It eady climb to t top of Cloven Crest, teeper and more difficult. trong noo t  t had grown much colder.

    Sabriel considered a Cer-spell for  sired, and t of t cost more topped instead and s   oo large, needing severe buckling-in  and t  it ainly windproof.

    Feeling relatively , ion of teep ted to cutting steps out of te—steps noo sliding a.

    So prone to sliding, t Sabriel reacop  realizing it,  for t of t step.  ually  t a next step.

    Cloven Crest lay before  to form a miniature plateau,  depression in t, cigars, brig, stark  te. trees, no vegetation at all, but in ter of t, a dark grey stone cast a long moonshadow.

    It imes , and looked  it dohe middle.

    Sabriel rue Cer Stone before, but so be  like ter marks running like quicksilver tone, forming and dissolving, only to re-form again, in a neverending story t told of the world.

    ter marks on tone, but till, as frozen as tions, carved into a sculptured stone.

    It   s t about it properly. S of ligter of tone, but forgotten lessons remembered too late told   so. Only some terrible po a Cer Stone.

    So tone, fear rising in oots first groronger and colder, too, out on ting, as its memories of  back remembrance of certain pages of tales of old by little girls in tory, far from the Old Kingdom.

    Fears came ill Sabriel  led to to tone.

    Dark patc it  until Sabriel pus to tone t s .

    umbled back overbalancing into tcone  been cleaned away by rain or snow . . . wone never would be clean.

    A Cer Mage one. Sacrificed by a necromancer to gain access to Deato  break to Life.

    Sabriel bit ill it  and  unconsciously, fidgeted, er marks in nervousness and fear.

    t sort of sacrifice  cer of t noail. It o ten from t green-bound book—or o forget. Only a very po spell. Only a totally evil one  to. And evil breeds evil, evil taints places and makes ttractive to furts of . . .

    “Stop it!” ill s imaginings. It ting colder by te. So make a decision: to camp and call o move on immediately in some random direction in t so summon her guide from somewhere else.

    t part of it all  o enter Deat briefly, to call and converse  o do so ed a semi-permanent entry, as if a door  w migche cold river beyond.

    Sabriel stood for a minute, sening, every sense concentrated, like some small animal t knoor s nearby.  learning Cer Magic from Magistrix Greenower of yverley College.

    At te, s camping  of tion. Soo frigo sleep anyone. But it o call  to o ect er Magic as best ser Deation, summon  directions and get out as quickly as possible. Quicker, even.

    ition. Sabriel dropped uffed some dried fruit and offee in ed tative pose t made Cer Magic easier.

    After bit of trouble offee and eeter marks t  ect ime, and pulled t of ter.

    traced rouglines in t eac of t to o the ground.

    t mark  to troyed stone, and it almost failed. Sabriel o close o force it to leave t ation of t ed the snow.

    Sabriel ignored it, quelling t  bile to ting to truggle er mark.

    S golden lines s and te, if s  sook off ing the bells.

    “Ranna,” souc, t bell. Ranna t, lo brougs wake.

    “Mosrael.” to Deat brougener into Life.

    “Kibet and contrary bell. It could give freedom of movement to one of t gate. Many a necromancer umbled .

    “Dyrim.” A musical bell, of clear and pretty tone. Dyrim  ten lost. But Dyrim could also still a tongue t moved too freely.

    “Belgaer.” Anotricksome bell, t sougo ring of its o necromancers scorned to use. It could restore independent t, memory and all tterns of a living person. Or, slipping in a careless hem.

    “Saranet, lo bell. trengt so the wielder’s will.

    And last, t bell, till, even in t kept it silent.

    “Astarael, the Sorrowful,” whispered Sabriel.

    Astarael  cast everyone o Deathe ringer.

    Sabriel’s ouctled on Saranetrap and s clapper, freed of tly, like the growl of a waking bear.

    Sabriel stilled it,   to tion. Cer marks along t t and flickered into life. Sabriel c, as portents could sometimes be seen in suchings.

    Strange marks raced across transmuting into tion, one t Sabriel kneer into Death.

    Unseen by Sabriel, tion began again, but parts of it  to slay t it usually said. No continued, “the King quenched me, Abhorsen wields me.”

    Sabriel, eyes closed no t t, brig like suns timate cold and, opening  of Death.

    it of epped tiffened, and fog ble eaceadied again, but ter still—and  out.

    tly, but Sabriel set  against t and ignored bot and trating on looking around, alert for a trap or ambus  at ticular entry point to Deater tumbling te, but notrange mewlings.

    No dark, formless stes, s.

    Carefully ion, Sabriel looked all around o one of ts in ayed ready in  , s a paper boat and, still one- out to its proper sifully  luminous in t, it ly round stain at its boed a drop of blood from her finger.

    Sabriel laid it flat on ed it to  as if s fle launc  so breat breasted a ripple, rigself and surged a. In a fe  of sige.

    It ime in  Sabriel  suc. o make t o use to be paid, a price mucer than a drop of blood.

    As events s time, Sabriel kneo expect. Still, illed for a moment some ten or ty, or forty, minutes later—time being slippery in Deats clapper free, ing to be e illed because someone . . . someth.

    Sabriel  ed .