would be easier to work out some way to escape the clutch of the current. If she was lucky, some swirl or eddy might even get her close enough to swim, and she could drag the raft behind her.
There was still quite some time before sunup. Ferin moved again, until she was lying across the raft, slightly curled up, so her entire front was warmed by the pot. Admittedly every now and then the raft rolled so far her head got a slight dunking, or her feet, but it was worth it.
All she had to do now was stay awake until dawn, she told herself. Then she would begin paddling again, and try and reach the southern side of the river.
But staying awake was not easy now that she was relatively secure, warm, and totally exhausted. Even the dull ache of her wound was not enough to keep sleep at bay. Slowly she drew herself into a tighterball on top of her pack as the river grew a little less wild and the raft steadier.
The current was slowing because the river was broadening out. Ferin couldnât see this in the dark, and in any case did not know this was a sign it was beginning to approach its confluence with the sea. There were still a dozen leagues to go, but as the river spread wider and the current lessened, Ferin lost her battle against weariness.
She slept, and the raft spun and bobbed onward toward the mouth of the river and the open sea, the little pot glowing red all the way, a thin drizzle of black smoke rising from it to mark her passage.
The smoke was as good as invisible now, in the night. But come the morning, that plume would be like a sharply drawn line of charcoal against the blue sky, declaring to all with eyes to see that there was something unusual adrift on the Greenwash.
Chapter Six
THE GENERAL LOOKS DEAD
The Wall
A s Lirael made her way back to Nick, fixing a thistle to the head of a spear-shaft with a simple mark of attachment, the Ancelstierrans fired star-shells again, four in a line abreast, several thousand feet above. With a southerly wind, they actually worked for once, and the white flares slowly descended on their parachutes, illuminating a huge stretch of no-manâs-land in stark black and white, all color lost in the harsh glare of brilliantly burning magnesium.
In the light from the star-shells, Lirael could see a party of around twenty soldiers climbing out of the forward trenches. Some carried stretchers and were presumably healers of a sort, but there were more with rifles, their bayonets gleaming in the monochrome light of the drifting flares.
Behind her, she heard Captain Anlow call out to the guards, ordering them to come forward. Clearly the guard officer feared the Ancelstierrans might do something foolish, perhaps even attack Lirael. Or there might be an accident.
The Ancelstierrans might want to take the Hrule back, Lirael suddenly thought. It had come from the south, and it was still on their side of their Wall. That could not be allowed; it had to be dispatched before they arrived.
She hurried, and was greatly relieved to see the Free Magic creature was still lying in the dirt, not moving. Lirael kept an eye on it as she rushed over to Nicholas, who had regained consciousness andwas trying to lift his head. She knelt by his side, brushing back her hair from her face so she could see him properly. And he could see her.
âCan you hear me?â she asked. He was conscious, but his eyes were only partly open and his wits might well be wandering. She could feel that the healing spell was still working on him, but was surprised to see the Charter marks moving about just under the skin at his throat and on his face, faint golden symbols rising momentarily only to vanish again, carried around in his bloodstream. That didnât normally happen, but she had to presume it was a good thing.
âYes,â whispered Nick. He smiled and said, âLirael.â
Lirael brushed her hair back again nervously, not noticing that her golden hand was glowing rather more brightly than
There was still quite some time before sunup. Ferin moved again, until she was lying across the raft, slightly curled up, so her entire front was warmed by the pot. Admittedly every now and then the raft rolled so far her head got a slight dunking, or her feet, but it was worth it.
All she had to do now was stay awake until dawn, she told herself. Then she would begin paddling again, and try and reach the southern side of the river.
But staying awake was not easy now that she was relatively secure, warm, and totally exhausted. Even the dull ache of her wound was not enough to keep sleep at bay. Slowly she drew herself into a tighterball on top of her pack as the river grew a little less wild and the raft steadier.
The current was slowing because the river was broadening out. Ferin couldnât see this in the dark, and in any case did not know this was a sign it was beginning to approach its confluence with the sea. There were still a dozen leagues to go, but as the river spread wider and the current lessened, Ferin lost her battle against weariness.
She slept, and the raft spun and bobbed onward toward the mouth of the river and the open sea, the little pot glowing red all the way, a thin drizzle of black smoke rising from it to mark her passage.
The smoke was as good as invisible now, in the night. But come the morning, that plume would be like a sharply drawn line of charcoal against the blue sky, declaring to all with eyes to see that there was something unusual adrift on the Greenwash.
Chapter Six
THE GENERAL LOOKS DEAD
The Wall
A s Lirael made her way back to Nick, fixing a thistle to the head of a spear-shaft with a simple mark of attachment, the Ancelstierrans fired star-shells again, four in a line abreast, several thousand feet above. With a southerly wind, they actually worked for once, and the white flares slowly descended on their parachutes, illuminating a huge stretch of no-manâs-land in stark black and white, all color lost in the harsh glare of brilliantly burning magnesium.
In the light from the star-shells, Lirael could see a party of around twenty soldiers climbing out of the forward trenches. Some carried stretchers and were presumably healers of a sort, but there were more with rifles, their bayonets gleaming in the monochrome light of the drifting flares.
Behind her, she heard Captain Anlow call out to the guards, ordering them to come forward. Clearly the guard officer feared the Ancelstierrans might do something foolish, perhaps even attack Lirael. Or there might be an accident.
The Ancelstierrans might want to take the Hrule back, Lirael suddenly thought. It had come from the south, and it was still on their side of their Wall. That could not be allowed; it had to be dispatched before they arrived.
She hurried, and was greatly relieved to see the Free Magic creature was still lying in the dirt, not moving. Lirael kept an eye on it as she rushed over to Nicholas, who had regained consciousness andwas trying to lift his head. She knelt by his side, brushing back her hair from her face so she could see him properly. And he could see her.
âCan you hear me?â she asked. He was conscious, but his eyes were only partly open and his wits might well be wandering. She could feel that the healing spell was still working on him, but was surprised to see the Charter marks moving about just under the skin at his throat and on his face, faint golden symbols rising momentarily only to vanish again, carried around in his bloodstream. That didnât normally happen, but she had to presume it was a good thing.
âYes,â whispered Nick. He smiled and said, âLirael.â
Lirael brushed her hair back again nervously, not noticing that her golden hand was glowing rather more brightly than
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