Clariel: The Lost Abhorsen (The Abhorsen Trilogy Book 4) Read Online Free

arranged for you to take afternoon lessons with a Magister Kargrin, whose house is on the hill below us, possibly you can see it from here, I believe it is quite distinctive—”
    Clariel looked over the railing. There were hundreds of houses on the western slope of Beshill, and many more beyond, all crowded together.
    “Where?” she asked.
    “Somewhere downhill,” replied Harven, waving vaguely. “The house with the sign of the hedgepig on the street of the Cormorant . . . anyway, your guard will lead you there—”
    “My guard?”
    “I thought I told you about the guards already?”
    “No you did not,” replied Clariel sternly. “What guards?”
    “The Guild has sent us some guards, for the house and the workshop, and also to . . . look after us. The family.”
    “Why do we need guards?”
    “I don’t think we need them particularly,” said Harven, but he was looking at his shoes again. “It’s just something they do here. In any case, one will be guarding you. To and from the Academy, and so forth. His name is . . . um . . . well, it’s slipped my mind for a moment. He’s waiting to meet you downstairs. Also your mother wants Valannie to help you with your clothes.”
    “What’s wrong with my clothes?” asked Clariel. She was wearing what she wore most ordinary days in Estwael, basically her own version of a Borderer’s uniform: a short-sleeved doeskin jerkin over a knee-length woolen robe with long sleeves dyed a pale green with an inch of linen trim at the wrists and neck; woolen stockings and knee-high boots of pig leather, made from the first boar Clariel had hunted and killed herself, when she was fourteen.
    Admittedly, leather and wool was a little too heavy to be comfortable in Belisaere. The sun was hotter and the winds warmer here by the sea, compared to Estwael, which was situated in a high valley and surrounded by the wooded hills of the Great Forest. There was a term used disparagingly in other parts of the kingdom—when it was unseasonably cold, they called such days an “Estwael Summer.”
    “Women wear different things here,” said Harven. “Valannie will help you buy whatever you need.”
    Valannie was Clariel’s new maid. She had been waiting for them at the new house, and like it, had been provided by the Guild rather than being hired by the family. Jaciel didn’t care about choosing her own servants, particularly since Valannie was immediately competent and useful. But Clariel had refused her help as much as possible so far. She was determined to do without a maid, since she could not have the help of her old nurse, Kraille, who had chosen to retire to her son’s farm outside Estwael, rather than brave the horrors of the city.
    “So you need to come down,” said Harven.
    Clariel nodded, without speaking.
    “I’m sorry, Clarrie,” said her father. “But it will all be for the best. You’ll see.”
    “I hope so,” said Clariel bleakly. “You go, Father. I’ll be down in a minute.”
     
    Clariel’s new guard was standing in the courtyard, near the front gate, watching two of Jaciel’s workmen stacking sacks of charcoal. She was rather surprised to see he was both shorter and even thinner than she was, and much older, probably at least thirty, if not more. His eyes were hooded, and he did not look at all agreeable. As Clariel left the stairs and walked closer, she saw he had a Charter mark on his forehead, the baptismal symbol that was the visible sign of a connection to the Charter. So he was at least capable of wielding Charter Magic, though the forehead mark itself meant little without a lifetime devoted to learning and practice.
    But the guard’s forehead mark was mostly concealed by the red bandanna he wore, and would be totally hidden when he put on the open-faced helmet he held at his side. His surcoat showed the golden cup of the Guild, but it was done in a dyed yellow thread, not even a part-gold alloy. The hauberk of gethre plates he wore under