Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen (The Abhorsen Trilogy Book 4) (17 page)

The outline flashed bright as sunshine on a mirror and an actual beast, albeit one made of Charter marks, stepped slinkily out of the wall. It shook itself as if to become fully awake and opened its impressively betoothed jaw, hopefully in a yawn and not in anticipation of a meal. It stood taller than Clariel sitting, and as the beast shook itself it became more and more solid-looking, its color darkening to something like a sweet white wine, and faint shadows grew thick upon its back and flanks like spots.

Clariel sat extremely still and resisted the twitch of her right hand toward the knife in her sleeve. She doubted any normal blade would be much use against a sending like this one anyway.

The Guardian finished its yawn and extended its flat, rather triangular head toward Clariel, sniffing up her left leg, across her body, and then down her left arm. When it reached the sleeve it stopped and a great paw came up, claws extended, and it delicately pulled back the material to reveal the small, sheathed knife.

“I said no weapons,” chided Gullaine, but she sounded calm enough. Clariel tried not to breathe as the sending opened its mouth to show those great teeth again, and bent forward to bite—the hilt of her knife, pulling it out of the scabbard. Clariel expected it to drop the weapon on the floor for Gullaine to pick it up, but instead the cat-beast tipped its head back and swallowed the knife whole, apparently with great satisfaction and no ill-effect.

“What . . . will I get that back?” whispered Clariel. It was a very fine knife, and it was hard to get one of such quality so small.

“I doubt it,” said Gullaine. “I’m not actually sure where things go when they eat them. I trust you have no more hidden weapons?”

Clariel shook her head, very slowly, so as not to antagonize the Guardian. But it kept sniffing up and down her body, and along her arms, paying particular attention to her hands, nudging Clariel to open them when she unconsciously balled them into fists. Once they were open and flat on her knees, palms uppermost, the sending sniffed for a long time at the still-healing cuts and then surprised Clariel with two sudden licks, which sent a jab of pain right through her arms to her forehead. She jumped, but the sending wasn’t finished. It rose up on its haunches and its paws came down on her shoulders, fortunately with claws retracted, and gave Clariel one more lick, right across the Charter mark on her forehead.

Not that it felt like a lick. It was a sudden immersion into the Charter, her head submerged in a vast sea of marks for a second and then just as rapidly they were gone again and the cat-beast sat back down and let out a purring noise similar to a house cat satisfied with its current lot, only much louder. As it purred, small, almost transparent Charter marks fell from its mouth and nose.

“Never seen one lick anyone before,” said Gullaine, with interest. “I suppose it’s because you’re a relative. But it’s passed you, so we can go on. Up three more flights.”

Clariel stood up and followed Gullaine. She had only taken three or four steps up when she noticed the Guardian was following her, though its large paws were completely silent on the stone.

“Does it . . . normally come along?” she asked.

“They’re all different,” said Gullaine, who was taking the steps three at a time, making Clariel rush to keep up. “Some wander about, some keep to particular rooms or places. They are all very old. Magister Kargrin says they are of a higher art, now lost to us.”

“But he has sendings,” remarked Clariel. “A doorkeeper, and rats.”

“Oh, yes, there are mages who can make sendings, but not ones so strong, or that will last as long. These are
hundreds
of years old, and still very powerful. Here we are.”

The Captain opened a regular wooden door with a key, the sea breeze blowing in and sunshine streaming past as the door opened. A guard on the other side stepped away, pulling his poleax back to parade rest by his side.

“All well, Ochren?” asked Gullaine.

“All well,” confirmed the guard. “His Highness is drinking his tea.”

“Oh please,
not
a tea ceremony,” muttered Clariel. Gullaine smiled and indicated for Clariel to go ahead of her, out into the sunshine. Clariel went, blinking at the brighter light, and found herself on the wide battlements of a very high wall. It was built directly above the sea cliffs, and the waves rolling in below delivered a regular, dull thud like a muffled drum. There was another tower some forty paces ahead but she paid it little notice, for King Orrikan III was close by, sitting on a well-cushioned chair pulled right up next to an embrasure.

He was smaller than she’d expected, and looked older, if that were possible. He had a red-and-gold skullcap on his head, tilted back to show his Charter mark, with wisps of pure white hair escaping out from under the cap, his long beard flying over his shoulder, caught by the sea wind. His skin was red and quite shiny, particularly his nose, which was long and rather pointed. His eyes, when he looked over at Clariel, were dark brown and very weary.

