“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 further, 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 further 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?”