The blade came down.

Sam screamed.

The Disreputable Dog barked.

There was Charter Magic in the bark. It hit Chlorr as she struck. Her arms flashed gold and sizzled, white smoke gouting out of a thousand tiny holes. The blow that should have impaled Sam went awry, the sword sinking deep into the earth, so close that his hip was burnt by the flame.

All Chlorr's unnatural strength had gone into the blow. Now she struggled to free the weapon as the Dog advanced upon her, growling. The hound had grown and was now the size of a desert lion, with teeth and claws to match. Her collar shone with golden fire, the Charter marks shifting and joining in a wild dance.

The Dead creature let the sword go and backed away. Sam struggled to his feet as Chlorr drew back. He clenched his fists as he tried to calm himself, in preparation for casting a spell.

Lirael arrived a second later, completely out of breath. Gasping, she slowed to a walk and moved up behind the Dog.

Chlorr raised one shadowy fist, her fingernails elongating into thin blades of darkness. White smoke still eddied around her, but the holes in her arm had already closed.

She took one step forward, and the Dog barked again.

There was Free Magic power in this bark, reinforced with Charter-spells. Her collar shone even brighter, and Sam and Lirael had to half-close their eyes.

Chlorr flinched and raised her hands to shield her face. More white smoke poured out from behind her mask, and her body changed shape under the furs. She began to collapse in on herself, her clothes crumpling as the shadowflesh within leaked away.

"Curse you!" she shrieked.

The furs fell to the ground, and the bronze mask bounced on top of them. A shadow as dark and thick as ink flowed away from the Dog and Lirael, moving faster than any liquid ever spilled.

Lirael started to follow, but the Dog blocked her way.

"No," said the Dog. "Let it go. I have only forced it out of its shape. It is too powerful for me to send back into Death alone, or destroy."

"It was Chlorr," said Sam, white-faced and shivering. "Chlorr of the Mask. A necromancer my mother fought years ago."

"It is one of the Greater Dead now," said Mogget. "Back from beyond the Seventh or Eighth Gate."

Sam jumped several feet into the air. When he looked down, Mogget was sitting quite calmly near Chlorr's sword, as if he'd been there all the time.

"Where were you?" Sam asked.

"I've been looking around while you took care of things here," explained Mogget. "Chlorr has fled but will return. There are more Dead Hands less than two leagues to the west. A hundred of them at least, with Shadow Hands to lead them."

"A hundred!" exclaimed Sam as Lirael said, "Shadow Hands!"

"We'd better get back to the boat," said Sam. He looked at Chlorr's sword, quivering in the earth. No flames ran down it now, but the steel was as dark as ebony and etched with strange runes that wriggled and convulsed and made him feel nauseated.

"We should destroy this," he said. His head felt strangely fuzzy, and he found it difficult to think. "But ... but I don't know how to do it quickly."

"What about all these people?" asked Lirael. She couldn't call them bodies. She still couldn't believe they were all dead. It had happened so quickly, in just a few frenzied minutes.

Sam looked across the field. There were more stars out now, and a slim crescent of a moon had risen. In the cool light he saw that many of the slain people wore blue hats or scarves. A sc.r.a.p of blue material was caught in the claws of one of the Dead that Lirael had banished with her pipes.

"They're Southerlings," he said, surprised.

He walked over for a closer look at the nearest body, a fair-haired boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen. Sam's eyes showed more puzzlement than fear, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. "Southerling refugees. I guess they were trying to escape."

"Escape from what?" asked Lirael.

Before anyone could answer, a Dead creature howled in the distance. A moment later the howl was taken up by many dessicated, decaying throats.

"Chlorr has reached the Hands," said Mogget urgently. "We must leave now!"

The cat hurried away. Sam started to follow, but Lirael grabbed him by the arm.

"We can't just leave!" protested Lirael. "If we leave them, their bodies will get used-"

"We can't stay!" protested Sam. "You heard Mogget. There are too many to fight, and Chlorr will come back too!"

