The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) (7 page)

‘What of the Arcane races? 
And … half-breeds, how do they age if they are mixed with Mage blood?’

Mistral tensed.  The last
thing she wanted was a discussion that involved her having to admit to another
member of the Magnate that she had no idea what bloodline she came from. 
However, considering that Malachi was allegedly half-vampire she doubted that
he would want to dwell on the subject for too long either.

‘The Arcane races have traits
peculiar to their own species.  Some age quickly, others more
slowly.  Centaurs age at the slowest rate, powerful sorcerer next, yet by
comparison trolls reach full maturity by the age of four and only live for
around fifty years.  The aging process is a condition unique to each of
the races in turn and I suggest that if you are interested in finding out more
then you should study in your own time as I have precious little to
spare.  However, as to the rather more pertinent question of half-breeds,
that again is entirely dependent on what bloodlines met to create the
half-breed in question.  Who can say for certain what effect Mage blood
has when mixed with other breeds?’

A silence fell when Malachi
finished speaking.  He resumed his quiet pacing and for a few minutes the
room was filled only by the rustling sound of his heavy black robes. 

‘The Craft,’ he continued in a
crisp tone, ‘is magnified in its power when two likenesses cast together –
similar to the Gemini gift that you possess,’ Malachi paused and considered the
twins thoughtfully.  

‘By likeness, do you mean that
the two sorcerers have to be related?’  Mistral asked with a frown,
thinking of the two warlocks that had jointly cast on her.

‘By blood,’ qualified Malachi
shortly. 

‘Are all warlocks related by
blood then?’ 

Malachi eyed her coldly for a
moment before replying, ‘You seem strangely interested in that particular
breed, why is that I wonder?’

She shrugged dismissively, ‘I’ve
had a bit of run-in with a couple in the past.’

‘Yet you still breathe, how
unfortunate.  But in answer to your impertinent question, warlocks are in
essence all related.  They are many but they are one which is what gives
them their innate strength and power.  Truly, they are a breed apart and
cannot be explained simply.  They are a subject that could be studied for
years and still leave the student as much in the dark as when he began.’

Mistral let Malachi’s insult wash
over her and became lost in her own thoughts once again.  Warlocks were
many but one … she grasped the concept easily because it answered the warlock
army’s unnatural ability to move in complete harmony with no spoken of visible
command.  She thought of the power that two had generated when they had
cast on her.  What power would an entire army generate?  Mistral felt
a shiver run down her spine and remembered how tense Fabian had been about
leaving her alone with just two of them.  He still didn’t know that they
had cast on her when she had blatantly ignored his warning and quickly resolved
that he should never find out.  He was prone to being overprotective as it
was without her giving him justification.  With a sigh Mistral dragged her
attention back to Malachi lecturing them on the subject of the Craft.

‘ – spells are cast without
words.  The power of the Craft literally emanates from within a sorcerer
without need of a conductor or tool.  It can be directed by the power of
intention but is inextricably linked to the state of mind of the sorcerer at
the precise moment that they cast.  Therefore spells cast in anger or
other distressed states are more powerful.  Now, to my personal
speciality: the brewing of potions.’ 

Malachi ceased in his pacing to
linger in front of the long wooden table littered with bottles of all different
sizes and colours, each one containing a different potion.

‘Potion brewing is not limited
purely to sorcerers.  It is an art in itself.  However some potions
required the addition of the Craft to achieve the desired result.  Perhaps
you would care to guess what some of these potions might be?’

Mistral and the twins gazed
silently back at Malachi.  None of them had any intention of giving him
the satisfaction of sneering at any suggestions they offered.

‘As I assumed.  Complete
ignorance.’  Malachi sighed dramatically and swept around the room again,
his long robes swishing against the tall bookcases when he turned to make a
repeat circuit.

‘Any potion that induces an
emotion, or rather, the replica of an emotion, is created using the Craft … as
well as several other highly unusual ingredients.  For this very reason
the production and use of all such potions is banned on the Isle and the crime
of creating, using or selling them is punishable by death by order of the Mage
Council.’

