“I am not one to blame a messenger for idings,” said ea over to Sabriel, able c  you bring t news I have heard for many years.”

    “At least I am a living messenger . . . and a friendly one,” Sabriel said quietly. S really t beyond o expand o understand t

    to different people. udy at yverley College, cting about ierre tecer Magic and necromancy—ed vieing t only captured one dimension of the man.

    “il Abo Sabriel’s remembrance of eacup in udy disappeared, banisea slopping over in her enamel mug and burning her fingers.

    “O till w?”

    “terated, patiently. “ill the dead are free?”

    Sabriel t back to  grimoire s every  s of it still made her shudder.

    It looked innocuous enougarnis if you looked closely, botcer marks. Marks of binding and blinding, closing and imprisonment. Only a trained necromancer could open t book . . .

    and only an uncorrupted Cer Mage could  close it.  it s, and alook it a the end.

    “It depends,” so consider tion objectively,  letting emotion interfere. Sried to recall t ses, ters on music and ture of sound in truly dead, tes  under t of t full moon. If rapped before te, tinue until ter icularly strong spirit breaks the weakened bonds.”

    “So tell, in time,” said horyse.

    “e een days till it is full.”

    “It is possible I could bind the dead anew,”

    Sabriel said cautiously. “I mean, I  done it on t of scale. But I kno beyond te, to , I must get to hings . . . check some references.”