‘It is … would be … very dangerous. You must … you must seek the help of a Charter Mage, a magister of the first rank.’

Clariel felt a wave of relief pass through her. If there was a means to regain her connection to the Charter then using Free Magic was an acceptable risk. Kargrin – or the surprising Mistress Ader, who had been an Abhorsen – they would know what to do. They would help her.

It would all be worth it, when Kilp and Aronzo were dead, and Aunt Lemmin free, and the path to the Great Forest made clear at last.

‘How may we serve you, Mistress?’ whispered Baazalanan. It had crept closer to her, Aziminil at its heels. They must have heard everything. ‘Shall we carry you to Belisaere?’

Clariel let her hand fall from her forehead. She hesitated for a moment, then put the bronze mask back on and buckled the strap, before lifting the hood and making it fast. Her gauntlets went on next. She noted that the Charter marks in the strange, stony fabric were neither as bright nor as numerous as before. Touching the creatures had taken its toll. But she needed whatever remaining protection the garments offered.

‘How will you carry me?’ she asked. Thinking quickly, she added, ‘In a globe of white fire again? Remember that you must not touch my skin, nor convey me in such a way that I might accidentally touch you.’

‘We shall make a chair for you, Mistress,’ said Baazalanan in its soft but penetrating voice, which sounded neither male nor female. It was simply otherworldly and strange. Clariel knew from her mental contact that Baazalanan was the more powerful of the two, something she saw confirmed when Aziminil took up a subservient position a step behind the taller Free Magic creature. ‘We will summon metal from the ground. Then we shall join to make a flying mount and set the chair upon it.’

‘A flying mount?’ asked Clariel.

‘I think they intend something you might call a dragon,’ said Mogget thoughtfully. ‘At least a creature that inspired some of the tales of dragons.’

He was lying on his stomach in the grass, watching the two Free Magic creatures. They turned their heads towards the cat and, though they did not speak, Clariel sensed some silent communication before they turned back together to look at Clariel. If ‘look’ is what Aziminil did, with her strange oval void in place of a face.

‘I do not know what name you would use,’ whispered Baazalanan. ‘It is the shape favoured by some of our kindred, long ago. Winged Perazinik, Jagdezkal, Tazkehanar …’

‘Lost long ago, when the Seven made the Charter,’ added Aziminil. ‘But we remember.’

‘As do I,’ said Mogget. He grimaced and turned his head, licking at his collar.