‘There is a lot of smoke. I would guess that Kilp, seeing the relieving army approach, has tried to take it by assault. Perhaps he hopes to face the Clayr with the King already dead, and the evidence of his own crimes wiped clear. Probably including your aunt Lemmin.’

‘But the Clayr wouldn’t treat with him,’ protested Clariel. ‘Would they?’

‘More to the point, they won’t reach the city before nightfall,’ said Mogget judiciously. He looked up at Clariel, his eyes slitted against the wind, giving no sign of the thoughts that lay behind them. ‘Even if the city walls aren’t held against them, they cannot come to the Palace in time. The King’s guards may still be fighting, a last, desperate struggle, hoping for reinforcements … but who can help them?’

‘We can,’ said Clariel. ‘Why don’t they fly in? The Clayr have Paperwings, but I can’t see any …’

‘You told me yourself of bolt-throwers on Coiner’s Hill,’ said Mogget.

‘I wonder … if we should drop down and speak to the Clayr,’ said Clariel. She was finding it difficult to think clearly. It was so cold, and her forehead hurt. She could sense an eagerness from the dragon beneath her: Aziminil and Baazalanan wanted to fly faster, to come to grips with the enemy. It was like the fury, but different. And it wasn’t just about fighting, they wanted something else, she could feel it …

‘They will attack you on sight,’ warned Mogget. ‘We ride a Free Magic creature, remember! If we do go to the Palace the same applies. We will need to be wary of both sides.’

‘My robes have Charter marks,’ said Clariel. She lifted her left sleeve to look at it, and was surprised to see so few marks there, and even these were fading, coming adrift from the cloth. ‘Well … once on the walls, the dragon can come apart, Az and Baz can stay … stay behind me. I will speak to Gullaine, she will know me …’

Her voice trailed off. It was so difficult to think! But her path was still clear in her mind. Go to the Palace. Save the King. Kill Kilp and Aronzo, who were bound to be there. Aunt Lemmin … she might be anywhere, a prisoner in the same hole where Clariel had been herself, but she didn’t really know where that was … or in the Governor’s House.

No matter, Clariel thought. Kilp will tell me before he dies.

‘Fly faster!’ she instructed. The dragon answered, its leathery wings moving to a more rapid beat.

‘You could call a wind,’ suggested Mogget. ‘Take just a smidgeon of power from Aziminil, she has plenty to spare. This shape is easy for the two of them.’