Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen (The Abhorsen Trilogy Book 4) (14 page)

“Help me, Clariel,” whispered the creature, the two of them still wrapped together deep in the thing’s mind. “My name is Aziminil.”

Clariel let go. Let everything go, her mental stranglehold, her grip on the sharp, stabbing feet, her rage, just released everything, even as Kargrin came to the final marks of his spell, an instant before he spoke the master mark. The mark that would bring everything together, combining all the thousands and thousands of marks that shone like a great galaxy of stars in the air above his head and swam the length of the thistle-head spear, striking great gouts of silver sparks wherever they touched the creature’s blood-red flesh.

But Kargrin was just a second too late. As Clariel let go, Aziminil jumped high, wrenching the spear from Kargrin’s hands. The creature stumbled against the wall of the hut but then leaped again, a great leap that took her to the next rocky hillock some thirty paces away. There she tore the spear from her body, threw it toward the sea, and vanished into the stone like water soaking into sun-parched soil.

“Blast it!” roared Kargrin. “Gully! Gully! I got it with the spear but I was too slow with the binding! It’s gone into the stone.”

“I know!” came an answering shout from Gullaine. “I’m following!”

Clariel looked at her bloodied hands, staring at her slashed palms. She was on her knees, but even that felt too hard to maintain, so she let herself slump sideways, landing heavily next to Bel. Her eyes felt weighted with iron, so weary that she could barely keep them open. She looked out at the sun-drenched world sideways, and saw Kargrin’s boots approach and then his face as he crouched by her side.

“No,” she muttered. “See to Bel. Badly wounded. I’m all right . . . just my hands . . .”

But Clariel knew it wasn’t just her hands and she wasn’t all right. Something had changed inside her, during the struggle with Aziminil and in the moment she had let the creature go free. She had let a monster escape, and not only because she could not bear to think of anything sentient imprisoned in such a way.

Kargrin ignored her, quickly rolling her wrists to look at her wounded hands. Seeing the cuts were deep, but not immediately life-threatening, he did turn to Bel.

Clariel watched dully through half-closed eyes, still lying on her side, as bright Charter marks swirled around Kargrin’s fingers. He called them into the air, where they hung like tiny stars. He arranged the suspended marks into a pattern and sent this shining constellation into Bel’s wounded flesh, the marks sinking through the gethre plates of his hauberk, leaving a golden afterglow behind. Nothing happened for a minute, then the broken quarrel started to move, the barbs of the head becoming visible before the point popped out with a quickly stifled gush of bright red blood.

“Where . . . where were you,” croaked Clariel, as Kargrin turned back to her and carefully lifted her hands.

“We were caught in a spell ourselves,” Kargrin said, as he began to cast a healing spell upon Clariel. “The hunters trapped. It took me a few minutes to even realize we had been diverted to the other side of the Islet, and then longer to break free of the illusion. We are not dealing with any lesser creature, not a Margrue or Hish. This is one of the more powerful entities, though I do not yet know which one. And there was someone helping it, a mortal, probably under its dominion.”

Clariel cried out as pain shot through her hands, a bitter ache that ran through the bones of her wrist and up her arms and ended explosively in the middle of her forehead with a sharp agony right under the Charter mark.

“Embrace the Charter,” said Kargrin. “It will make it easier. You touched the creature, and some of its taint is on you, resisting the healing marks.”

Clariel gave the slightest nod, because it hurt to move her head too much. She tried to visualize one of the common marks, to use it to find the Charter, but she just couldn’t make it appear in her mind. She needed to sketch the mnemonic used to remember the mark, but Kargrin held her hands, and it was . . . all . . . too . . . difficult . . .

“Is she badly wounded?” asked Roban, who was himself holding his broken right arm, his face pale from hurt.

“Not physically,” said Kargrin. There was sweat on his brow as he forced the final mark of the healing spell into the unconscious Clariel’s left hand. It had taken all his skill and power to set the spell in both hands, and neither had worked as completely as they usually did. She still had partly healed cuts across her palms and the lower joints of her fingers, which would need to be bandaged to complete their healing at a natural rate. “But she held the creature for some minutes, protected by her blood and her berserk fury. I suspect in anyone else their flesh would have boiled away.”

“She’s a brave lass,” said Roban. “I hope Kilp and that viper son of his don’t get their hands on her.”

“Indeed,” said Kargrin. “Her great desire is to leave the city and go back to the Great Forest and I am thinking that is a very good idea, and soon. We need to keep her away from the creature, in any case.”

“Will it return here?” asked Roban, looking over the Islet, his good left hand on the hilt of his sword.

Kargrin shook his head.

