The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) (71 page)

A resounding hush fell across the
crowd.

‘What happens then?’ 
Mistral whispered to Cain.

‘Fight.’  Cain muttered
back.  ‘To the death –’

Mistral looked up to meet
Fabian’s tortured gaze.

‘Finalists!  Approach!’

Suddenly Cain was dragging her
across the Arena towards Bryden Wolfsnare.  Mistral looked over her
shoulder, trying to see Fabian but he was lost in the crowd of jostling
Arcanes.    

‘Looking forward to this
glorified hunt then?’

She turned to see Saul walking
beside her.  Meeting his warm brown gaze she felt a strange lurch of
foreboding.

‘Um, Saul?’  

‘Yes?’

‘Will you promise me something?’

‘Anything.’

Ignoring the emphasis he had
placed on that one word, Mistral looked at him, her expression suddenly hard,
‘I don’t want any heroics Saul.  I know Fabian has asked you to try and
protect me but I’m telling you not to.’

Saul smiled, ‘You know I’ve
always got your back Mistral.’

‘No Saul, please!’ she whispered
urgently.  ‘Just second Grendel and ignore me!  I’ve got Cain –’

‘And what more could any woman
want?’  Cain quipped, forcing himself between them like an excited terrier
on a walk.  ‘Ah, this is more like it brother!  Four Ri in the
final!’

‘Even if two are seconds.’
 Grendel growled and stomped up alongside them, a long sarisas tucked
under one arm and his battle axe held in his other hand. 

‘Finalists.  Welcome.’

Bryden addressed the knot of
finalists stood before him, ending any hopes Mistral had of trying to continue
her whispered conversation with Saul.

‘I congratulate each of you on
earning a place in the winners’ event.  Your success has already bought
glory to your respective tribes.’

Mistral hid a look of
scorn.  Glory?  She didn’t give a damn for glory!  Right now,
she would have gladly given her place in the final to quell the gnawing anxiety
consuming her.  Something wasn’t right.  Worse than that. 
Something was wrong, very, very wrong –

‘And now, I will ask you each to
choose a coloured disc.  We shall begin with the winner of the first event
– ’

Mistral was shaken from her
thoughts by Bryden holding the ornate linen bag out to her.  She had won
the first event, the horse race, so she had the right to choose first.

Reaching slowly into the bag,
Mistral closed her fingers around the first disc her fingers brushed
against.  She could tell by the porous texture that it was made of bone
and dropped it into Bryden’s open hand without looking at it.

‘Green!’ 

Bryden’s shout rang out and the
crowd cheered.  Mistral glanced quickly at Cain to see where that placed
them in the Arena.

‘On the north east side.’ he
whispered quickly.

Bryden moved along the line of
finalists and held the bag out to Grendel, the winner of the second event.

‘White!’

‘South west.’  Saul murmured
to Grendel as he blinked confusedly across the Arena.

The olive-skinned amazon chose
next, her long fingers drawing a disc of dyed bone out of the bag and holding
it up in the air.

‘Blue!’ 

Bryden’s tribe member, Ares,
chose next.  Reaching into the bag, he met his chieftain’s gaze with quiet
confidence.

‘Red!’

Bryden’s gaze lingered briefly on
his kinsman and Mistral shared a brief look with Cain, both of them wondering
if Bryden was privately wishing his champion had chosen another disc.

Finally the centaur, Dravite,
pulled the last disc from the bag, barely glancing at it before he passed it to
Bryden.

‘Black!  The finalists have
chosen!’  Bryden announced in a ringing voice.  ‘It is time for the
event to begin!’

‘Good luck brother.’  Mistral
muttered quickly to Grendel before they separated to find their markers.

‘No such thing.’  Grendel
grunted and stomped off, already twirling his battle axe by his side.

Cain grinned at Saul, ‘I’ll see
you in the crowd from the winner’s podium.’  

‘Likewise brother.’  Saul
laughed then cast a final glance at Mistral before he was gone, running to
catch up with Grendel.

Mistral was left staring after
him with the strangest feeling of having forgotten to say something when Cain
grabbed her arm and yanked her into a brisk walk.

‘Come on Mistral!  We’re in
the damned final and you’re standing there dreaming your life away!’

Feeling numb, she let Cain almost
drag her across the Arena, noting dimly the cheers and tumultuous applause
coming from the crowd.  She took her place at the painted green stake on
the north east side of the Arena and stood there feeling exposed and awkward.