“Come, child,” he said, passing his teacup to a servant in red- and-gold livery who stood behind his chair. A faint smile crossed his mouth as the cat-beast loped past Clariel and sat on his feet. The sending had gotten smaller, Clariel noticed, which was just as well. It wouldn’t have been able to fit between battlements and chair otherwise.

“They know the family,” said King Orrikan. “But you have more of the look of the Abhorsens, I think. Not much of my side from your grandmother, my cousin Leomeh.”

“I never knew her, Your Highness,” said Clariel, coming close and bowing low.

“Yes, she died quite young,” said the King. “Many of the best do. It is only old relics like myself who hang on too long. Now, where is that drawing?”

“Um, what drawing . . .” Clariel started to say, when the servant who’d taken the teacup silently proffered a scroll to the King, evidently the drawing in question. He took it and unrolled it slowly, his bent, arthritic hands barely able to hold the paper.

“Ah,” said the King, as he finally got it unfurled. The finely detailed drawing showed a woman in armor on a wall, standing with one foot up in an embrasure, looking out. “Go and stand just so, girl, over there.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” replied Clariel, stepping up into the embrasure. She turned about and gave Gullaine a puzzled look, but the older woman didn’t say anything.

“Give her your helmet, Gully,” called out the King. “Can’t tell otherwise.”

Gullaine unbuckled her helmet and held it out to Clariel.

“It’s to see if you look like someone,” the Captain said. “In the drawing.”

“No, it isn’t,” said the King, who despite his great age obviously wasn’t deaf, for Gullaine had spoken quietly. “It’s to see if you
are
the woman in the drawing.”

“Oh,” said Clariel, finally understanding, or at least thinking she understood. She took the helmet and put it on. Despite her lack of hair, Gully clearly had a bigger head, for the helm was a little loose.

“Turn a bit, that way!”

Clariel copied the pose in the drawing, and looked out across the sea. There was a large trading ship some distance off. It was much fatter and higher and carried far more sail than the fishing boats she usually saw to the east, from her roof garden.

A loud wheezing noise made her glance back again. The King, supported by his servant, had risen from his chair to look at her more closely. Now he was holding the drawing out to Gullaine.

“Doesn’t look like her to me,” he said. “But my eyes are old, and perhaps I wish not to see. You look, Gully.”

Gullaine held the drawing up with both hands, so it couldn’t flap around in the breeze, and looked over it at Clariel for some time. Then she rolled it up and handed it to the servant.

“No, sire. She is not the same. Clariel could not be mistaken for Princess Tathiel.”

“Good, good, there is hope left then,” said the King. “Though your family do see things wrong from time to time, don’t they, Gully?”

“Not wrong exactly,” said Gullaine. “The Clayr See many possible futures. Some are clearer than others, and more likely to come to pass. Others depend upon long chains of chance . . . or mischance.”

“Can I get down now, Highness?” asked Clariel. She had already taken off the helmet and now passed it to Gullaine.

“You may, girl, you may,” said the King, settling back in his chair. “I mean you no ill when I say I am relieved that you do not look much like my granddaughter.”

“Did the Clayr do a drawing of their vision for you?” asked Clariel. Like most people in the kingdom she was interested in the ice-dwelling farseers, but had no experience of them and did not really know what they could do. “Of Princess Tathiel standing on this wall?”

“They did,” said the King. “As they Saw her in the ice. One day she will stand where you stood. One day she will be Queen, and the sooner she realizes it and comes home the better!”

“Where is she now?” asked Clariel.

“Who knows,” said the King grumpily. “Bah! I am tired of it all. Where is my tea?”

“A fresh cup is coming, sire,” said the servant soothingly. He looked back to the West Tower. The door there sprang open and a servant came out quickly, carrying a tray with a teapot and, Clariel was glad to note, a single cup.

“You’ve seen me now, and I’ve seen you,” said the King. “I hear you’ve given me some fish for a kin-gift, so I suppose I should give you something too. What do you want? That ghastly salt cellar those goldsmiths are always so eager to look at, Charter knows why?”

Clariel shook her head, thinking furiously. She hadn’t realized that the kin-gift worked both ways. She was surprised her mother
hadn’t
told her to ask for the salt cellar, but perhaps Jaciel had not expected the King to offer a gift.

“I . . . I would like you to . . . give the Borderers the money they need to continue their work,” she said. “To keep on looking after the Great Forest, and all the woods—”

“No, no,” said the King, shaking his head so much his beard whipped around to his other shoulder and his lower lip stuck out. “I don’t want to be bothered with anything like that. Fifty years I’ve had of it, and that’s enough! Tathiel should be taking care of all that stuff. She’s a good girl, as soon as she hears of my troubles, she’ll come back. I’m sure of it. Another week, perhaps, and then she’ll be here . . .”

