"No." Touchstone smiled, amused by his daughter's obvious belief that she could do a better job than he could when it came to looking for something. The smile faded as he went on. "This is not as simple as it appears, Ellimere. Sorcery is involved. Your mother thinks that we will find them when we least want to, and that they will not be living when we do."

"This is the heart of the matter," said Sabriel gravely. "Before we discuss it further, I think we should take further precautions against being overheard. Touchstone?"

Touchstone nodded and stood up. Drawing one of his swords, he concentrated for a moment. The Charter marks on his sword began to glow and move, till the whole blade was wreathed in golden light. Touchstone flicked the sword up, and the Charter marks leapt across to the nearest Great Stone, splashing on it like liquid fire.

For a moment nothing happened. Then other marks caught the light, and the golden flames spread to cover the whole Stone, roaring up like a crown-caught wildfire. More marks leapt to the next Stone till it kindled, too, and then to the next, until all six Great Stones were ablaze, and streams of bright Charter marks flew up and across to weave a tracery of light like a dome above the two barges.

Looking over the side, Sam saw that the golden fire had spread underwater, too, forming a crazy maze of marks that covered the reservoir floor. The four were now completely enclosed by a magical barrier, one that relied upon the power of the Great Stones. He wanted to ask how it was cast, and enquire about the nature of the spell, but his mother was already speaking.

"We can talk now without fear of being overheard, by natural ears or other means," said Sabriel. She took Sam's hand, and Ellimere's, holding them tight, so they felt the calluses on her fingers and palms, the result of so many years of wielding sword and bells.

"Your father and I are certain that the Southerlings were brought across the Wall to be killed-slain by a necromancer who has used the bodies to house Dead spirits who owe him allegiance. Only Free Magic sorcery can explain how the bodies and all other traces have disappeared, unseen by our patrols or the Clayr's Sight."

"But I thought the Clayr could See everything," said Ellimere. "I mean, they often get the time wrong, but they still See. Don't they?"

"Over the past four or five years the Clayr have become aware that their Sight is clouded, and possibly has always been clouded, in the region around the eastern sh.o.r.es of the Red Lake and Mount Abed," said Touchstone grimly. "A large area, which not coincidentally is also where our royal writ does not hold true. There is some power there that opposes both the Clayr and our authority, blocking their Sight and breaking the Charter Stones I have set there."

"Well, shouldn't we call out the Trained Bands and take them and the Guard and go down there and sort it out once and for all?" protested Ellimere, in the same tone that Sam imagined she had used when she led the Wyverley College hockey team back in Ancelstierre.

"We don't know where-or what-it is," said Sabriel. "Every time we undertake to really search the area for the source of the trouble, something happens somewhere else. We did think we might have found the root of it five years ago, at the Battle of Roble's Town-"

"The necromancer woman," interrupted Sam, who remembered the story well. He had thought a lot about necromancers over the past months. "The one with the bronze mask."

"Yes. Chlorr of the Mask," replied Sabriel, staring out at the golden barrier, obviously recalling unpleasant memories. "She was very old, and powerful, so I had presumed she was the architect of our difficulties there. But now I am not sure. It is clear someone else is still working to befuddle the Clayr and incite trouble across the Kingdom. There is also someone behind Corolini in Ancelstierre and perhaps even the Southerling wars as well. One possibility is the man you encountered in Death, Sam."

"The ... the necromancer?" asked Sam. His voice came out as a pathetic squeak, and he unconsciously rubbed his wrists, his sleeves briefly riding up to show the skin still scarred from the burns.

"He must have great power to raise so many Dead Hands on the other side of the Wall," replied Sabriel. "And with that power, I should have heard of him, but I have not. How has he kept himself hidden all these years? How did Chlorr hide when we scoured the Kingdom after Kerrigor's fall, and why did she reveal herself to attack Roble's Town? Now I am wondering if perhaps I underestimated Chlorr. She may even have evaded me at the last. I made her walk beyond the Sixth Gate, but I was sorely tired, and I did not follow her all the way to the Ninth. I should have. There was something strange about her, something more than the usual taint of Free Magic or necromancy...."

