Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen (The Abhorsen Trilogy Book 4) (12 page)

“Let’s go,” said Roban. He set off, walking a little more slowly than he would during the day, his head carefully turning from side to side as he watched the doors and openings ahead. Clariel noted that he held his sword drawn at his side, the blade darkened with soot so that it did not catch the light. She wished she’d thought to do the same with her falchion, but settled with loosening it in its sheath, and kept her hand upon the hilt.

Magister Kargrin was waiting outside his house under the sign of the hedgepig, accompanied by a woman who wore a knee-length hauberk of gethre plates and a surcoat dappled with the golden castles on scarlet indicating the Royal Guard. The sign above their heads was swaying slightly, as the dawn breeze had just begun its whispering journey into the city from the east, and there was already the faint glow of the rising sun on the horizon, and the sky was noticeably lighter. But apart from their own small group, the street was empty and still.

“Clariel, this is Captain Gullaine, who commands the Royal Guard.”

“What’s left of it,” said Gullaine, her mouth quirking up in something that was not quite a smile. She wore a mail coif close around her face, as well as a helmet, so it was difficult for Clariel to guess her age, but she thought she must be forty, perhaps older. The captain took off one glove, parked it under her elbow, tilted her helmet back, and pushed the coif up, to show her forehead Charter mark. “Lady Clariel, if I may test your mark, and you do likewise?”

Clariel moved closer and briefly touched Gullaine’s mark, as the guardswoman returned the gesture. After her lesson yesterday, mostly just refamiliarizing herself with simply connecting to the Charter, it was easier, but still the vast flow of marks threatened to overwhelm her, so she was glad that the contact only lasted a second or two.

“Best to be careful,” said Gullaine. She stepped back and looked over Clariel’s outfit, her expression indicating some unhappiness.

“I wish we had a coat of gethre plates for you,” she said. “If it comes to fighting, they resist the stuff of Free Magic better than leather or iron.”

“I trust Clariel will not be getting so close,” said Kargrin. “If we are wishing, I would wish for the particular robes the Abhorsens wear when handling such creatures. But we have neither the robes nor an Abhorsen.”

“I believe we will have the next best thing,” said Gullaine, with a smile. “Once or twice removed, perhaps.”

As she spoke, Roban was already turning toward the sound of running booted footsteps, his sword raised. Clariel followed suit. But Roban lowered the weapon as he recognized who it was, and a moment later Clariel did so as well. It was Belatiel, who slowed down and walked the last few paces to join them under the sign, puffing out something that was obviously meant to be an apology for being late but was basically incomprehensible due to him being so out of breath.

“Ran all the way from the Palace,” he managed to get out eventually. “Hello, Clariel.”

Bel was also wearing a hauberk of gethre plates, though it was somewhat too big, as was the surcoat of faded blue with silver keys that went over it. He had a sword at his side, but in his right hand he held something Clariel didn’t recognize at first, till he turned his hand and she saw it was a musical instrument: a set of reed pipes, seven tubes of different lengths joined together. Except these pipes were not reeds, but silver, or silver-plated bronze. Clariel had seen foresters play reed pipes, often bringing them out at the campfire after a day’s work.

“Why the pipes?”

“I don’t have a set of bells,” said Belatiel, as if that explained everything. After a second or two, Clariel realized that it did. The Abhorsens used seven named bells to command and control the Dead, as did Free Magic necromancers, though the Abhorsen’s ones were different, imbued with the Charter. She peered closer at the pipes in Belatiel’s hand and saw the faint sheen of Charter marks moving in the silver. So this seven-voiced instrument must be a similar magical tool to the bells.

Something about Clariel’s expression made him go on to answer the question she hadn’t actually voiced.

“This is Abhorsen business, you know. Dealing with Free Magic creatures. There might be Dead things too. And I
am
in training to be a proper Abhorsen, even if I do only have the pipes.”

“Training? Attempting to learn by yourself is not training,” said Kargrin, but his words had no sting in them. “I would have preferred your great-uncle or cousin, but it seems the Abhorsen and the Abhorsen-in-Waiting are too busy, or at least too busy to answer my entreaties. I suppose in the circumstances we should be glad to have any assistance. Even that of a self-taught, self-proclaimed Abhorsen-in-Waiting-Waiting, if I may call you that. Gather close now. I wish to set a spell of unseeing upon us all.”

