The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) (58 page)

Mistral nodded distractedly, her
attention fixed on Xerxes.  He was duelling well, persistently driving his
opponent back until the sylvad’s back foot slipped over the circle of sand.

‘Winner!’  Bryden’s voice
rang out.

‘Why?’  Mistral asked,
turning sharply to look at Fabian with a frown.  ‘Xerxes barely scratched
that sylvad!’

Fabian smiled and gave his head a
slight shake, ‘It’s a duel Mistral, not a fight!  The duellists have to
stay inside the circle.  If either step outside, they forfeit the
bout.  Xerxes was duelling strategically.’

‘Duelling strategically? 
Not fighting?’  Mistral echoed in a disgusted tone.  ‘What’s the
point?’

‘It’s a test of skill, not
savagery.  Points are awarded for where each opponent strikes the
other.  See how they dip their swords in the coloured chalk before they
begin the bout?’

‘Oh, yes!’  Mistral
exclaimed, watching Xerxes turning the ends of his swords in a large leather
bucket of blue powder.

‘The coloured chalk marks the
armour to show clearly where they strike.  It saves a lot of arguments.’

‘Huh, sounds to me like the
arguments would be the most satisfying part!’ 

Fabian chuckled softly and rested
his elbows on his raised knees, watching Xerxes take on his second opponent;
Phantasm.

They both watched in silence as
Phantasm easily outduelled his Ri brother with Bryden stopping the bout after a
few minutes to hail him the winner.

‘Right.’  Mistral turned to
Fabian with a frown.  ‘Now I could clearly see that Phantasm was the
better swordsman there, but why did Bryden stop the bout at that particular
moment?  It was just getting good!’

Fabian smiled and indicated to
Xerxes striding bad-temperedly away from the circle of sand, ‘Can you see all
the blue marks on the chest plate of Xerxes’ armour?’

Mistral looked and nodded, ‘Yes,
Phantasm would have killed him several times if he hadn’t been wearing his
armour.  So?’

‘Each bout is scored up to a
maximum of ten points, which Phantasm just reached, hence the end of the
bout.  Strikes to different areas of the body earn points, some score more
highly than others.  The chest is the highest scoring part as it is harder
to strike.’

Mistral shook her head, ‘I
disagree.  The head is harder to strike than the chest.’

‘Again, it’s just a duel
Mistral.  There are no strikes to the neck or head allowed.’

Mistral made a disgusted sound
and watched the next competitor stepping up to meet Phantasm, ‘I’m actually
starting to feel glad that you stopped me from entering!’

‘Hmm, I think I may have saved
you from the disgrace of being disqualified for excessive enthusiasm in your
first bout.’

‘Probably.  But disgrace is
something I do quite well.’  Mistral laughed and watched Phantasm
skilfully taking apart the defence of one of the forest elves he was duelling
against.  ‘Damn!  He’s a good swordsman now!’  she muttered,
narrowing her eyes in frustration at not being able to join in.

Mistral was too engrossed in
watching the bout to see the slight frown on Fabian’s face, ‘I agree. 
Phantasm is fighting well.’  

‘I take full credit for forcing
him to improve over the last year and a half.’  Mistral declared then
gasped.  ‘Oh look!  He’s got Samson now!’  she watched them duel
for a moment.  ‘How long will Phantasm have to stay on for?’  she
suddenly asked, concerned that he would grow tired and start to make mistakes
rather than being outfought.

‘Rules are fiercely contested but
Bryden allows the winner to remain in the ring for three consecutive bouts
before taking a rest.  They then compete with the winner of the next
bout.’

Mistral nodded and continued to
watch Phantasm duel.  With glittering emeralds for eyes and beautiful face
lit by a wild smile he looked more like an avenging angel than ever. 
Mistral couldn’t help the proud smile that spread over her face.  He was
her brother. 

‘Look!  He’s got Samson on
the run!’ she cried happily.

Fabian nodded silently, watching
intently as Phantasm neatly sidestepped, parrying Samson’s blow to deliver a
swift counter with razor-sharp precision.  A loud clink of metal striking
metal rang out when Phantasm’s sword struck Samson’s breast plate. 

 ‘He’s going to win!’ 
Mistral breathed, her eyes shining with excitement.