She paused, and her eyes stared out at nothing, unfocused. Then she blinked and continued. "Chlorr was old, old enough for other Abhorsens to have encountered her in the past, and I suspect that this other necromancer is also ancient. But I have found no record of either at the House. Too much knowledge was destroyed when the Palace burnt, and more has been lost besides, simply by the march of time. And the Clayr, while they keep everything in that Great Library of theirs, rarely find anything useful in it. Their minds are too much bent upon the future. I should like to look there myself, but that is a task that would take months, if not years. I think Chlorr and this other necromancer were in league, and may be still, if Chlorr has survived. But who leads and who follows is unclear. I also fear that we will find they are not alone. But whoever or whatever moves against us, we must make sure their plans come to naught."

The light seemed to darken as Sabriel spoke, and the water rippled as if an unwanted breeze had somehow pa.s.sed the protection of the golden light around the Stones.

"What plans?" asked Ellimere. "What are they ... it ... whatever ... going to do?"

Sabriel looked at Touchstone, and a brief flash of uncertainty pa.s.sed between them before she continued.

"We think that they plan to bring all two hundred thousand Southerling refugees into the Old Kingdom-and kill them," whispered Sabriel, as if they might be overheard after all. "Two hundred thousand deaths in a single poisoned minute, to make an avenue out of Death for every spirit that has lingered there from the First Precinct to the very precipice of the Ninth Gate. To summon a host of the Dead greater than any that has ever walked in Life. A host that we could not possibly defeat, even if all the Abhorsens who have ever lived were somehow to stand against them."

Chapter Twenty-Five.

A Family Conference Silence greeted Sabriel's words, a silence that went on and on, as they all imagined a host of the Dead two hundred thousand strong, and Sam struggled not to. A horde of the Dead, a great sea of stumbling, Life-starved corpses that stretched from horizon to horizon, inexorably marching towards him- words, a silence that went on and on, as they all imagined a host of the Dead two hundred thousand strong, and Sam struggled not to. A horde of the Dead, a great sea of stumbling, Life-starved corpses that stretched from horizon to horizon, inexorably marching towards him- "That will not happen, of course," said Touchstone, breaking into Sam's terrible imaginings. "We will make sure that it doesn't, that the refugees never even cross the Wall. However, we can't stop them on our side. The Wall is too long, with too many broken gates and too many old Crossing Points on the other side. So we must ensure that the Ancelstierrans don't send them across in the first place. Consequently your mother and I have decided to go to Ancelstierre ourselves-secretly, so not to arouse alarm or suspicion. We will go to Corvere and negotiate with their government, which will undoubtedly take several months. That means we will be relying on you two to look after the Kingdom."

More silence greeted this revelation. Ellimere looked deeply thoughtful but otherwise calm. Sam swallowed several times, then said, "What, ah, what exactly do you mean?"

"As far as both our friends and enemies need know, I will be on a diplomatic mission to the barbarian chiefs at their Southern Stop, and Sabriel will be going about her business as mysteriously as she always does," replied Touchstone. "In our absence, Ellimere will continue as co-regent with Jall Oren-everyone seems to have become accustomed to that. Sameth, you will a.s.sist her. But most important, you will continue in your studies of The Book of the Dead The Book of the Dead."

"Speaking of such things, I have something for you," added Sabriel, before Sam could interject. She pushed her pack across with obvious effort. "Look in the top."

Slowly, Sam undid the straps. He suddenly felt very sick, knowing that he must tell them now or he would not be able to. Ever.

There was an oilskin-wrapped package in the pack. Sameth slid it out slowly, his fingers gone cold and clumsy. His eyes seemed to be strangely blurry, too, and Sabriel sounded as if she were talking from another room.

