The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) (70 page)

Fabian closed his eyes briefly
before continuing in a cold voice, ‘How do you plan to treat body
wounds?’  

‘I have plenty of linen gauze and
clean bandages.  If she sustains anything that causes serious bleeding or
loss of consciousness then I’ll withdraw her and forego my place to treat her.’

‘Pain relief?’

Cain shook his head, ‘None. 
I didn’t think it advisable to mask pain in Mistral.  It might make her
even more reckless.  She’s proven to be quite susceptible to stimulants.’

Fabian’s eyes hardened, ‘I know.’

Cain scratched his temple, ‘About
that manticore liquor –’

‘I am not concerned with the past
Cain, only the next two hours.’  Fabian said quietly.  He walked over
to the tent flap, pausing at Cain’s side.  ‘You have prepared well for
this.  I am grateful to you.’

Cain shrugged, ‘I admit she can
be a bit difficult at times, but Mistral’s a sister and she’d do the same for
any us.’  he gave a quick flash of his impish grin.  ‘And if she ever
gets the hang of her gift she’ll be a handy person to have in a card game!’
  

‘I hope her gift will mean more
to the Isle than a winning hand for you!’  Fabian snapped and strode from
the tent.

‘No sense of humour.’  Cain
muttered under his breath once he was certain Fabian was out of earshot. 

‘I think we should get down to
the Arena and work out a strategy.’  Xerxes rubbed his chin
speculatively.  ‘They must have the put up some barriers or cages to stop
the creatures from attacking each other.’  

‘I agree.’  Brutus stood
up.  ‘Ready Mistral?’

‘I think so.’  Mistral
finished tying her hair back and looked around.  ‘But where’s Grendel?’

‘Last minute visit to his adoring
fan club.’  

Mistral smiled at Xerxes’
suddenly sour expression, ‘Don’t worry Xerxes.  You’ll be heading back to
your own army of sweethearts tomorrow.’

‘Ah, I’ve missed them.’ 
Xerxes sighed, a faraway look in his eyes.

Brutus smirked, ‘Any of them in
particular?’ 

Xerxes gave his brother a
reproachful look, ‘Of course not!  That would be favouritism!’

Mistral shrugged on her sword
holster, ‘Well let’s just hope they’ve missed you as much.’ 

‘Of course they will have! 
I’m an –’

‘Stop!’  Mistral quickly
held up both hands.  ‘Don’t say it brother!’    

‘Ready now?’  Fabian
murmured softly in her ear.

‘Oh, yes.  Sorry, I was just
–’ she turned to face Fabian and instantly didn’t want to go.  She didn’t
care about the final, her gift, or anything other than the sudden urge to walk
away with him right now, to leave and never look back, never face another day of
struggling to master Sight or fight against the desperate longing to be with
him. 

Before her wild thoughts could
take root and become full blown rebellion she was being swept away along the
avenue by her brothers.  They fell short of hoisting her onto their
shoulders but there were definitely times when her feet weren’t touching the
ground.  Samson and the rest of the Ri warriors quickly joined them, their
buoyant mood at having two Ri in the final considerably heightened by a liquid
lunch.

‘Hey Xerxes!’  Samson called
loudly.  ‘You do realise that it’s fairly short odds on a Ri warrior
winning!’ 

‘I know, I know.’  Xerxes’
grin became a scowl.  ‘I’m just glad you didn’t get in as well.’

‘Centaurs!’  Samson shook
his lion’s mane of hair.  ‘Six harpies they shot.  Didn’t even go
further than the outskirts of the forest apparently.  Just lined up and
took aim from the edge!  Can you believe it?’

‘Frankly, yes.’  Brutus
replied.  ‘Centaurs are famous for the bow, even more so than elves. 
I’ve seen one shoot down another arrow before.  Their aim is never off.’

‘Well I wish it had been today!’

Mistral glanced at Fabian as she
was hurried along.  He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d left the
camp.  His face was rigid with tension, his aura black with despair. 
She suddenly curled her hands into fists and closed her eyes, feeling tears
prick as a strange certainty washed over her.  She suddenly knew, without
a shadow of a doubt, that something terrible was going to happen.

‘Fabian!’

Mistral gasped his name before
she could stop herself, her mind filled with thoughts of begging him to leave
with her now, slip away before the event started and avoid whatever disaster.

‘What is it?’ he immediately
frowned at the panic in her eyes.