They huddled together, shoulders touching. Kargrin looked along the street to make sure no one was about, then took a small tin box out of a pocket on the inside of his dark red cloak. Opening it, he reached in with two fingers and spoke three words, words that were imbued with a complex chain of Charter marks, some of them visible in his breath as he exhaled, others running down his arm and fingers, joining with many more marks that began to froth out of the box. Kargrin pinched them together and slowly drew out a faint, shimmering net of lights that was composed of thousands of marks.

“Closer!” he commanded, and they all leaned in, helmets and heads touching. Clariel felt the cold steel of Gullaine’s helm against her forehead as Kargrin’s hands flew up, casting the net of thousands of faintly glittering marks into the air. The glittering tracery spread out above the group like the branches of a sheltering tree, then faded into nothing. Kargrin grunted. He waited a moment, stepped back, and indicated for the others to do likewise.

“What was that meant to do?” asked Clariel, for she could see no change in anyone. They were all perfectly visible. Surely a spell of unseeing would cloak them in darkness or something, at the very least?

“It was
meant
to divert attention from us,” said Kargrin. “As it will. Onlookers will see us but make no note of it, nor remember our passage, unless we actually bump into them, or make physical contact. So be sure you don’t. It should be easy enough until after first light, when the streets get busy.”

“But I can see everyone clearly,” protested Clariel.

“You are inside the spell,” said Kargrin. “Trust me. It worked. The marks are still around us, if you look carefully. Squint, and stare upward, that may help.”

Clariel narrowed her eyes and bent her neck back. At first she couldn’t see anything, but as her eyelashes brushed together, lids almost closed, she saw the marks, suspended in the air above her like falling leaves caught in an instant, never to descend.

“If you’re satisfied, perhaps we can be on our way?” asked Kargrin. “Roban, take the front.”

Roban nodded, and stepped outside, sword still held ready. His wariness made Clariel think of other hunts, and the seriousness of the hunters, and she remembered something Sergeant Penreth of the Borderers had told her long ago.

“Never underestimate your quarry, be it boar, sow, deer, or even fox. I have seen hunters slain by all of them, fast or slow. A fox bite gone bad in the deep forest can be as much a death blow as having your guts torn out by a boar’s tusk, or your head broken by a stag.”

Chapter Ten

TO THE ISLET

I
’m not any kind of Abhorsen-in-Waiting really,” Bel confided in Clariel as they walked next to each other along the Street of the Cormorant and turned left to take the sloping alley known as the Little Steps down to the next street below. “I expect you know that they don’t take the family business very seriously back home. Great-Uncle Tyriel thinks it’s just a title, and I doubt Cousin Yannael has even read
The Book of the Dead
. They’re all mad for hunting—”

“Hunting?” interrupted Clariel, her interest sparked, even though she thought it would be better to stay silent.

“The Grand Hunt,” said Bel, rolling his eyes. “Hundreds of people on horseback, with hounds and beaters and tremendous rigmarole, whole days wasted charging backward and forward and stupid ceremonies and lots of drinking afterward. Instead of our proper business as Abhorsens. But I intend to make sure at least one of the family is properly prepared to deal with the Dead, or Free Magic or whatever comes up, or out, as the case may be. It is very unusual for the Kingdom to have had no trouble for so long. Do you read history?”

“No,” said Clariel.

“There’s a lot to be learned from history,” said Bel. “I read other things too. Have you read
The Binding of the Free
?”

“No,” said Clariel shortly. She wished he would stop talking. Nobody else was, and she had been enjoying the relative quiet of the city so early in the morning. Though now as the day edged closer, and they descended toward Winter Street, there were more people about, working people going to jobs or beginning to carry out early morning tasks like sweeping in front of houses that were probably merchant’s shopfronts, or would be in a few hours when they opened the shutters.

“I haven’t either,” continued Bel. “I have seen a copy, at the Abhorsen’s House—the old place, you know. But there isn’t one at Hillfair or in the apartments here. Pity. Still I guess the magister knows how to bind this thing, if we do find it.”

“Yes,” replied Clariel, not turning her head to look at Bel as she spoke. Hopefully he would get the idea and shut up.

“I’m annoying you, aren’t I?” he said ruefully. “Sorry about that. I suppose I tend to talk too much when I’m enthusiastic about what we’re doing. I mean, a Free Magic creature hasn’t been seen for decades, maybe longer!”

Clariel nodded absently, hoping this would be taken as an understanding gesture that would also end any further conversation.

It worked. Bel stayed silent at her side as they continued toward the southeast, not taking Winter Street itself, but a series of smaller back streets, where they would be less conspicuous, just in case the spell of unseeing failed. Clariel wondered what people would think if they did notice the strange quintet: Gullaine, Captain of the Royal Guard; Bel in his faded Abhorsen’s coat; the huge Magister Kargrin striding ahead with a great staff of yew in his massive hand, which was topped with what looked like a thistle, presumably an arcane weapon of some sort and not an eccentric piece of costumery; the slight but deadly Roban, a Goldsmith’s guard; and herself.

