‘A dragon,’ said Clariel. She smiled under her mask. When she had been six years old her mother had made her a little golden dragon with ruby chips for eyes. Jaciel had taken it back a year later, and melted it down as a punishment for some infringement Clariel could no longer remember. ‘Can it be a golden dragon?’

‘Whatever you wish, Mistress,’ said Baazalanan in its strange, soft voice.

But Mogget said, ‘It would be better grey, unless you wish for everyone to know we’re coming, Clariel. Grey hides well against any sky.’

‘Grey, then. Also I will need a sword,’ said Clariel, suddenly remembering the one she had left behind. The Free Magic creatures had spoken of drawing metal from the ground and Aziminil had made a fine goblet for Aronzo. ‘Can you make me a sword?’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ said Aziminil. ‘But not quickly. It will take some little time.’

‘Better yet, I know of a sword that would serve you well,’ whispered Baazalanan. ‘And other weapons. A cache from long ago … It lies towards Belisaere, and we could break our journey there. Even for such as we, it is not possible to retain the dragon-shape without rest.’

‘A hidden sword and a dragon?’ asked Clariel. She smiled again, thinking of her eight-year-old self and the stories she used to love, told by her aunt Lemmin, for her mother told no stories. But the smile faded, for that younger Clariel would not have been able to imagine her present companions, nor would she like them. The eight-year-old would not understand the necessity of using such creatures. ‘Let us find it then. Make me a chair, and become your dragon. I will rest upon the bank. Keep watch while you work. Wake me as soon as you are ready, but remember you must not touch me.’

The two creatures nodded and bent down, their hands plunging deep through the pebbly beach into the earth, already summoning metal from the depths below. Clariel walked up the grassy bank beyond the beach of stones, and laid herself down. Mogget watched her for a moment, then padded back to the creatures. Both stopped their digging and bent their heads down towards the little cat.

If Clariel had been watching she might have wondered whether they were bowing down to offer homage, or simply to hear him better. He whispered something to them, unheard by Clariel, and they answered as quietly. Then Mogget went back to his fishing in the shallows and the creatures began to summon iron from far beneath their unnatural feet.

Clariel lay on her back on the grass and looked up. Her last conscious thought before sleep fell on her like a starving bear was that the moon looked bigger than she thought it should, and that this was important for a reason she couldn’t quite recall …