"We have to do something!" Lirael said. She looked at the Dog. Surely the Dog would help her! They had to perform the cleansing rite on the bodies or bind them so they couldn't be used to house spirits brought from Death.

But the Dog shook her head. "There's no time," she said sadly.

"Sam can get the bells!" protested Lirael. "We have to-"

The hound nudged Lirael behind the knee, pushing her on. The girl stumbled forward, tears welling up in her eyes. Sam and Mogget were already well ahead, hurrying towards the willows.

"Hurry!" said the Dog anxiously, after a glance over her shoulder. She could hear the clicking of many bones and smell decaying flesh. The Dead were closing fast.

Lirael wept as she broke into a shambling jog. If only she could run faster, or knew how to use the panpipes better. She might have been able to save even one of the refugees.

One of the refugees. One had had got away from the Dead. got away from the Dead.

"The man!" she exclaimed, breaking into a run. "The man in the river! We have to rescue him!"

Chapter Forty-Three.

Farewell to Finder Finder Even with the Dog's highly developed sense of smell and Mogget's unrivaled night vision, it took almost an hour to find the Southerling who'd managed to reach the river. Dog's highly developed sense of smell and Mogget's unrivaled night vision, it took almost an hour to find the Southerling who'd managed to reach the river.

He was still floating on his back, but his face was barely above the surface, and he didn't seem to be breathing. But as Sam and Lirael pulled him in closer to the boat, he opened his eyes and groaned with pain.

"No, no," he whispered. "No."

"Hold him," whispered Lirael to Sam. She quickly reached into the Charter, drawing out several marks of healing. She spoke their names and cupped them in her hand. They glowed there, warm and comforting, as she sought any obvious wounds to place them for best effect. Once the spell was active, they could pull him out of the water.

There was a huge dark stain of dried blood on the man's neck. But when she moved her hand to it, he cried out and tried to escape from Sam's grasp.

"No! The evil!"

Lirael pulled her hand back, puzzled. It was obviously Charter Magic she was about to cast. The golden light was clear and bright, and there was no stench of Free Magic.

"He's a Southerling," whispered Sam. "They don't believe in magic, even the superst.i.tions the Ancelstierrans believe in, let alone our magic. It must have been terrible for them when they crossed the Wall."

"Land across the Wall," sobbed the man. "He promised us land again. Farms to build, a place of our own ..."

Lirael tried again to place the spell, but the man shrieked and fought against Sam's hold. The waves he made ducked his head under several times, till Lirael had to take her hand away and let the spell go, away into the night.

"He's dying," said Sam. He could feel the man's life ebbing away, feel the cold touch of Death reaching out to him.

"What can we do?" asked Lirael. "What-"

"All dead," said the man, coughing. Blood came out with the river-water, bright in the moonlight. "At the pit. They were dead, but still they did his bidding. Then the poison ... I told Hral and Mortin not to drink ... four families-"

"It's all right," said Sam soothingly, though his voice was nearly breaking. "They ... they got away."

"We ran, and the Dead followed," whispered the Southerling. His eyes were bright, but they saw something other than Sam and Lirael. "Night and day we ran. They dislike the sun. Torbel hurt his ankle, and I couldn't ... couldn't carry him."

Lirael reached across and stroked the man's head. He flinched at first, but relaxed as he saw no strange light in her hands.

"The farmer said the river," continued the dying man. "The river."

"You made it," said Sam. "This is the river. The Dead cannot cross running water."

"Ahh," sighed the man, and then he was gone, slipping away to that other river, the one that would carry him to the Ninth Gate and beyond.

Sam slowly let go. Lirael raised her hand. The water closed over the man's face, and Finder Finder steered away. steered away.

"We couldn't save even one," whispered Lirael. "Not even one."

Sam didn't answer. He sat staring past her, out at the moonlit river.