“There, there, Your Highness,” soothed the servant, with a poisonous glance at Clariel. “Drink up your tea, you’ll feel better in a moment.”

“No I won’t,” cried the King. “I’m all upset. Ask for something sensible, girl.”

“I did ask for something sensible,” replied Clariel.

“Don’t argue with me!” snapped the King. “Do you want to upset me?”

“Maybe you need some upsetting,” said Clariel, feeling her anger mount. “Are you just going to let Kilp and people like him do whatever they want?”

“It’s Tathiel’s problem, not mine,” muttered the King. His head had sunk into his chest and he looked more and more like a sulky child. “She should have come for the crown long ago. Let Tathiel tussle with Kilp and the Guilds and all the petitioners and difficulties. I want some peace! I’ve earned some peace!”

“Do you know what’s happening to Belisaere and the Kingdom while you stare out at the sea up here and drink
tea
?” asked Clariel.

“I don’t care!” shouted the King. He was almost sobbing. “I’ve had to care for too long and I’m past caring! Why does everything depend on me? Gully, give her that salt cellar. Anything! Just get her out of my sight!”

“I’m ashamed to be your cousin!” said Clariel, her voice growing louder with each word till she was nearly shouting too. “If you won’t act like a King you shouldn’t be one!”

“Come away, Lady Clariel,” said Gullaine very softly, near her ear, with her hand firmly on Clariel’s elbow. “He is very old, remember. Come away.”

Chapter Fifteen

EARNING A MOTHER’S FAVOR

I
didn’t mean to get cross with him,” said Clariel to Gullaine as they made their way back down the stair, this time without the cat-beast following along. The Charter sending had remained behind, curled up on the King’s feet.

“You are a royal cousin,” said Gullaine. “So I suppose I can consider it in the light of a minor family dispute, rather than treason.”

“Treason?” asked Clariel, suddenly worried that she’d done something that would get her stuck in the city. This time in a prison cell.

“No, not really,” sighed Gullaine. “I understand your frustration, and I know that you do not plot against the King, nor wish to become the tool of those who do.”

“Like Governor Kilp.”

“Yes. I even understand Kilp, to some degree. We are in an odd situation, the King withdrawing from power but not actually abdicating.”

“He should abdicate,” said Clariel. She had firm ideas about people not doing their jobs, learned at the shoulder of Sergeant Penreth in the Great Forest.

“No,” said Gullaine. “It’s both too late and too soon for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He should have abdicated ten years ago, when Tathiel was sixteen, and still here,” said Gullaine. “But he didn’t want to then. Now, he’s let the royal power ebb away, and there is no clear line of succession. Very few people believe Tathiel is still alive. We just have to hope that the King can hang on until she does come back, and try not to let matters get any worse.”

“Things seem pretty bad already,” said Clariel. “If the day laborers are attacking guildmembers, and Kilp really is planning to make me or my mother Queen when the King dies . . .”

“It won’t be up to Kilp,” said Gullaine, her face set. “Nor will it be soon. The King may be old, and his mind in a dark place, but he is surprisingly strong in body. And he is well protected here.”

“Good,” said Clariel. “The sooner I’m out of all this, the better.”

Gullaine stopped on the step below and looked back up at Clariel.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Why?” asked Clariel.

Gullaine hesitated, and looked up and down the stairs.

“It is true that you are one of the closest potential heirs to the throne,” she said carefully. “One way out of our current problem might be if we could convince the King to appoint a regent . . .”

“A regent?” asked Clariel. “Like a caretaker?”

“Yes. A member of the family to hold the throne, until Princess Tathiel returns. Or if not, assume the crown themselves. Someone young and promising to give the people hope.”

She looked meaningfully at Clariel.

“Me?” asked Clariel.

“You would be supported by a regency council . . . that would be myself, and Magister Kargrin, and some other folk who think as we do,” said Gullaine hastily. “You won’t have to marry Aronzo, or anyone for that matter. You could take on Kilp with the power of the throne behind you, set matters to rights—”

“How do
I
know what’s right?” asked Clariel. “Is this some sort of test? I already told Kargrin I just want to get out of here and go back to the Great Forest!”

“It is not a test,” said Gullaine. “I think you would be a worthy Regent. You took on that Free Magic creature, you have courage, and we would be behind you!”