In such company, if the spell should fail, Clariel was fairly certain she herself would not be memorable, and that was how she liked it to be. A hunter should stay unseen as much as possible, but if not unseen, at least unremarked.

They came to the South Gate with the sun still not high enough to reach past the city wall, though it was now light enough to see well. The breeze had dropped again, as it so often did, and it was already warm. Clariel was glad she was not wearing an armored coat, though the thought did cross her mind that she might think otherwise later, if the Free Magic creature was found. Not that she intended to fight it, nor did she plan to be as constricted as an actual tethered goat.

Waking a little faster, she left Belatiel and moved next to Kargrin. Gullaine was a little farther ahead, using a key as large as her hand to open a small sally port set into the wall about thirty yards west of the South Gate proper, which would be shut until full dawn. There were two guards nearby, but they stayed facing the other way, talking quietly to each other. Clariel guessed this was not because of the spell of unseeing, given the noise the door made when it squeaked open, but because both guards, despite the surcoats showing the golden bee and bowl of silver of the Confectioners, were ex–Royal Guards and part of Kargrin’s association.

Clariel caught up with Kargrin inside the narrow zigzag tunnel through the wall, just before a rusty portcullis that looked like it hadn’t been fully lowered in years.

“What will this Free Magic creature look like?” asked Clariel quietly. “Will it use weapons? What else should I know about it?”

“It may look like any number of things,” said Kargrin. “If it fully reveals itself, its very presence will sicken you, and the air around it will smell like hot metal. But I do not expect that to happen. It has hidden itself well, leaving few signs and traces. But your presence should make it rise more to the surface of whatever . . . or whoever . . . it hides within; it will not be able to resist the temptation.”

“So how do I bait the trap?” asked Clariel.

“I will tell you in a moment, and Belatiel, for you will both be part of it.”

He slowed as they reached a small guard chamber beside the outer door, where Gullaine was waiting, another key in the massive, bronze-bound lock, but not yet turned, and the two bars above and below still in place. “We will pause here a moment. Gather round.”

“When we go out, the Islet lies to our left, some three hundred and fifty paces away, the last hundred across a causeway that will be a little awash, the tide being on the ebb but not yet low. The path is marked by large stones; stay within them. Now, I am going to draw the spell of unseeing off Clariel and Belatiel, for it is you two who will go to Marral’s hut, looking for bright fish—”

“Bel is to accompany me?” asked Clariel. “But Roban is my guard.”

“We will need Roban to help if the creature does come forth in its full strength,” said Kargrin. “If it does, you and Bel should withdraw and observe. If we are overcome, you must retreat, back to the main South Gate, not this postern. The guards there are with us, and will protect you. Get under the aqueduct, for this will also lessen the creature’s power.”

“You mean we just back off and leave you, Roban, and Gullaine to fight it?” asked Bel. “I didn’t come along to flee at the first—”

“Belatiel, you promised to follow orders,” said Gullaine, in a voice that brooked no opposition.

Bel opened his mouth, and raised one hand falteringly, then lowered that hand and shut his mouth.

“Good,” said Kargrin. “Now. As I have said, Clariel and Bel will go first, and will be seen. There will be people about on the Islet. Ask them where Marral’s hut is, though so you know, it is the farthest hovel on the northern side, set somewhat apart. It has a kind of curtain made of shark teeth in its doorway. We will follow, unseen. When you get to Marral’s hut, do not go in. Ask him to come out. If, as I suspect, the creature is within Marral, it will reveal something of itself to Clariel.”

He paused and bent his head to look directly at Clariel, speaking with measured force.

“You may feel it in your mind, Clariel, or see something that wasn’t there beforehand. As soon as you do, call out and back away. We will either bind it quickly, or if not, you will soon see the way matters go. If they go ill, as I have said, run for the South Gate. Run as fast as you can, and do not look back. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Clariel and Bel together.

“Gullaine, Roban, you know the spells we discussed?” asked Kargrin. Both nodded. “All of us should also ready arrow wards and spells to deal with mortal enemies. Such a creature as we seek can easily dominate folk who do not have the Charter mark. Also, given Kilp’s possible involvement, there is much that can simply be bought with gold from the inhabitants of the Islet. There are known murderers and others of such ilk there.”

“I can’t remember the marks for an arrow ward,” said Clariel. “But I can duck.”