"I found these at the House-or rather, the sendings had set them out. I don't know where they found them, or why they've got them out now. They are very, very old. So old that I have no record of who bore them first. I would have asked Mogget, but he still sleeps-"

"Except for when I caught that salmon last year," interjected Touchstone crossly. Mogget, the Abhorsen's cat-shaped familiar, was bound by Ranna, the Sleepbringer, first of the seven bells. He had woken only five or six times in nearly twenty years, on three of those occasions to steal and eat fish caught by Touchstone.

"Mogget would not wake," continued Sabriel. "But as I have my own, these are clearly meant for the Abhorsen-in-Waiting. Congratulations, Sam."

Sam nodded dumbly, the remaining package unopened in his lap. He didn't need to look to know that wrapped inside the crinkled oilskin were the seven Charter-spelled bells of an Abhorsen.

"Aren't you going to open it?" asked Ellimere.

"Later," croaked Sam. He tried to smile but only made his mouth twitch. He knew Sabriel was looking at him, but he couldn't meet her eyes.

"I'm glad the bells have come," said Sabriel. "Most Abhorsens before me worked with their successors, sometimes for many years, as I hope we will work together. According to Mogget, my father trained with his aunt for nearly a decade. I have often wished I had had the same opportunity."

She hesitated again and then said quickly, "To tell the truth, I will need your help, Sam."

Sam nodded, unable to speak, as the words of his confession dried up in his mouth. He had the birthright, he had the book, he had the bells. Obviously, he just had to try harder to read the book, he told himself, trying to overcome the panic that twisted knots in his stomach. He would would become the proper Abhorsen-in-Waiting everyone expected and needed. He had to. become the proper Abhorsen-in-Waiting everyone expected and needed. He had to.

"I'll do my best," he said, finally looking Sabriel in the eyes. She smiled, with a smile that made her whole face bright, and hugged him.

"I have to go to Ancelstierre, for I still know their ways much better than your father does," she said. "And quite a few of my old school friends have become influential, or have married so. But I didn't want to leave without knowing there was an Abhorsen here to protect the people from the Dead. Thank you, Sam."

"But I'm not ..." Sam cried out before he could stop himself. "I'm not ready. I haven't finished the book, I mean, and-"

"I'm sure you know more than you think," Sabriel said. "In any case, there should be little trouble now that spring is in full bloom. Every stream and river is flowing with snow-melt and spring rain. The days are getting longer. There never are any major threats from the Dead this late in spring, or through the summer. The most you'll have to deal with is a rogue Hand or perhaps a Mordaut. I have every confidence you can manage that."

"What about the missing Southerlings?" asked Ellimere, with a look that spoke volumes about her confidence in Sam. "Nine hundred Dead are a major threat."

"They must have disappeared into the area around the Red Lake, or the Clayr would have Seen them," said Sabriel. "So they should be confined there by the spring floods. I would go and deal with them first, but the greater danger lies with the many more Southerlings in Ancelstierre. We will have to trust in the flooded rivers, and in you, Sam."

"But-" Sam began.

"Mind you, the necromancer or necromancers who oppose us are not to be trifled with," continued Sabriel. "If they dare to confront you, you must fight them in Life. Do not fight one of them in Death again, Sam. You were brave to do so before, but also lucky. You must also be very careful with the bells. As you know, they can force you into Death, or trick you into it. Use them only when you are confident you have learned the lessons in the book. Do you promise?"

"Yes," said Sam. Somehow or other he barely had breath for that single word. But there was relief in it, for he'd been given a reprieve of sorts. He could probably sort out most of the Lesser Dead with Charter Magic alone. His resolution to be a proper Abhorsen had not banished the fear that still lurked in his heart, and his fingers were cold where they touched the wrapped-up bells.

"Now," said Touchstone, "I wonder if you have any insights into dealing with the Ancelstierrans, you two, from your schooling there. This Corolini, for instance, the leader of the Our Country Party. Could he be from the Old Kingdom himself, do you think?"

"After my time," said Ellimere, who had been a whole year out of school and seemed to consider her Ancelstierran days as ancient history.

