‘Amda will show you out,’ said Kargrin.

Valannie’s mouth moved, but only a kind of strangled clucking sound came out. Avoiding the Charter sending’s helping hand, she dashed for the door.

‘Remind me of your name, Jaciel’s daughter.’

‘Clariel.’

‘You will address me as Magister,’ replied Kargrin, in a conversational tone that nevertheless brooked no opposition. ‘So you wish to learn Charter Magic?’

‘No, Magister,’ replied Clariel. She met Kargrin’s enquiring gaze, his eyes dark beneath large and very bushy eyebrows, above a face that once again did not match her expectations. It was a forceful, almost ugly face, and his nose had been broken and set somewhat awry. ‘My parents wish me to learn.’

Kargrin nodded thoughtfully, lifted the rat near to his mouth and whispered something to it. Clariel saw small Charter marks like sparks come out with his words, to be answered by glittering reflections across the rat’s skin, and realised the rat, too, was a sending. The magister gently set it down on the floor, and it ran to the wall and slipped through a triangular crack between two stones.

‘So your parents wish you to learn,’ he said, rumbling over to her, his slippered feet making the floorboards groan. He was even taller and bigger than Clariel had thought, up close, perhaps six and a half feet tall and proportioned more like a bear than a man, with a long waist and short, tree-trunk legs. ‘I will test your mark, if I may.’

He raised one massive finger and reached towards Clariel’s forehead, where the brand of her baptismal Charter mark suddenly flared into life. She remained still as she felt the slightest touch of Kargrin’s fingertip, and without really thinking about it, did as she had been taught long ago, reaching up to touch the Charter mark on Kargrin’s forehead in turn.

It was like falling into deep water. All of a sudden the world ceased to exist. She was surrounded entirely by Charter marks, brilliant, shining, blinding marks that swirled and swam all around her, through her and inside her, marks that she did not know and felt she could never know, thousands, tens of thousands, millions of Charter marks –

Clariel gasped and stepped back, breaking the connection. Kargrin lowered his hand and looked at her thoughtfully.

‘It has been a long time since you joined with the Charter,’ he said, his voice a deep rumble from the cave of his chest. Clearly he had seen a great deal in Clariel’s connection with the Charter in the moment of their exchange. ‘And you do not practise the little magic you have been taught.’

‘No, I don’t,’ admitted Clariel.

‘Hmm,’ said Kargrin. ‘Roban?’

He raised his hand again, and he and Roban reached out at the same time, almost like a salute, reassuring each other that their forehead Charter marks were true, and not some disguise of Free Magic. At one time all those who bore the Charter mark would have greeted each other this way, but no longer. Clariel belatedly realised that she had not seen anyone perform this traditional greeting since she had come to Belisaere.

‘Do you have any news, Roban?’ asked Kargrin.

‘Nothing beyond my earlier communication, Magister,’ replied Roban, with a sideways glance at Clariel, so slight she almost didn’t notice it. ‘If I do, I will send word at once, or come myself.’

‘Speaking of messages,’ said Clariel, ‘Mistress Ader at the Academy asked me to tell you, “None have yet passed by, but I will keep watch.”’

‘Thank you,’ said Kargrin. He nodded at Roban and made a slight gesture with his hand. The guard stood at attention, inclined his head, whipped around in a parade-ground-perfect about-face and marched out. The magister turned his gaze back to Clariel, who suddenly felt shorter, younger and more vulnerable.

‘Conjure me a Charter light,’ said Kargrin. ‘A small one, on your fingertip.’

Clariel nodded, took a breath and reached out for the Charter once more. It was a little easier this time, because she could kind of sidle into it, rather than being inundated via Kargrin’s own immersion. But even so, she found it difficult. Starting with a few very familiar marks, she thought of more, visualising them as a chain reaching back into the full flow, but all too quickly there were more marks than she could cope with. So many marks they threatened to swamp her, and it took all her concentration to just select the one she needed, a minor mark for light, pull it out of the swim and coax it to her fingertip.

Light flared there, but only for a few seconds, as Clariel broke away from the Charter too soon for the light mark to be established on its own. She took another breath, and wiped away the sweat that had suddenly broken out on her forehead.

‘Curious,’ said Kargrin. ‘I wonder what you would do if …’

His fingers arched and suddenly shards of sharp metal spat straight at her, shards made not of true metal but of Charter marks, conjured so swiftly that he must have already had most of the spell put together and hidden on his person, awaiting only a single mark to activate it.

Clariel reacted instantly, ducking under the shards, but even so she felt the heat of their passage above her head.

‘What are you doing?’ squeaked Clariel. Raising her voice, she shouted, ‘Roban! Help!’