‘I – I don’t know!  Something
… I don’t know, nothing –’
A premonition?
  Mistral couldn’t even
bring herself to say something so dramatic.

‘Mistral.’  Fabian’s voice
was low, urgent.  ‘You are a Seer, whether you want to be or not. 
Your gift lives within you as the Craft lives within every Mage.  It will
protect you and warn of any impending danger.  You must tell me now, what
have you felt?’

Her eyes raked his face, wild and
frantic, her confession gathering force, preparing to erupt from the tip of her
tongue, then the sound of laughter dragged her gaze away from his.  Cain
was laughing with Saul, his face glowing with pride at being in the
final.  She closed her eyes, swallowing down the burning words on her
tongue.  There was no way she could take that away from her brother. 

‘Nothing.  Just last minute
nerves.’

‘Since when do you suffer from
nerves?’  Fabian hissed furiously.

Mistral forced a hollow laugh,
‘Oh, I don’t know, I was pretty bad at our wedding.’  

‘Mistral!’  Fabian gripped
her arm tightly and jerked her round to face him.  ‘If you have felt
something then you must let me know, right now!’

She wrenched her mouth into the
semblance of a smile, but even she knew it looked like it felt. 
Weak.  False.

‘It’s nothing Fabian,
really.  I’m just worried I’ll let the Ri down.’

Fabian studied her face, his eyes
black with anger, ‘You are a terrible liar Mistral.  If you don’t tell me
what you have Seen then I will have you thrown out of the damned final!’

Mistral seized upon the chance to
be angry, anything to wash away the clawing fear building inside her, ‘Thrown
out?  And just how will you do that?’

‘I will go to Bryden and tell him
of your plans to use the twins’ gift to control the other competitors. 
You and the Ri will be disqualified for cheating.’

‘You wouldn’t!’  Mistral’s
false anger quickly became astonishment, but she didn’t need to read his aura
to know he was deadly serious.  She rubbed a hand across her forehead,
knowing she was beaten.  Confess and he would stop her from entering, Cain
too.  Try to lie further and he would get the Ri disqualified.  What
was left but the truth?  ‘But it’s nothing Fabian!  I just had this …
oh, I don’t know … really bad … feeling.’ she finished lamely.

‘A premonition.’

Mistral grimaced and said
nothing, keeping her eyes fixed on the boots walking her towards the Arena.

‘Of what?’  he persisted.

‘I don’t know.  But I wanted
to cry.’  Mistral looked up, her expression suddenly fierce. 
‘Promise me, swear to me on my life that you won’t enter the Arena, no matter
what happens Fabian!  I can’t lose you!’

He shook his head slowly, ‘I
cannot promise you that.’

‘You must!’

He held her anguished gaze, ‘I
will promise you that unless it is to protect your life, I will not enter the
Arena.’

‘No!  I don’t want you to –’

Her words were lost in a
deafening roar.  Mistral looked up wildly, expecting to see a dragon or
some other creature worthy of such a noise but what she saw terrified her
more.  She stared at the vast crowd assembled around the Arena, all
chanting and shouting.  Every single attendee at the festival had turned
out to watch the event; the final, the ultimate celebration of the festival.

‘What the hell?’  her
shocked gaze slid over the sea of faces.

‘Did you think you’d be competing
in front of a small panel of select judges, sister?’  Cain enquired,
appearing beside her with a grin.  ‘This is the final!  Of course
everyone’s here to see it!  You’re practically famous now!’

‘What?’

‘Ah, but of course.  You
didn’t realise there would actually be an audience, did you?’  Cain pulled
her away from Fabian with a roll of his eyes.  ‘Forget them Mistral. 
They’re just the background.  We need to study the layout.’

‘Do we?’ 

Cain hauled her on, ‘Yes, we
do!  Just when will you start to realise that it is all about the
details?’

‘Never.’

Cain laughed and dragged her to
the edge of the Arena where the twins were stood, gazing silently across the
open space with calculating expressions.

Mistral followed their looks and stared
with uncomprehending eyes at the contraption that had been placed in the centre
of the Arena.  It was made of metal grids to form a huge circle.  A
cage.  Five doors were positioned around the outside.  A cacophony of
shrieks and howls could clearly be heard coming from the enraged occupants.

Cain raised his eyebrows, ‘Don’t
sound too happy do they?’

‘No.’   Mistral
muttered distractedly and looked around for Fabian but couldn’t see him
anywhere.  ‘Where is he Cain?’  she whispered urgently.

