‘I still don’t know why you’re really coming with me,’ she said. ‘What happens if the Abhorsen finds you gone?’

‘Tyriel?’ snorted Mogget. ‘He could summon me back, and I would go. I cannot disobey his direct commands. But I doubt he will think of me. He never has before.’

‘He might now,’ said Clariel. ‘I left a note for Bel, just in case.’

Mogget stood up suddenly, his head butting Clariel under her chin.

‘You did what!’

‘He won’t see it till late today, if he visits like he said he would,’ said Clariel. ‘Even in a Paperwing he couldn’t catch up with us. Besides, Bel would want to help me anyway.’

‘Would he?’ asked Mogget darkly. ‘Perhaps he might see things differently now. But done is done. We had best make speed. Order your minions to carry us aloft.’

Clariel nodded. Whatever Mogget said, she was sure Bel would not try to stop her, particularly not when she was going against Kilp and Aronzo, to save the King.

‘Fly carefully,’ she instructed the composite beast. ‘Do not allow me to fall, but go swiftly.’

‘First to find the sword?’ asked the dragon. Interestingly, its voice now was not a combination of the two Free Magic creatures, but Baazalanan’s alone.

‘Where is it?’ asked Clariel. ‘And how fast can you fly? It is near two hundred leagues to Belisaere.’

‘The sword lies on the foothills of Mount Aunden; we can be there soon after the dawn. We must rest then, under the height of the sun, but can then reach Belisaere by an hour after dusk.’

‘But what is your intention, Mistress?’

The voice now changed to Aziminil’s.

‘We are strong and may pass the water channels, but there are many Charter Stones and many Charter Mages in the city … We cannot travel as we are, and should we be seen, they could imprison us once again.’

‘I am not sure,’ said Clariel slowly. She frowned, the movement making her mask move as well. It was sticking to her forehead again. ‘I need to see what is happening. Perhaps we will drop down outside Belisaere, find travellers or farmers, ask what is going on … I will decide later. Fly now!’

‘Yes, Mistress,’ carolled the dragon, in its composite voice. It extended its wings, the tips unfolding to a far greater length than Clariel had suspected, beat down with them and began a lurching run along the pebbled beach, the powerful hindquarters driving it forward at considerable speed. Just before the beach ended in a tall, overgrown bank, the dragon pumped its wings again and lurched into the sky, with Clariel and Mogget holding on for dear life in the iron chair.