‘Use the Charter,’ bellowed Kargrin, his eyes intent on her own. ‘Defend yourself!’

His fingers arched again, and more red-hot shards spat forth, missing Clariel’s shoulder by a hairsbreadth as she twisted violently aside and collided with the edge of the table.

‘Use the Charter!’ Kargrin shouted again, stamping his foot. Charter marks blew up under his heel, forming a swirling cloud that rolled over Clariel, enveloping her in a choking mist. She dived onto the table, slid across it on her stomach and went over the other side, ending up on all fours on the floor, her knees and hands smarting in pain, but with the cloud behind her.

Kargrin came around the end of the table, advancing upon her, his hands out in a spellcasting gesture. Clariel retreated, stood upright and backed away. Anger was building inside her, anger fuelled by pain and humiliation. Her knife was in her hand now, though she did not remember drawing it.

How dare he suddenly attack her, she thought, and why should she use Charter Magic anyway? She wanted to charge straight at the great bull of a man, and twist this way and strike, the knife parting his throat on the diagonal. Even before she knew it she was sliding forward, her arm going up, moving as swiftly as she ever had, fast as a kite dropping on a vole in the grass, but somehow when she twisted and her arm came across, Kargrin’s throat was not there.

Clariel whirled around but she could not see him anywhere in the hall.

Suddenly a plate dropped on her head, a china plate that shattered into pieces, though its surprise impact hadn’t really hurt. Clariel screeched a war cry, her head going back, and saw Kargrin standing tiptoe like a dancer on one of the broken beam ends way above her head.

‘Use the Charter,’ cried Kargrin. ‘Defend yourself!’

Rage filled Clariel. Her nostrils flared open as she exhaled and almost closed shut as she breathed in. She picked up one of the massive benches and threw it up at Kargrin, but he jumped away, across twelve feet or more to the next beam end, an impossible jump were he not aided by some magic. Clariel dropped her knife and ran towards him, raging. She swarmed up the wall, her fingers thrust into the tiniest cracks between stones, dislodging ancient mortar, but even so she could not find enough hand- and footholds. She fell back, immediately circling to find a weapon, something to throw at the enemy above her. But even as her hand closed upon a fallen piece of stone the size of an apple, a glowing net of Charter marks fell on her from above, wrapped itself around her three times and bound her as securely as a spider ever tied a fly.

Clariel thrashed in her binding, enough to bruise herself more, and perhaps would even have dashed her own brains out on the floor if Kargrin had not dropped lightly by her side and laid a spell for sleep upon her brow, quickly followed by another, stronger spell when the first one was shrugged off

by the anger that shone from her like the heat from one of her mother’s forges, busy smelting gold.

chapter eight

complications and opportunities

Clariel came to her senses to find herself lying on the table in Kargrin’s hall, with a cushion under her head. For a moment she was disoriented, then she remembered what had happened. Her hand went into her sleeve for her dagger again, only to find nothing there, and her wrist gently but firmly clasped by the magister.

‘Peace,’ rumbled Kargrin. ‘Roban told me he thought you had the rage, and indeed I felt the presence of it when I tested your mark. But my attacks, save for the plate I dropped on your head, were illusory. Part-formed sendings that I would have expected even a half-trained Charter Mage to see through, particularly one of your heritage.’

‘A test?’ mumbled Clariel. Her head ached, and she felt slightly nauseous. ‘You might have told me.’

‘It would not serve as a useful test if I told you,’ said Kargrin. ‘If I release you, will you keep that anger in check?’

‘Yes,’ said Clariel. She slowly sat up and cradled her head in her hands. The ache intensified, a deep throbbing pain behind her eyes. ‘I’ve never … almost never let it get out of control like that …’

‘You are a berserk,’ said Kargrin, in a very matter-of-fact tone. ‘It is not uncommon in the royal blood, and though rarer among Abhorsens, it does crop up from time to time. You have both bloodlines from your mother. It is curious that you have the rage, but not the usual affinity of your kin for the Charter. There is danger in this, for you, and for others.’

‘I’ve never … I’ve never let it get so far beyond …’ faltered Clariel. ‘I’ve never hurt a … a person!’

‘It is not simply the rage itself, and the violence that may come with it,’ said Kargrin. ‘It is also an indicator of an affinity with Free Magic, which is governed by emotion and raw will. All those who have the blood of the Five have some natural ability with Free Magic, but it is usually counterbalanced by an innate connection and understanding of the Charter, a desire to be part of its all-encompassing nature. Tell me, do you like to be alone?’

Tags: Garth Nix Abhorsen Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net