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t came from the faint radiance of the snow…covered ground。 Thick clouds obscured the sky； so there was neither moon nor Northern Lights； but by peering closely； the children could make out the deep trail Iorek Byrnison had plowed in the snow。 Lyra encouraged； bullied； hit； half…carried； swore at； pushed； dragged； lifted tenderly； wherever it was needed； and Pantalaimon （by the state of each child's daemon） told her what was needed in each case。
I'll get them there； she kept saying to herself。 I e here to get 'em and I'll bloody get 'em。
Roger was following her example； and Billy Costa was leading the way； being sharper…eyed than most。 Soon the snow was falling so thickly that they had to cling on to one another to keep from getting lost； and Lyra thought； perhaps if we all lie close and keep warm like that 。 。 。 Dig holes in the snow 。 。 。
She was hearing things。 There was the snarl of an engine somewhere； not the heavy thump of a zeppelin but something higher like the drone of a hornet。 It drifted in and out of hearing。
And howling 。 。 。 Dogs？ Sledge dogs？ That too was distant and hard to be sure of； blanketed by millions of snowflakes and blown this way and that by little puffing gusts of wind。 It might have been the gyptians' sledge dogs； or it might have been wild spirits of the tundra； or even those freed daemons crying for their lost children。
She was seeing things 。 。 。 。There weren't any lights in the snow； were there？ They must be ghosts as well 。 。 。 。Unless they'd e round in a circle； and were stumbling back into Bolvangar。
But these were little yellow lantern beams； not the white glare of anbaric lights。 And they were moving； and the howling was nearer； and before she knew for certain whether she'd fallen asleep； Lyra was wandering among familiar figures； and men in furs were holding her up： John Faa's mighty arm lifted her clear of the ground； and Farder Coram was laughing with pleasure； and as far through the blizzard as she could see； gyptians were lifting children into sledges； covering them with furs； giving them seal meat to chew。 And Tony Costa was there； hugging Billy and then punching him softly only to hug him again and shake him for joy。 And Roger 。 。 。
〃Roger's ing with us；〃 she said to Farder Coram。 〃It was him I meant to get in the first place。 We'll go back to Jordan in the end。 What's that noise…〃
It was that snarl again； that engine； like a crazed spy…fly ten thousand times the size。
Suddenly there came a blow that sent her sprawling； and Pantalaimon couldn't defend her； because the golden monkey…
Mrs。 Coulter…
The golden monkey was wrestling； biting； scratching at Pantalaimon； who was nickering through so many changes of form it was hard to see him； and fighting back： stinging； lashing； tearing。 Mrs。 Coulter； meanwhile； her face in its furs a frozen glare of intense feeling； was dragging Lyra to the back of a motorized sledge； and Lyra struggled as hard as her daemon。 The snow was so thick that they seemed to be isolated in a little blizzard of their own； and the anbaric headlights of the sledge only showed up the thick swirling flakes a few inches ahead。
〃Help！〃 Lyra cried； to the gyptians who were just there in the blinding snow and who could see nothing。 〃Help me！ Farder Coram！ Lord Faa！ Oh； God； help！〃
Mrs。 Coulter shrieked a high mand in the language of the northern Tartars。 The snow swirled open； and there they were； a squad of them； armed with rifles； and the wolf daemons snarled beside them。 The chief saw Mrs。 Coulter struggling； and picked up Lyra with one hand as if she were a doll and threw her into the sledge； where she lay stunned and dazed。
A rifle banged； and then another； as the gyptians realized what was happening。 But firing at targets you can't see is dangerous when you can't see your own side either。 The Tartars； in a tight group now around the sledge； were able to blaze at will into the snow； but the gyptians dared not shoot back for fear of hitting Lyra。
Oh； the bitterness she felt！ The tiredness！
Still dazed； with her head ringing； she hauled herself up to find Pantalaimon desperately fighting the monkey still； with wolverine jaws fastened tight on a golden arm； changing no more but grimly hanging on。 And who was that？
Not Roger？
Yes； Roger； battering at Mrs。 Coulter with fists and feet； hurtling his head against hers； only to be struck down by a Tartar who swiped at him like someone brushing away a fly。 It was all a phantasmagoria now： white； black； a swift green flutter across her vision； ragged shadows； racing light…
A great swirl lifted curtains of snow aside； and into the cleared area leaped Iorek Byrnison； with a clang and screech of iron on iron。 A moment later and those great jaws snapped left； right； a paw ripped open a mailed chest； white teeth； black iron； red wet fur…
Then something was pulling her up； powerfully up； and she seized Roger too； tearing him out of the hands of Mrs。 Coulter and clinging tight； each child's daemon a shrill bird fluttering in amazement as a greater fluttering swept all around them； and then Lyra saw in the air beside her a witch； one of those elegant ragged black shadows from the high air； but close enough to touch； and there was a bow in the witch's bare hands； and she exerted her bare pale arms （in this freezing air！） to pull the string and then loose an arrow into the eye slit of a mailed and lowering Tartar hood only three feet away…
And the arrow sped in and halfway out at the back； and the man's wolf daemon vanished in midleap even before he hit the ground。
Up！ Into midair Lyra and Roger were caught and swept； and found themselves clinging with weakening fingers to a cloud…pine branch； where a young witch was sitting tense with balanced grace； and then she leaned down and to the left and something huge was looming and there was the ground。
They tumbled into the snow beside the basket of Lee Scoresby's balloon。
〃Skip inside；〃 called the Texan； 〃and bring your friend； by all means。 Have ye seen that bear？〃
Lyra saw that three witches were holding a rope looped around a rock； anchoring the great buoyancy of the gas bag to the earth。
〃Get in！〃 she cried to Roger； and scrambled over the leatherbound rim of the basket to fall in a snowy heap inside。 A moment later Roger fell on top of her； and then a mighty noise halfway between a roar and a growl made the very ground shake。
〃C'mon； Iorek！ On board； old feller！〃 yelled Lee Scoresby； and over the side came the bear in a hideous creak of wicker and bending wood。
At once the aeronaut lowered his arm in a signal； and the witches let go of the rope。
The balloon lifted immediately and surged upward into the snow…thick air at a rate Lyra could scarcely believe。 After a moment the ground disappeared in the mist； and up they went； faster and faster； so that she thought no rocket could have left the earth more swiftly。 She lay holding on to Roger on the floor of the basket； pressed down by the acceleration。
Lee Scoresby was cheering and laughing and uttering wild Texan yells of delight； Iorek Byrnison was calmly unfastening his armor； hooking a deft