The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) (73 page)

‘Dravite was severely wounded in
the final.  Our most experienced healers are our partners, who are not
with us.  Only your skill will save his life now.’

Mistral instantly felt a stab of
panic.  She had never treated a full-blooded Arcane before, never mind a
creature as complex as a centaur.

‘I – I will do my best,’ she
stammered, meeting Imperato’s deep look with as much confidence as she could
muster. 

‘That is all we expect of you,
Seer.’

Imperato stepped aside to reveal
Dravite lying motionless on the ground, his iron grey flanks stained black with
dried blood from a deep wound on his side.  Mistral slowly stepped
forwards, her eyes travelling over Dravite’s body … or bodies …

She began to think methodically
while she knelt to examine him.  She would treat his upper body as though
it were one of her brothers and his lower body as she would one of the Ri
herd.  She glanced at his face, he was deeply unconscious, for which she
was grateful.  At least he would be unable to react if she hurt him. 

Mistral began her examination.
 His torso was that of a strong young man and was relatively unscathed. 
There were one two knife wounds that would require cleaning and stitching, but
nothing life threatening.  The main injury, as far as she could tell in
the dim moonlight, was the long jagged wound in his flank.  The bleeding
has stopped, but as Mistral peered more closely at the torn skin she could see
fragments of whatever weapon had caused the damage still left inside.

‘Could I have some more light
please?’ she called briskly, already unrolling Samson’s kit to look for gauze
and ointment to clean the wounds.

Soft noises followed her request
then two centaurs appeared beside her, holding blazing torches aloft to cast
more light over Dravite’s still form.

‘Fabian?’

He moved wordlessly to her
side. 

‘Could you lift Dravite for me
please?  His upper body I mean.  I need to make sure there are no
more wounds.’

Fabian complied silently and
efficiently to each quietly spoken request.  She examined his body,
cleaning and stitching each wound, treating the larger one on his flank
last.  Mistral probed carefully around the rough edges of the wound,
pulling out several long splinters of wood.  It was a mess, and
deep.  She was surprised he had survived. 

‘How did he get these in his
wound?’  she held one of the splinters up to the torchlight for Imperato
to see. 

‘The giant Ri warrior armed with
a sarisas.’

Mistral quickly looked down and
began to thread a needle to stitch the wound.  Imperato was describing
Grendel.

‘You do not need to feel
responsible for your brother, Seer.  This is The Festival of the
Arcane.  It is a tournament.  They were competing, not
fighting.  It was not personal.’

Mistral nodded mutely, keeping
her attention fixed on the needle held tightly in her fingers.  She
couldn’t see much difference between competing at the festival and
fighting.  And as for personal, well, all the injuries she’d sustained
over the course of the tournament felt pretty personal to her.

Mistral worked in silence, only
speaking when she had need of Fabian’s assistance.  Aware of the watchful
gaze of the two centaurs holding torches over her, she took particular care to
ensure the stitches were neat and even.  When the last stitch was sewn she
rocked back onto her heels and examined her work, concluding her assessment
with a satisfied nod.

‘He needs water and something for
the shock.  Honey if you have it, but not mead.  The alcohol will
dehydrate him.  I can leave you with a poppy compound to help with the
pain and any fever, but try not to overuse it.  Travel home lightly and
make sure your healers check his wound thoroughly over the next few days for
any sign of infection.’ 

Imperato accepted the bottle of
medication she offered and remained close by, swishing his tail gently while
she rolled up Samson’s medical kit.  When she stood up, ready to leave, he
finally spoke. 

‘Walk with me Seer.  Your
Mage will wait until we return.’

Mistral immediately glanced at
Fabian, seeking reassurance.  What she saw in his dark gaze gave her the
strength to fall in step beside Imperato.  They walked slowly away from
the campsite and out into the empty avenue of tents.  Mistral glanced at
the centaur chieftain beside her, studying his profile.  Even when silent
he emanated a sense of something ancient and powerful that left Mistral in
awe. 

‘Thank you for your work
tonight.  I am grateful.’

Mistral cast around for a
suitable response to his gratitude.  To say “it was nothing” implied that
treating Dravite had been unimportant, and she was sure that would offend the
proud creature beside her.   