Cain gave her a sharp nudge,
‘Time to get ready.’ 

She nodded distractedly and began
pulling on a pair of leather fingerless gloves, her eyes travelling over to the
cage door opposite.  She could see something moving inside. 
Narrowing her eyes to focus more clearly, she felt a sudden leap of excitement.

She, a nobody, just another
abandoned half-breed, was in the final of The Festival of the Arcane.

Adrenaline flooded through her,
washing away all unnamed fears to leave her filled with fierce
excitement.  She eyed the creature turning impatiently in its cage. 
It was big.  She grinned over her shoulder at Cain to see him knelt close
by with his saddlebag open and a variety of objects already laid out in
preparation.

‘Ready brother?’ 

‘Born ready sister!’  Cain
confirmed with a grin.  ‘Now, what to start with ... crossbow?’ 

‘No!’  Mistral snorted,
giving him a disgusted look.  ‘Not unless whatever we get takes flight!’

‘Fine.’  he reached swiftly
into the saddlebag again.  ‘I’ll get more throwing knives ready.’

Mistral turned back to face the
cage and drew her swords.  Dropping into a fighting crouch she slid her
right foot back, her boot crunching on the parched grass.  She spun both
swords by her side, warming up her wrists then angled them forwards, her eyes
glued on the metal door facing her.

‘Finalists!  Ready!’

Bryden’s voice rang out and a deathly
hush fell across the spectators.  Even the caged beasts quietened, as
though sensing the sudden uplift in tension.

‘Here we go!’  Cain hissed.

Mistral growled and levelled her
swords.  Five of Bryden’s elves ran towards the cage.  They stopped
in front of each door and quickly slid back the heavy bolts, sprinting back
before the creature within scented freedom.

With a series of shrieks and
clangs the cage doors were slammed open by their enraged occupants. 
Mistral bared her teeth at the sphinx that bounded gracefully from the cage
facing her.  It saw Mistral and skidded to an abrupt halt, regarding her
through slitted eyes.  Emitted a low rumbling purr, it began to pace
slowly back and forth.

‘Oh, hello.’  Mistral purred
back.  She ran her eyes over the creature, admiring the muscled flanks and
heavy paws, no doubt concealing formidable claws.  Her gaze travelled up
to the sphinx’s face, shockingly alien to its feline body.  It was
hairless and unmistakably human in features and shape except for the
eyes.  Feeling her scrutiny the sphinx opened them wide and stared back,
unleashing the full power of its golden stare.

A vision of sands and hot sun
suddenly filled Mistral’s mind.  She was struck by the odd compulsion to
simply lie down and relax, enjoy the heat of the sun’s rays and forget all
about fighting.  She deserved a rest didn’t she?  After all, she was
in the final!  Mistral sighed and lowered her swords a fraction.  She
could dimly hear Cain offering her poisoned throwing knives but it was somehow
unimportant.  She didn’t need throwing knives.  What she needed was
to lie down in the sun, somewhere like The Desert Lands, where she had fallen
in love with Fabian …

Fabian.

‘You’re going to have to do
better than that kitty.’  Mistral’s gaze snapped sharply back into
focus.  ‘I detest sunbathing!’  she lifted her swords and began
edging towards the sphinx. 

It blinked and tilted its head on
one side, its long tail waving sinuously.

‘
Seer – ’

A disembodied voice sounded in
Mistral’s mind, warm and rich like honey.

‘Tell me.  What do you
See?’
 

The beguiling voice tugged
irresistibly at Mistral’s thoughts.  She felt her eyes close, giving in to
images of forests, the trees heavy with golden leaves.  Autumn.  Her
favourite season.

‘Watch out for the telepathic
stuff Mistral!’  Cain’s shout ripped through her vision, jarring her back
into reality.   

Shaking her head irritably,
Mistral opened her eyes again to see the sphinx crouched before her, preparing
to spring.

‘I’ll tell you what I see shall
I?  A new rug in front of my fire!’ 

Mistral suddenly sprinted towards
the sphinx at precisely the same moment it sprang for her.  Laughing
recklessly, she flung herself sideways.  Tucking both swords tightly to
her body she rolled across the hard ground, tasting dirt and dried grass. 
She caught a glimpse of golden flanks and huge splayed paws as the sphinx
soared over her then quickly sprang to her feet.  Ignoring her spinning
head, Mistral dropped into a half-crouch, both swords raised ready.  The
sphinx landed and whipped around, barely pausing before springing at her again.

