Lirael_ Daughter Of The Clayr Part 8

"Never heard of it," said Cochrane dismissively. "Still, I suppose you know best."

The boys paid little attention to this discussion, or to the road. They'd been up since four o'clock in order to get to Bain on time, and had played cricket all day. Most of them, including Nick, fell asleep. Sameth stayed awake, still buoyed up by the excitement of his winning six. He watched the rain on the windows and the countryside. They pa.s.sed settled farms, the warm glow of electric light in their windows. The telegraph poles flashed by the side of the road, as did a red telephone booth as they whisked through a village.

He would be leaving all that behind soon. Modern technology like telephones and electricity simply didn't work on the other side of the Wall.

Ten minutes later, they pa.s.sed another sight Sameth wouldn't see beyond the Wall. A large field full of hundreds of tents, with dripping laundry hung on every available guy rope, and a general air of disorder. The bus slowed as it pa.s.sed, and Sameth saw that most of the tents had women and children cl.u.s.tered in their doorways, looking out mournfully into the rain. Nearly all of them had blue headscarves or hats, identifying them as Southerling refugees. More than ten thousand of them were being given temporary refuge in what the Corvere Times Corvere Times described as "the remote northern regions of the nation," which clearly meant close to the Wall. described as "the remote northern regions of the nation," which clearly meant close to the Wall.

This must be one of the refugee settlements that had sprung up in the last three years, Sameth realized, noting that the field was surrounded by a triple fence of concertina wire and that there were several policemen near the gate, the rain sluicing off their helmets and dark-blue slickers.

The Southerlings were fleeing a war among four states in the far South, across the Sunder Sea from Ancelstierre. The war had started three years previously, with a seemingly small rebellion in the Autarchy of Iskeria proving an unlikely success. That rebellion had grown to be a civil war that drew in the neighboring countries of Kalarime, Iznenia, and Korrovia, on different sides. There were at least six warring factions that Sameth knew about, ranging from the Iskerian Autarch's forces and the original Anarchist rebels to the Kalarime-backed Traditionalists and the Korrovian Imperialists.

Traditionally, Ancelstierre did not interfere with wars on the Southern Continent, trusting to its Navy and the Flying Corps to keep such trouble on the other side of the Sunder Sea. But with the war now spread across most of the continent, the only safe place for noncombatants was in Ancelstierre.

So Ancelstierre was the refugees' chosen destination. Many were turned back on the sea or at the major ports, but for every large s.h.i.+p returned, a smaller vessel would make landfall somewhere on the Ancelstierran coast and disgorge the two or three hundred refugees who had been packed aboard like sardines.

Many more drowned, or starved, but this did not discourage the others.

Eventually, they would be rounded up and put in temporary camps. Theoretically, they would then be eligible to become proper immigrants to the Commonwealth of Ancelstierre, but in practice, only those with money, connections, or useful skills ever gained citizens.h.i.+p. The others stayed in the refugee camps while the Ancelstierran government tried to work out how to send them back to their own countries. But with the war growing worse and getting more confused by the day, no one who had escaped it would willingly go back. Every time ma.s.s deportment had been attempted, it had ended in hunger strikes, riots, and every form of possible protest.

"Uncle Edward says that Corolini chap wants to send the Southerlings into your neck of the woods," said Nicholas sleepily, wakened by the bus's decrease in speed. "Across the Wall. No room for them here, he says, and lots of room in the Old Kingdom."

"Corolini is a populist rabble-rouser," replied Sameth, quoting an editorial from the Times. Times. His mother-who conducted most of the Old Kingdom's diplomacy with Ancelstierre-had an even harsher opinion of this politician, who had risen to prominence since the beginning of the Southern War. She thought he was a dangerous egotist who would do anything to gain power. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. They would all die in the Borderlands. It's not safe." His mother-who conducted most of the Old Kingdom's diplomacy with Ancelstierre-had an even harsher opinion of this politician, who had risen to prominence since the beginning of the Southern War. She thought he was a dangerous egotist who would do anything to gain power. "He doesn't know what he's talking about. They would all die in the Borderlands. It's not safe."

"What's the problem with it?" asked Nick. He knew his friend didn't like talking about the Old Kingdom. Sam always said that it was not at all like Ancelstierre and that Nick wouldn't understand. No one else knew anything much about it, and there was little information of consequence in any library Nick had seen. The Army kept the border closed, and that was it.