Sure enough, Bryden strode into
the ring moments later and stopped the fight.  Pointing clearly to
Phantasm he loudly declared him the winner.  Phantasm stepped back from
Samson and inclined his head, showing respect to a fellow warrior. 
Samson’s scarred face remained stony for the briefest of moments before he
laughed and clapped Phantasm on the back.  Shaking his head ruefully he
left the circle to join the other Ri warriors sat watching at the edge of the
Arena.

As the afternoon wore by Mistral
became completely engrossed in the bouts, gasping with excitement and shouting
in anger when Bryden called a bout against the Ri.  Fabian laughed and
placed an arm around her tense shoulders to prevent her from doing more than
shout abuse at the elf who won against Brutus.

Phantom and Cain stayed on
through their bouts until they each met Phantasm.  Cain was outscored
during their duel and Phantom capitulated rather than fight his brother. 
When Saul fought with his usual technical precision, Mistral was careful not to
express too much emotion either way and avoiding looking at Fabian until his
bouts were over.  He eventually lost to Phantasm, who continued to win
each of his duels until he was placed in the final bout with an elf from
Bryden’s tribe.

‘So … if Phantasm beats Bryden’s
elf –’

‘Ares.’

‘Yes, him.  Then he’s won
the event?’

Fabian nodded silently.

‘Oh come on brother!’ 
Mistral hissed under her breath, her eyes glued to the duelling pair circling
each other with light steps. 

Phantasm’s emerald eyes flashed
as he delivered the first strike.  Ares parried the blow easily and
countered with a well-aimed thrust to the body.  Laughing recklessly,
Phantasm sprang gracefully away, darting forward again with lighting speed to
strike Ares across the thigh.  Ares swore and stumbled back, blood seeping
through the cut in his leather trousers.

‘Ha!  First blood!’ 
Mistral hissed savagely.  ‘He’s no match for my brother!’  she was
too entranced by the duel to notice that Fabian didn’t respond.

Ares lunged angrily, lashing out
for Phantasm’s mid-section.  Phantasm parried the clumsy strike with
almost disdainful ease.  Then he began to duel in earnest.  His sword
reflected the sunlight in dazzling flashes of silver as it twirled and spun in
series of rapid strikes, relentlessly driving Ares back towards the edge of the
circle.  Ares was beginning to tire, his defence weakening and allowing
Phantasm to land more blows until Ares’ armour was liberally streaked with blue
chalk.  Mistral held her breath, sharing in the fierceness of her
brother’s expression.  She frowned slightly when a shadow crossed his
face, dimming the wild light in his eyes to their usual cool green. 
Abruptly, he seemed to falter and slow, allowing Ares time to recover and fight
back.

‘What’s he doing?’ she cried,
turning to stare at Fabian with an incredulous look on her face.  ‘Why is
he backing down?’

Fabian didn’t respond but
continued to watch the duel.  Slowly but surely, Ares was gaining the
upper hand.  He pushed forwards with a series of heavy, deliberate blows
that Mistral knew Phantasm could have parried and countered with ease, but for
some strange reason he seemed to struggle with them and backed away, giving
ground until his back foot slid an infinitesimal amount over the edge of the
sand line.

‘Winner!’  Bryden bellowed
with obvious pride and raised the hand of his tribe member.

‘What!’  Mistral
shouted.  ‘There is no way he won that bout!’

‘Mistral –’

‘Oh come on Fabian!  You saw
the bout!  Phantasm was clearly better than Ares!’

‘Mistral.’  Fabian repeated
in a more insistent tone.  ‘Phantasm is quite clearly the more skilled
swordsman, now please calm down and listen to me.’

Mistral turned to face him, he
eyes wide with righteous anger, ‘He should have won that Fabian!’

‘Yes.  Phantasm threw the
bout.  Anyone could see that –’

‘Why the hell would he do that?’

‘Because you will be in the final
event.  He needs to be on the outside with Phantom to use their gift and
protect you.’

Mistral closed her eyes and drew
in a sharp breath, ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’

‘Don’t be angry with him.’
 Fabian said quietly.  ‘I made the request.’

‘Oh Fabian, why?’  Mistral’s
eyes flew open to be instantly captivated by his deep black stare.  How
could she be angry with him when he looked at her like that?

He smiled softly and raised a hand
to touch her cheek, sliding a finger down to trace the curve of her lips,
‘Because I love you.’

Mistral felt her eyes close
involuntarily at the pleasure of Fabian’s touch, ‘Oh, he’s going to be so
annoyed with me,’ she murmured vaguely.

