Was Kilp right that Free Magic was just another kind of magic that could be used as required? It seemed that Aziminil had worked for the Governor and his son without compulsion, even making Aronzo the golden cup. That didn’t sound ‘inimical to all life’ as Free Magic was often described. Aziminil had fought on the Islet, but they had been trying to capture her; surely anyone would fight in such circumstances?

With Aziminil’s aid, the journey home would be so much easier …

Clariel shook her head, even harder than she had after almost touching the silver bottle in the Paperwing. This temptation had to be cast out of her mind.

‘No,’ she whispered. Better to stick to what she knew. She took one last look at Bel, and bit her lip. He looked so weak and defenceless lying there, and she was going to abandon him.

Bel made a whimpering sound in his sleep and his face twitched in pain. Clariel looked away and shut her eyes.

‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘Forgive me, Bel. This might be my last chance.’

She did not look back after that, but struck out for the wood.

It was cool and dark under the trees, but the forest was open enough to admit starlight. Clariel’s eyes adapted to the gloom, and there was a path that headed roughly in the right direction. She walked slowly, listening to the small, quiet sounds of tree, bird and beast, a feeling of peace coming over her as she went deeper into the forest.

But she had only gone a few hundred yards when the quiet sounds suddenly stopped, a sure sign of some incipient trouble. A few moments later she heard different noises, louder sounds. Something was moving through the undergrowth behind her, something large enough to break twigs and crunch leaves underfoot. Clariel stopped, her hand on her sword hilt, and listened. It was large enough to be a boar, or a wolf. She heard more sounds of movement, spread over a larger area. There was more than one of whatever it was.

Clariel drew her sword. There were Charter marks on the blade. Simple marks for sharpness and durability, probably cast on the blade by Bel himself. They glowed softly, shedding a little more light than the stars above.

Wolves, she thought, or perhaps wild dogs. A small pack, only three or four animals. Nothing she need fear, not with the sword. In any case, the sounds were growing fainter. They were moving away from her …

Back towards the unconscious Bel.

Clariel wavered for a moment, but only for a moment. It was one thing to leave Bel in safe farmland. It was another to desert him when she knew there was a pack of wolves or wild dogs close by. Even though the animals would be cautious, his lack of movement would eventually lure them close. He was so exhausted, so deeply unconscious, he’d have no chance when they finally decided to attack. They’d rip his throat out before he could even wake.

She turned around and went back along the track. The moon had finally risen, so she could see her way more clearly, the clear silver light casting shadows from the trees, black lines crosshatching the ground.

In the fringe of the forest, she saw what she expected. A group of wild dogs, four of them, not even enough to be called a pack. They were brindled, shaggy and clearly feral, and they were heading towards the unconscious Bel.

Clariel pushed her cloak back over her shoulders and tapped the flat of her blade hard against the nearest tree trunk, the whap of it loud in the still of the night. The four dogs stopped as one, ears pricked, heads turning in her direction. She stalked towards them, slapping the flat of the sword against every tree as she closed, tilting it so the steel caught the moonlight.

The dogs were wary of an armed human. They waited for a few moments to make sure she really was coming after them, then broke and ran, at first into the field and then back into the woods.

She chased them for a while, making a lot of noise, but there was no chance of catching them on foot. So there was a strong possibility that if she left then they would come back, and Bel would still be vulnerable.

Clariel sighed, the longest sigh of her life. She stared up at the sky for a long, long time before finally starting to gather ferns for bedmaking. Combining the fern fronds with large armfuls of grass, cut ignominiously with Bel’s sword, she made two beds next to each other in a slight hollow between some exposed roots of the lone oak, and when they were ready, dragged Bel over and laid him down.

She found herself quite tenderly tucking his cloak over him, and drew her hands back. Was this the beginning of caring for someone? Of falling in love? If she let herself go would she become like the girls in Estwael, fussing over their lovers?

Clariel scowled at the notion and told herself she cared no more for Bel than she would for any wounded animal.

