Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen (The Abhorsen Trilogy Book 4) (10 page)

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.

“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 realized 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 toward 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.

It was like falling into deep water. All of a sudden the world ceased to exist. She was surrounded entirely by Charter marks, brilliant, shining, blinding marks that swirled and swam all around her, through her and inside her, marks that she did not know and felt she could never know, thousands, tens of thousands, millions of Charter marks—

Clariel gasped and stepped back, breaking the connection. Kargrin lowered his hand and looked at her thoughtfully.

“It has been a long time since you joined with the Charter,” he said, his voice a deep rumble from the cave of his chest. Clearly he had seen a great deal into Clariel’s connection with the Charter in the moment of their exchange. “And you do not practice the little magic you have been taught.”

“No, I don’t,” admitted Clariel.

“Hmm,” said Kargrin. “Roban?”

He raised his hand again, and he and Roban reached out at the same time, almost like a salute, reassuring each other that their forehead Charter marks were true, and not some disguise of Free Magic. At one time all those who bore the Charter mark would have greeted each other this way, but no longer. Clariel belatedly realized that she had not seen anyone perform this traditional greeting since she had come to Belisaere.

“Do you have any news, Roban?” asked Kargrin.

“Nothing beyond my earlier communication, Magister,” replied Roban, with a sideways glance at Clariel, so slight she almost didn’t notice it. “If I do, I will send word at once, or come myself.”

“Speaking of messages,” said Clariel. “Mistress Ader at the Academy asked me to tell you, ‘None have yet passed by, but I will keep watch.’”

“Thank you,” said Kargrin. He nodded at Roban and made a slight gesture with his hand. The guard stood at attention, inclined his head, whipped around in a parade-ground-perfect about-face, and marched out. The magister turned his gaze back to Clariel, who suddenly felt shorter, younger, and more vulnerable.

“Conjure me a Charter light,” said Kargrin. “A small one, on your fingertip.”

Clariel nodded, took a breath, and reached out for the Charter once more. It was a little easier this time, because she could kind of sidle into it, rather than being inundated via Kargrin’s own immersion. But even so, she found it difficult. Starting with a few very familiar marks, she thought of more, visualizing them as a chain reaching back into the full flow, but all too quickly there were more marks than she could cope with. So many marks they threatened to swamp her, and it took all her concentration to just select the one she needed, a minor mark for light, pull it out of the swim, and coax it to her fingertip.

Light flared there, but only for a few seconds, as Clariel broke away from the Charter too soon for the light mark to be established on its own. She took another breath, and wiped away the sweat that had suddenly broken out on her forehead.

“Curious,” said Kargrin. “I wonder what you would do if—”

His fingers arched and suddenly shards of sharp metal spat straight at her, shards made not of true metal but of Charter marks, conjured so swiftly that he must have already had most of the spell put together and hidden on his person, awaiting only a single mark to activate it.

Clariel reacted instantly, ducking under the shards, but even so she felt the heat of their passage above her head.

“What are you doing?” squeaked Clariel. Raising her voice, she shouted, “Roban! Help!”

“Use the Charter,” bellowed Kargrin, his eyes intent on her own. “Defend yourself!”

His fingers arched again, and more red-hot shards spat forth, missing Clariel’s shoulder by a hairsbreadth as she twisted violently aside and collided with the edge of the table.

“Use the Charter!” Kargrin shouted again, stamping his foot. Charter marks blew up under his heel, forming a swirling cloud that rolled over Clariel, enveloping her in a choking mist. She dived onto the table, slid across it on her stomach, and went over the other side, ending up on all fours on the floor, her knees and hands smarting in pain, but with the cloud behind her.

Kargrin came around the end of the table, advancing upon her, his hands out in a spellcasting gesture. Clariel retreated, stood upright, and backed away. Anger was building inside her, anger fueled by pain and humiliation. Her knife was in her hand now, though she did not remember drawing it.

How dare he suddenly attack her, she thought, and why should she use Charter Magic anyway? She wanted to charge straight at the great bull of a man, and twist this way and strike, the knife parting his throat on the diagonal. Even before she knew it she was sliding forward, her arm going up, moving as swiftly as she ever had, fast as a kite dropping on a vole in the grass, but somehow when she twisted and her arm came across, Kargrin’s throat was not there.

Clariel whirled around but she could not see him anywhere in the hall.

