Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen (The Abhorsen Trilogy Book 4) (11 page)

“Why does he think Tathiel will return?” asked Clariel. She had always been interested in the story of the missing princess, though there was no definitive version of the tale. Some said she had deliberately run away, others that she had died in an accident, or even that she was imprisoned beneath the Palace. The only thing the various stories agreed on was that Tathiel had not been seen for almost a decade.

“The Clayr have seen her, back in Belisaere, upon the Palace walls, in enough visions to make it very likely it will happen,” said Kargrin. “She is clad as if for war. But as is common, they do not know when, save that she looks to be of an age somewhere between twenty and thirty-five. That is to say, anytime from now up to the next ten of fifteen years. Or more probably twenty, given the difficulty of determining any woman’s age, let alone one wearing a helmet. They could also have mistaken someone who merely looks like Tathiel.”

“I’m supposed to be seeing the King the day after tomorrow,” said Clariel. “To give him a kin-gift. If I can find a bright fish on the Islet, that is.”

“Yes . . . Roban mentioned you would be going to the Islet. This is also of interest to us.”

“What? Why?”

“There is a man called Marral in Kilp’s service, who has come to our attention these past few months. Indeed, it is he who first led us to suspect that there is a Free Magic creature within the city.”

“How?”

“We have numerous friends in Kilp’s service. One noticed that this man Marral had become a new favorite, often closeted with the Governor on secret business. So we had him followed, and quickly learned that he goes to and from the Islet, but much more significantly, goes a very particular way that avoids all Charter Stones. Once we heard that, I cast various spells on his footprints, places he had passed and so forth, and by this means discovered he is tainted with Free Magic. As is Kilp’s house, at least those parts I can easily investigate. I suspect that the creature either inhabits Marral, as some such things can wriggle within a mortal body, or he is transporting it in some container that keeps its true nature and force hidden, so leaving few signs. A casket of lead or gold, perhaps a bottle of green glass . . . in any case, Marral went to the Islet yesterday and has not yet returned. It seems likely that he has taken the creature to its lair or holt upon the Islet. If you go there, it will be unable to resist the temptation to reveal itself to you—”

“Like a dog taking the scent of a fox,” said Clariel. “Perhaps with similar results for the quarry. I have no desire to confront any Free Magic creature. Nor do I want to be involved in any politicking or anything that might stop me getting out of the city and back where I belong!”

Kargrin’s eyes narrowed.

“It is your duty,” he said. “You are of both the Abhorsen and the royal blood.”

“My blood is of no consequence,” said Clariel. “I simply want to be a hunter, a Borderer in time.”

“Your heritage is of great consequence, whether you wish it to be or not,” said Kargrin. “And we do need your help. The creature hides most cunningly and we have not been able to draw it out. Who knows what its plans are, underlying Kilp’s own treason?”

“It is not my affair!” protested Clariel. “As soon as I can, I am going back to Estwael and the Great Forest!”

“Hmmm,” said Kargrin, fixing her with his piercing gaze. “You say you came to the city in obedience to your parents. Yet now you say you will leave. If this is so, why did you come and what holds you back?”

“I suppose I have the habit of doing what they ask and . . . I didn’t realize how much I would hate . . .”

Clariel threw her hands up as she tried to find the right words, as if she might somehow pick meaning from the air. “Hate it here. The city oppresses me, the noise, the closeness of everything, the . . . the torrents of people in the streets. I have no money of my own . . .”

She stood up, ignoring the wave of dizziness, bunched her fists together, and brought them down on the table.

“But I am going to get out of Belisaere, no matter what I have to do to escape!”

Clariel had finally decided. She would steal from her parents after all, take a few bags of coin from the strongbox, a gold bar from the stock waiting to be worked, some of the lesser jewels that were waiting to be set . . .

“You need money,” agreed Kargrin. “But you will also need help to leave the city, to evade Kilp’s people here and on the roads.”

“Kilp’s people?” Clariel asked. She’d thought of her parents sending someone after her, but hadn’t considered anybody else would. If Governor Kilp ordered her arrest, then there would be all manner of guards and agents and guild people after her, in every town on the way, and the major roads. “I didn’t think anyone would bother . . .”

“Perhaps we can help each other,” said Kargrin. “We can provide you with money and a Charter spell to change your countenance. Clothes and weapons, a horse . . . in return you will help us lure the Free Magic creature into revealing itself.”