“I have no desire to be your puppet any more than Kilp’s,” said Clariel. “I want to make my own life, not be stuck on a throne inside a great stone building, trapped behind walls forever.”

“You would not be a puppet,” said Gullaine. “Nor would we be puppeteers! That is something that Kilp could never promise you, even if that Free Magic creature isn’t involved, with some darker purpose.”

“No,” said Clariel firmly, shaking her head.

“Think on it,” said Gullaine. “You may be glad of the choice, in time to come.”

“In a very short time I will be in Estwael, and the Great Forest,” said Clariel. “My answer is final. No.”

“I hope matters work out as you wish,” said Gullaine lightly, but for the first time Clariel caught an air of menace in her words. “As we all wish. Perhaps Princess Tathiel will turn up tomorrow, as the King so fervently dreams. Come, I will take you to your parents.”

“Mother’s not going to be happy,” said Clariel, as they began to descend again. “I’m sure she thought she’d have hours looking at the Dropstone gold, while I chatted away to the King.”

“On the contrary, I imagine she will be very happy, provided you let her look after his gift,” said Gullaine. “Unless you intend to keep the King’s present to yourself, or even sell it?”

“What? The salt cellar . . . but he just said that when he was angry and wanted me gone!”

“He said it, and the King’s word must be obeyed.”

“But it must be worth a fortune!”

“A small fortune,” agreed Gullaine. “I would not recommend traveling with it. Too much temptation for thieves.”

Clariel blinked, but did not answer. This was yet another complication, though possibly one she could use to her advantage. She could offer Jaciel the salt cellar in return for being left alone . . . or perhaps she could threaten to take the salt cellar away if her parents didn’t let her go . . .

“Through here,” said Gullaine, opening a door that led to a long, narrow corridor of bare stone. The corridor had no windows and was dark, save for a few scant pools of light from Charter marks set in the walls. There was another door at the far end, some fifty paces away.

Clariel had only just started along the dark corridor when she realized Gullaine had fallen in behind her, when before she had led the way. She felt a stab of fear, suddenly wondering if Gullaine thought she was lying about wanting to be Queen. Maybe the Captain thought Clariel had thrown in her lot with Kilp and Aronzo, that she was going to try and claim the throne, and was going to get rid of her once and for all. She started to walk faster, her shoulder blades itching, as if any moment a dagger would fall. Perhaps she should turn, and . . . and what? She was unarmed—

“This is a shortcut, we’re inside the Western Wall,” said Gullaine from close behind, making Clariel jump. “I haven’t used it for a long time, I’m sorry it’s so dark. There’s always somewhere in the Palace that needs the light spells cast anew, and we no longer have enough Charter Mages to keep up. If you just turn that knob, Lady Clariel, a door will open.”

Clariel’s hand shook slightly as she turned the bronze knob. A wooden panel slid aside revealing a large, bright room where large windows let in the afternoon sun for full effect. The walls were paneled in a light and lustrous timber, there was a thick carpet of red and gold on the floor, and a divan or daybed sat in the middle of that carpet. A young man with badly cut black hair was lying on the divan, dressed in a robe of blue and silver that was too large for him, reading a book that was also too large to be easily held so he had propped it up on his stomach. A young woman in the purple and green of the Vintners was sitting next to his feet on the far end of the divan, also reading. A bowl of grapes lay on the floor between them, with more empty stems than ones with fruit.

“Bel! Denima!” exclaimed Clariel. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” said Bel. “In the Palace. Didn’t you know?”

“I’m visiting Bel,” said Denima, with a blush. “I wanted to see he wasn’t . . . I wanted to make sure he was not too badly hurt.”

“But Bel . . . you said you couldn’t see the King!” protested Clariel, stepping down into the room. The hidden door to the passage was at least two feet higher than the floor here, indicating the confluence of two different epochs of palace construction.

“I can’t see him,” said Bel. “I live here, the Abhorsen’s apartments, in the west wing. The old chap never visits and I’m not allowed in the rest of the Palace. Gully said she’d bring you over to say hello.”

“She didn’t tell me,” said Clariel, with a glance at Gullaine, who gave her an enigmatic half smile. Out here in the sunshine, she felt a bit ashamed of her sudden flash of fear in the darkened corridor. Gullaine would protect the King’s interests, or perhaps the Kingdom’s, but surely she wouldn’t do anything like just kill a potential traitor . . .

I’m just jumpy, Clariel told herself. Understandably nervous, given all the things that are going on . . . I need to stay calm.

“Bel said he wanted to talk to you,” said Gullaine.

