A sharp stab of pain hit Clariel in the forehead as Mogget spoke, blinding her for a moment. Her sword felt slippery and uncertain in her hand, as if it might fly out of her grasp. She gripped it tighter, her fingers breaking through gauntlets that were now like ancient lace, the very threads disintegrating. Stepping up on the dais, she drew even closer to the King. Aziminil and Baazalanan stalked nearer too, watchful and silent.

Clariel could still feel their thoughts, their intent, even if they would not obey her. The connection between them remained. They would not kill the King here. They had to take him somewhere below, for his blood needed to be spilled fresh upon the Great Charter Stones.

‘Where is my granddaughter?’ asked the King again, as if he had not heard Mogget. The old man looked at the creatures, then at Clariel, his old rheumy eyes weeping, his mouth hanging open. ‘Tathiel was to come. The Clayr Saw her. Why is she not here, Claw?’

‘She sent me,’ said Clariel. ‘She awaits you. But you must run now. The Clayr are coming, you will be safe.’

‘I can’t run,’ protested the King. ‘I haven’t run for years.’

‘Get behind the throne!’ ordered Clariel urgently. She could sense the Free Magic creatures were about to spring. ‘Crawl if you must.’

‘I do not crawl!’ said Orrikan indignantly.

Baazalanan sprang at the King as he spoke and Aziminil jumped high at Clariel. She tried a stop-thrust but the sword betrayed her, turning in her hand, so she threw herself into a dodge, ducking and rolling away as Aziminil came screaming down, her spiked feet smashing into the wooden dais.

Before Aziminil could strike again, Clariel dived forward, scrabbling across the floor on all fours, the gauntlets falling off her fingers like shredded skin. Mogget was right in front of her, twisting and yowling, and his collar shone brighter than the sun with Charter marks. The spells within it held him fast, held him for Clariel.

She grabbed the cat’s collar with both hands.

The Charter exploded into her body, rocketing through muscle, skin and bone. Thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of marks burned their way through every part of her body, and into her mind. There the marks found the bridge from her to the creatures, and exploded across to Baazalanan, who held the King; and to Aziminil, just as she was about to stomp down on Clariel once again.

The creatures froze like statues. Twin waterfalls of golden sparks exploded from Baazalanan’s eyes. The void that was Aziminil’s face suddenly lit with a glow brighter than one of Jaciel’s crucibles. Charter marks danced amid the sparks, weaving a river of light between collar, woman and creatures.

But it was not enough.