Clariel ran. She stumbled down the stairs, compelled by the spell. All she could think of was flight. She had to get out of the dark, enclosed stair, get out of the Governor’s House, get out of Belisaere!

Get out! Get out!

She collided with the door at the bottom, and frantically felt for the lever, handle or bar. But there was nothing, just smooth wood. She hammered on it with the eel knife, screaming, ‘Open! Open!’ until finally someone did open it and she fell out into lantern light, her clothes splattered with blood and the top of her head singed. Hands clutched at her, but she fought them off and ran, ran as fast as she could for the front door through people shouting questions, and then all-too-slowly beginning to run after her.

Then she was outside, the door behind her. Out in the courtyard, crowded with soldiers, and there was an instant, just an instant, when no one noticed because it was noisy and everyone was excited with the coming battle or riot or whatever they wanted to call it.

That moment passed as Kilp shouted behind her.

‘Stop her! Catch her! Do not use steel!’

Clariel didn’t slow down. Even as everyone began to react, she was running, this time for the gate in the curtain wall. She was halfway there when she heard Kilp again, closer.

‘Stop her! Catch her!’

A grinning guardsman stepped into her path, the grin gone instantly as she kicked him in the groin and ducked past, cursing the flimsy shoes she wore instead of her proper boots.

She was almost at the gate when one of her own guards, the grim-faced Reyvin, stepped out from the shadows and thrust her spear-shaft at exactly the right point between the young woman’s knees.

Clariel came crashing down on the flagstones and lost her eel knife. She rolled quickly and got onto her knees, just as the spear-shaft came down again, this time to tap her quickly on the back of the head.

It was meant to knock her out, but it didn’t. Clariel rode the blow down, flipped over on her side and kicked up at her attacker, getting Reyvin just under the knee. The guard cursed and went down herself, sprawling on the pavement. Clariel dived onto her, whipped a dagger from her belt and was up and away again, still compelled by her mother’s spell, Jaciel’s shouted ‘Go!’ echoing in her ears.

She was through the gate before any other guard came close, and then sprinting down the road faster than she had ever run, faster than on any hunt, this time the quarry rather than the hunter. She ran without conscious thought for any ultimate destination, seeking only darkness to shield her, turning off the well-lit roads that were illuminated by Charter-Magic lanterns suspended on iron poles, choosing always the darkest street at every intersection.