It eady climb to t top of Clove, teeper and more difficult. trong noo t    t had grown much colder.

        Sabriel sidered a Cer-spell for    sired, and t of t ore topped instead and s     oe, needing severe bug-in    and t    it ainly windproof.

        Feeliively , ion of teep ted to cutting steps out of te—steps noo sliding a.

        So proo sliding, t Sabriel reacop    realizing it,    for t of t step.    ually    t a    step.

        Clove lay before    to form a miniature plateau,    depression in t, cigars, brig, stark    te. trees, ation at all, but in ter of t, a dark grey stone cast a long moonshadow.

        It imes , and looked    it dohe middle.

        Sabriel rue Cer Stone before, but so be    like ter marks running like quicksilver tone, f and dissolving, only to re-fain, in a neverending story t told of the world.

        ter marks on tone, but till, as frozen as tions, carved into a sculptured stone.

        It     s t about it properly. S of ligter of tone, but fotten lessons remembered too late told     so. Only some terrible po a Cer Stone.

        So tone, fear rising in oots first grer and colder, too, out on ting, as its memories of    back remembrance of certain pages of tales of old by little girls in tory, far from the Old Kingdom.

        Fears came ill Sabriel    led to to tone.

        Dark patc it    until Sabriel pus to to s .

        umbled back overbalang into te    been ed away by rain or snow . . . wone never would be .

        A Cer Mage one. Sacrificed by a neao gain access to Deato    break to Life.

        Sabriel bit ill it    and    unsciously, fidgeted, er marks in nervousness and fear.

        t sort of sacrifice    cer of t noail. It o ten from t green-bound book—or et. Only a very po spell. Only a totally evil oo. And evil breeds evil, evil taints places and makes ttractive to furts of . . .

        “Stop it!” ill s imaginings. It ting colder by te. So make a decision: to camp and call o move on immediately in some random dire in t so summon her guide from somewhere else.

        t part of it all    o enter Deat briefly, to call and verse    o do so ed a semi-perma entry, as if a door    w migche cold river beyond.

        Sabriel stood for a minute, sening, every sense trated, like some small animal t knoor s nearby.    learning Cer Magiagistrix Greenower of yverley College.

        At te, s camping    of tion. So sleep anyone. But it o call    to o ect er Magic as best ser Deation, summon    dires a out as quickly as possible. Quicker, even.

        ition. Sabriel dropped uffed some dried fruit and offee iative pose t made Cer Magic easier.

        After bit of trouble offee aer marks t    ect ime, and pulled t of ter.

        traced rouglines in t eac of t to o the ground.

        t mark    to troyed stone, and it almost failed. Sabriel o close o force it to leave t ation of t ed the snow.

        Sabriel ig, quelling t    bile to ting tle er mark.

        S golden lines s and te, if s    sook off ing the bells.

        “Ranna,” souc, t bell. Ranna t, ls wake.

        “Mosrael.” to Deat brougener into Life.

        “Kibet and trary bell. It could give freedom of movement to one of t gate. Many a neancer umbled .

        “Dyrim.” A musical bell, of clear and pretty tone. Dyrim    ten lost. But Dyrim could also still a to moved too freely.

        “Belgaer.” Anotrie bell, t soug of its o neancers sed to use. It could restore indepe, memory and all tterns of a living person. Or, slipping in a careless hem.

        “Sara, lo bell. trengt so the wielder’s will.

        And last, t bell, till, even in t kept it silent.

        “Astarael, the Sorrowful,” whispered Sabriel.

        Astarael    cast everyone o Deathe ringer.

        Sabriel’s ouctled on Sararap and s clapper, freed of tly, like the growl of a waking bear.

        Sabriel stilled it,     to tion. Cer marks along t t and flickered into life. Sabriel c, as portents could sometimes be seen in sugs.

        Strange marks raced across transmuting into tion, o Sabriel kneer into Death.

        Unseen by Sabriel, tion began again, but parts of it    to slay t it usually said. No tinued, “the King quenched me, Abhorsen wields me.”

        Sabriel, eyes closed no t t, brig like suns timate cold and, opening    of Death.

        it of epped tiffened, and fog ble eaceadied again, but ter still—and    out.

        tly, but Sabriel set    against t and ignored bot and trating on looking around, alert for a trap or ambus    at ticular entry point to Deater tumbling te, but ne mewlings.

        No dark, formless stes, s.

        Carefully ion, Sabriel looked all around o one of ts in ayed ready in    , s a paper boat and, still one- out to its proper sifully    luminous in t, it ly round stain at its boed a drop of blood from her finger.

        Sabriel laid it flat o to    as if s fle launc    so breat breasted a ripple, rigself and surged a. In a fe    of sige.

        It ime in    Sabriel    suake t o use to be paid, a price mucer than a drop of blood.

        As events s time, Sabriel kneo expect. Still, illed for a moment some ten or ty, or forty, minutes later—time being slippery is clapper free, ing to be e illed because someone . . . someth.

        Sabriel    ed .
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