‘Kariam will take you there now,’ said Gullaine. ‘Lady Clariel, please, this way.’
Though she didn’t appear to do anything, the gate marked for the Clayr’s glacier swung open, again only just enough to admit Clariel and Gullaine in single file. There was a narrow winding stair on the other side, and here they could walk side by side, though Clariel’s shoulder brushed the wall. It should have been dark, enclosed by stone with no windows, but there were bright Charter marks in the walls. Marks that grew brighter as Clariel drew nearer and faded as she passed.
‘Are we going to some sort of throne room or something?’ asked Clariel. ‘Or a great hall?’
‘No,’ said Gullaine. ‘We go to the battlements of the North Wall, facing the sea. The King likes to look out from there in the afternoon, if the day is warm. In a moment we will have to pause a little. Do not be alarmed.’
She said this as they reached a landing, a small room that had two doors leading to left and right, while the stairs continued up. The room was empty, save for a bare wooden chair in one corner. The walls, unlike in the lower stair, were plastered rather than bare stone, and painted a pale yellow.
‘Sit on the chair, please,’ said Gullaine. ‘This will only take a few minutes.’
Clariel sat on the chair, and looked at Gullaine.
‘Why do I need to sit here?’
‘One of the King’s Guardians must look you over,’ said Gullaine. ‘They are Charter sendings, of a kind. It won’t take long. Here comes one now.’
Clariel looked up and down the stairs but couldn’t see anything. Then she noticed a faint ripple in the faded plaster of the wall opposite, a ripple that spread up from the floor. As she watched, tiny Charter marks blossomed and began to outline … something … that was about eight feet long and four feet high and took up most of the wall. Slowly the outline began to become more distinct, until Clariel saw it was some sort of catlike beast, but far larger, longer and thinner and it sported a feathery tail.
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 colour darkening to something like a sweet 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 towards 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 towards 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 antagonise 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 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 poleaxe 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 embrasu
re.
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 got 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 armour 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.’