“I don’t think so. It has been greatly weakened by the spear, and the spells it laid on the people and place here are broken now. I think it will go into the city . . . or try to . . . which means there is still a chance that we’ll get it today . . . I was so close to the binding! Another few seconds . . . we have to hope that—”

“No point moaning over might have beens,” interrupted Gullaine, leaping nimbly up the step. She had a crossbow over her shoulder, a very sandy crossbow that she had just picked out of one of the channels. “I lost the creature near the causeway, deep in stone.”

“But you got the assassin?” asked Kargrin. “Who was it?”

“No. Only the crossbow,” said Gullaine, placing it down on the stone. “It may tell us something. The shooter swam ashore, made a diagonal to the wall, and then was away along the rocks under the wall. An excellent swimmer, and I would say a young man, but I couldn’t see who it was. How are our younglings?”

“Bel took a spelled quarrel under the collarbone,” said Kargrin. “A few weeks’ rest, he’ll be fine. Clariel has some deep cuts to the hands, where she held the creature’s bladed feet.”

“Really?” asked Gullaine. She walked carefully to the hut as she spoke, and parted the shark-tooth curtain with her sword. “She
held
the creature?”

“She stopped it from killing Belatiel,” confirmed Kargrin. “Aided by the fury, which shielded her from the thing’s corrosive essence. She is a true berserk, Gully, she’ll need help with that. And quickly, for I want to get her away from the city before a week is out.”

“Why so fast?” asked Gullaine, who was now inside the hut, poking about with sword and boot, not touching anything even with her armored, gloved hands. “We might need to hold on to her; as a potential heir she could be useful—”

“She
held
the creature,” said Kargrin. “That is something beyond the physical strength of any mortal. It was her will that held it, and that is how Free Magic sorcerers are made. If she should meet the creature again, and dominate it, find how . . . simple it would be to wield the powers the creature would give her . . . it is a great risk as long as that creature is free.”

“She
is
the Abhorsen’s granddaughter,” said Roban doubtfully.

“The Abhorsens bind Free Magic creatures,” said Kargrin. “They do not dominate them and take them into service.”

“True,” came Gullaine’s voice from inside the hut. “But she strove against it to save another, not herself. Surely that is not the way of a sorcerer?”

“Few begin truly selfish,” said Kargrin. “But all Free Magic sorcerers end up that way, suffering no check upon their actions. None, of any kind.”

“Ah,” said Gullaine, but it did not seem to be in response to Kargrin’s words. She came out of the hut, carrying a brass-bound wooden bucket in her hand, and set it down by Roban’s feet, some water slopping over the side. The guard and the huge Charter Mage looked down curiously.

“What in the Charter’s name?” asked Kargrin. “Why bring that out?”

“Bright fish,” said Gullaine, tapping the bucket with her sword, making the two brightly striped orange and red fish inside circle nervously. “For Clariel to give to the King. So at least we achieved
something
.”

Chapter Twelve

THE EDUCATION OF A BERSERK

C
lariel awoke in her own bed, her hands bandaged in clean white linen. The room was filled with soft, reddish light, and she had a moment of disorientation because the last thing she remembered was the Islet and the bright sunshine of the early morning. Now it was near dusk, the sun was low, and would soon be out of sight behind the expanse of the city to the west.

She looked at her hands. They hurt, in the way of minor wounds that are partially healed. Not a sharp pain, but an ever-present and unwelcome ache. Her lower lip hurt too, and was swollen and had bumpy lines where she’d bitten it. At least with her mouth closed, the scab wouldn’t show, she thought.

Her hurts cataloged, Clariel sat up.

Pain stabbed her in the forehead, and then spread into her eyes. But it faded after a moment, so she swung her legs over the side, put her feet into the slippers there, and thought about getting out of bed.

But the thought did not translate into the deed. Clariel continued to sit, staring at something that did not belong in her bedroom and hadn’t been there before. A knee-high glass bowl with a beaten gold rim next to the door, two-thirds full of water, with two very brightly colored fish swimming around in it.

“Bright fish,” said Clariel wonderingly. “Where did
you
come from?”

Her rhetorical question was answered by a knock on the door, and her father’s voice.

“Clarrie? Can I come in?”

“Yes,” said Clariel. She sat up straighter and tried to remember exactly what had happened and what might be the best thing to tell her father had happened, which were not at all the same thing. “Do.”

Harven edged around the door as if his very presence might cause Clariel to fall back on her sickbed, and only came in a few paces before stopping, but at least he did look at his daughter rather than his own shoes.

“I wanted to see that you are all right,” he said. “I was assured you are, but to see you lying unconscious was a terrible shock! I never thought that you would actually be attacked, or that we really need the guards—”

Clariel held up her hand to stop him.

“What . . . ah . . . actually did happen?” she asked, hoping that he had been told something less upsetting than the truth. “I can’t quite remember all of it. Roban was hurt . . .”

