There was a stairwell in the northeast corner, but it was filled with rubble, great stone blocks that had tumbled down and blocked it completely, so that only three or four steps poked out, leading nowhere. If the upper floors of the tower were still standing, they could not be reached by that stair, and Clariel could see no other entrances or exits. One corner of the room was out of sight, partitioned off by a folding screen of six hinged panels, each section painted with a scene that all together told a story, though it was so faded and damaged that it was unclear whether the narrative was of a great hunt, a parade or festival, or perhaps a battle.

The opposite corner had a workbench and a very tall glass-fronted bookcase of four doors with a hooked ladder to reach the higher books. There was a man standing at the bench, so intent on whatever he was doing that he did not look around or greet the visitors. He was tall and very broad-shouldered, bald on top but with hair braided down his back. His arms were also extremely muscular, well displayed by the sleeveless leather jerkin he wore atop leather riding breeches that were not paired with the usual boots, but slippers of a bright blue cloth, which were turned up at the toes and ended in sharp gilded points.

‘Don’t interrupt!’ he called out, still without turning around, his voice loud and commanding. ‘Stay over there.’

Clariel and her entourage stopped near the end of the long table as instructed, an instinctive response to the authority in the man’s voice. For a moment Clariel wondered what he was doing, then she saw Charter marks begin to glow and appear around his hands, a great stream of them that moved and roiled over the bench, and wrapped themselves up his arms to his elbows. They were directed at something on the bench, but Clariel couldn’t see what it might be, as it was blocked by the man’s body. By Magister Kargrin’s body, since he could be no one else. Clariel hadn’t expected a magister who looked like a tavern brawler, but then she had never met a fully fledged magister before; the Charter Mages who had taught her the fundamentals of magic back in Estwael were healers, with additional lessons on defensive and offensive marks from the town’s sergeant, who had served with the Wall Garrison.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, Valannie shifting nervously by Clariel’s side, clearly discomfited by seeing the evidence of magic at work. Eventually the Charter marks subsided down Kargrin’s arms, fading as they retreated into his hands, until they disappeared completely. The magister turned around, and Valannie shrieked as she saw he was cradling a large brown rat in his hands, its pink tail dangling down over his wrist.