‘Who?’  Cain frowned, then
his face cleared.  ‘Oh, you mean your Mage?  He’s there.  Look
–’

Mistral followed his pointing
finger to see Fabian talking intently to Imperato.  The centaur’s face was
composed but Fabian’s was drawn into tight lines of stress, reflected in the
swirling colours of his aura.

‘Looks pretty intense. 
What’s it about, I wonder?’  Cain mused softly.

‘Cain!’  Mistral grabbed his
arm and pulled him around to face her.  ‘I – I’ve had this –’ she
faltered, unable to express exactly what she’d felt.

‘What is it Mistral?  What
have you had?’  Cain suddenly grinned.  ‘Is it a vision of me on the
winner’s podium?’ 

‘Oh, it’s nothing .  Forget
I said anything.’  Mistral muttered quickly when Brutus suddenly appeared
and launched a torrent of advice at Cain.

‘Mistral.’  Phantasm was
suddenly by her side, his green eyes troubled.  ‘If you have felt
something, you need to tell us!’

‘I’m getting fed up with saying
this brother, it’s nothing.  Really.  I’m just being a bit
overemotional.’  Mistral tried to laugh.  ‘Typical woman!’

‘There’s nothing typical about
you Mistral.’  Phantasm frowned and gazed over to where Fabian and
Imperato were still talking.  He watched them for a moment then turned
back to her.  ‘We are here Mistral.  We will be ready.’

She gazed into his eyes, twin
pools of emerald, and was unable to hide the fear in her own, ‘Be ready
brother.  Please.  Be ready.’ 

He nodded once and turned away to
speak with his twin and Mistral’s gaze was drawn back to the cage in the centre
of the Arena.

‘Looks like each competitor will
be entered from individual positions around the edge.’  Cain nudged her
and pointed to markers placed around the sides.  ‘Do you see how the
markers line up with each of the hatches on the cage?’

Mistral forced herself to focus
on what Cain was telling her.  She could see the markers he was referring
to set around the edge of the Arena.  Looking over at the cage again she
realised that he was right, each one was set to opposite a hatch-like door on
the cage.

‘I see.’

‘I wonder how we get to choose
our position – ah!’ he exclaimed and pointed to one of the markers. 
‘They’re different colours!  I bet we have to draw coloured lots to decide
our starting positions!  But where does the gorgon come into play? 
There’s only five doors –’

‘Arcanes!’ 

Bryden Wolfsnare’s commanding
voice rang out.  Mistral looked up to see him stood on a wooden dais
overlooking the Arena. 

‘I humbly welcome you all to the
final!’ he opened his arms in a distinctive gesture, eliciting a resounding
cheer.  ‘Tonight we will crown a new champion and honour the fallen. 
Remember that there is no greater glory than to have competed in the final of
The Festival of the Arcane.’  he paused and gazed around, his eyebrows
raised in a humorous expression.  ‘Except of course, to have won … or died
trying.’

The resulting burst of laughter
made Mistral feel sick.  An inexplicable dread washed over her.  She
rubbed her temples, trying to sooth the throbbing ache in her skull.

‘Finalists!’

Bryden’s deep voice called the
Arcanes to order once more. 

‘Your attention for a moment
please.  You see before you a cage containing five suitably formidable
creatures for you to prove your worth against.  You will each choose a
coloured disc from this bag.’  he held up a white bag ornately embroidered
in gold thread with the symbol of Bryden’s tribe, a snarling wolf’s head.

‘You will begin from the marker
that corresponds to your chosen colour.  The rules are simple. 
Defeat the creature that is released before you and battle the other finalists
to reach the rope on top of the cage –’

‘See it?’  Cain muttered
quickly and pointed to a thick length of rope coiled on the roof of the cage,
right in the centre.

‘This will release your final
challenge.  A gorgon!’ 

A deafening roar of approval
reverberated around the Arena.  Bryden smiled and raised his arms again,
calling for silence.

‘Now, to prevent you from
allowing your fellow finalists to do all the hard work of releasing the gorgon
and saving your energy for delivering the final blow –’

Laughing shouts of ‘would we?’,
‘how could you!’ and ‘but there’s no goblins in the final!’ rippled through the
crowd.

‘Whoever releases the gorgon will
be awarded an equal chance of being the champion!  Should one finalist
release the gorgon and another finally slay it, then we have a stalemate.’