Suddenly a plate dropped on her head, a china plate that shattered into pieces, though its surprise impact hadn’t really hurt. Clariel screeched a war cry, her head going back, and saw Kargrin standing tiptoe like a dancer on one of the broken beam ends way above her head.

“Use the Charter,” cried Kargrin. “Defend yourself!”

Rage filled Clariel. Her nostrils flared open as she exhaled and almost closed shut as she breathed in. She picked up one of the massive benches and threw it up at Kargrin, but he jumped away, across twelve feet or more to the next beam end, an impossible jump were he not aided by some magic. Clariel dropped her knife and ran toward him, raging. She swarmed up the wall, her fingers thrust into the tiniest cracks between stones, dislodging ancient mortar, but even so she could not find enough hand- and footholds. She fell back, immediately circling to find a weapon, something to throw at the enemy above her. But even as her hand closed upon a fallen piece of stone the size of an apple, a glowing net of Charter marks fell on her from above, wrapped itself around her three times, and bound her as securely as a spider ever tied a fly.

Clariel thrashed in her binding, enough to bruise herself more, and perhaps would even have dashed her own brains out on the floor if Kargrin had not dropped lightly by her side and laid a spell for sleep upon her brow, quickly followed by another, stronger spell when the first one was shrugged off by the anger that shone from her like the heat from one of her mother’s forges, busy smelting gold.

Chapter Eight

COMPLICATIONS AND OPPORTUNITIES

C
lariel came to her senses to find herself lying on the table in Kargrin’s hall, with a cushion under her head. For a moment she was disoriented, then she remembered what had happened. Her hand went into her sleeve for her dagger again, only to find nothing there, and her wrist gently but firmly clasped by the magister.

“Peace,” rumbled Kargrin. “Roban told me he thought you had the rage, and indeed I felt the presence of it when I tested your mark. But my attacks, save for the plate I dropped on your head, were illusory. Part-formed sendings that I would have expected even a half-trained Charter Mage to see through, particularly one of your heritage.”

“A test?” mumbled Clariel. Her head ached, and she felt slightly nauseous. “You might have told me.”

“It would not serve as a useful test if I told you,” said Kargrin. “If I release you, will you keep that anger in check?”

“Yes,” said Clariel. She slowly sat up and cradled her head in her hands. The ache intensified, a deep throbbing pain behind her eyes. “I’ve never . . . almost never let it get out of control like that . . .”

“You
are
a berserk,” said Kargrin, in a very matter-of-fact tone. “It is not uncommon in the royal blood, and though rarer among Abhorsens, it does crop up from time to time. You have both bloodlines from your mother. It is curious that you have the rage, but not the usual affinity of your kin for the Charter. There is danger in this, for you, and for others.”

“I’ve never . . . I’ve never let it get so far beyond . . .” faltered Clariel. “I’ve never hurt a . . . a person!”

“It is not simply the rage itself, and the violence that may come with it,” said Kargrin. “It is also an indicator of an affinity with Free Magic, which is governed by emotion and raw will. All those who have the blood of the Five have some natural ability with Free Magic, but it is usually counterbalanced by an innate connection and understanding of the Charter, a desire to be part of its all-encompassing nature. Tell me, do you like to be alone?”

“Yes.”

“You would prefer to be alone, than to be in company?”

“Yes . . .” said Clariel slowly. “But I do not feel alone, not in the Forest. I feel part of it, though I may have no company save the beasts and the birds. But in this city . . . I feel surrounded, and seek solitude. Or I would, if anyone would let me!”

Kargrin’s brow furrowed slightly as he took Clariel’s hand and helped her stand. She felt weak and a little dizzy, and had to sit on the bench. It was the one she had a dim memory of throwing, now back in its place. But how could she have thrown such a heavy piece of furniture, that must weigh three times what she did?

“Free Magic often appeals to the solitary, those who wish to order their lives without the constraint of others. The rage is similar, in that it throws off the constraints of your normal self, your normal physicality, rationality, and emotion. In fact, it is possible that the berserk state is itself a form of Free Magic, or is derived from some ancient effect of that magic.”

“I never really understood what Free Magic actually is,” said Clariel. “Our teacher just said it was evil, something to fear, and warned us to seek help should we ever encounter any. Not that she told us how we would know.”