‘I hope he recovers,’ she finally
offered.

‘As do I, Seer.’  Imperato
suddenly halted and turned to face her, his timeless gaze holding hers with
mesmerising power.  ‘I know you lost a brother tonight.  I can see
the pain in your eyes.  But why do I also see guilt?’ 

Mistral drew in a sharp
breath. 

Saul. 

Focussing her mind on treating
Dravite had offered a brief respite, but now the sleeping pain of losing Saul
suddenly awoke and ripped at her with sharp claws.

‘I – he … Saul.’  Mistral
paused to force down the lump that constricted her throat when she said his
name.  ‘He died in my place.’

Imperato continued to survey her
with his disconcertingly piercing gaze, ‘To die for another is the way of the
Ri.  Why do you feel guilt?’

‘He … he loved me,’ she whispered
and felt fresh tears sting her eyes.  ‘And I couldn’t, didn’t … not the
way he wanted –’

‘Of course you could not return
his love.  You are Bonded to the Mage.  It would be
impossible.’  Imperato said simply.  ‘But answer me this Seer; if you
had loved him back, do you think he would be alive now?’

Mistral frowned.  If she had
loved Saul the way she loved Fabian, would he still have stepped in to take the
fatal blows that were intended for her?  Of course he would.  Just as
Fabian had taken the arrow for her at Holdridge and would have done the same
tonight had he been allowed into the Arena.  With a spasm of self-loathing
she realised she was grateful for Fabian not to have been the one killed.

‘There is no ill in being
thankful for the continued lives of the ones we love.’  Imperato said
quietly.  ‘And the same gratitude must be extended to the brother who gave
his own life for yours to continue.  Do not waste his sacrifice.’

Mistral nodded, thinking of
Phantasm’s words and her vow to master her gift.  A silence fell between
them and Imperato turned his face up to the stars.  Mistral copied him,
staring unseeingly at the bright pinpricks of light in the sky that held no
meaning for her, thinking instead of Saul, and Phantasm’s words and of Fabian,
always of Fabian.

‘Imperato?’  she asked
hesitantly. 

‘Yes Seer?’ 

‘Please, would you continue to
help me to master my gift?  When I return to the Valley, I mean.’

Imperato slowly turned his gaze
to meet hers, his eyes distant as the stars reflected in their black depths, ‘I
will offer you what guidance I can Seer.  But only you can master your
gift.’ he replied solemnly.  ‘You must not fear the light, only the
shadows that it throws.’

Mistral nodded uncertainly, not
sure of what he meant.  Imperato lifted his gaze back up to the stars once
again and a long silence fell.  Realising that their talk had finished,
Mistral turned to leave.

‘Seer?’

Mistral paused and turned towards
the centaur again.

‘Your fallen brother, he was of
yarthkin descent?’

‘Yes.’

Imperato regarded her with his enigmatic
gaze for a moment before sighing and nodding, ‘Then it was in his blood.’

Mistral waited for him to
explain, or at least finish his sentence but he simply turned to look at the
sky again.

Mistral hurried back to
Fabian.  He took her hand silently and did not question her on what she
and Imperato had discussed, for which she was grateful.  She had no doubt
her reddened eyes told the story clearly enough.  They returned to the
Arena without speaking but Fabian’s presence by her side offered more comfort
than any words ever could. 

The funeral pyre had burned low
in the time they had been gone.  Deep shadows veiled the Arena, casting
the tables and their occupants into darkness.  The mood was high but
volatile, fuelled by too much wine and three days of bloodshed.  Mistral
watched two rival tribes start to fight while the remaining few goblins shouted
encouragement.  The good natured banter displayed at the start of the
festival was rapidly descending into drunken violence.

‘Mage De Winter, Mistral.’

Phantasm appeared, looking pale
and drawn in the coppery glow of the funeral pyre.

‘We are ready to leave when you
are.’

Fabian nodded and turned to speak
a few words to Samson before rising to his feet and stepping away from the
table.  Keeping hold of his hand tightly, Mistral quickly stood up and
followed him.

Phantasm walked quietly up on her
other side, ‘I’ve packed your saddlebag for you.’

She gave a jerky nod in response,
suddenly wondering whether Saul’s bag had gone onto his pyre with him.

