Lirael listened intently, but it was not Mogget’s voice she heard. It was her mother’s. When the cat finished, she looked up at the red-washed sky above and the glittering stars beyond the Wall and a single tear ran down her cheek, leaving a trail of silver, caught by the last moments of evening light.
“I’ve made your glamour,” said Sam, who had been so intent on his spells that he had totally missed what Mogget said. “You just need to step into it. Make sure you keep your eyes closed.”
Lirael turned to see the glowing outline hanging in the air and stumbled towards it. She had her eyes closed well before she walked into the spell. The golden fire spread across her face like warm, welcoming hands and brushed away her tears.
chapter fifteen
the perimeter
Sarge – there’s definitely something moving out there,” whispered Lance Corporal Horrocks, as he looked out over the sights of his Lewin machine gun. “Should I let ’em have a few rounds?”
“No bloody fear!” Sergeant Evans whispered back. “Don’t you know anything? If it’s a haunt or a Ghlim or something, it’ll just come over here and suck your guts out! Scazlo – get back and tell the Lieutenant something’s up. The rest of you, pass the word to fix bayonets, quiet like. And don’t nobody do nothing unless I say so.”
Evans looked again himself as Scazlo hurried back down the communications trench behind them. All along the main fighting trench there was the click of bayonets being fixed as quietly as possible. Evans himself strung his bow and loaded a flare pistol with a red cartridge. Red was the sign for an incursion from across the Wall. At least it would be the sign if it worked, he thought. There was a warm, northerly wind blowing in from the Old Kingdom. It was good for taking the chill out of the icy mud of the trenches, for spring had yet to fully banish the past winter, but it also meant that guns, planes, trip flares, mines and everything else technological might not work.
“There’s two of them – and something, looks like a dog,” whispered Horrocks again, his trigger finger slowly curling back from its orthodox position held straight against the trigger guard.
Evans peered into the darkness, trying to make something out himself. Horrocks wasn’t too bright, but he did have extraordinary night vision. A lot better than Evans. He couldn’t see anything, but there were tin cans tinkling together on the wire. Someone... or something... was slowly coming through.
Horrocks’s finger was inside the trigger guard now, the safety off, a full drum of ammunition on top, a round in the chamber. All he needed was the word, and maybe the wind to change.
Then he suddenly sighed, his trigger finger came out again and he leant back from the stock.
“Looks like some of our mob,” he said, no longer whispering. “Scouts. An officer and some poor bastard with a bandaged head. And one of them... you know... smeller dogs.”
“Sniffer dogs,” corrected Evans automatically. “Shut up.”
Evans was thinking about what to do. He’d never heard of Old Kingdom creatures taking the shape of an Ancelstierran officer or an Army dog. Practically invisible shadows, yes. Ordinary-looking Old Kingdom folk, yes. Flying horrors, yes. But there was always a first time—
“What’s up, Evans?” asked a voice behind him, and he felt an internal relief he would never show. Lieutenant Tindall might be a General’s son, but he wasn’t a good-for-nothing staff officer. He knew what was what on the Perimeter – and he had the Charter mark on his forehead to prove it.
“Movement in front, about fifty yards out,” he reported. “Horrocks thinks he can see a couple of Scouts, one wounded.”
“And a smell— sniffer dog,” added Horrocks.
Tindall ignored him, stepping up to peer over the parapet himself. Two dim shapes were definitely closing, whoever they were. But he could sense no inimicable force or dangerous magic. There was something... but if they were Crossing Point Scouts, they would both be Charter Mages as well.
“Have you tried a flare?” he asked. “White?”
“No, sir,” said Evans. “Wind’s northerly. Didn’t think it would work.”
“Very well,” said the Lieutenant. “Warn the men that I’m going to cast a light out in front. Everyone to stand ready for my orders.”
“Yes, sir!” confirmed Evans. He turned to the man at his side and said quietly, “Stand to the step! Light in front! Pass it on.”
As the word rippled down the line, the men stood up on the firing step, tension evident in their postures. Evans couldn’t see all the platoon – it was too dark – but he knew his corporals at each end would sort them out.
“Casting now,” said Lieutenant Tindall. A faint Charter mark for light appeared in his cupped hand. As it began to brighten, he threw it overarm like a cricket ball, directly out in front.
The white spark became brighter as it flew through the air, till it became a miniature sun, hovering unnaturally over no-man’s-land. In its harsh light all shadows were banished and two figures could clearly be seen following the narrow zigzagged trail through the wire entanglements. As Horrocks had said, they had a sniffer dog with them, and both wore the khaki uniforms of the Ancelstierran Army under the mail coats that were peculiar to the Perimeter Forces. Some indefinable unorthodoxy about their webbing gear and weapons also proclaimed them to be members of the Northern Perimeter Reconnaissance Unit, or as they were better known, the Crossing Point Scouts.
As the light fell on them, one of the two men put up his hands. The other, who was bandaged around the head, followed suit more slowly.
“Friendly forces! Don’t shoot!” shouted Sameth as the Charter light slowly faded above him. “Lieutenant Stone and Sergeant Clare coming in. With a sniffer dog!”
“Keep your hands up and come in single file!” shouted Tindall. Aside to his sergeant, he said, “Lieutenant Stone? Sergeant Clare?”
Evans shook his head. “Never heard of ’em, sir. But you know the Scouts. Keep themselves to themselves. The Lieutenant does look sort of familiar.”
“Yes,” murmured Tindall, frowning. The approaching officer did look vaguely familiar. The wounded sergeant was moving with the shuffling gait of someone forcing himself into action despite constant pain. And the sniffer dog had the correct khaki breastplate with its number stencilled on in white, and a broad, spiked leather collar. All together, they looked authentic.
“Stop there!” Tindall called as Sameth trod down a piece of unsupported concertina wire only ten yards from the trench. “I’m coming out to test your Charter marks.
“Cover me,” he whispered aside to Evans. “You know the drill if they’re not what they seem.”
Evans nodded, stuck four silver-tipped arrows in the mud between the duckboards for quick use, and nocked another. The Army didn’t issue or even recognise the use of bows and silver arrows, but like a lot of such things on the Perimeter, every unit had them. Many of the men were practised archers, and Evans was one of the best.
Lieutenant Tindall looked at the two figures, dim shapes again now that his spell was fading. He’d kept one eye closed against the light, as taught, to preserve his night vision. Now he opened it, noting once again that it didn’t seem to make that much of a difference.
He drew his sword, the silver streaks on it shining even with the dim starlight, and climbed out of the trench, his heart thumping so loud it seemed to be echoing inside his stomach.