“You would know,” said Kargrin. His teaching voice was coming on again, and he gestured with his huge hands. “Free Magic is not necessarily
evil
as such, it is merely unconstrained, though this difference may be hard to understand. It is a raw power. It resists consistent ordering and may be shaped and directed by will alone. Most so-called Free Magic constructs or entities are relicts or leftovers of an ancient age, things that for various reasons were not subsumed in the making of the Charter. They tend to see anything of the Charter as their enemy, which is to effectively say all life. To make it worse, over time many such entities have become impressed with a limited range of human feelings, usually the baser ones, without any counterbalancing better nature. But it is their desire for total freedom, regardless of others—including other Free Magic creatures—that leads them to kill and wreak havoc.”

“I don’t want to kill or wreak havoc,” mumbled Clariel. “I just want to live in the Forest, and be left alone.”

“Yes,” said Kargrin. “But how far would you go in order to live as you want to, alone in the Forest?”

“Not very far, obviously. I wouldn’t even be here if I wasn’t so obedient!” snapped Clariel. “I’d be in the Forest already.”

“Yes . . .” mused Kargrin. “That does indicate you have some measure of control over your anger, and your desires. Perhaps, with some training, it will be enough.”

“Enough for what?” asked Clariel.

Kargrin’s nose twitched, and he rubbed it thoughtfully, but did not immediately answer. Clariel repeated her question.

“Enough for what?”

“I suppose you need not remember this, if necessary,” said Kargrin. He spoke quietly, almost to himself, but Clariel caught the implication very clearly. For a brief moment she felt a shock of sudden fear, that he would kill her if he thought it was required. Then she realized that as an accomplished Charter Mage he was talking about erasing part of her memory. This did not greatly lessen her fear. Memories were part of what defined a person, and who knew what might be taken away with a memory?

“I am in the habit of keeping secrets,” she said quickly. “We do not talk much in the Forest.”

“Very well,” said Kargrin. “There is a possibility that you might be able to assist us . . . to assist me . . . with a particular problem that has arisen in the city.”

“What kind of problem could I help with?”

“There is a Free Magic creature in Belisaere,” said Kargrin flatly. “And we need your help to find it.”

“What! But . . . how? I thought that the aqueducts kept out the Dead, running water . . .”

“Running water does protect against the Dead, and some lesser Free Magic beings,” said Kargrin. “But there are things that can pass under the aqueducts, or even cross a great river like the Ratterlin. Creatures with power to remain unseen, save by careful scrutiny of Charter Magic. We suspect one such entity is here, within our walls and aqueducts.”

“But how can I help?” asked Clariel.

“Like many of the Abhorsen line, you have a strong affinity for Free Magic, and great potential to wield it,” said Kargrin. “The rage is one indicator of that, and there are other signs within you. Like seeks like, and once it becomes aware of you this creature will seek you out in order to augment its power. It is the nature of such things that they must test each other, and the lesser fall under the will of the greater.”

“Like seeks like . . .” said Clariel. Her thoughts immediately went to her experience of the hunt. “You mean to use me as bait? Tethered like a goat for a wolf-hunt?”

“Not tethered,” said Kargrin. “But that is the general idea. You are also well suited for another reason.”

“Which is?”

“We . . . I suspect a connection between the creature and Governor Kilp,” said Kargrin. “But until we find the creature, we cannot prove it, and as Kilp has grown very powerful these last few years, we cannot move openly against him. But you will be able to look where we cannot, since Kilp has chosen you to marry his son—”

“What!” exploded Clariel, standing up so quickly that she almost fainted and had to quickly sit back down again. “Me? Marry Aronzo?”

“Ah,” said Kargrin. “I thought you were cognizant of that plan. It is part of some overall scheme of Kilp’s to seize power and replace the King . . .”

He paused as Clariel stared at him, her jaw partly open and a look of total disbelief upon her face.

“You don’t know any of this?” asked Kargrin. “Didn’t Belatiel tell you?”

“Oh,” said Clariel. “He wanted me to meet him after the last class. I forgot.”

Kargrin shook his head.

“Bel was not born to be a conspirator. He talks too much when he’s not supposed to, and clearly not enough when he is.”

“What
was
he supposed to tell me?” asked Clariel. “Because I need to know and I’m
really
tired of being a . . . a game piece moved about by my parents, or Kilp, or you and your . . . conspirators!”

“We’re not absolutely sure,” said Kargrin, suddenly defensive. “But from what my rats have been able to gather, and other sources, we think Kilp intends for you to become the Queen—”

“What!” shrieked Clariel, leaping to her feet again, swaying and having to sit down yet again.