‘Oh, and congratulations.’
 Phantasm added flatly.

Mistral looked at him warily, was
he about to make some barbed comment about her being responsible for Saul’s
death?

‘You won the festival.’ 

Mistral stared at him, stunned
into speechlessness.

‘I’ve packed your winnings with
the rest of your belongings.’ 

Phantasm walked away before she
could tell him to unpack them and throw them on Saul’s pyre.

‘I think Bryden was a bit
offended that you weren’t there to collect them in person, but Grendel was
happy to do the honours.’  Phantom murmured in her ear, gliding up
silently beside her.  ‘Mind you, his acceptance speech left a little to be
desired.  It’s amazing how much meaning he can put into a grunt.’

His soft chuckle of laughter
drifted back as he moved off to catch his brother up.  Mistral was left
staring after them, feeling utterly confused. 

‘I won?  But … how?’ 
she asked Fabian in a bewildered whisper.   

‘You were first to touch the rope
that released the gorgon.  Since the gorgon was already dead, that makes
you the winner.’

‘So I won by default?’

Fabian turned to her, his black
eyes glowing with anger, ‘No Mistral.  You won because you fought with
skill and courage!  Not only did you slay your sphinx but you also faced
and defeated the manticore which had actually been released for Bellona, but as
you correctly predicted, it was irresistibly drawn to your scent.’

Suddenly Mistral’s head felt too
heavy to be held up by her neck.  She let it drop, keeping her face
hidden.  She was horrified to find out that she had won; certain that
everyone would now think Saul had been her second not Grendel’s, and had given
his life for something so completely meaningless as winning the festival.

‘Fabian ... I never meant … I
didn’t want … to
win
!’

‘I know.’  Fabian said
softly.  ‘So do your brothers Mistral, and anyone else’s thoughts on the
matter are of no consequence.’

She nodded silently and held his
hand more tightly, keeping her head bowed while she tried to make sense of her
turbulent thoughts.  Her feet moved of their own accord while she replayed
the last few hours over in her mind, looking for answers, or at least striving
to reconcile herself with what had happened. 

Fabian had already answered her
first question.  The manticore had attacked her instead of Bellona, drawn
by the scent of her fresh blood.  Cain had confirmed that the twins were
responsible for Ares’ sudden inexplicable urge to pick a fight with Bellona
just as the amazon was about to strangle her.  The mystery of the lifeless
gorgon was solved too.  It had already been slain by Columbine. 

Columbine.

Mistral was suddenly overawed by
the sheer strength of hatred driving Columbine, enough to face a vicious gorgon
within the confines of its cage then conceal herself beneath its corpse. 
She would have known from listening to gossip around the campfires that Mistral
had won the first event and secured a place in the final.  All she had to
do was kill the gorgon and wait.  Mistral knew for certain that Columbine
would have attacked whoever had reached the gorgon first, not caring who or how
many she killed, just so long as one of them was Mistral.  A shiver ran
down Mistral’s spine.  More than Saul could have burned tonight because of
Columbine’s twisted obsession, but she was dead now, a headless corpse that
could never harm again.  Leaving thoughts of Columbine, Mistral turned her
mind back further, to the beginning of the event, recalling something that had
puzzled her.

‘Fabian?  What were you
talking to Imperato about at the start of the final?’ 

Fabian turned to her, frowning as
though the answer were obvious, ‘You had a premonition of death Mistral. 
I had to be certain that it wasn’t your own so I spoke with Imperato.  He
would have seen it in the stars if your destiny had altered.’

Mistral was too tired to roll her
eyes or even sigh and simply asked, ‘Has it?’

‘It has not.’  Fabian
confirmed shortly.

She nodded wearily, still the
Seer that couldn’t See. 

The horses were collected from
the enclosure and saddled in silence.  Riding single file they departed
The Festival of the Arcane, leaving behind all that had happened there, both
good and bad.  The burned body of their brother remained; his ashes dust
to be blown on the morning breeze. 

No-one spoke while they rode across
the mist-shrouded grasslands, pale shadows in the ghostly predawn light. 
Cain stayed a short distance behind, leading Saul’s horse alongside his own,
the pitiful sight of the riderless animal a constant reminder of their missing
brother.