‘Well met, Roban. And Jaciel’s daughter, whose name I have forgotten,’ said Kargrin. ‘And Valannie, isn’t it? You’d best begone, lest you see something truly disturbing.’

‘I will stay with my lady –’ Valannie started to say, ending in a shriek as a hand touched her elbow, a hand made not of flesh, but of thousands of Charter marks, close together, giving the illusion of skin. The hand belonged to a robed and cowled figure. Its face, if it had one, was hidden deep in the shadow of its hood. It gestured at the door.

Clariel had never seen one before, but she knew what it was, from many stories and legends. The robed figure was a Charter sending, a magical creature created for a specific purpose, usually a servant of some kind, a guard or a messenger.

‘Amda will show you out,’ said Kargrin.

Valannie’s mouth moved, but only a kind of strangled clucking sound came out. Avoiding the Charter sending’s helping hand, she dashed for the door.

‘Remind me of your name, Jaciel’s daughter.’

‘Clariel.’

‘You will address me as Magister,’ replied Kargrin, in a conversational tone that nevertheless brooked no opposition. ‘So you wish to learn Charter Magic?’

‘No, Magister,’ replied Clariel. She met Kargrin’s enquiring gaze, his eyes dark beneath large and very bushy eyebrows, above a face that once again did not match her expectations. It was a forceful, almost ugly face, and his nose had been broken and set somewhat awry. ‘My parents wish me to learn.’

Kargrin nodded thoughtfully, lifted the rat near to his mouth and whispered something to it. Clariel saw small Charter marks like sparks come out with his words, to be answered by glittering reflections across the rat’s skin, and realised the rat, too, was a sending. The magister gently set it down on the floor, and it ran to the wall and slipped through a triangular crack between two stones.

‘So your parents wish you to learn,’ he said, rumbling over to her, his slippered feet making the floorboards groan. He was even taller and bigger than Clariel had thought, up close, perhaps six and a half feet tall and proportioned more like a bear than a man, with a long waist and short, tree-trunk legs. ‘I will test your mark, if I may.’

He raised one massive finger and reached towards Clariel’s forehead, where the brand of her baptismal Charter mark suddenly flared into life. She remained still as she felt the slightest touch of Kargrin’s fingertip, and without really thinking about it, did as she had been taught long ago, reaching up to touch the Charter mark on Kargrin’s forehead in turn.