“If you keep interrupting I’ll never be able to explain,” said Kargrin. “And you’ll pass out. The rage is always followed by weakness, you should know that. Now, Kilp can’t put just anyone on the throne, it has to be someone of the royal blood, who can assume the wardenship of the Great Charter Stones . . . though the bigger question is why would a Free Magic creature want to help Kilp set a puppet Queen upon the throne. What would it gain from that . . . what?”

Clariel had raised her finger questioningly, not wanting to stand again.

“What are the Great Charter Stones?”

“Didn’t your mother teach you anything?” said Kargrin testily. “You know the rhyme, don’t you? You must have learned it as a child!”

“Oh, you mean the one about the five Great Charters?” asked Clariel. “I guess I never thought it meant anything.”

“Never thought it meant anything!” exploded Kargrin. “What is the world coming to? The Great Charter Stones in the reservoir beneath the Palace are part of the physical embodiment of the Charter, created by the Wallmakers and infused with their power. They are a foundation for the Charter, along with the Wall and the bloodlines of Clayr, Abhorsen, and the Royal Family; surely you must know this?”

“I suppose I must have been taught something about it all sometime or other,” said Clariel doubtfully.

“Bah!” exclaimed Kargrin. He threw up his hands and continued, “Where was I?”

“Kilp making me Queen,” muttered Clariel.

“Yes. We think that Kilp plans to put you on the throne, with Aronzo as your consort, but Kilp will rule.”

“So I would be trapped in Belisaere for good,” whispered Clariel. Her face twisted in distaste. “And married to the slimy Aronzo . . .”

“It’s an educated guess,” continued Kargrin. He scratched one of his massive eyebrows as he returned to his ruminations about the nature of the connection between Kilp and the suspected Free Magic creature. “I just cannot think what the motive is . . . I mean for the creature; it is not so unusual for such as Kilp to seek greater power. But Free Magic entities usually flee concentrations of Charter Magic, and there are none greater than here. Kilp is not himself a sorceror, nor can we identify one in his service. So the creature is not bound, and I cannot think why it would want to just
help
Kilp make himself the effective ruler of the Kingdom. Other than hatred of the royal line, I suppose . . .”

“I don’t care why they’re doing anything,” protested Clariel. “As long as I can avoid it. I particularly don’t want to marry Aronzo, or be Queen!”

“There is some doubt whether you would in fact be recognized as Queen by the Charter,” mused Kargrin. His manner was very much a teacher’s, considering some long-ago historical matter, not something of supreme importance right now to Clariel. “Even if King Orrikan is dead and Kilp installs you in the palace, the Great Charter Stones might reject you, because Princess Tathiel is presumably still alive somewhere. Also, your mother does have a higher claim, and there are the cousins on the other side who might have a better right . . .”

Clariel groaned and rested her head in her hands.

“I don’t care about the Charter! I just want to live in the Great Forest, be a Borderer, and be left alone!”

“And you may be able to, one day,” said Kargrin. “We might also be wrong. Up until yesterday I was sure it was your mother that Kilp wanted to put on the throne as his puppet, and her invitation to the High Guild of Goldsmiths was simply a pretext to get her to the city. But on investigation she is highly esteemed in the guild, and her . . . ah . . . lack of interest in politics and so forth is well attested. Then we learned of your intended marriage to Aronzo and all became clear.”

“Not that clear. Roban told me he suspected Kilp was afraid my mother would displace him as Guildmaster, and she would become Queen of her own doing,” said Clariel. “So maybe you’re wrong as well.”

“Roban, like all of us, is trying to make sense of what is happening, and what might happen,” said Kargrin. “But he did not then know what we know now.”

“Who is ‘we’?” asked Clariel.

“An informal society,” said Kargrin. “Intent on the preservation of the Kingdom. We were all formerly employed by the King, either in the Guard or some other capacity. I myself was once Castellan of the Palace.”

“Why aren’t you still?” asked Clariel. “I just don’t understand why the King got rid of everybody.”

“The King is . . . ill,” said Kargrin. “A darkness is on his mind, and he sees no joy in anything, and no relief. It is a consequence of a long life bearing the great burden of kingship, until the weight of it grew too heavy. He wished to pass that burden on, but his daughters were dead, and his grandchild lost to him, so he simply set it aside, refusing to make decisions. Part of that was a belief that if he did so, Tathiel would return and take the throne. But that has not happened yet. For want of any other authority, the guilds—under Kilp’s leadership—have usurped much of what was the royal prerogative and power.”