There was no disguising the
derision in Malachi’s voice as he spoke the last few words.  Mistral kept
her face impassive but felt Phantom stir slightly beside her.  He too had
noted Malachi’s contempt for the Isle’s ruling Council, no doubt a grievance he
had inherited from his vampire father.

Malachi dismissed them curtly at
the end of the afternoon and had barely closed the door behind them before
Phantom and his brother were sharing a conspiratorial look.

‘Well now, that answered a few
questions didn’t it brother?’

‘Definitely – did you see his
face when he talked about the Mage Council?’

Mistral rolled her eyes and
walked on ahead of them.  The twins loved nothing more than intrigue and
conspiracy and would no doubt talk for hours about the afternoon’s lesson;
analysing Malachi’s every word and facial expression down to the merest
twitch.  Leaving them to it Mistral ran down the stairs and made her way
hastily along the corridor to her room.  She opened the door to find
Prospero stretched out on her narrow bed, sound asleep.  He rolled over as
she came in and opened one pale blue eye to gaze reproachfully at her.

‘Sorry I had to leave you boy but
Malachi won’t have you in his tower room in case you chew the books or
something.  But I’m here now.  Come on, let’s go find Fabian.’

Prospero leapt from the bed and
stretched before padding obediently after his mistress.  Filled with a
sudden urgency Mistral hurried down the stairs and out through the Entrance
Hall.  Once on the path leading down to the village she began to run,
fuelled by the burst of excitement she always felt at the prospect of seeing
Fabian.  Butterflies began to dance in her stomach only to be instantly
quelled by the sad truth that he was leaving her to travel north to the Mage
Council.  His duties as Training Lieutenant had now finished and he had
already been summoned by Mage Grapple.  Mistral knew he had put off his
departure until her training had finished for the day and suddenly wished that
he hadn’t.  Knowing that he had gone might be easier to bear than actually
saying goodbye to him.

Mistral reached the village
square and her heart sank when she saw Fabian dressed for travel and holding
tightly on to his restless horse.  Running the last few paces between them
she threw herself against him, savouring the brief contact before he left
her. 

The twins sauntered down the path
and paused to lean against the Training Arena fence and watch the first years
drilling swords under their new Lieutenant.  Phantasm nudged his brother
in the ribs and they both turned to watch Mistral and Fabian embrace before he
swung himself up into the saddle, his pale face a taut mask.  Wordlessly
he pulled Spirit around kicked her into a gallop along the track leading to the
North Gate out of the Valley.

‘And there goes Mage De Winter,’
said Phantom softly as the sound of hoof beats faded into the distance. 

‘And there goes Mistral,’
commented Phantasm as Mistral stalked past them and into the Training Area, her
body radiating tension.  She was twirling one of her swords menacingly by
her side.

‘Feels the need to pulverise
someone by the looks of things,’ Phantom said with a sympathetic sigh.

‘You know, if you could harness
the tension between those two I’m sure it would create a whole new energy
source,’ said Phantasm thoughtfully.

‘Interesting thought. 
However I just hope she gets the Sight soon or she might explode.’

‘Or we’ll run out of first years
with limbs still attached,’  Phantasm said darkly as the sound of clashing
swords rang out from the Arena broken by the panicked shouts of the new
Training Lieutenant.

Training had finished for the
weekend and the first year apprentices were quickly leaving the Arena to head
straight for The Cloak and Dagger.  Mistral and the twins began to stroll
slowly after them.  The endless rain of the last month had finally given
away to blue skies and the sun overhead held the first touch of spring warmth.

‘Keen aren’t they?’  said
Phantom, smiling lazily.

‘Hmm.’  Mistral agreed
distractedly.

‘What’s wrong Mistral? 
You’re usually overjoyed by the prospect of a weekend with your Mage!’

‘He’s at the Council.’
 Mistral muttered moodily. 

‘Again?  Oh dear,’ said
Phantom, giving his brother a meaningful look.  ‘How long for this time?’

Mistral sighed heavily, ‘All
weekend and most of next week.’ 

Phantom pulled a face over her
head at his brother.  It was going to be a long weekend if Mistral was
going to spend it moping.

‘Coming for a drink?’ 
Mistral asked with another sigh.

