toucone could see ty ing and clapping, decayed ing togeteady, slo all the back of his head on edge.

    A gly noise, ing ioning mouths.

    toucone  once, in a quiet sea.

    t close to ood, forming a great mass of sing soucone couldn’t make out ill Mogget, -sight, explained.

    “to to make a corridor,” ttle cat o us.”

    “Can you see tair?”

    toucone asked. rescent, stinking corpses lined up in mockery of a parade. I s.

    t been a delay of two hundred years . . .

    “Yes, I can,” continued Mogget, all beast s flesy flames. A Mordicant. It’s croucer, looking back and up like a dog to its master. Fog is rolling doairs be—a Free Magic trick, t one. I wonder wo impress?”

    “Rogir al,” toucone stated, as if  be commenting on someone at a dinner party. “o be looking at  as Kerrigor, no different Dead.”

    “O . “Very different.

    y.

    erribly rus like t.”

    toucone srying not to t t.  of to t fog, a mad attack—but even if  ter-spelled t on ter, at ts of empo of ting rising in volume.

    toucone squinted, confirming ing across ter beto they’d made.

    “oucone, surprised by  like ed a mile,  going thump . . .

    A terrible oucone leapt back, nearly  dislodging Mogget. t of tampeding to s as it ran.

    toucone sed, or screamed— sure—t s bot, crouco receive t deep in ter.

    “t!” yelled Mogget, toucone to till-frosted Sabriel.

    toucone barely ime to absorb tion, and a split-second image of somet collid