Clariel bent over the silver bottle and directed her thoughts to the spark that lurked deep inside her, the ember of the rage that she must blow into fire and feed till it became the fury, making her strong enough not only to survive the Charter Magic that kept the bottle sealed, but also to overpower the creature within.

Aziminil.

‘Hurry up!’

The words sounded distant, from some other place of no account. Clariel once again ignored Mogget, her mind bent inwards. She had found the place where the rage dwelt, and now she fed it, supplying it with memories.

The terrible night when her parents died; Aronzo smiling his self-satisfied smile; the feel of the knife in her hand when she tried to stab him and Roban had parried it away …

Then she bit her lip, right through, the taste of her own blood hot and salty, and she wanted to spill more blood, not her own, the rage rising and rising, spreading through every muscle, every vein …

Clariel roared and grabbed the bottle, gauntleted hands gripping the stopper, ripping it off in one swift movement, gold wires and all, Charter Magic spells to chill her bones and stop her heart broken in that instant, marks spinning off uselessly into the air.

With the stopper gone, Aziminil was suddenly there on the table, taloned hands reaching for her rescuer, a spiked foot stabbing out. But Clariel batted the hands away, gripped the spiked foot, lifted the creature above her head, and threw her to the ground almost to the lip of the waterfall.

Aziminil tried to get up but Clariel was upon her, her gauntlets smashing down upon the creature’s bony shoulders, the strength of Clariel’s hands and the strength of her mind forcing the thing to kneel. Charter marks blazed bright as stars in her gauntlets and white sparks fountained from the creature, the stench of hot metal a sharp reek that filled the cavern.

Aziminil struggled to rise, but could do nothing against the force of Clariel.

‘Obey me!’ bellowed the young woman, her voice near as loud as the waterfall itself, infused with all her berserk fury. She felt triumphant, for she could sense Aziminil’s mind already bending beneath her will, giving in, surrendering to her as was her right.

‘Swear you will serve me! Serve me forever!’

chapter twenty-eight

binding the free

‘Swear to serve me forever, or be destroyed!’

The creature suddenly slumped. Clariel felt something shift inside Aziminil’s mind, some last shred of resistance snap.

‘I will serve you, Mistress,’ said Aziminil. She bent forward till her head struck the ground at Clariel’s feet.

‘Forever, until I release you,’ boomed Clariel.

‘Forever, until you release me,’ agreed the Free Magic creature.