"Come here, Lirael," said the Dog gently, from her post at the bow. "Help me keep watch."

Lirael nodded, her lower lip trembling as she tried to keep herself from sobbing. She clambered over the thwarts and threw herself down next to the Dog, and hugged her as hard as she could. The Dog bore this without a word, and said nothing about the tears that spilled off onto her coat.

Eventually, Lirael's grip loosened, and she slid down. Sleep had claimed her, the kind of sleep that comes only after all strength is exhausted and battles won or lost.

The Dog shifted a little to make Lirael more comfortable and twisted her head to look behind her in a way no normal dog could twist. Sam was asleep, too, curled up in the stern, the tiller moving slightly above his head.

Mogget seemed to be asleep, at his customary post near the mast. But he opened one bright green eye as the Dog looked back.

"I saw it, too," said Mogget. "On the Greater Dead, that Chlorr."

"Yes," said the Dog, her voice troubled. "I trust you will have no trouble remembering where your loyalties lie?"

Mogget didn't answer. He slowly closed his eye, and a small and secret smile spread across his mouth.

All through the night, the Disreputable Dog sat at the bow, while Lirael tossed and turned beside her. They pa.s.sed Qyrre in the early, silent hours of the morning, merely a white sail in the distance. Though it had been her original destination, Finder Finder did not try to put in to the dock. did not try to put in to the dock.

Lirael experienced a mild attack of panic when she awoke to the sound of a waterfall ahead. At this distance, it sounded like the buzz of many insects, and it took her a moment to figure out what it was. Once she did, she had a few anxious moments till she realized that Finder Finder was traveling quite slowly compared to the tree branches, leaves, and other flotsam racing past on either side of them. was traveling quite slowly compared to the tree branches, leaves, and other flotsam racing past on either side of them.

"We're in the channel, approaching Abhorsen's House," explained the Dog, as Lirael rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and stretched, in a futile effort to relieve her aches and kinks.

All the deaths of the night before seemed long ago. But not at all like a dream. Lirael knew that the face of the last Southerling, his look of relief as he finally knew he had escaped the Dead, would stay with her forever.

As she stretched, she looked at the huge ma.s.s of spray thrown up by the Ratterlin's fall over the Long Cliffs ahead. The river seemed to disappear into a great cloud that smothered the cliffs and the land beyond in a giant, undulating quilt of white. Then, just for a moment, the mist parted, and she saw a bright tower, its red-tiled, conical roof catching the sun. It looked like a mirage, shimmering in the cloud, but Lirael knew that she had come to Abhorsen's House at last.

As they drew closer, Lirael saw more red-tiled roofs emerge from the cloud, hinting at other buildings grouped around the tower. But she couldn't see more, because the whole island the House was built on was surrounded by a whitewashed stone wall that was at least forty feet high. Only the red tiles and some treetops were visible.

She heard Sam come forward from the stern, and he was soon next to her, looking ahead. By unspoken consent, they didn't talk about what had happened, though the silence was heavy between them.

Finally, desperate to say something, Sam took on the role of a tour guide.

"It doesn't look it, but the island is larger than a football field. Um, that's a game I used to play at school, in Ancelstierre. Anyway, the island is about three hundred yards long and a hundred yards wide. There's a garden and an orchard as well as the House itself-you can just see the blossoms on the peach trees, over on the right. Too early for fruit, though, unfortunately. The peaches here are fantastic, Charter knows why. The House isn't much compared to the Palace in size, but it is bigger than it looks, and there's a lot packed into it. Quite a bit different from your Glacier, I guess."

"I like it already," said Lirael, smiling, still looking ahead. There was the faint hint of a rainbow in the cloud, arching over the white walls, framing the House with a border of many colors.

"Just as well," muttered Mogget, as he appeared suddenly at Lirael's elbow. "Though you should be warned about the cooking."