"I don't know," replied Sam. "He was in the newspapers a lot before I left, but they never mentioned where he came from. My friend Nicholas might know, and he would be able to help, I think. His uncle is the Chief Minister, Edward Sayre, you know. Nick is coming to visit me next month, but you should be able to catch him before he leaves."

"He's coming here?" asked Touchstone. "I'm surprised they'll let him. I don't think the Army has issued a permit in years, apart from that lot of refugees-and that was a political show. The Army didn't have a choice."

"Nick can be very persuasive," said Sam, thinking of various sc.r.a.pes Nick had talked him into at school-and less often, out of the blame afterwards. "I asked Ellimere to seal a visa for him, for our side."

"I sent it ages ago," said Ellimere, with a snide glance at Sam. "Some of us are efficient, you know."

"Good," said Touchstone. "It will be a useful connection, and important for one of Ancelstierre's ruling families to see that we do not invent the stories they hear about the King-dom. I'll also make sure the Barhedrin Guard Post provides an escort from the Wall. It wouldn't help negotiations if we lose the Chief Minister's nephew."

"What are we negotiating with?" asked Ellimere. "I mean, down in Corvere they like to pretend we don't even exist. I was always having to convince stuck-up city girls that I wasn't making the Kingdom up."

"Two things," replied Sabriel. "Gold and fear. We have only a modest amount of gold, but it might be enough to tip the balance if it goes into the right pockets. And there are many Northerners who remember when Kerrigor crossed the Wall. We shall try to convince them that this will happen again if they send the Southerling refugees north."

"It couldn't be Kerrigor, could it?" asked Sam. "I mean, whoever is behind all the trouble."

"No," said Sabriel and Touchstone together. They exchanged a look, obviously remembering the terrible past and what Kerrigor had tried to do, both here in the Old Kingdom and in Ancelstierre.

"No," repeated Sabriel. "I looked in on Kerrigor when I visited the House. He sleeps still and forever under Ranna's spell, locked in the deepest cellar, bound with every Mark of ward and guard your father and I have ever known. It is not Kerrigor."

"Whoever, or whatever, it is, they shall be dealt with," said Touchstone, his voice powerful and regal. "We four shall see to that. But for now, I suggest we all drink some mulled wine and talk of better things. How was the Midwinter Festival? Did I tell you that I danced the Bird of Dawning when I was your age, Sam? How did you do?"

"I forgot the cups," said Sam, handing over the still-warm jug.

"We can drink from the jug," said Sabriel, after a moment when no one chose to answer Touchstone's question. She took the jug and expertly poured a stream of wine into her mouth. "Ah, that's good. Now tell me, how was your birthday, Sam? A good day?"

Sam answered mechanically, hardly noticing Ellimere's rather more pointed interjections. Clearly, his parents hadn't spoken to Jall yet, or they would be asking different questions. He was relieved when they started questioning Ellimere, gently teasing her about her tennis and all the young men who were trying to learn this new sport. Obviously, gossip about his sister had traveled faster than news of Sam's shortcomings. He was brought briefly back into the conversation when Ellimere accused him of refusing to make any more racquets, which was a shame because no one else could make them quite so well, but a quick promise to produce a dozen dropped him out again.

The others continued to talk for a while, but the dark future weighed heavily on them all. Sameth, for his part, couldn't stop thinking about the book and the bells. What would he would do if he were actually called upon to repel an incursion by the Dead? What would he do if it turned out to be the necromancer who'd tortured him in Death? Or even worse, what if there were some still more powerful enemy, as Sabriel feared?

Suddenly he blurted out, "What if it ... this Enemy ... isn't behind Corolini? What if he's going to do something else while you're both gone?"

The others, who were in the middle of a conversation about Heria, who'd tripped over her own dress and catapulted into Jall Oren at an afternoon party in honor of the Mayor of Sindle, looked up, startled.

