Halfway along a dim lane, her mother’s spell began to fade a little. This allowed Clariel to think, instead of simply running. She paused to look up at the stars to get her bearings. But there were no stars. The clouds hung dark and low, and a light rain was falling, less wet than the tears already on her face.

There was a great hue and cry behind her, so she went the opposite way from the noise, running not quite so fast, saving her strength. There were people on the streets, as there always were, but few now, for it was full night. They parted before her, as soon as she was close enough to be seen in whatever light fell from house windows or street lanterns. No one wanted to get in the way of a bloodied, crazed-looking woman cradling an unsheathed dagger to herself as if it were a precious jewel.

Eventually, the compulsion faded completely. Clariel came to her senses, or what passed for senses, given the hammerblow of her parents’ murder. She was shivering with shock, her hands ached, her feet were cut and bruised, her soft shoes in ribbons. She looked around wildly, seeing only the dark outlines of tall houses, relieved here and there by the glow of lamps and Charter lights. She was in a residential street, a good one, judging from the size of the houses near her, but she had no idea which one.

Or where she should go. At least it was quiet. Wherever her pursuers were, they were not close. Perhaps she was no longer even pursued …

Clariel looked around again, studying the skyline, the patterns of lights. Then she saw it, sticking up above the other houses: the darker, taller shadow of a tower. One of the towers of the old wall.

Perhaps even Magister Kargrin’s tower. This could be … it looked like it was … the Street of the Cormorant … Somewhere she had run to unwittingly, her deeper self knowing where some hope of safety lay.

The gold and a disguise, thought Clariel dully. Now I have to go, for there is nothing … no one left for me here.

Nothing but death and trouble.

Limping, she walked up the street, keeping to the shadows, crossing the road when a particularly well-lit house cast too bright a light out its many windows.

Near Kargrin’s tower, she slowed, pushing the shock and grief away, forcing it deeper, till some other time. Kilp might well have Kargrin watched, she thought, as a known opponent. She might have to fight her way to the gate, and if it was at all possible, it would be best that Kilp not know where she was until she could be disguised and on her way again. Clariel had no idea how long a Charter Magic disguise would take to cast. Hours? She hoped it was quick, or there would be little chance for her to escape.