“I need two hundred and fifty gold bezants,” said Clariel, mindful of the amount Mistress Ader had said would be required for her first five years. It seemed an enormous sum. Considering Ader was calculating on Belisaere rates, she’d probably need a lot less in Estwael. But as in all bargaining Clariel thought she might as well start high, and be prepared to settle for whatever she could get.

As she said the amount, Clariel felt like she had finally stepped over a threshold where she had been dallying for weeks, neither turning back nor going ahead. Whatever sum of money they arrived at, or even if she had to steal from her parents, the decision was made. She would leave Belisaere. Leave her family. Start the new life she had always wanted.

The only thing was, now that it seemed likely to be possible, she was not as sure she wanted it.

“Done!” boomed Kargrin.

“What?” asked Clariel.

“You are a brave and sensible young woman!” declared Kargrin. “Now, we must focus your mind on Charter Magic, for there is no small danger in the task ahead, and you are currently ill-prepared. I believe we have another two hours of your time today, do we not?”

“We do,” sighed Clariel. “But . . .”

“No buts!” cried Kargrin. “Do not fret. It is simple stuff we will do, the very foundation work you have neglected!”

The prospect of studying Charter Magic for two hours was not something Clariel relished. But despite that she felt a fizzing excitement, for at last she had a plan of escape that was more than just a daydream. She could see a path forward now, out from behind the walls that loomed so high above her, back to the quiet, green world of the Great Forest.

All she had to do first was be the bait in a trap for a Free Magic creature . . .

Chapter Nine

OLD SECRETS, NEW PLANS

T
hat night, Jaciel came to dinner, surprising not only Clariel but also her father. They had already sat down, and the score or so younger apprentices and forgehands at the lower table were drawing in their benches when Jaciel appeared with two of the senior apprentices following subserviently, as if they were holding an invisible train on her dress. This appearance required everyone to stand up again, and the apprentice who had been just about to place the gravy boat in front of Harven spilled it, sending a flood of thick, spiced sauce across the high table.

“Be seated,” said Jaciel. She had been working when Clariel had returned from her magic lesson, smoke billowing from the workshop, but had washed and changed since then. Now she was wearing another multilayered dress of gold and white, this one trimmed with tiny, paper-thin gold coins at sleeve and neck. “Sillen, don’t stand there gaping, scrape the gravy back in the boat and return it to the kitchen. Cook will give you a fresh service. You—Kellil—come up here and help her.”

“Hello, Mother,” said Clariel. Before she had agreed to help Magister Kargrin she had thought to ask her mother about why she had left her family, in the hope of finding some common ground. But now she had a definite way out on her own, she considered it best to stay quiet. Similarly, she had also decided not to talk about any plan for her to marry Aronzo, mostly out of fear that there really was a plan, and that by bringing it up she would make it more real, make it more than Kargrin’s suspicion. A polite exchange of greetings, followed by silence, seemed the best policy, as it had been so often in the past.

“Clariel,” replied Jaciel, taking the high seat, which here in their new house was almost a throne, a great thing of gilded wood, set with semiprecious stones: garnets and amethysts and chrysolite. Back in Estwael, she had been content with a high-backed chair. “Harven.”

“Hello, my dear,” said Harven. “I trust your work goes well?”

“Well enough,” said Jaciel, leaning back so yet another apprentice on table duty could fasten a napkin around her neck, the snowy linen suspended from a cord of twisted gold. “I will speak to you later about the latest delivery of the blue natron, which is not of the first quality. Clariel, you went today to the Academy, and then to Magister Kargrin, did you not?”

“Yes, Mother,” said Clariel.

Jaciel stabbed a long spear of poached asparagus with her silver fork, one she had made herself, as she had made all the cutlery on the high table.

“And?” she asked, turning to look at her daughter as she bit off the top of the asparagus and flicked the woody stem back on her plate.

“I . . . attended, as I have been asked to do,” said Clariel.

“You met other young people,” said Jaciel. “Including Aronzo, our Guildmaster’s son?”

“Yes,” said Clariel, her mouth tightening. It was typical that having decided not to bring up the subject herself, her mother unerringly did so for her, as if she could sense her daughter’s caution.

