By t of oired of nautical life. tually non-stop all t time, only putting into s noon for freser, and only t was sunny.

        Nig under sail, or, oue, o    standing ch.

        Fortunately, ther had been kind.

        It ively uful five days.

        too Beardy Point, an unprepossessing peninsula iures tomed beacream. Devoid of life, it    time, Sabriel could no longer se. A good, strong, souterly    too fast a pace for it to follow.

        t to ts rocky cliffs climbing se, o tens of t late in ternoon, tretco bursting, ker-built    salted mouths, eyes and bodies.

        It    narrorait t led to t t ricky sailing, so t t o just out of sigo    for t of day.

        “toue explained, as     yet pulled itself out of tern. “It    to keep pirates and suc of t believe t—I ’t imagine    rung across.”

        “ill it still be tiously, not ing to prevent toue’s straalkative mood.

        “I’m sure of it,” replied toue. “e’ll see toe s. inding Post, to to th.”

        “Not very imaginative names,” ented Sabriel, uo errupting.

        It    suco talk! toue o non-unication for most of t f leave mu.

        “ter toue. “hich makes sense.”

        “o let vessels past t Belisaere. Could it be like oy abandoned, riddled oue. “I    t about t. In my time, ter,    s says, ty o anarchy . . .”

        “tfully.

        “So even if , trouble. I tter reverse my surcoat and    ing.”

        “ about toue.

        o dra tig ly nudging tiller to take advantage of a s in to say t.”

        “I’ll just look like a neancer,” Sabriel replied. “A salty, unwashed neancer.”

        “I don’t knooue,    Sabriel    into ty, or ay alive, in—”

        “In your day,” interrupted Mogget, from e post on t t neancers and    unon sights in Belisaere.”

        “I’ll arted to say.

        “If you say so,” toue said, at time. Clearly,    believe t. Belisaere al, a y, o at least fifty toue couldn’t imagi fallen, decayed and in te    kno t totle different from two-hundredyear- old images locked in his memory.

        t fideook a blooe srait.

        At first, to grealler as    toelescope, Sabriel sa tiful, rosy-pink sto once must . Noy vanis    top torys, from seven; Boom ood as tall as ever, but sunligerior to be a gutted ruin. toll collector, hing alive.

        t boom-cill stretcrait. , rose green and barnaclebefouled out of ter and up into eaco could be seen in trouger of the deep.

        “e’ll o go in close to t toep t and ro rises,” toue declared, after studyielescope, trying to gauge    even ively s boat, it oo risky, and t    for ide, late in ternoon. At some time in t, peroo its maximum tension. t iceable slippage.

        “Mogget, go to t for anyter. Sabriel, could you please coo guard against attack.”

        Sabriel nodded, pleased t toue’s stint as captain of t to remove t nonse of ,    for , jumped up to t protest, despite t occasionally burst over    diagonally across tle of opportunity between shore, sea and .

        tepping t. tered by t tide urned, and a tidal race o run from to t mast and sail, tooue rt to keep steerage er a moment, took one of toget yoions.

        Every fe troke, s, Sabriel snatc crumbling sea, and t of t-flargantuan c the sea’s whim.

        “Port a little,” yo. toue backed , t jumped down, yelling, “Ship oars and duck!”

        ttling, splasoue simply lying do some rocked and plunged, and terrible.

        Sabriel, one moment looking up at t sa green, re up, s and tou-ch.

        t, and toue o ted to lie t looking up at t t    up and resumed y as a rower.

        ter che Sea of Saere.

        Sabriel trailed , marveling at its clear turquoise ss color, it ransparent. ter    s tc’s wake.

        S relaxed, momentarily carefree, all troubles t lay aemporarily lost in single-minded plation of ter. tant ao Deater Magic ed at sea. For a fees, s about toue and Mogget. Even s ess on her hand.

        “e’ll be able to see ty soon,” toue said, interrupting al oill standing.”

        Sabriel fully, and sloook ing from a dear friend.

        “It must be difficult for you,” s to    really expeg o answer.

        “two o ruin w.”

        “I didn’t really believe it, till I saoooue. “No city t I never believed could really ge.”

        “No imagination,” said Mogget, sternly. “No ter. A fatal flaw.”

        “Mogget,” Sabriel said indignantly, angry at t for crus anotion.

        “o toue?”

        Mogget led on his back.

        “I am accurate, not rude,” urning o tudied s. “And .”

        “I’m sick of toue,    kno I don’t?”

        toue , knuckles iller, eyes focused on tant owers of Belisaere.

        “You’ll o tell me eventually,” said Sabriel, a toutering her voice.

        “It ’t be t bad, surely?”

        toue    ated, then spoke.

        “It upidity on my part, not evil, milady.

        t I am partly responsible for the royal line.”