"There are dangerous . . . dangerous animals and . . . um . . . things," replied Sameth. "It's like I've told you before. Guns and electricity and so on don't work. It's not like-"

"Ancelstierre," interrupted Nicholas, smiling. "You know, I've a good mind to come and visit you during the vac and see for myself."

"I wish you would," Sameth said. "I'll need to see a friendly face after six months of Ellimere's company."

"How do you know it's not your sister I want to visit?" asked Nick, with an exaggerated leer. Sam never had a good word to say about his older sister. He was about to say more, but his words were cut short as he looked out the window. Sam looked, too.

The refugee camp was long past and had given way to a fairly dense forest. The distant, rain-blurred orb of the sun hung just above the trees. Only they were both looking out the left-hand side of the bus, and the sun should have been on the right. They were going north, and must have been for some time. North, towards the Wall.

"I'd better tell c.o.c.kers," said Sameth, who was in the aisle seat. He'd just got up, and started to make his way to the front of the bus, when the engine suddenly spluttered and the bus jerked, nearly throwing Sam to the floor. The driver cursed and crashed down several gears, but the engine kept spluttering. The driver cursed again, revving the engine so hard its whine woke up anyone left asleep. Then it suddenly stopped. Both the interior light and the headlights went out, and the bus rolled to a silent stop.

"Sir!" Sam called out to Mr. Cochrane, above the sudden hubbub of waking boys. "We've been going north! I think we're near the Wall."

Cochrane, who was peering through his own window, turned back as Sam spoke and stood in the aisle, his commanding bulk enough to silence the closer boys.

"Settle down!" he said. "Thank you, Sameth. Now everyone stay in your seats, and I'll soon sort-"

Whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the sound of the driver's door, as he slammed it shut it behind him. All the boys rushed to the windows, despite Cochrane's roar, and saw the driver leap the roadside wall and run off through the trees as if pursued by some mortal enemy.

"What on earth?" exclaimed Cochrane, as he turned to look out the windscreen. Whatever had scared the driver clearly didn't seem so terrible to him, since he merely opened the pa.s.senger door and stepped out into the rain, unfurling his umbrella as he did so.

As soon as he left the bus, everyone rushed to the front. Sam, from his position in the aisle, was the first to get there. Looking out, he first saw a barrier across the road, and a large red sign next to it. He couldn't quite read it, because of the rain, but he knew what it said anyway. He'd seen identical signs every holiday, when he went home to the Old Kingdom. The red signs marked the beginning of the Perimeter, the military zone that the Ancelstierran Army had established to face the Wall. Beyond that sign, the woods on either side of the road would vanish, replaced by a half-mile-wide expanse of strong points, trenches, and the coils and coils of barbed wire that stretched from the east coast to the west.

Sam remembered exactly what the sign said. Pretending he had an amazing ability to see through fogged-up windscreens, he recited the familiar warning to the others. It was important for them to know.

PERIMETER COMMAND.

NORTHERN ARMY GROUP.

Unauthorized egress from the Perimeter Zone is strictly forbidden.Anyone attempting to cross the Perimeter Zone will be shot without warning.Authorized travelers must report to the Perimeter Command H.Q.

REMEMBER- NO WARNING WILL BE MADE.

A moment of silence met this recitation, as the seriousness of it sank in. Then a babble of questions broke out, but Sam didn't answer. He had thought the driver had run away because he was afraid of being so close to the Wall. But what if he had brought them there on purpose? And why had he run away from the two red-capped military policemen who were walking up from their sentry box?

Sameth's family had many enemies in the Old Kingdom. Some were human, and might be able to pa.s.s as harmless in Ancelstierre. Some were not, but they might be powerful enough to cross the Wall and get this little distance south. Especially on a day when the wind blew from the north.

Not bothering to get his raincoat, Sam jumped down from the bus and hurried over to where the two military policemen had just met Mr. Cochrane. Or rather, to where the MP sergeant had started to shout at Cochrane.

"Get everyone off that bus and get them moving back as quick as you can," the sergeant shouted. "Run as far as you can, then walk. Got it?"

"Why?" asked Mr. Cochrane, bristling. Like most of the teachers and staff at Somersby, he wasn't from the North, and he had no idea about the Wall, the Perimeter, or the Old Kingdom. He had always treated Sameth as he treated the school's other Prince, who was an albino from far-off Karshmel-like an adopted child who wasn't quite a member of the family.

