The Amber Spyglass Read Online Free PDF

burning stick settled in the fire; a night bird called.
    Suddenly, for no reason Will could see, both angels looked up and in the same direction. He followed their gaze, but saw nothing. He had seen his cat do this once: look up alert from her half-sleep and watch something or someone invisible come into the room and walk across. That had made his hair stand up, and so did this.
    “Put out the fire,” Balthamos whispered.
    Will scooped up some earth with his good hand and doused the flames. At once the cold struck into his bones, and he began to shiver. He pulled the cloak around himself and looked up again.
    And now there was something to see: above the clouds a shape was glowing, and it was not the moon.
    He heard Baruch murmur, “The Chariot? Could it be?”
    “What is it?” Will whispered.
    Baruch leaned close and whispered back, “They know we’re here. They’ve found us. Will, take your knife and—”
    Before he could finish, something hurtled out of the sky and crashed into Balthamos. In a fraction of a second Baruch had leapt on it, and Balthamos was twisting to free his wings. The three beings fought this way and that in the dimness, like great wasps caught in a mighty spider’s web, making no sound: all Will could hear was the breaking twigs and the brushing leaves as they struggled together.
    He couldn’t use the knife: they were all moving too quickly. Instead, he took the electric torch from the rucksack and switched it on.
    None of them expected that. The attacker threw up his wings, Balthamos flung his arm across his eyes, and only Baruch had the presence of mind to hold on. But Will could see what it was, this enemy: another angel, much bigger and stronger than they were, and Baruch’s hand was clamped over his mouth.
    “Will!” cried Balthamos. “The knife—cut a way out—”
    And at the same moment the attacker tore himself free of Baruch’s hands, and cried:
    “Lord Regent! I have them! Lord Regent!”
    His voice made Will’s head ring; he had never heard such a cry. And a moment later the angel would have sprung into the air, but Will dropped his torch and leapt forward. He had killed a cliff-ghast, but using the knife on a being shaped like himself was much harder. Nevertheless, he gathered the great beating wings into his arms and slashed again and again at the feathers until the air was filled with whirling flakes of white, remembering even in the sweep of violent sensations the words of Balthamos:
You have true flesh, we have not
. Human beings were stronger than angels, stronger even than great powers like this one, and it was true: he was bearing the angel down to the ground.
    The attacker was still shouting in that ear-splitting voice:
“Lord Regent! To me, to me!”
    Will managed to glance upward and saw the clouds stirring and swirling, and that gleam—something immense—growing more powerful, as if the clouds themselves were becoming luminous with energy, like plasma.
    Balthamos cried, “Will—come away and cut through, before he comes—”
    But the angel was struggling hard, and now he had one wing free and he was forcing himself up from the ground, and Will had to hang on or lose him entirely. Baruch sprang to help him, and forced the attacker’s head back and back.
    “No!” cried Balthamos again. “No! No!”
    He hurled himself at Will, shaking his arm, his shoulder, his hands, and the attacker was trying to shout again, but Baruch’s hand was over his mouth. From above came a deep tremor, like a mighty dynamo, almost too low to hear, though it shook the very atoms of the air and jolted the marrow in Will’s bones.
    “He’s coming—” Balthamos said, almost sobbing, and now Will did catch some of his fear. “Please, please, Will—”
    Will looked up.
    The clouds were parting, and through the dark gap a figure was speeding down: small at first, but as it came closer second by second, the form became bigger and more imposing. He was making straight for them,