"Cooking?" asked the Dog, licking her lips. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing," said Sam sternly. "The sendings are very good cooks."

"Do you have sendings for servants?" asked Lirael, who was curious about the difference between the Abhorsen's life and the Clayr's. "We do most of the work ourselves at the Glacier. Everyone has to take turns, especially with the cooking, though there are some people who specialize."

"No one apart from the family ever comes here," replied Sam. "I mean the extended family-those of the Blood, like the Clayr. And no one has to do anything, really, because there are so many sendings, all eager to help. I think they get bored when the place is empty. Every Abhorsen makes a few sendings, so they kind of multiply. Some are hundreds of years old."

"Thousands," said Mogget. "And senile, most of them."

"Where do we land?" asked Lirael, ignoring Mogget's mutterings. She couldn't see any gate or landing spot in the northern wall.

"On the western side," said Sam, raising his voice to counter the increasing roar of the falls. "We skirt around the island, almost to the waterfall. There's a landing stage there for the House, and the stepping-stones across to the western tunnel. Look, you can see where the tunnel entrance is, up on the bank."

He pointed at a narrow ledge halfway up the western riverbank, a grey stone outcrop almost as high as the House. If there was a tunnel entrance there, Lirael couldn't see it through the mist, and it seemed perilously close to the waterfall.

"You mean there are stepping-stones across that?" exclaimed Lirael, pointing to the edges where the waters rushed over in a torrent that was at least two hundred yards wide, extremely deep and going at a speed Lirael couldn't even guess at. Worse than that, Sam had told her that the waterfall was more than a thousand feet high. If they were somehow drawn out of the channel, Finder Finder would go over in seconds, and it was a very long way to fall. would go over in seconds, and it was a very long way to fall.

"On both sides," shouted Sam. "They go to the riverbanks, and then there are tunnels that lead down to the bottom of the cliffs. Or you can keep going over the banks and stay on the plateau, if you want."

Lirael nodded and gulped, looking at the point where the stepping-stones must cross from the House to the western sh.o.r.e. She couldn't even see them under all the spray and the churning of the water. She hoped she wouldn't need to, and remembered the Charter-skin that was now safely rolled up in the bag that held The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting The Book of Remembrance and Forgetting, ready to be put on. She could just fly across in the shape of a barking owl, screeching all the way.

A few minutes later, Finder Finder was next to the whitewashed walls. Lirael looked up at them, drawing an imaginary line from the boat's mast to the top of the walls. Somehow, the walls looked even higher close up, and they had curious marks that even fresh whitewash couldn't conceal. The sort of stains left by a flood that had reached almost to the top. was next to the whitewashed walls. Lirael looked up at them, drawing an imaginary line from the boat's mast to the top of the walls. Somehow, the walls looked even higher close up, and they had curious marks that even fresh whitewash couldn't conceal. The sort of stains left by a flood that had reached almost to the top.

Then they were at the wooden landing stage. Finder Finder gently b.u.mped against the heavy canvas fenders that hung there, but any sound from the b.u.mp was totally lost in the stomach-vibrating crash of the waterfall. Sam and Lirael quickly unloaded everything, gesturing to make themselves understood. The waterfall was too loud for them to hear even a shout, unless-as Sam demonstrated to Lirael-he was right against her ear, and then it hurt. gently b.u.mped against the heavy canvas fenders that hung there, but any sound from the b.u.mp was totally lost in the stomach-vibrating crash of the waterfall. Sam and Lirael quickly unloaded everything, gesturing to make themselves understood. The waterfall was too loud for them to hear even a shout, unless-as Sam demonstrated to Lirael-he was right against her ear, and then it hurt.

When everything was piled up on the landing stage, with Mogget perched on Lirael's pack and the Dog happily catching spray in her mouth, Lirael kissed Finder Finder's figurehead on the cheek and pushed the boat off the jetty. She thought she saw the carved face of the woman wink, and her lips curve up in a smile.