om he second floor.

    “Sabriel—get inside!”  of till more bullets to till.

    “Yes,” replied Sabriel, looking out at t of bodies, terns and lumps of ply cence  even so, truction made han any Free Magic . . .

    S inside, s vast mob of  to Deat— but it oo late. And opped by phey came in small numbers . . .

    and t was as likely as an early dawn . . .

    t treaked  Cer marks, draea from t co figrolled nervousness about t bravado exactly, just a strange mixture of competence and cynicism. ever it  made Sabriel  all.

    “Evening, miss.”

    “Good to ically never h!”

    “on’t need us at te.”

    “Not like ter, is it, ma’am?”

    “Good luck al cigar case, miss.”

    “Good luck to all of you,” replied Sabriel, trying to smile in anso tarted again, and s ttention  nearly as casual as tended, Sabriel t as so t hall.

    ened.

    ting across t ther end.

    ts ea. Magistrix Greenalking to toucone in ty or so girls—young e o t her like a bizarre parody of a school dance.

    Beone ered   be mistaken for extremely  not if you  kne o ter of ted.

    “Cer Mages! Please come here.”

    ty to the sarcophagus.

    Sabriel looked at tudents, t and open, a tement at tant from t too, s, seeing respect and someter marks on tic replicas, t  to be caughis . . .

    Sabriel opened o speak, and t on cue.

    In the girls giggled nervously.

    Sabriel,  many deat once, and a familiar dread touch cold fingers. Kerrigor was closin