‘No, Mistral, he will not be
annoyed with you.  However, he may be somewhat vexed if you fail to praise
him on his performance today.’

Mistral opened her eyes and
grinned, ‘You’ve notice the twins’ fragile egos have you?’

Fabian didn’t reply but couldn’t
quite hide the brief look of amusement that flickered across his face.

‘I blame their mother.’ 
Mistral muttered darkly, remembering Melsina De’ath forcing her to endure an
hour of being washed and dressed like a bad-tempered doll.

‘Yes, she is rather a force to be
reckoned with.’  Fabian murmured, his eyes sliding over her trousers.

Mistral caught his look dropped
her gaze to hide her embarrassment, ‘The twins did this to me.’ she explained
in a rush.  ‘They tricked me.  I didn’t choose to dress like this
Fabian, honestly.  I hate these trousers!’

‘I don’t.’

Mistral looked up to meet his
gaze and felt the breath catch in her throat. 

‘And just how good was I?’ 
Phantom demanded, swaggering towards them and cruelly shattering another
private moment.

Mistral closed her eyes with a
sigh, ‘Please tell me he’s not going to start doing this again.’

Fabian laughed softly and stood
up, reaching out a hand he pulled her up and whispered in her ear, ‘Remember
what they’ve given up to protect you.’

‘Yes, yes.’  Mistral
muttered and forced a smile onto her face.  ‘You were amazing
Phantom!’  she gushed.

‘Overdoing it!’  Fabian
warned softly.

‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’

But Phantom didn’t seem to notice
Mistral’s unusually lavish praise and grinned, ‘I was wasn’t I?’ he agreed,
preening slightly.

Phantasm strolled past him,
smiling and shaking his head lightly, amused by his twin’s behaviour.

‘You fought really well brother.’
 Mistral said with genuine warmth in her voice, adding more quietly. 
‘You deserved to win.’

Phantasm met her accusing look
and shrugged dismissively, his green gaze sliding from hers to meet Fabian’s,
‘Needs must,’ he replied lightly.

Mistral raised an eyebrow but was
prevented from arguing by the arrival of her brothers, all eagerly reliving
their bouts for her to provide appropriately complimentary or derogatory
remarks depending on whether they were talking about themselves or the other
competitors.  Even Saul seemed more upbeat and laughed when she described
how one of his opponents had performed an involuntary backwards roll out of the
circle in an effort to avoid one of his strikes. 

‘What can I say?  I’ve had
good training partners.’  Saul shrugged, smiling easily at her. 

She returned the smile and felt
her heart lift.  It looked like they were over the awkwardness of the last
couple of days.

‘Ah, another good day!  I
think that this calls for a celebration!’  Xerxes roared, already heading
towards the huge beer tent. 

It was already filled to bursting
with Arcanes, their loud talk and raucous laughter mingling with the victorious
cheers of Bryden’s tribe welcoming their champion.  More Arcanes were sat
on benches and on the ground outside the tent, their faces flushed by drink and
the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine. 

Mistral grinned, caught up in the
atmosphere.  She watched her brothers making their way through the unruly
crowd to reach the bar then turned to fling her arms around Fabian’s neck,
kissing him until a watching group of goblins heckled them too loudly to
ignore. 

Fabian gazed down at her, his
dark eyes amused, ‘And I thought you would be furious with me for making you
miss those two events.’

Mistral shrugged happily, ‘I’m in
a beer tent at The Festival of the Arcane with you and my brothers.  What’s
there to be unhappy about?’

‘Only one thing I can think of,’
he murmured, bending his head to kiss her again.

‘Please put your wife down
Fabian, and have a drink!’

Fabian tuned to greet the warrior
standing beside him with three large tankards of ale held in his hands, ‘Ah,
Samson, how fortuitous.  I’ve been meaning to have a word with you.’
 

Samson passed tankards to Mistral
and Fabian, his scarred face creasing into a wide grin, ‘I can only assume this
is going to be about my failure to restrain that impetuous creature you married
from drinking too much and brawling with a goblin at the welcoming feast.’

Fabian laughed while Mistral
pulled a face and took a long drink.

‘What can I say?’  Samson
shrugged his shoulders and looked at Mistral pointedly.  ‘I don’t think
she heard the “obey” part of her marriage vows –’

‘What?’  Mistral choked on a
mouthful of ale.  ‘I never agreed to do that!’

‘You did say “yes”, didn’t you?’
 Samson asked with a frown.