‘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 that the body was not really Teriel’s, that his favourite 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 realised, 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 recognised 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, but it was only a relative quiet. Though it was an hour yet till dawn, Clariel could hear carts further down the hill, and voices raised in complaint or irritation carrying in from somewhere lower down and to the northeast.
‘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 refamiliarising 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 spok
e, Roban was already turning towards the sound of running booted footsteps, his sword raised. Clariel followed suit. But Roban lowered the weapon as he recognised 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 recognise 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 realised that it did. The Abhorsens used seven named bells to command and control the Dead, as did Free Magic necromancers, though the Abhorsens’ 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.