“I see,” said Clariel. She still felt tense, and supposed that she would continue that way until she managed to get away. It was like being caught in the rapids, with currents tugging every which way, and a great waterfall ahead. But which way to swim to get clear, and avoid being dashed on the rocks?

“Yes, uh, I do . . .” said Bel. He glanced at Denima, and added, “It’s family business, Denima. Abhorsen stuff . . . I don’t mean to be—”

“I understand,” said Denima flatly. She got up and bowed to Clariel, then to Bel.

“I’ll escort you to the Abhorsen’s Gate,” said Gullaine. “Your guards await you there, I believe?”

Denima nodded. Gullaine turned to Clariel and said, “I will return to take you to your parents in a short time, Lady Clariel.”

“Thanks for the grapes, Denima,” said Bel, lifting himself up on one elbow with a wince. “Uh, this really is an Abhorsen matter, it’s not . . . not personal.”

“Absolutely not personal,” added Clariel, with a meaningful glance at Denima. She liked the other young woman, and wanted to make it clear she had no designs upon Belatiel, since she didn’t and it was clear he and Denima had some understanding. Or Denima hoped they were going to have an understanding.

“Oh,” said Denima. She lost some of the frozen look in her face. “I’m so used to those bitches like Yaneem at the Academy. I know you’re not like that, Clariel.”

“Definitely not,” said Clariel, with some feeling.

“Hey, neither am I,” said Bel, with rather less authenticity.

“I know,” said Denima. She hesitated, then bent down quickly and kissed Bel on the cheek, before rushing from the room.

“We’re . . . um . . . good friends,” said Bel. He tried to sit up even more but grimaced, pain evident on his face, and settled back. “What I really wanted to talk about was simply to say thank you. For saving my life. Twice. If you hadn’t dragged me down, the quarrel would have got me in the head, and Kargrin told me . . . he told me that you
held
the Free Magic creature and stopped it from finishing me off.”

“I should have been quicker to spot the crossbow,” said Clariel. She hesitated for a second, then added, “I think it was Aronzo.”

Bel was silent for a moment, a frown passing across his face.

“That makes sense. Unfortunately. I know Gullaine doesn’t believe it, but Kargrin is certain the creature was working with Kilp, even if for its own ends, whatever they may be. Aronzo hates me and . . . he kills for fun.”

“Kills for fun?” asked Clariel. “What, animals?”

“People,” said Bel. “I know he’s killed several day laborers, supposedly in self-defense. But the way he talked about it . . . it was clear he enjoyed the killing.”

“Great,” muttered Clariel. She remembered Sergeant Penreth of the Borderers, telling her about tracking a wolf that had started to kill for pleasure, a rogue that had been banished from its own pack. Penreth had said such rogues were among the greatest dangers in the forest, for their unpredictability and bloodlust. “We’re having dinner with them tonight, and I’m fairly certain my parents really do want me to marry Aronzo.”

“But you won’t!” exclaimed Bel. “Will you?”

“No,” said Clariel. “I’m getting out of here. Soon. Going back to Estwael and the Great Forest.”

“What? Why would you want to do that?”

“Because that’s where I’m supposed to be!” said Clariel. “That’s where my proper
life
is!”

“Oh,” said Bel. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” said Clariel. She sat down on the end of his divan with a long sigh. “Nobody else understands it either.”

“No, I think I do understand,” said Bel. “I’m just a bit slow . . . it’s like me wanting to be an Abhorsen, a
real
Abhorsen. Everyone at home thinks it’s a bit of a joke. That’s why I got sent here.”

“Why?”

“My great-uncle . . . your grandfather . . . the Abhorsen, he got tired of me asking about things he couldn’t or didn’t want to answer, and then when I started asking Cousin Yannael, the Abhorsen-in-Waiting, she got really cross. All that lot care about is Grand Hunts, you know, the full thing with horses and dogs and a hundred beaters that go on for days on end . . . so Great-uncle Tyriel got rid of me.”

“What about your parents? Surely they—”

“They’re dead,” said Bel. “An accident, when I was very little. Drowned.”

“I’m sorry,” said Clariel. “My parents annoy me, but it would be terrible . . .”

“I never knew them,” said Bel, with a shrug. “I doubt things would be any different if they were still alive. Whatever Great-uncle says goes for everybody, so when he wanted me out that was it. I’m supposed to be an ambassador from the Abhorsen to the city, a presence here when such is needed. Only ceremonially, of course, not for anything important. There’s not even much ceremony now the King is . . . avoiding everyone.”