‘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
Clariel 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 catalogued, 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 coloured 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 be actually 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 labourers 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 to 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 labourers attacking her was perfectly credible to Harven, despite his words. She knew that there was unrest among the day workers, who were not Guildmembers, 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,’ replied 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 some such, 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 interrupte
d …’
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 armoured 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?’