“Good,” said Jaciel. “I wished you to meet him. You and he are of a similar age. I believe he is a useful journeyman in his father’s workshop and will soon be admitted as a goldsmith in his own right.”

“Will he?” snorted Clariel. “I doubt he works very hard at it.”

“Do not judge others by your lack of application,” said Jaciel. “Have you found a present for the King?”

“Not yet,” said Clariel. She could feel herself growing angry again. It was somehow closer to her now, after her berserk fury earlier that day, and she had to try harder to keep it in check. “I hope I will have something tomorrow. Even though I know it’s just an excuse to get you in the Palace to look at that Dripstone work or whatever it is.”

“Dropstone work,” said Jaciel coldly. “It is very important that I see it, and given the King’s attitude, your presentation for the kin-gift was the only way to do so. You should be pleased to be able to help me toward what I intend will be a truly great creation of my art.”

“That’s all you care about it, isn’t it?” snapped Clariel, rising to her feet and throwing down her knife and fork, so they clashed on her plate, a meeting of arms like a harbinger of battle. “Your art! You can’t even see that other people have things they care about just as much, but
you
won’t help them!”

“Clarrie . . .” warned her father, raising one ineffectual hand.

“I suggest you retire,” said Jaciel, apparently unperturbed by her daughter’s outburst. “I am making allowances for you, Clariel. I know that our removal here has disturbed you, but please do understand that I . . . that we . . . simply know far better how to arrange your future. You will be grateful, in time.”

“How can you say that?” asked Clariel, her cheeks white with suppressed anger. “You ran away from your home to do what you needed to do! How can you not understand that I want something different from you too!”

Jaciel’s eyes had half closed as Clariel spoke, hooded as if she was momentarily lost in thought. She opened them wide and stared at her daughter, a powerful, disturbing stare.

“I did not run away from my home to become a goldsmith,” she said very quietly, so that despite craned necks and obvious attention the lower table could not hear. “I was already apprenticed, and would have stayed at Hillfair. Many Abhorsens have been metalworkers, particularly bell-founders, of course. I left because . . . because . . .”

“You do not need to speak of it,” said Harven, covering her hand with his own. For once, he was not looking at his shoes. “It is enough to say that things happened there that were misunderstood . . .”

“No,” said Jaciel softly. “You should know, for it may help you understand that your own problems are petty ones. And you may meet your grandfather and aunt soon. They may wish it so, even though we do not, and will not ever, speak.”

She paused and looked down at the lower table, where everyone suddenly turned away and started eating again with faked enthusiasm.

“Go,” said Jaciel, only a little louder than she had been speaking before, but her words carried through the hall like a trumpet. “Take your plates to the courtyard. All of you. Go!”

There was a moment when no one moved, followed by a sudden clatter and bustle as everyone moved at once, eager not to be the last one to leave the room. Several apprentices crashed together in the door and fought to get out, doubtless inflicting minor injuries with the deliberately blunted knives and three-tined forks that were all they were allowed, given their propensity for using them on one another.

When they were gone, the hall strangely quiet, Jaciel continued as if there had been no interruption.

“I will tell you this once, and once only. I left Hillfair because my father believed that I had killed my brother.”

Clariel heard the words, but it was as if she couldn’t understand them, they were some strange language that might as well be grunts and coughs. Surely she had misheard? She opened her mouth to say so, say that she didn’t understand, but her mother was talking again, not looking at her, but staring into the air as if it were a window to a time long past and, as much as possible, forgotten.

“Teriel was the youngest of the three of us. I am eldest, then Yannael, who is Abhorsen-in-Waiting now, then Teriel. Back then it was Teriel who was the greater Charter Mage, the only one of us who wished to become the Abhorsen, the one who delved in those arts . . .”

She paused for a moment, her eyes unfocused, seeing who knew what.

“Teriel alone sought to learn the use of the bells, to venture into Death and back again, to command and banish the Dead. But he sought too deeply, for one day he came to my forge. His eyes were strange, reflecting no light . . . I saw that he was no longer my brother, but instead something that wore his flesh like a coat.”

Jaciel fell silent for a moment, the silence like a sudden chill.

“He . . . it saw that I knew, and attacked me. It would have slain me, for my dagger turned against its flesh, but at the last I managed to fling a crucible of molten gold against it, gold I had prepared with magic. But in its dying, the thing that had inhabited Teriel was released and fled, leaving the body behind.”