“Roban is fortunate to only have broken his wrist,” said Harven. “And you . . . we . . . are fortunate that he could fight equally well with his left hand. I still find it unbelievable that a gang of unemployed laborers would attack a Goldsmith, and in daylight too! It is quite shocking. Nothing like this ever happened back in Estwael!”

“No,” agreed Clariel. So that was the story. It was certainly better than telling him she’d been used to try and trap a Free Magic creature who was working with the Governor in a plot to overthrow the King. But it was also interesting that this tale of laborers attacking her was perfectly credible to Harven, despite his words. She knew that there was unrest among the day workers, who were not guild members, but like so many other things about Belisaere she had not yet found out what that was all about.

“Well, that’s by the by,” said Harven quickly. “In future you will have three guards at all times. Roban will be off for a few weeks of course, but his compatriots, ah . . . the woman with the . . . and the fellow with the red hair . . .”

“Heyren and Linel,” supplied Clariel. Seeing her father unable to remember the names of people who might have to give up their lives for the family, she was ashamed that she had been thinking of the two guards as Scarface and Redbeard.

“Yes, well, Governor Kilp is sending over someone else to join them, and increasing the house guard as well. So you make sure you don’t leave the house without them, young lady!”

“I doubt I could, even if I wanted to,” said Clariel. She was thinking that she
would
want to leave without them in the near future and this could be a problem. She would need to evade them to get out of the house, and then out of the city. Presuming Kargrin paid up, despite not capturing the creature . . . or perhaps he had captured it, she thought. She couldn’t remember anything after collapsing . . .

“How is Belatiel?” she asked.

“Who?” asked her father.

“Uh, no one,” stammered Clariel. “I’m a bit confused. I don’t even remember getting the fish for the King. Um, that is . . . I presume I did get them?”

“They were brought back with you,” said Harven. “That’s another thing we can count as fortunate, it would have been so easy for those . . . those scum . . . to spill them from the bucket, and our visit has been confirmed for tomorrow. I meant to tell you, we will leave for the Palace an hour after you return from the Academy. Valannie will dress you properly. I mean, presuming you are feeling well enough for the Academy and a visit to the Palace . . .”

“I am, Father,” said Clariel quietly. Harven was smiling again, that pathetic smile. Even if she wasn’t well enough, Clariel thought her father would prop her up in a palanquin, do anything to make the visit happen. His daughter’s health was of so much lesser importance than getting Jaciel into the Palace to have a look at the Dropstone treasure.

“In fact, you have a visitor in that respect,” continued Harven. “A Captain Gullwing or somesuch, of the Royal Guard. Apparently she has to talk to you before you can see the King tomorrow. I trust you are up to receiving her?”

“Yes,” said Clariel eagerly. “And . . . I think her name is Gullaine.”

“Yes, that’s right, Gullaine,” said Harven. “Strange-looking woman. Now you’re sure you are feeling well enough . . . I mean now, and for tomorrow.”

“Yes,” said Clariel.

Harven fidgeted with his belt, gazed down at his shoes, looked up, edged two steps closer, and then finally looked at Clariel.

“I know you feel that this visit is just for your mother,” he said. “But I really do think it will help you, Clarrie. I do . . . I do want you to be happy, you know.”

“I know,” said Clariel. He did want her to be happy. Provided her happiness didn’t conflict with Jaciel’s work, or wasn’t too difficult to achieve.

“Also,” continued Harven. “Your mother, last night . . . telling you about Teriel . . . I’m sure it was a shock. She still feels very strongly about the injustice done to her by her father and the family. Anyway, best not to bring it up with her. Or with anyone. Private family business, you know.”

“
I
won’t talk about it,” said Clariel. She was still coming to terms with the whole idea of her mother killing anyone, let alone her own brother or—if she was to be believed—some creature that had assumed her brother’s shape. And “in a rage” was another eye-opener. Her mother the berserk. An inheritance which she had passed on to her daughter without explanation or help.

“Good, good,” said Harven.

“How is Mother?” asked Clariel. “Did she already come to see me while I was unconscious?”

“She is very busy,” said Harven quickly. “She would come up, but there is a process, a type of annealing, very delicate work she began this morning, that cannot be interrupted . . .”

He stopped talking, perhaps aware that he was trying to excuse the inexcusable, before bending down to kiss Clariel on the top of her head, something he hadn’t done for quite a few years. Her eyes glistened as he straightened up and retreated, pausing to offer a tentative wave at the door. She remembered when her father’s kisses on her head had been unalloyed with her resentment of his weakness, the weakness that always put his daughter last. But that was many years gone, when she was just a little girl and her father was a big, strong refuge from the world at large. She had known for years he was a flimsy shelter at best, that she could not rely on him for anything important.

It still hurt, when she remembered what he had once been to her, however false that was.