‘Love to,’ said Phantasm
regretfully.  ‘But our presence has been requested by Master
Casterton.  Care you join us?’

‘Not really.’

Catching Mistral’s glum look
Phantasm patted her consolingly on the shoulder, ‘We’ll come down to The Cloak
once he’s finished with us.’

Mistral nodded and watched them
walk side by side up the path to the Main Building, perfectly in step, their
white blonde hair gleaming in the pale spring sunshine.  She knew
Phantasm’s words had just been to appease her.  Once Mycroft Casterton had
a captive audience he would talk all night. 

Sighing heavily she began to tap
the blade of her sword against the outside of her boot.  The twins’
obvious preference for the company of an overfed windbag over hers only added
to her feeling of apathy.  Since Fabian’s temporary duty as their Training
Lieutenant had finished he had been obliged to spend much of his time at the
Council, leaving her alone for longer than either of them liked.  Mistral
sighed again and gazed over at The Cloak and Dagger.  She didn’t fancy
joining the first years for a drink.  She was beginning to understand why
the two second years had kept their distance from them during the previous
year.  It wasn’t a status issue, more a desire not to repeat the first
year again.

Whistling for Prospero who was
sprawled out asleep by the fence, Mistral decided to ride out of the Valley and
spend the rest of the weekend sulking alone in the small mountain house that
she would one day share with Fabian.  She began to walk moodily towards
the Training Arena entrance with her huge dog at her heels when a voice called
her name.  She looked up, her face instantly breaking into a smile.

‘Brothers!’

‘Don’t tell us you’ve scared off
all those poor first years already?’

Saul, Cain and Brutus were
walking towards her from the stable block, all wearing identical grins and
suntans.

‘Not yet!  But I’m working
on it!’

‘Coming for a drink?’  Saul
enquired when they drew level with her.

‘Yes please,’ she grinned and
fell in step with them.  ‘How was the mercenary Contract?’

‘Good!  We were fighting
against our old friend Rufus the Red.  He’d decided to try and trample all
over one of his other smaller neighbours this time.  It was
hilarious.  His soldiers were drunk and totally useless.  Grendel
knocked Rufus off his horse with a cracking shot from his sling – he went down
like a sack of potatoes … and the language!  I honestly thought I wouldn’t
be able to draw my bow from laughing so hard!’

Mistral laughed.  Listening
to their tales of the battle was better than riding out of the Valley and sulking.  

‘Where’s Xerxes?’  she asked
as they walked through the door of The Cloak and Dagger.

‘His new lady friend is helping
him stable his horse,’ said Brutus with a roguish wink.

Mistral smiled and shook her
head.  Xerxes was becoming a terrible ladies man.  Whenever he was
back in the Valley he seemed to have different girl in tow.

They quickly settled at a table
and Saul vanished to the bar to collect a round of drinks.  Prospero
collapsed at Mistral’s feet with a sensation similar to an earth tremor and
began to snore loudly. 

‘Where’s your Mage this
weekend?’  Brutus asked, looking around expectantly.

‘Council.’  Mistral replied
shortly.  She didn’t want to talk about Fabian’s absence.  The ache
whenever he was away was almost unbearable.

Brutus nodded vaguely and reached
out to take one of the brimming tankards Saul set on the table.

‘So, got the Sight yet
then?’  Cain asked conversationally as he slipped his travelling cloak off
and laid it on the bench beside him.

Mistral pulled a face at him and took
a sip from her tankard.

‘Good,’ said Cain.  ‘Because
we’re planning a marathon card game tonight and there’s no way you’re playing
with us once you get that little added extra help.’

Mistral smiled and then suddenly
frowned as she caught sight of a deep stab wound on Cain’s forearm.  It
was too fresh to have been from the battle. 

‘How did you get that?’  she
asked, indicating towards the wound with her free hand.

‘Ah,’ said Cain, looking
uncharacteristically bashful.  ‘That is the result of a bit of high-spirits
on the long voyage back.’

‘What, you’ve taken to stabbing
each other to relieve the boredom of a long sea crossing?  Don’t you
usually just play cards and gamble?’