Elixiol was beginning to tire of these meetings with her partner. The malleable necromancer had nothing to bring but bad news; Chlorr had nothing but vile, greedy plan after vile, greedy plan. The Free Magic that surrounded the Glacier was calling to them, and the more they resisted its call, the more tempting it became. Chlorr was falling steadily into dependence on that source of Magic; soon, it would swallow her, rather than the other way around. Chlorr just didn't quite realize it yet.
Elixiol did, but she was too tired to fight its summons. She joined Chlorr in the first place because she, like the Greater Dead creature, was lustful for power: the Free Magic at the Glacier could fulfill that lust. It had come from the Destroyer, Orannis, himself: one could not ask for a greater source of energy. But as time went on, Chlorr and Elixiol continued to fail in getting that Magic. They had been reluctant to attack the Clayr, even when the Clayr were weakened. Now, Elixiol just wanted to go to the Free Magic, just to stop it from calling her in her dreams and in her waking hours.
She did not know what Chlorr planned. But she could guess, from the wicked smirk she could see behind the bronze mask.
"We attack the Glacier," Chlorr said simply.
And Elixiol knew then that chaos would break loose.
======================================================================================
Mogget was still nowhere to be found.
Trust the cat to abandon us when we need him most, thought Nicholas Sayre dryly. He was becoming more sardonic, less patient, since coming to the Glacier. Although the Free Magic did not bother him as much, he was worn out from having to extend his Charter Magic to keep so many Clayr alive. He had already lost a few, which was embarrassing and shameful on his part. The Clayr had quickly realized that with the balance of Charter and Free in his blood, and his knack for healing, that he just may be their only hope left. If he could pull it off, he would be regarded as a hero.
If he could pull it off. That was very questionable at the time.
He began to recall a dream he once had, back in Belisaere. Scores of dying people lay around him, and looking to him for help, since he was basically the only one able to give help. He hadn't understood it then, but he did now. The Clayr were watching him, waiting patiently, aware of their doom if Nick could not help them.
He would help them, though. He had the power; he could do it.
He began to see less and less of Lirael as the days spent in the hospital grew longer and more numerable. Nick was losing sleep, losing energy, losing everything but hope as he kept countless Clayr alive. Sometimes he was so tired he couldn't recognize Lirael when she did come to visit, worriedly.
It had never occurred to either of them that Lirael could lend him the power until it was too late.
We could use that confounded cat now, Nick thought. Mogget had promised he would aid them, but as soon as responsibility stared the cat in the face, he ran away. Nick wouldn't dare admit it, but he missed the cat, sarcasm and all. Mogget could assist them, were he here.
And then one afternoon, chaos broke loose.
Lirael had been giving Nick a drink of water in the hospital when Sanar ran in. Lirael had a brief moment to notice things about the Clayr she had never seen before: Sanar's beautiful blonde hair was streaked with gray, and her blue eyes betrayed her weariness. Lirael knew that Sanar was fighting the Free Magic with all she had, and that wore her out quickly.
"Lirael—need you—outside—Dead," Sanar gasped. She was panting, as though she had run a long way, but in reality, even short distances made her gasp for breath.
Lirael gave Sanar a flask of water, and the Clayr downed it in an instant. The water seemed to help. Sanar inhaled sharply, then said more clearly, "Army of Dead, outside. They—they want the Free Magic!"
"They can have it, for all we care," snapped Nick, who was listening. Normally he would not have said something so irritable, but lack of sleep did not suit him well.
"No," Lirael said, realizing at last what Chlorr's true intent all along had been. "We can't let them." Without another word, she raced out to do battle with her long-time enemy.
The instant she was outside, she got a blast of Free Magic. Lirael gasped, and vomited, until there was nothing left. The nausea remained, worse than anything Lirael had ever felt. How could she fight Chlorr and her army in this state?
A blazing white shape streaked past her, and almost immediately Lirael's nausea receded. The Free Magic was gone, or so it seemed. Lirael dared to look behind her, and what she saw made her almost wish she hadn't.
A creature entirely made of Free Magic—Yrael—was struggling with some invisible force. He was holding back the Free Magic, so that Lirael could fight the oncoming obstacle. Yrael saw her gaping and screeched, "Go!" His voice sounded like a thousand razors scraping against each other.
Lirael snapped out of her reverie. She nodded to Yrael and leapt away as fast as she could, relieved that Mogget had finally lent a hand, so to speak. But her good spirits sank when she saw what she would be facing.
The army had to be at least twice as big as the first one she had fought. And at its head was an impossibly tall woman Lirael had hoped never to see again. Chlorr of the Mask seemed to grin savagely when she spotted the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, the lone defense of the Glacier.
Lirael didn't hesitate. This would be undoubtedly the largest battle she ever fought, and she wished in vain for Sabriel beside her. She tore Kibeth out of its pouch and rang it with all its might, listening as its peals echoed in the army.
Chlorr kept coming forward though, seemingly impervious against Kibeth's forceful call. But the Dead who accompanied her were not. Lirael watched with a grim satisfaction as Dead Hands and Shadow Hands alike fell, to Walk beyond the Ninth Gate, where they belonged. There were no Mordicants, much to Lirael's relief, but the mass amount of the Hands she would have to face was nearly as bad. And then there was Chlorr herself.
Lireal forgot all sense of time as she stood there, alone, the Walker's cries mingled with her vigorous will sending Dead creature after Dead creature back into Death. Her eyes were locked with Chlorr's—it was almost as if there was no other army, just the two foes facing each other. One was standing, waiting, and the other was walking deliberately slowly to her. A confrontation would be imminent—unless one of them fell first to the other. Would Chlorr be unable to resist Kibeth, or would Lirael use up all her strength and resolve to fight the army?
Kibeth's calls became more choked, and each peal took fewer Dead than the last. Lirael realized she would have to switch bells, and the army was very close. In the moment between bells, they could take her…
Lirael considered Astarael, as Sabriel had done when she was captured. The Clayr, she hoped, were beyond the range of the largest and coldest bell, and she would take Chlorr with her into Death. That alone was enough.
And she would see the Dog again…
Lirael reached for the heaviest bell, dropping Kibeth in the dirt. She was too tired to replace the bell to its rightful pouch, too tired to even notice Chlorr's triumphant smirk behind her mask.
She pulled out Astarael…
And memories hit her. The Dog, giving up her life to save Lirael's. Her living friends—Nick was using all his energy to save the Clayr, Mogget/Yrael straining so hard to keep the Free Magic back…and Sabriel and Ellimere, trapped by Chlorr…Sam, back at Belisaere, wishing to be of some use, willing to build an entire new home for the doomed Clayr…Touchstone, the King, undoubtedly worried sick but unable to show it…
Could she leave them to fight on their own? Could she run away, and shirk her responsibility? Not even Mogget had done that.
Lirael could feel the Dog's presence beside her. She could not, if nothing else, throw away her adored friend's sacrifice for her. She could not willingly choose Death.
Astarael fell, silently, beside the dropped Kibeth. Lirael was shaking. She could not kill herself.
But the time she took to decide that was precious. The army converged…Lireal's hand scrabbled uselessly at Saraneth's pouch, ready to take one last stand…
And then, Elixiol the necromancer arrived.
A/N: Cliffhanger, I know. Don't worry, though. Climax is coming up! :-)