The Clayr Saw Me
Darkness. Her eyes were cloaked in shadow, and she could hear nothing other than the rapid pounding of her heart.
A flash of light! Orange sparks showered the edge of her vision as a resounding clang hummed through her ears. There was a piercing hiss, and waves of blistering steam scorched her face.
Silence. A pair of hands rose out of the darkness: large, brown hands crisscrossed with burns and scars. And resting on those calloused palms was a sword. The innumerable Charter symbols that were etched along the blade flickered into life, golden light catching on the emerald in the pommel and making it sparkle.
Another hand reached in and grasped the handle, but this one was bone-white. The pale hand ended at a deep blue sleeve, a sleeve embroidered with silver keys…
Tirelle sat up, eyes snapping open. For a moment she panicked before realizing that she was safe in her bed. The sheets were tangled tightly around her body, and the woman realized with a shock that her hands were shaking. Hands… The dream came rushing back to Tirelle in a flash and she sprang into action, almost tripping over the blankets in her haste to rise. At once she pulled on a tasselled cord, and was just struggling into her robe when the servant entered.
"Lady Clayr?" he asked apprehensively, alarmed by her urgency.
"I must see the King at once!" Tirelle commanded, hastily dragging a comb through her long blonde tresses.
The servant blinked in confusion, then gave a short bow. "Of course, my Lady" he answered smartly, and a somewhat-groomed Tirelle followed him into the corridor.
Past the statues, around a corner, up some stairs, through a large hall… Her bare feet treaded the familiar path that ran from her bedroom to the King's. They did not engage in that sort of relationship – despite rumours that buzzed through Belisaere's court – but it was understood that Tirelle's position required her to interrupt the King at strange hours of the night.
The armoured guards standing outside the King's chambers nodded at her solicitously, and she was led without delay into the antechamber. Within almost no time at all, another servant called for her to enter, and Tirelle stepped without hesitation into one of the most richly-furnished rooms in the Kingdom.
A massive desk dominated the space, carved with intricate designs and inlaid with gold wire and coloured glass. The room also contained an assortment of chairs, and overflowing bookcases. A man was bending over the stack of papers that littered his desk, a quill pen stuck haphazardly behind one ear. He looked up briefly as Tirelle entered, and motioned for her to take a seat. The blond woman waited impatiently for the King to finish, squishing her toes into the luxurious carpet, and at length the man pushed the papers away with a sigh.
King Berillan's copper hair was beginning to show signs of grey, but he held himself like a younger man, even at this late hour in the privacy of his rooms. Seated at his desk, surrounded by work, with his fingers smudged with ink and his tired face illuminated by candlelight, he still looked every inch a King. Those eyes never failed to notice anything, and showed an intelligence and dignity that commanded respect from everyone. Even his personal Seer.
"Lady Clayr", he said politely, a slight enquiring look in his gaze.
Tirelle did not waste any time with greetings. "I have had a vision, your Highness", she said quickly before the details would slip out of her mind. She was not anxious about being rude to the King, for he had become accustomed to her brisk manner from many years of her service. "It concerns… well, it concerns many", she finished somewhat lamely, wincing inwardly at her incompetent words.
King Berillan leaned forward and clasped his hands together on the desk. Tirelle stared at his signet ring, preferring that to meeting his keen gaze. "What did you see?" he asked quietly. After over a decade of being his Seer, Tirelle knew that the King could sense when she had something important to reveal.
The woman took a deep breath. "At first I saw… well, nothing", she admitted. "Then sparks, and the sound of metal on metal. The hiss of steam. After that – a pair of hands. Brown, worn hands holding a sword."
"Describe the sword", the King urged when Tirelle paused. The Seer licked her lips and continued.
"It was a magnificent weapon. Even I realized that, and I have never wielded a sword in my life. It had a green stone in the pommel, possibly an emerald. But the blade – the blade was covered in Charter marks, many of which I have never seen before. And then…"
The King waited for the woman to continue. When the silence had stretched for a whole minute, he gently prompted, "Yes?"
Tirelle looked up and pressed on. "I Saw another hand", she whispered, her voice barely audible. "A white hand, clothed in blue and silver. It reached in and clasped the sword."
King Berillan's expression did not change, but something flickered in his eyes. Tirelle knew that he understood the significance of that particular vision. There was nothing more to be said. Finally, the King pushed back his chair. "I think we both know what must be done", he sighed, rubbing his face wearily.
The blond woman looked up, frowning. "I See possible futures, your Highness", she said stiffly, "Not the future." She knew that she was grasping at straws, and even worse, the King knew as well.
"The future you glimpsed here seems as good as any", the older man replied, a faint smile curving his lips. "According to your vision, Lord Abhorsen is soon to be gifted with a new weapon. And that weapon can be made by no other than the Wallmaker."
Tirelle crossed her arms over her breasts, trying and failing to hide her scowl. It was always that Abhorsen who was in the centre of things. Whenever he came to court – and that was a rare occasion, thankfully – the lords and ladies clamoured for his tales of fighting Free Magic creatures, and he happily obliged them. Tirelle could not understand it. All he did was wield sword and bells like any filthy necromancer, whereas she was the most gifted Seer in the Kingdom. And what recognition did she receive? None, other than whispers of illicit affairs and open suspicion of her power. Some of the courtiers thought her a witch, and that was one of the more complimentary labels.
"I know that you do not like him", the King remarked, a hint of wry humour in his deep voice. "But you are both very dear to me and the Kingdom."
"I never said that I did not like him", Tirelle protested huffily. "Whoever told you that?"
King Berillan quirked an eyebrow. "Nobody told me – I guessed", he chuckled. "You two got along tolerably until a few months ago."
"That is ridiculous!" scoffed Tirelle, striving to appear unconcerned. "I am not jealous of him."
"I never said you were."
She blushed, realizing her mistake, and the King reached across to place a comforting hand on hers. "Do not fret", he said soothingly. "The Shining Ones know of your worth, and in that you are no less than he or I." The kindness in his voice brought burning tears unwillingly to the Seer's eyes.
"I am the Clayr!" she choked, barely managing to hold back her sobs. "The Clayr, the King's personal Seer, chosen from all citizens of the Kingdom! Why does the Charter run in his veins and not mine?" She gulped – there, she had said it. This was what most irked her about a certain young man nearly ten years her junior.
"Time is different to the Bright Shiners", King Berillan explained to her patiently. "It may take generations for them to make that decision. But make it, they will." He gave her hand a final comforting pat, and stood. "Until then, you are still the Clayr. And we must follow your visions, will we or no."
Tirelle bowed her golden head in both shame and acquiescence, before rising and curtseying deeply. "Good night, your Highness", she intoned.
"Good Night, Lady Tirelle", the King replied. He waited until the Seer had gone, then pulled on a tasselled rope. "Nalgon", he said to the servant who entered the room, "Get a message to Lord Abhorsen. He is to come to Belisaere at once."
The servant bowed and exited the room, and King Berillan sat at his desk. With a slight grimace, he pulled a sheaf of papers towards him, plucked the quill pen from behind his ear, and continued his work by candlelight.
A/N: I have made "Clayr" the official title for the King's Seer. The Clayr is appointed by the King's council, chosen among the most gifted Seers in the land for this position. The Clayr (almost always female) is a high-ranking consultant who focuses her Sight on the workings of the Kingdom, like a sort of personal advisor. She lives permanently at the palace in Belisaere.