Captain Gullaine came in a few minutes later, armed and armored as she had been that morning, except she carried her helmet, revealing a completely hairless head. Gullaine had gleaming, dark brown skin, no hair or eyebrows at all, and her sharp blue eyes were a starker blue than Clariel had remembered, seen now out of the shadow of the woman’s helm.

“Lady Clariel,” said Gullaine formally, with an inclination of her head. “I hope you are recovering.”

“I am, thank you, Captain Gullaine,” said Clariel. “Only . . . what happened? I mean after I passed out?”

“I think you can call me Gully now,” said the guardswoman. She came over and sat down on the end of Clariel’s bed, with a stretch and a sigh. “Ah, I’ve been running backward and forward all day. Do you want the long or the short version?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” said Clariel. “Perhaps the short to begin with.”

“The creature got away from me,” said Gully. She stretched again and looked away as she spoke. “It can move through stone, albeit not that quickly, but I couldn’t track it once it went deep. Kargrin says the thistle spear weakened it, which was less than he hoped. Evidently the thing is of the second or third order of such entities at least, not something weaker.”

“Do . . . does Kargrin know what it is?”

“Not yet. He’s scouring bestiaries, but that could take a long time. We’ve sent to Hillfair for the Abhorsen’s advice. He should know more, but Charter knows he doesn’t easily stir himself, even for this sort of thing.”

“That’s what Bel said. But isn’t that what the Abhorsens are for?”

“Yes,” agreed Gully. “But old Tyriel lives for his horses and the Grand Hunt, and cares little for anything else. His daughter and the rest of them take their lead from Tyriel. Except for Bel, of course. He’s a throwback to the old days, or would like to be.”

“Is Bel going to . . . going to be all right?” asked Clariel.

“He’ll live,” said Gully. “Bed for a few days, a sore shoulder for a few weeks. He was lucky. A handsbreadth closer to the throat or chest and he’d have been killed instantly. Not to mention Magister Kargrin getting to him quickly. He is one of the most expert healers in the city. Among other things.”

“Who shot Bel? It can’t have been the creature, could it?”

Gully shook her head.

“A mortal follower, likely someone mazed into obeying the creature. It had laid numerous spells on both the Islet and the people there, spells of command and beguilement, reinforcing them over time. I think it’s been here longer than we thought. A year, at least. We should have looked over the Islet long before now.”

“And is it connected with Governor Kilp?” asked Clariel.

“Kargrin still thinks so,” said Gullaine. “But I have yet to see solid evidence that this is so. There are traces of a Free Magic presence by his house, but many people come and go there. Certainly Kilp has enough ordinary reasons to plot, without Free Magic being involved. The King withdraws his authority, Kilp moves in, as far as he is able. That is the nature of power.”

“The King,” said Clariel. “Who I am to visit tomorrow.”

“Yes,” replied Gullaine. “The ostensible reason for my visit. We will discuss that a little later, if you will, it is simple enough, in terms of ceremony. The King, though old and sometimes crotchety, is not a difficult man. But more important right now, I wanted to talk to you about being a berserk.”

“I’m not a . . .” Clariel started to say, then stopped. There was no point trying to deny it, particularly to herself. Gullaine waited patiently for her to continue. Clariel took a deep breath and said, “Yes. Yes. I
am
a berserk.”

“I, too, am a berserk,” said Gullaine. She smiled, a faint smile that was not one of happiness, but of troubled memory. “My mother was a Clayr, and my father a third cousin of the King. So we are distant relatives, Clariel. Both the Charter and the rage are strong in my bloodline, but I had the Sight very weakly and was never called to the Nine-Day Watch. So I joined the Rangers who patrol the glacier and the lands about it. The rage rose in me the first time I fought bandits, and then again against norn-bears, and it grew inside me like a fire spreads in dry straw until I would snap at the mildest provocation. But I was lucky. There were books about berserks in the Great Library of the Clayr, and sisters and cousins to quite literally restrain me and make me read those books. So I learned early how I might govern myself. To keep the fury in check, but also how to call it up when necessary.”

“I called the fury today,” said Clariel quietly. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t stop the creature killing Bel . . .”

“You did what had to be done,” said Gullaine. “But having roused your berserk nature, you
must
learn how to master it. I have brought you the book that helped me most. Read it, and return it to me when you can. One day it must go back to the Great Library of the Clayr, under the glacier.”

She took a small, leather-bound book from the pouch at her belt and handed it to Clariel, who glanced at the title, the gilt type deeply embossed on the front cover:
The Fury Within: A Study of the Berserk Rage and Related Matters
.

“It is an old book, but then berserks have been around a long time,” said Gullaine. “It contains directions for various exercises of the mind, which can be tedious, but work well. There are also some Charter spells that help contain the fury, though you will need help learning those, I think. Read the book soon.”