.

    “Did . . . do you knoher?” she asked.

    “o visit me, twice a year. I guess hrough here.”

    “Yes, I saed  I first met y years ago, wed ern.

    It range time—a very bad time, for me and everyone on ter.”

    ride, boots cras teness of Sabriel’s skin, stark against tumen under t.

    “You’re a necromancer,” ly. “So you’ll probably understand. t  oo many battles, too many dead.

    Before ts doook tral command, t en years, up to t gate on t forty years ago some . . . bureaucrat . . . decreed t t.

    It e of public money. to be, t. Never mind t t, over time, tration of deat everything would . . .”

    “Not stay dead,” interrupted Sabriel quietly.

    “Yes. rouble  beginning. Corpses  stay buried—our people or Old Kingdom creatures. Soldiers killed turn up on parade.

    Creatures prevented from crossing hey were alive.”

    “ did you do?” asked Sabriel. S deal about binding and enforcing true deat not on sucures nearby noively felt terface bet   y miles a yverley College.

    “Our Cer Mages tried to deal  ter symbols to . . . make to destroy times t  . e o rotate troops back to Bain or even furt for to recover from s of mass eria or madness.

    “I  a Cer Mage t I rols into to learn. On one patrol,  a man sitting by a Cer Stone, on top of a  overlooked boter.

    “As erested in ter, trol t  to bear a corrupted Cer, or  , of course. It he Dead.

    “e escorted   kno I imagine it urn, o be granted citizensierre and freedom