"Just do it!" ordered the sergeant. He seemed nervous, Sameth noted. His revolver holster was open, and he kept looking around at the trees. Like most soldiers on the Perimeter-but totally unlike any other units of the Ancelstierran Army-he also wore a long sword-bayonet on his left hip, and a mail coat over his khaki battledress, though he'd kept his MP's red cap, rather than wearing the usual neck- and nasal-barred helmet of the Perimeter garrison. Sam noted that neither of the two men had a Charter mark on his forehead.

"That's not good enough," Cochrane protested. "I insist on speaking to an officer. I can't have my boys running about in the rain!"

"We'd better do as the sergeant says," said Sam, coming up behind him. "There is something in the wood-and it's getting closer."

"Who are you?" demanded the sergeant, drawing his sword. The lance-corporal with him instantly followed suit, and started to sidle around behind. Both of them were looking at Sam's forehead, and the Charter mark that was just visible under his Cricket XI cap.

"Prince Sameth of the Old Kingdom," said Sam. "I suggest you call Major Dwyer of the Scouts, or General Tindall's headquarters, and tell them I'm here-and that there are at least three Dead Hands in the woods over there."

"That's torn it!" swore the sergeant. "We knew something was up with this wind. How did they get- Well, it doesn't matter. Harris, double back to the post and alert HQ. Tell them we've got Prince Sameth, a bunch of schoolkids, and at least three category-A intruders. Use a pigeon and the rocket. The phone'll be out for sure. Move!"

The lance-corporal was gone before the sergeant's mouth shut, and just as Cochrane began.

"Sameth! What are you going on about?"

"There's no time to explain," replied Sam urgently. He could sense Dead Hands-bodies infused with spirits called from Death-moving through the forest, parallel to the road. They didn't seem to have sensed the living yet, but once they did, they would be there within minutes. "We have to get everyone out of here-we have to get as far away from the Wall as we can."

"But ... But ..." bl.u.s.tered Cochrane, red-faced and astounded at the impertinence of one of his own boys ordering him around. He would have said more, if the sergeant hadn't drawn his revolver and calmly said, "Get them going now, sir, or I'll shoot you where you stand."

Chapter Fifteen.

The Dead Are Many Five minutes later, the entire team was out in the rain, on the road, jogging south. At Sameth's suggestion, they had armed themselves with cricket bats, metal-tipped cricket stumps, and cricket b.a.l.l.s. The MP sergeant ran with them, his revolver continuing to silence Cochrane's protests.

The boys took it all as a bit of a joke at first, with much bravado and carrying-on. But as it got darker and the rain got heavier, they grew quieter. The jokes stopped altogether when four quick shots were heard behind them, and then a distant, anguished scream.

Sameth and the sergeant exchanged a look that combined fear and a dreadful knowledge. The shots and the scream must have come from Lance-Corporal Harris, who had gone back to the post.

"Is there a stream or other running water near here?" panted Sameth, mindful of the warning rhyme he'd known since childhood about the Dead. The sergeant shook his head but didn't answer. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, almost losing his balance as they ran. A little while after they heard the scream, he saw what he was looking for and pointed it out to Sameth: three red parachute flares drifting down from a few miles north.

"Harris must have got the pigeon off, at least," he puffed. "Or maybe the telephone worked, since his pistol did. They'll have the reserve company and a platoon of Scouts out here soon, sir."

"I hope so," replied Sameth. He could sense the Dead on the road behind them now, coming up quickly. There seemed to be no hope of safety anywhere ahead. No stout farmhouse or barn, or a stream, whose running water the Dead couldn't cross. In fact, the road went down to become a sunken lane, even darker and more closed in, a perfect site for an ambush.

As Sam thought of that, he felt his sense of Death suddenly alter. It disoriented him at first, till he realized what it was. A Dead spirit had just risen in front of them, somewhere in the darkness around the high-banked road. Worse than that, it was new, brought out of Death at that very moment. These were no self-willed Dead spirits that had infiltrated through the Perimeter. They were Dead Hands, raised by a necromancer on the Ancelstierran side of the Wall. Controlled by the necromancer's mind, they were much more dangerous than rogue spirits.

"Stop!" screamed Sam, his voice cutting through the beat of rain and footsteps on the asphalt. "They're ahead of us. We have to leave the road!"

"Who are ahead, boy?" shouted Cochrane, furious again. "This has gone quite far enough...."

