The Trackers were on the move again, spreading out to search. It sounded like a trio on each side of the train, coming toward him. Gold-Eye pictured them in his head, trying to get his Change Vision to show him exactly where they were. But the Change Vision came and went when it chose, and couldn't be controlled.

Soon the Myrmidons would surround him, silver nets shooting out to catch him in their sticky tracery. Then a Winger would come to take him away. Back to the Dorms. Or if he was old enough . . . straight to the Meat Factory.

A year ago, I turned the final page of The Book of the Dead. I don't feel young any more.

I am a necromancer, but not of the common sort, while others of the art raise the dead, I lay them to rest - or try too - and those that will not rest I bind, for I am Abhorsen...father of Sabriel

No mother, no father, no Sight.

Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?

The Clayr Saw a sword and so I was.Remember the Wallmakers. Remember me.