‘You could be a fawn and I’d treat you the same,’ she said to the sleeping Bel, somewhat belying her words by straightening out his legs so he would be more comfortable.

Bel did not answer, only shifting slightly in his sleep. Clariel lay herself down on her own bed, the sword at her side. She watched the stars and moon above, framed by branches, and listened to the small sounds of the forest and meadow return now the dogs were gone. The light breeze ruffling tree branches; a barking owl flapping overhead; a single small animal, probably a fox, coming close but not too close; the yip of that same owl over in the field as it caught a field mouse …

Slowly the tension that had been held inside her for all her time in the city drained out into the good soil beneath her bed of fern and grass. As Clariel let it go, sadness welled up, and tears began to slide down her cheeks – tears for her slain parents and tears for herself.

But she cried silently, without moving, and eventually exhaustion overcame emotion, and she went to sleep.

chapter twenty-one

hillfair, horses and dogs

Clariel woke first, just before the dawn, in that cool half-lit world where shapes begin to become clear again. Mist was already rising as the dew felt the warmth of the as-yet unseen sun. The sky was clear, with the promise of blue, and looked to be warm. Clariel got up, strapped Bel’s sword back on from where it had lain ready to hand, wrapped her cloak around herself, and went into the trees for her toilet.

When she came back, Bel’s eyes were open, but blearily, and he had his cloak pulled up to his nose. He pulled it down just enough to expose his mouth and said, ‘Good morning. I say that, though I have had better mornings.’

‘We’re alive, and out of Belisaere,’ said Clariel shortly. She sat down and investigated the muslin bundle, which proved to contain a loaf of bread, gone stale on one side and slightly mushy on the other, and a small wheel of hard cheese, protected in red wax. She broke the bread in half, and took out her knife to slice the cheese open. ‘Breakfast? I could go and find some berries and such, but it would take some time.’

‘No, we’d better get aloft as soon as we can,’ said Bel, taking a proffered piece of bread in his right hand and a triangle of cheese in his left, though he grimaced as the movement made his shoulder twitch. ‘We can have a proper meal at Hillfair. The Abhorsen doesn’t stint anyone at his table.’

‘What about his prisoners?’ asked Clariel. ‘As I am like to be.’

‘What!’ exclaimed Bel, almost choking on his bread. ‘You’re the Abhorsen’s granddaughter! You won’t be a prisoner!’

‘I hope not,’ said Clariel. ‘But if he thinks Mother is alive, and has agreed to be Queen with Kilp as temporary regent or whatever … it won’t look good for me.’

‘I’m … I’m sure he wouldn’t be so … stupid …’ said Bel, but his words lacked conviction. Clearly he did think the Abhorsen could be that stupid.

‘You know how I said I couldn’t tell you about why my mother fell out with Tyriel,’ said Clariel.

‘Yes?’

‘He thinks my mother killed her brother.’

Bel choked again, this time quite seriously, so Clariel had to clap him on the back, dislodging the bread and jarring his wound.

‘Ow! No! What?’

‘I wondered if you were just pretending not t

o know the other day, and whether the … um … rank-and-file Abhorsens knew,’ said Clariel. ‘I guess not. I only found out myself recently. She told me that he was already dead, inhabited by a Free Magic creature, or something Dead. So mother only killed the body. But her father … my grandfather … he didn’t believe her, and banished her as a kinslayer.’

‘I’m sure most of the family have no idea!’ exclaimed Bel. ‘I never even heard a whisper of it, and there are always enough rumours and gossip going round about everything else! Whenever Jaciel was mentioned, which wasn’t often, people just said she’d had a falling-out with the old bastard … I mean the Abhorsen. Which is easy to do. I fell out with him too. But I’m sure you’ll be all right …’

‘Maybe,’ said Clariel. ‘Let’s get it over with, anyway. You think we can reach Hillfair by early afternoon?’

‘If I can put myself together,’ said Bel, slowly tottering to his feet. He stretched tentatively, favouring his left side. ‘I’ve … got to find a tree. Back in a minute.’

Tags: Garth Nix Abhorsen Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net