"If that is so, we will be just a week away, ten days at the most," said Sabriel. "A message-hawk to Barhedrin, a rider to the Perimeter, a telegraph from there or Bain to Corvere, train back to Bain-maybe even less than a week. But we think that whatever this Enemy-as you have dubbed it so well-plans, it must involve a great number of the Dead. The Clayr have Seen many possible futures in which our entire Kingdom is nothing more than a desert, inhabited only by the Dead. What else could bring this about but the sort of ma.s.sing of the Dead that we suspect? And that could be brought about only by killing all those poor, unprotected refugees. Our people are too well guarded. In any case, apart from Belisaere, there are not two hundred thousand people in one place in all the Kingdom. And certainly not two hundred thousand without a single Charter mark amongst them."

"I don't know what else it could be," said Sam heavily. "I just wish you weren't going."

"Being the Abhorsen is a weighty responsibility," Sabriel said quietly. "One that I understand you are wary of shouldering, even when it is shared with me. But it is your destiny, Sam. Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker? I am sure you will do very well, and we will soon all be together again, speaking of happier things."

"When do you go?" asked Sam, unable to hide the hope of delay from his voice. Maybe he would be able to talk to Sabriel tomorrow, to get her help with The Book of the Dead The Book of the Dead, to overcome his paralyzing fear.

"Tomorrow, at dawn," replied Sabriel reluctantly. "Provided my leg is healed enough. Your father will ride with the real emba.s.sy to the Northern Barbarians, and I will fly west. But I will double back to pick him up tomorrow night, and we will then fly south to the House, to try to consult again with Mogget, then on to Barhedrin and the Wall. Hopefully this will confuse any spies who may be watching."

"We would stay longer," said Touchstone sadly, looking at his small family, so rarely all together in one place. "But as always, duty calls-and we must answer."

Chapter Twenty-Six.

A Letter from Nicholas Sam left the reservoir that night with an empty wine jug, a bandolier of bells, a heavy heart, and much to think upon. Ellimere went with him, but Sabriel stayed behind, needing to spend the night within the circle of Great Charter Stones to speed her healing. Touchstone stayed with her, and it was obvious to the two children that their parents wished to be alone. Probably to discuss the shortcomings of their son, Sam thought as he wearily climbed the stairs, the package of bells in his hand. reservoir that night with an empty wine jug, a bandolier of bells, a heavy heart, and much to think upon. Ellimere went with him, but Sabriel stayed behind, needing to spend the night within the circle of Great Charter Stones to speed her healing. Touchstone stayed with her, and it was obvious to the two children that their parents wished to be alone. Probably to discuss the shortcomings of their son, Sam thought as he wearily climbed the stairs, the package of bells in his hand.

Ellimere wished him an almost friendly good night at the door to her chambers, but Sam didn't go to bed. Instead he climbed another twisting stair to his tower workroom and spoke the word that brought the Charter lights to life. Then he put the bells in a different cupboard from the book, locking them out of sight if not out of mind. After that, he half-heartedly tried to resume work on a clockwork and Charter Magic cricketer, a batsman six inches high. He had some ideas of making two teams and setting them to play, but neither the clockwork nor the magic yet worked to his satisfaction.

Someone knocked on the door. Sam ignored it. If it was a servant, he'd call or go away. If it was Ellimere, she'd just barge in.

The knock was repeated, there was some sort of m.u.f.fled call, and Sam heard something slide under the door, followed by footsteps going back down the stairs. A silver tray was on the floor, with a very ragged-looking letter upon it. Judging from the state it was in, it had to be from Ancelstierre, and that meant it was from Nicholas.

Sam sighed, put on his white cotton gloves, and picked up a pair of tweezers. Receiving one of Nick's letters was always more of a forensic exercise than a matter of reading. He picked up the tray and carried it over to his bench, where the Charter marks were brightest, and began to peel the paper apart and piece the rotten bits together.

Half an hour later, as the clock in the Grey Tower clanged out a dozen strokes for midnight, the letter was laid out clearly enough to read. Sam bent over it, his frown deepening the further he read.

