Abhorsen by Garth Nix Page B

down stone, and around Lirael’s ankles. When she could see her ankles, because most of the time her legs were buried up to the shins in a mixture of wet leaves and mud.
    It was very hard going, and Lirael was more tired than she had thought possible. The rests, when they had them, consisted of finding the largest tree with the thickest foliage to keep out the rain, and the highest roots to sit on, to keep out of the mud. Lirael had found that she could sleep even in these conditions, though more than once she awoke, after the scant two hours they allowed themselves, to find herself lying in the mud rather than sitting above it.
    Of course, once they got back out in the rain, the mud soon washed off. Lirael wasn’t sure which was worse. Mud or rain. Or the middle course: the first ten minutes after moving out of shelter, when the mud was getting washed off and running down her face, hands, and legs.
    It was at exactly that time after a rest, with her total attention on getting the mud out of her eyes as they climbed up yet another gully, that they found a dying Royal Guard, propped up against the trunk of a sheltering tree. Or rather, the Disreputable Dog found her, sniffing her out as she scrabbled ahead of Lirael and Sam.
    The Guardswoman was unconscious, her red and gold surcoat stained black with blood, her mail hauberk ripped and torn in several places. She still held a notched and blunted sword firmly in her right hand, while her left was frozen in a spell-casting gesture she would never complete.
    Both Lirael and Sam knew that she was almost gone, her spirit already stepping across the border into Death. Quickly Sam bent down, calling up the most powerful healing spell he knew. But even as the first Charter mark flowered brightly in his mind, she was dead. The faint sheen of life in her eyes disappeared, replaced by a dull, unseeing gaze. Sam let the healing mark go and brushed her eyelids gently shut.
    “One of Father’s Guards,” he said heavily. “I don’t know her, though. She was probably from the Guard tower at Roble’s Town or Uppside. I wonder what she was doing . . .”
    Lirael nodded, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the corpse. She felt so useless. She kept on being too late, too slow. The Southerling in the river, after the battle with Chlorr. Barra and the merchants. Now this woman. It was so unfair that she should die alone, with only a few minutes between death and rescue. If only they’d been quicker climbing the hill, or if they hadn’t stopped for that last rest . . .
    “She was a few days dying,” said the Disreputable Dog, sniffing around the body. “But she can’t have come far, Mistress. Not with those wounds.”
    “We must be close to Hedge and Nick then,” said Sam, straightening up to cast a wary eye around. “It’s so hard to tell under all these trees. We could be near the top of the ridge or still have miles to go.”
    “I guess I’d better find out,” said Lirael slowly. She was still looking down at the dead body of the Guard. “What killed her, and where the enemy are.”
    “We must hurry then,” said the Dog, jumping up on her hind legs with sudden excitement. “The river will have taken her some distance.”
    “You’re going into Death?” asked Sam. “Is that wise? I mean, Hedge could be nearby—or even waiting in Death!”
    “I know,” said Lirael. She had been thinking exactly the same thing. “But I think it’s worth the risk. We need to find out exactly where Nick’s diggings are, and what happened to this Guard. We can’t just keep blindly marching on.”
    “I suppose so,” said Sam, biting his lip with unconscious anxiety. “What will I do?”
    “Watch over my body while I’m gone, please,” said Lirael.
    “But don’t use any Charter Magic unless you have to,” added the Dog. “Someone like Hedge can smell it from miles away. Even with this rain.”
    “I know that,” replied Sam. He betrayed his nervousness by drawing