Jaciel paused again, her brow wrinkled, her eyes still distant.

“My father could not or would not believe me that the body was not really Teriel’s, that his favorite son could have succumbed to some fell creature. Father thought I had killed Teriel in a rage, for we argued often, about many things and . . . I did not hold my temper well in those days. So I was banished. Gladly banished, for I had no desire to stay among my close-minded and foolish relatives.”

“In a rage . . .” whispered Clariel. “Mother, I . . .”

“I do not wish to speak further on this matter,” said Jaciel stiffly, as controlled as ever, her eyes suddenly hard and sharp again. Her mother’s constant control, Clariel suddenly realized, must have much to do with a lifetime of suppressing the same berserk fury that lived within herself. “I have told you what you need to know and you may count yourself fortunate that you have not grown up with parents who can know you so little as to think you a kinslayer and murderer!”

Jaciel stood up, tore the napkin from her neck, gold button flying off to dance across the table, and stalked out. Harven stood more fussily and rushed after her, his napkin still fast around his neck.

Clariel picked up an asparagus spear with her fingers and dipped it in the spilled gravy, since no one could see. Chewing it, she tried to sort through what she had just heard, adding it to the other revelations of the day. Coming to Belisaere had opened up not opportunities, but certainly secrets. Secrets and plots that she wanted no part of, that threatened to complicate her life far beyond anything she had ever dreamed might be possible.

Her mother had killed her own brother . . . or was thought by the rest of her family to have done so, even if she believed she had only killed something in the shape of her brother, himself already dead and gone.

Then there were Governor Kilp and Aronzo and the Free Magic creature. Whatever their plans were, she didn’t want to be any part of them, particularly if it involved marrying Aronzo.

Even the visit to the King was a bit of a mystery. Why had the King agreed to see her, when he wouldn’t see anyone else? Bel had not been allowed to present his kin-gift.

“The sooner I get out of here the better,” she whispered to herself, thinking of the gold Kargrin had promised, and the disguising spell that would help her away.

But first she had to help find the Free Magic creature on the Islet. That task was to be done next morning. Which meant that there was a chance Clariel could be away tomorrow afternoon. The next time she sat down for her evening meal, it might be under a tree by the roadside, out in the open air. Leaving all these problems, these mysteries and plots, behind her.

Clariel smiled, took another asparagus spear, and bit into it with a great deal of satisfaction.

With the need to rise well before the dawn and sneak out before Valannie awoke, Clariel had a very restless night, waking every hour or so to take a panicked look at the Charter-magicked crystal by her bedside that marked the hour. Finally, at the fourth hour past midnight she got up, dressed in her familiar hunting clothes, and buckled on a falchion, a heavy broad-bladed sword she had used in the past to good effect to finish boars or to fight off wolves. With her smallest knife in her sleeve and the medium one in her boot, she felt well armed to face a mortal enemy. She was less confident about confronting a Free Magic creature, but then Magister Kargrin and his companions would be there for that.

Roban was waiting for her in the courtyard, near the front gate, a dim shadow she recognized by his size more than anything else. He spoke to the other gate guard, who Clariel couldn’t identify in the dark, and the woman strode over to the workshop doors and rather ostentatiously rattled the great chain and padlock. The workshop was locked until the dawn, when whichever senior apprentice was keybearer this week would come yawning to open up, kicking the junior apprentices ahead to fire up the forges. Jaciel herself would not come down until the ninth or tenth hour.

“Heyren is outside,” whispered Roban. “He’ll look the other way. Follow me.”

Like the magister’s house, there was a small sally port set into the greater gate. It was already unbolted and the hinges had been newly greased, so that it opened without a sound. Roban looked out and made a clicking noise with his tongue, which was returned in kind by someone a few paces away. Reassured, he stepped through, Clariel following close behind.

It was strange to be out on the street in the relative darkness of the night. There were lights in and outside some of the houses along the street, Charter lights for the most part, though here and there a few duller, more yellow spots of illumination were the result of oil lanterns hung over front gates or doors.

It was quiet too, though again it was only a relative quiet. Though it was an hour yet till dawn, Clariel could hear carts farther down the hill, and voices raised in complaint or irritation carrying in from somewhere lower down and to the northeast.