Dear Sam, Thanks for organizing the Old Kingdom visa for me. I don't know why your Consul at Bain was so reluctant to give me one. Lucky you're a Prince, I guess, and can get things done. I didn't have any trouble at this end. Father called Uncle Edward, who pulled the appropriate strings. Practically no one in Corvere even knew you could get a permit to cross the Perimeter. Anyway, I suppose it shows that Ancelstierre and the Old Kingdom aren't that different. It all comes down to who you know.

In any case, I intend to leave Awengate tomorrow, and if all the train connections go smoothly, I will be in Bain by Sat.u.r.day and across the Wall by the 15th. I know this is earlier than we agreed, so you won't be able to meet me, but I'm not just rushing in on my own. I've hired a guide-a former Crossing Point Scout I ran into in Bain. Quite literally, in fact. He was crossing the road to avoid a demonstration by these One Country fellows, stumbled and nearly knocked me over. But it was a fortuitous meeting, as he knows the Old Kingdom well. He also confirmed something I've read about a curious phenomenon called the Lightning Trap. He has seen it, and it certainly sounds worth studying.

So I think we will go and take a look at this Lightning Trap en route to your undoubtedly charming capital of Belisaere. My guide didn't seem at all surprised that I knew you, by the way. Perhaps he is as unimpressed by royalty as some of our former schoolfellows!

In any case, the Lightning Trap is apparently near a town called Edge, which I understand is not too far out of the direct route north to you. If only you people believed in normal maps and not quasi-mystical memorization aided by blank pieces of paper!

I look forward to seeing you in your native habitat-almost as much as I look forward to investigating the curious anomalies of your Old Kingdom. There is surprisingly little written about it. The College library has only a few old and highly superst.i.tious texts and the Radford little more. It never gets mentioned in the papers, either, except obliquely when Corolini is raving on in the Moot about sending "undesirables and Southerlings" to what he calls "the extreme North." I expect that I will be an advance guard of one "undesirable" in his terms!

Everything about the Old Kingdom seems to fall under a conspiracy of silence, so I am sure there will be many things for an ambitious young scientist to discover and reveal to the world.

I hope you are quite recovered, by the way. I have been ill myself, on and off, with chest pains that seem to be some sort of bronchitis. Strangely enough, they get worse the farther south I go, and were terrible in Corvere, probably because the air is absolutely filthy. I've spent the last month in Bain, and have barely been troubled. I expect I will be even better in your Old Kingdom, where the air should be positively pristine.

In any case, I look forward to seeing you soon, and remain your loyal friend, Nicholas Sayre

P.S. I don't believe Ellimere is really six foot six and weighs twenty stone. You would have mentioned it before.

Sameth put the letter down, careful not to break what was left of it.

After he'd finished, he read the letter again, hoping that the words had somehow changed. Surely Nick wouldn't cross into the Old Kingdom with only a single-and possibly untrustworthy-guide? Didn't he realize how dangerous the Borderlands near the Wall were? Particularly to an Ancelstierran, lacking a Charter mark and any sense of magic. Nick wouldn't even be able to test whether his guide was a real man, a tainted Charter bearer, or even a Free Magic construct, powerful enough to cross the Perimeter without detection.

Sam bit his lip at the thought, teeth tapping at the skin in unconscious concern, and consulted his almanac. According to that, the fifteenth was three days ago, so Nick must have already crossed the Wall. So it was too late to get there, even by Paperwing, or to find one of the Palace message-hawks and send it with orders to the guards. Nick had a visa for himself and a servant, so the Barhedrin Post wouldn't detain him. He would be in the Borderlands now, heading towards Edge.

Edge! Sam bit his lip harder. That was far too close to the Red Lake, and the region where the necromancer Chlorr had destroyed the Stones and even now the Enemy hid and hatched its plans against the Kingdom. It was the worst possible place for Nick to go!

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts and made him bite his lip even harder, so he tasted blood. Irritated, he called out, "Yes! Who is it!"

"Me!" said Ellimere, breezing in. "I hope I'm not disturbing the act of creation or anything?"

"No," Sameth replied warily. He indicated his workbench with a half wave and a shrug, implying that his work wasn't going well.