Three houses up and across the street, she hid by the front door of a darkened house, and watched the gate of the tower. It was only when she tasted salt in her mouth that she realised it wasn’t just rain on her face. She was crying, the tears flowing for the father who, though he had disappointed her, she had always loved; and for her mother, whom she must presume to be dead.

But she could not afford tears, not yet at any rate. Clariel wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and watched again. There was no movement on the street. All was quiet, and most of the nearer houses were dark. She could not wait longer, because any search would undoubtedly come here. Valannie knew everywhere she went, and doubtless she would have already told Kilp’s minions where to look.

Clariel crossed the road at a run, went straight to the small portal in the gate and knocked on it as quietly as she dared. Even so, the knocks sounded very loud in the quiet, dark street. She gripped her dagger harder, ignoring the pain in her hand, tensing for a sudden attack from somewhere. An arrow, or a quarrel from one of the windows opposite, someone leaping out from that doorway –

A head appeared suddenly through the door, thrust through the iron-studded timber. Clariel shrieked and jumped back, before she realised it was the Charter sending that had opened the door before. It looked at her, its eyes a bright concentration of Charter marks.

‘Kargrin,’ croaked Clariel. ‘I need to see Kargrin. Let me in. My name is Clariel. Please let me in!’

The sending’s head withdrew. At the same time Clariel heard running footsteps on the street, hobnails sharp on the paving stones. She turned and saw half a dozen guards in Goldsmith livery approaching, long wooden staves in their hands rather than more deadly weapons.

‘Drop your dagger!’ commanded the leader.

The sound of bolts being withdrawn came from within the tower. Clariel backed up against the door and hefted her dagger. The guards approached warily, staves at the ready.

Clariel stamped backwards with her foot, hoping the door would budge. But it didn’t move.

‘Kargrin!’ she screamed, as loud as she could. But he didn’t answer, and no help came. She couldn’t fight six guards, not without help, and the berserk fury that might have made the difference felt far distant, banished by the shock of her parents’ death, or suppressed by the after-effects of Jaciel’s spell.