Мор - ученик смерти

           Deepinsidehisownmindhestruggledtobreakfree,butsomethinghadhiminitsgripandhecouldnomoreresistthanacompassneedlecanignorethecompulsiontopointtowardstheHub.

           Atlasthefoundwhathewassearchingfor.Itwasadoorwayedgedinoctarinelight,leadingtoashorttunnel.Therewerefiguresattheotherend,beckoningtohim.

           ICOME,hesaid,andthenturnedasheheardthesuddennoisebehindhim.Elevenstoneofyoungwomanhoodhithimsquarelyinthechest,liftinghimofftheground.

           MortlandedwithYsabellkneelingonhim,holdingongrimlytohisarms.

           LETMEGO,heintoned.IHAVEBEENSUMMONED.

           ’Notyou,idiot!’

           Shestaredintotheblue,pupil-lesspoolsofhiseyes.Itwaslikelookingdownarushingtunnel.

           Mortarchedhisbackandscreamedacursesoancientandvirulentthatinthestrongmagicalfielditactuallytookonaform,flappeditsleatherywingsandslunkaway.Aprivatethunderstormcrashedaroundthesanddunes.

           Hiseyesdrewheragain.Shelookedawaybeforeshedroppedlikeastonedownawellmadeofbluelight.

           ICOMMANDYOU.Mort’svoicecouldhavecutholesinrock.

           ’Fathertriedthattoneonmeforyears,’shesaidcalmly.’Generallywhenhewantedmetocleanmybedroom.Itdidn’tworkthen,either.’

           Mortscreamedanothercurse,whichfloppedoutoftheairandtriedtoburyitselfinthesand.

           THEPAIN—

           ’It’sallinyourhead,’shesaid,bracingherselfagainsttheforcethatwantedtodragthemtowardsthatflickeringdoorway.’You’renotDeath.You’rejustMort.