Old Kingdom 3 - Abhorsen by Garth Nix

Author:Garth Nix [Nix, Garth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Supernatural, Young Adult, Fantasy & Magic, Necromancer
ISBN: 9780061474330
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2003-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE PERIMETER

"Sarge----there's definitely something moving out there," whispered Lance Corporal Horrocks, as he looked out over the sights of his Lewin machine-gun. "Should I let 'em have a few rounds?"

"No bloody fear!" Sergeant Evans whispered back. "Don't you know anything? If it's a haunt or a Ghlim or something, it'll just come over here and suck your guts out! Scazlo—get back and tell the Lieutenant something's up. The rest of you, pass the word to fix bayonets, quiet like. And don't nobody do nothing unless I say so."

Evans looked again himself as Scazlo hurried back down the communications trench behind them. All along the main fighting trench there was the click of bayonets being fixed as quietly as possible. Evans himself strung his bow and loaded a flare pistol with a red cartridge. Red was the sign for an incursion from across the Wall. At least it would be the sign if it worked, he thought. There was a warm, northerly wind blowing in from the Old Kingdom. It was good for taking the chill out of the icy mud of the trenches, for spring had yet to fully banish the past winter, but it also meant that guns, planes, trip flares, mines, and everything else technological might not work.

"There's two of them—and something, looks like a dog," whispered Horrocks again, his trigger finger slowly curling back from its orthodox position held straight against the trigger guard.

Evans peered into the darkness, trying to make something out himself. Horrocks wasn't too bright, but he did have extraordinary night vision. A lot better than Evans. He couldn't see anything, but there were tin cans tinkling together on the wire. Someone ... or something . . . was slowly coming through.

Horrocks's finger was inside the trigger guard now, the safety off, a full drum of ammunition on top, a round in the chamber. All he needed was the word, and maybe the wind to change.

Then he suddenly sighed, his trigger finger came out again, and he leaned back from the stock.

"Looks like some of our mob," he said, no longer whispering. "Scouts. An officer and some poor bastard with a bandaged head. And one of them . . . you know . . . smeller dogs."

"Sniffer dogs," corrected Evans automatically. "Shut up."

Evans was thinking about what to do. He'd never heard of Old Kingdom creatures taking the shape of an Ancelstierran officer or an Army dog. Practically invisible shadows, yes. Ordinary-looking Old Kingdom folk, yes. Flying horrors, yes. But there was always a first time—

"What's up, Evans?" asked a voice behind him, and he felt an internal relief he would never show. Lieutenant Tindall might be a General's son, but he wasn't a good-for-nothing staff officer. He knew what was what on the Perimeter—and he had the Charter mark on his forehead to prove it.

"Movement in front, about fifty yards out," he reported. "Horrocks thinks he can see a couple of Scouts, one wounded."

"And a smell . . . sniffer dog," added Horrocks.

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