Clariel

by Nix,Garth

  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 just put 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 ‘us’?” 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.”

  “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 him 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 m
ortal 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,” said 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 three years. It seemed an enormous sum to her. 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, 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 . . .

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  Chapter Nine

  OLD SECRETS, NEW PLANS

  That 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. 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 second boy?”

  “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 unwillingness.

  “Good,” said Jaciel. “I wished you to meet him. You and he are of a simil
ar 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.