His voice faltered as a figure stumbled out of the shad-ows ahead, out into the middle of the road. It was human, or had once been human, but now its arms were hanging threads of flesh, and its head was mostly bare skull, all deep eye hollows and s.h.i.+ning teeth. It was unquestionably dead, and the reek of decomposition rolled off it, over the soft smell of the rain. Clods of earth fell from it as it moved, showing that it had just dug itself out of the ground.

"Left!" shouted Sam, pointing. "Everyone go left!"

His shout broke the silent tableau into action, boys leaping over the stone wall that bordered the road. Cochrane was one of the first over, throwing his umbrella aside.

The Dead thing moved, too, breaking into a shambling run as it sensed the Life it craved. The sergeant propped himself against the wall and waited till it was ten feet away. Then he emptied his heavy .455 revolver into the creature's torso, five shots in quick succession, accompanied by a gasp of relief that the weapon actually worked.

The creature was knocked back and finally down, but the sergeant didn't wait. He'd been on the Perimeter long enough to know that it would get back up again. Bullets could stop Dead Hands, but only if the creatures were shredded to pieces. White phosphorus grenades worked better, burning them to ash-when they worked. Guns and grenades and all such standards of Ancelstierran military technology tended to fail the closer they got to the Wall and the Old Kingdom.

"Up the hill!" shouted Sam, pointing to a rise in the ground ahead, where the forest thinned out. If they could make it there, at least they could see what was coming and have the slight advantage of high ground.

A harsh, inhuman cry rose behind them as they ran, a sound like a broken bellows accidentally trodden on, more squeal than scream. Sam knew it came from the desiccated lungs of a Dead Hand. This one was farther to the right than the one the sergeant had shot. At the same time, he sensed others, moving around to the right and left, beginning to encircle the hill.

"There's a necromancer back there," he said as they ran. "And there must be a lot of dead bodies, not too far gone."

"A truck full of those Southerlings ... ran off the road near here, six weeks ago," said the sergeant, speaking rapidly between breaths. "Nineteen killed. Bit of a ... mystery where they was going ... anyway ... churchwarden at Arch.e.l.l wouldn't ... have 'em ... the Army crematorium neither ... so they was buried next to the road."

"Stupid!" cried Sameth. "It's too close to the Wall! They should have been burnt!"

"b.l.o.o.d.y paper-pushers," puffed the sergeant, nimbly ducking under a branch. "Regulations say no burying within the ... Perimeter. But this is ... outside, see?"

Sameth didn't answer. They were climbing the hill itself now, and he needed all his breath. He sensed there were at least twelve Dead Hands behind them now, and three or four on each side, going wide. And there was something, some presence that was probably the necromancer, back where the bodies were-or had been-buried.

The top of the hill was clear of trees, save for a few wind-blown saplings. Before they reached it, the sergeant called a halt, just short of the crest.

"Right! Get in close. Are we missing anyone? How many-"

"Sixteen, including Mr. Cochrane," said Nick, who was a lightning calculator. Cochrane glared at him but was silent, ducking his head back down as he tried to get his breath back. "Everyone's here."

"How long have we got, sir?" the sergeant asked Sam, as they both looked back down into the trees. It was hard to see anything. Visibility was reduced by both the increasingly heavy rain and the onset of night.

"The first two or three will be on us in a few minutes," said Sameth grimly. "The rain will slow them a little. We'll have to knock them down and run stumps through them, to try to keep them pinned. Nick, organize everyone into groups of three. Two batsmen and someone to hold the stumps ready. No, Hood-go with Asmer. When they come, I'll distract them with a ... I'll distract them. Then the batsman must hit as hard as they can straight off, in the legs, and then hammer a stump through each arm and leg."

Sameth paused as he saw one of the boys eyeing the two-and-a-half-foot-long wooden stump with its metal spike on the end. From the expression on the boy's face, it was clear he couldn't imagine hammering it through anything.

"These are not people!" Sam shouted. "They're already Dead. If you don't fight them, they will kill us. Think of them as wild animals, and remember, we're fighting for our lives!"

One of the boys started crying, without making a noise, the tears falling silently down his face. At first Sam thought it was the rain, till he noticed the despairing stare that signified complete and utter terror.

He was about to try some more encouraging words when Nick pointed downhill and shouted, "Here they come!"

Three Dead Hands were coming out from the treeline, shambling like drunks, their arms and legs clearly not fully under control. The bodies had been too broken up in the crash, Sam thought, gauging their strength. That was good. It would make them slower and more uncoordinated.