Mistral watched the creature
bound towards her, the human mouth open to reveal teeth that were definitely
catlike.  The muscles in its hind legs bunched and flexed, pushing the
heavy body into a leap.  She heard Cain swear and smiled.  If he was
panicking then it was time to act. 

She dropped backwards onto the
rock-hard ground and thrust both swords straight up into the sphinx’s exposed
belly.  Her wrists jarred painfully at the impact, the sphinx screamed and
hot blood sluiced down over Mistral’s hands and arms.  She rolled quickly
to see the sphinx smashing down, its belly dripping blood.  It snarled and
began to clamber to its feet.  Mistral lunged towards it –

‘Cloth!’ 

Suddenly Cain was rubbing at her
hands, clearing away the slick of blood.

‘Not now brother!’ 

Mistral shook him off but the
split second of interruption had cost her dear.  The sphinx was upright
again.  It was weaving unsteadily but experience had taught Mistral that
injured creatures were twice as savage.  She couldn’t risk it attacking
again.  Swearing loudly at Cain, Mistral flung herself the few remaining
paces, her outstretched arms plunging both sword points deep into the sphinx’s
flanks.  Blood gushed out, flowing over the golden hide to gather in a
dark pool on the ground. 

Breathing hard, Mistral sank to
her knees beside the dying creature.  Her legs and arms ached, sweat stung
her eyes, every breath hurt – and it was only the start.  

Mere seconds passed but Mistral
could feel Cain moving impatiently in the background.  It was time to
move.  She drew herself up and reached for her swords then suddenly
halted, her attention claimed by another, oddly familiar sound.  Hearing a
second too late Cain’s shout of warning, Mistral jerked round to see something
huge hurtling towards her.  She managed to swear before it crashed into
her, wrenching her hands away from the hilts of her swords and slamming her to
the ground.

Stunned and winded, she groaned
and tried to move.  Something heavy was pressing on her chest, suffocating
her.  Warm liquid trickled down her face and into her open mouth, the
salty taste instantly telling her that she was bleeding.  Her eyes
instantly flew open to see the flattened features of a manticore gazing down at
her.  Mistral swore, short, foul and apt.  In the background Cain was
shouting, but his voice was lost in the manticore’s cry, low and
harmonious.  Hungry.

A world of seduction lay within
that sound, but Mistral was wise to its tricks.  Gritting her teeth she
bent her knees and worked her boots up so they were flat against the
manticore’s belly.  The effort made more blood run down her face and the
manticore’s eyes widened greedily.  Its mouth opened and a long tongue
appeared, running rapidly back and forth over a triple row of sharp teeth.

‘I am not your dinner!’ 
Mistral hissed.  Shoving with every ounce of strength she possessed she
pushed with her feet, managing to shift the manticore enough to roll out from
beneath its crushing weight.  

Swordless and injured, Mistral
staggered to her feet and hastily dragged her hand across her eyes, wiping away
the blood.  She locked gazes with the manticore, now padding softly
towards her.  It paused and lifted its head to sniff the air, drawing in
the scent of fresh blood.  Emitting a soft cry the manticore prowled
towards her again, its face suffused with intense longing.  Not taking her
eyes off the manticore, Mistral automatically reached over her shoulder for her
swords and swore, realising that they were still lodged in the sphinx. 

‘Oh, what the hell.’  she
quickly reached for her dagger instead and brandished it at the manticore,
smiling invitingly. 

‘Swords!’ 

Cain’s voice hissed urgently in
her ear.  He snatched her dagger away then shoved both swords into her
hands.  She was vaguely aware of him quickly dabbing something stinging
onto the cut on her head then he was gone. 

Mistral adjusted the grip on her
swords and spun them experimentally by her side, her eyes glued to the
manticore pacing towards her.  Ignorant to the roars of the crowd and
sounds of the other fights going on around her, Mistral’s world narrowed down
to contain only herself and the creature stalking her.  Time slowed. 
She could see every minute detail with perfect clarity, the swirls of dust
rising beneath every step the manticore took, the flare of its nostrils drawing
in the irresistible scent of her blood and the black pupils dilating with
desire.