        “!” exclaimed Sabriel. “how could you be?”

        “I am,” tiouiserably, iller moved, giving t a crazy zigzag here was a . . .

        t is . . .”

        ook a deep breat up a little straiginued, as if rep to a senior officer.

        “I don’t kno involves t Cers. art? it sir, . I    into terests. s must ed it t ive, and often away.

        “to    before ter Festival. I o see o be more like    i i tracted    more time together again; hawking, riding, drinking, dang.

        “te oernoon—one cold, crisp afternoon, near su—I y, guarding to o e o t Stones are . . . !”

        “Yes,” interrupted Mogget. ired, like an alley cat t oo many. “time.

        e    speak of t Cers, at least for a little    was so.”

        “Go on,” said Sabriel, excitedly. “Let’s take advantage of it ones ones and mortar of t Cer?”

        “Yes,” replied toue, remotely, as if reg a lesson, “ever t Cers, put tions: t Stones. All tones draher.

        “t Stones . . . Rogir came and said    t look into.    s take great at of rouble ones. Ser Mage a not aque, so sold o    till m. Rogir turo me, asked me to intercede, and, Cer rusted he Queen. Finally, she agreed.

        By t time, t. iting,    doo t Stones are.”

        toue’s voice faded to a winued, and grew hoarse.

        “terrible    it     Stones and t being broken, broken ers, sacrificed by    seds, t ing across ter. I felt tones breaking and I remember Rogir, stepping up beriking so sly across . o catc I oo slooo slow . . .”

        “So tory you told me at    true,” Sabriel ears rolled down    survive . . .”

        “No,” mumbled toue. “But I didn’t mean to lie. It was all jumbled up in my head.”

        “ did happen?”

        “two guards were Rogir’s men,”

        toue tinued,    ears, muffled tacked me, but Vlare—one of ting—t mad, battle-mad, berserk. I killed boto tones, ing, dark-e, t to be broken. I couldn’t reacime, I kne fleraigrue, taking    above t. urned back toransfixed by my s still walking,    vile cup of blood up, as if    me a drink.

        “‘You may tear t, like some poor-made e.

        But I ot die.’ “o    t lay so close beures . . .

        te liging on ter like oil. I turned, saairs; a burning, ting n of ed, or    me till only remember in sches.”

        “You sold me,” Sabriel said, trying to put as muc per o    for t binding spell. tell me, t the Abhorsen?”

        “I don’t knooue. “Probably.”

        “Almost definitely, I would say,” added Sabriel.

        S Mogget, t n of ting fire. “You oo,    you, Mogget? Unbound, in your other form.”

        “Yes, I . “it time. A very poer of t a little too good-ed to deal reacerrible trouble getting o Belisaere, and in t timely enougo save ters.”

        “ oue.

        “ happened?”

        “Rogir o Belisaere,” Mogget said o a    ies. “But only an Ab, and    there.

        Rogir’s real body    for his physical form.

        “Someake life all time to stay out of Deat ter made it very difficult for o do t anyer.

        o breaking a feones, some o prey on, and t him down.

        So o break t Stones, and for t    t .

        “Because    ac Stole too late. true, o drive o Deat since rue body io exist. Even from Deation of t a royal family,    Cers crippled, corrupting and    really beaten t nig delayed, and for to e back, trying to re-enter Life—”

        “ errupted Sabriel. “ing feions,    trying to keep ier Dead , ter of t.”

        “I do not kno. “Your fat so.”

        “It is oue said, distantly.

        “Kerrigor .

        his full ceremonial name was Rogirek.”

        “s—must o Belisaere just before    aloud. “I o Life so he all?”

        “ be o be close to it,” Mogget said. “You s. to reneer spell t prevents e.”

        “Yes,” replied Sabriel, remembering t suppressed it, before it became a rag sob. Inside, s like screaming, g. Sed to flee back to Aierre, cross t sed    first,    find my father’s body.”

        t, save for t he rigging.

        toue .

        “to ask.    my spirit ihe figurehead?”

        “I never koue’s gaze, and it    t    must    you out of t Stones. No memory, not seems too long for a rest cure.        be nearing ty, and the binding resumes . . .”

        “No, Mogget!” exclaimed Sabriel. “I    to knoo knoion    . . .”

        and a star-    tled gargle    came out.

        “too late,” said Mogget. arted ing ongue darting out, brig we fur.

        Sabriel sig at turquoise sea, t te-streaked blue. A lig on ao join a squaihe surface.

        Everyt tang on ink of fisoue’s grim past, t ir/Kerrigor and th.

        “e so be very careful,” Sabriel said at last, “and    . . .    you said to tooue?”

        ely w s.

        “ ter preserves us all.”
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