"Nick, your team can take the one on the left," he commanded, speaking quickly. "Ted, yours the middle, and Jack's the right. Go for their knees and hammer the stumps home as soon as you get them down. Don't let them get a grip on you-they're much stronger than they look. Everyone else-including you, please, Sergeant, and Mr. Cochrane-hold back and help any team that gets in trouble."

"Yes, sir!" replied the sergeant. Cochrane merely nodded dumbly, staring at the approaching Dead Hands. For the first time in Sam's memory, the man's face was not flushed red. It was white, almost as white as the sickeningly pallid flesh of the approaching Dead.

"Wait for my order," shouted Sam. At the same time, he reached into the Charter. It was impossible to reach in most of Ancelstierre, but this close to the Wall, it was merely difficult, rather like trying to swim down to the bottom of a deep river.

Sameth found the Charter and took a moment's comfort from the familiar touch of it, its permanence and its totality linking him to everything in existence. Then he summoned the marks he wanted, holding them in his mind while he formed their names in his throat. When he had everything ready, he punched out his right hand, three fingers splayed, each finger indicating one of the approaching Dead creatures.

"Anet! Calew! Ferhan!" he spat, and the marks flew from his fingers as s.h.i.+ning silver blades, whistling through the air quicker than any eye could follow. Each one struck a Dead Hand, blowing a fist-sized hole straight through decaying flesh. All three staggered back, and one fell down, waving its arms and legs like a beetle thrown on its back.

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!" exclaimed one of the boys next to Sam.

"Now!" shouted Sam, and the schoolboys rushed forward with a roar, waving their makes.h.i.+ft weapons. Sam and the sergeant went with them, but Cochrane struck out on his own, running down the hill at a right angle to everyone else.

Then there was a blur of screaming, bats rising and falling, the dull thud of stumps being driven through Dead flesh and into the sodden ground.

Sam experienced it all in a strange frenzy, such a tangled mess of sound, images, and emotion that he was never really sure what happened. He seemed to come out of this concentrated fury to find himself helping Druitt Minor hammer a stump through the forearm of a writhing creature. Even with a stump through each limb, it still struggled, breaking one stump and almost getting free, before some of the boys in reserve cleverly rolled a boulder over the loose arm.

Everyone was cheering, Sam realized, as he stepped back and wiped the rain off his face. Everyone except him, because he could sense more Dead, coming up from the road and on the other side of the hill. A quick survey showed that there were only three stumps left, and two of the five bats were broken.

"Get back," he ordered, quelling the cheering. "There's more on the way."

As they moved back, Nick and the sergeant came up close to Sam. Nick spoke first, quietly asking, "What do we do now, Sam? Those things are still moving! They'll get free within half an hour."

"Troops from the Perimeter will be here before then," muttered Sam, glancing at the sergeant, who nodded in affirmation. "It's the new ones coming up I'm worried about. The only thing I can think of doing ..."

"What?" asked Nick, as Sam stopped in mid-sentence.

"These are all Dead Hands, not free-willed Dead," replied Sam. "Newly made ones. The spirits in them are just whatever the necromancer could call quickly, so they're neither powerful nor smart. If I could get to the necromancer who's controlling them, they would probably attack each other, or wander in circles. Quite a few might even snap back into Death."

"Well, let's get this necromancer chap!" declared Nick stoutly. His voice was steady, but he couldn't help a nervous look back down the hill.

"It's not as easy as that," said Sam absently. Most of his attention was on the Dead Hands he could sense around them. There were ten down near the road, and six on the other side of the hill somewhere. Both groups were getting themselves into ragged lines. Obviously, the necromancer planned to have them all attack at once, from both sides.

"It's not so easy," Sam repeated. "The necromancer is down there somewhere, physically at least. But he's almost certainly in Death, leaving his body protected by a spell or some sort of bodyguard. To get at him, I'll have to go into Death myself-and I don't have a sword, or bells, or anything."

"Go into Death?" asked Nick, his voice rising half an octave. He was clearly about to say something else but he looked down at the staked-out Dead Hands and shut up.

"Not even time to cast a diamond of protection," Sam muttered to himself. He had never actually been into Death by himself before. He'd gone only with his mother, the Abhorsen. Now he wished desperately that she were here. But she wasn't, and he couldn't think of anything else to do. He could almost certainly get away himself, but he couldn't leave the others.