“I can cover us both,” said Bel. “I’ve been practicing.”

“I trust it won’t be necessary,” said Kargrin. “Stand together, you two.”

Clariel and Bel stood close. Kargrin reached across, above their heads, and with the same two fingers he’d used before, began to draw in the almost invisible threads of the concealment spell. Watching him, Clariel saw the lines of tiny marks being drawn in as a fisherman might haul on his ropes. The threads of the net broke into many scattered marks as they left Clariel and Bel, only to re-form as they joined the other marks that still hung suspended over the other three.

When the last of the marks left, Clariel felt a sudden dizziness. She blinked, and her hand went to the falchion at her side, for she saw three strangers suddenly appear, strangers that she found it hard to look at, her eyes sliding off them . . .

“You’ll find it easier to look away,” said Kargrin’s familiar voice, though Clariel couldn’t tell where it came from. “Go out the door. We will be close behind. Don’t stop suddenly!”

“Yes,” said Clariel. She looked directly at the door, and found it was easier. “You ready, Bel?”

“Yes,” said Bel, for once not embellishing his answer.

Clariel lifted the bars, first the bottom and then the top, and turned the key in the lock, the mechanism clicking three times, the sound to her unpleasantly like some portent of doom.

It’s only a hunt, Clariel thought. I’ve hunted dangerous animals scores of times. It’s only a hunt . . .

But then she had never before been called upon to be the bait.

The postern gate opened out into a ditch that had once been much deeper and clean-cut, but lacking repair had fallen in on itself to a great degree. Clariel clambered over some fallen stones and found a broken series of steps on the opposite side. Climbing up into the open air, she felt her moment of doubt fade. The sky above was much brighter, and just being able to see its great expanse, unhampered by walls and buildings, lifted her heart.

They had come out near the corner of the wall, and the sea was close, the crash of the waves loud in Clariel’s ears and the scent of salt and weed strong on the breeze. She glanced eastward to the bridge over the ditch that led into the South Gate, but there was no one watching, and no one was on the road. It was probably still an hour until the gate opened.

Climbing over the lip of the ditch, she saw the sea and the causeway to the Islet. The rocky island was smaller than she had expected. It looked to be not much more than three hundred paces across, in all directions, and though it rose out of the water to twice her height, it was much lower than she’d imagined it to be. In a storm, surely the dozen or so shanties and huts that clustered on it would be swept away?

“Keep going,” whispered Bel. “They’re right behind me.”

Clariel started forward, not realizing that she had completely stopped. The ground fell away quite rapidly toward the narrow beach that led to the causeway, and up ahead there was a well-trodden path that joined up with the road behind them. She strode over to it, and started down.

Despite the hour, there were already a few beachcombers following the tideline, looking for flotsam. The closest was a woman, bent and old, clad in a raw woolen dress hitched up very high on her bare thighs and tied around her waist with a fraying rope. She had a sack in her hand and was wriggling her feet in the sand. A moment later she lifted one foot with a long worm caught in the grip of her toes, expertly transferring it to her sack without needing to use her hands.

As Clariel and Bel trod closer across the sand, the old woman turned toward them, and bowed her head.

“We’re looking for Old Marral,” said Clariel. “Can you direct us to his . . . his hut?”

“Take you there for two squid,” said the old woman. “What do you want with Marral?”

“Business,” said Clariel. She reached into the small change pocket inside her tunic and drew out one of the large copper coins that in Estwael were called simply “rounds,” and in Belisaere were called “squids,” apparently because some long ago issue had featured something supposed to represent magic streamers and had been misinterpreted as a squid’s tentacles. “One squid.”

The old woman’s mouth quirked, but she shrugged and took the offered money.

“Follow me,” she said, swinging the sack to her back. “Stay inside the rock markers, or the sea’ll take you.”

They followed the old woman along the beach to a point where a broad black rock emerged from the sand, the visible part of some greater mass below. It was like a great stone doormat marking the entrance to the causeway. The old woman stepped onto its worn surface and went straight out into the wash of the sea. Clariel and Bel followed, both letting out a slight gasp as the cool water splashed around their legs, the wavelets coming around the Islet sometimes washing up as high as their thighs.

Looking down through the swirling water Clariel saw that they were standing on a kind of bridge of stone that was at least a foot higher than the surrounding sand. At the lowest tide, it would be completely dry, but judging from the tidemarks on the beach and the green stain on the city wall some hundred paces away, at the flood the Islet would be cut off by deep water. It would certainly be well over Clariel’s head, and the tidewash would be powerful.