, excitement stirred up hin her.
“e generally go out along tracing it sandpapering of a master craftsman. “trols s or sout, till t the all.
t back to te.”
“ does ting to a blacked-in square atop one of ther hills.
“t’s a Cer Stone,” replied the Colonel.
“Or part of one no ruck by ligrols arted to call it Cloven Crest, and t if possible. Its true name is Barone once carried ter for a village of time, anyill exists it must be furtrols. e’ve never s of inants from it coming souto Cloven Crest. t is, op.
to seraction s, travelers and so on—but encounters ty. trols o see even t is, not creatures or Free Magic constructs, or too many of those.”
“I don’t understand,” muttered Sabriel. “Faten used to talk of villages and toies, in t of remember . . . I think.”
“Furto tainly,”
replied tion quite a feoies. e kno t say it h any fondness.”
Sabriel didn’t ans lay a mig. It miles afall if s fairly soon, and if it snooo er Stone did not bode to Deato tread. Cer Stones en erected en natural dooro t a s t of o he map.
S ill s ouc of .
“I er almost your age,” ly. “Back in Corvere, let o the Old Kingdom.”
Sabriel met tain, flickering beacons of adolescence.
“I am only eigside,”
souc ful motion. “But I first ered a Fifte Rester e. een I stalked and banis t came near t, but still . . . A year ago, I turned t feel young anymore.”
“I am sorry for t,” said t as if I y t goes I don’t imes a path.”
“‘Does ted, t er Magic, tion in t of her almanac.
t page, of the Dead.
“I’ve before,” remarked horyse.
“ does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” said Sabriel.
“It ,” added taste of ter marks ill in t’s all t words.”
“I can’t explain it.” Sabriel stempted a smile. “But I do kno are more to t at t, like: ‘traveler, embrace t, but do not take t.’ I must be on my way.”
t it y smile. tle ao let , o a course of action ternatives.
“Your papers are in order,” ing er of Ab do ot you pass.
But I can’t I am ting you out to meet some terrible danger. I can’t even send a patrol out rols already out there.”
“I expected to go alone,” replied Sabriel. Sed t, but felt a tinge of regret. A protective group of soldiers e a comfort. trange and dangerous land, even if it ement.
It take muco rise over it.
And alure of rouble, trapped and alone in ters of Death . . .
“Very well,” said !”
A ed anding on guard outside t, on teps up into tion trenchey’d heard.
“Prepare a crossing party,” snapped horyse.
“A single person to cross. Miss Abhorsen, here.
And Sergeant, if you or Private Raalk in your sleep about of your lives!”
“Yes, sir!” came tunate Private Raed, did seem half-asleep.
“After you, please,” continued uring tohe door. “May I carry your skis again?”
took no c came to crossing tood alone under t arce t pierced t arcood or knelt in a reverse arroe, and a dozen sed ts and t ttle faite tools of destruction.
tual gate in ting out of teetestimony to some explosion of modern cry or magical force.
It o Ancelstierre, h.
One caug it ligill it slid down ured by ongue.
ter asted no different from any oted snoaste of teen years. Dimly, s brougo Ancelstierre.
A ed of t from te. ting t t self reflected from ting for her.
itimbers of te.
Going to sno into ure.
tones of to call a ones like rain t.
“t cer marks run on tones, not looking at Sabriel.
Sabriel stepped out of te and pulled the snow.
“I wish your mission every success, Sabriel,”
continued oo long.”
ed, turned smartly to , and , slid s into the bindings.
teadily, but it th Road.
Fortunately, tters to eitime if s to t seemed to be several er in t ierre, sed to reac before dusk.
taking up s scabbard, and ter-spell for decided against it. t up, so te ted, greasy oo warm once s going.
iticed motion, se arm reac as t sice, concentrating on building up tes, sically flying up t te of the ground.