Part 29 (1/2)

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 s.h.i.+fting 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 s.h.i.+eld 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 s.h.i.+vering. ”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, pus.h.i.+ng 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.