The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) (19 page)

Phantom gave
him an understanding look while the sound of Mistral cursing carried over to
them.

‘Where did she
learn that language?’  Phantasm asked softly, still gazing interestedly at
the female manticore.  ‘I sincerely pity the man that is brave enough to
take her on!’

Saul said
nothing and Phantom glanced at him curiously.

‘Konrad says
she should be back to normal by the morning,’ Bali announced, walking over to
join them.

‘Whatever
normal is for her,’ muttered Phantom.  ‘I suppose I’ll go keep her company
for the first shift,’ he sighed and walked towards Mistral with a martyred
air. 

Mistral
finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning having demanded and
pleaded for her release for most of the night, finally wearing herself out by
trying to chew through her ropes, much to Phantom’s amusement who politely
asked if she would like some bread to accompany her meal.  He and Phantasm
had sat up with her for the night, quietly skinning the hides from the two
manticores and talking in low voices, oblivious to Mistral’s rantings as she
lay tied up beside them. 

The
apprentices rose at dawn and breakfasted on roasted rabbit before breaking
camp.  They carefully doused the fire and slowly packing up their
saddlebags until they were completely ready to leave and couldn’t put off
waking Mistral up for any longer.  Phantasm went to rouse her and found
her already awake, staring at him with a confused expression on her face.

‘Why the hell
am I tied up?’  she demanded when she saw him.

Phantasm
smiled apologetically and began to untie the knots she had unsuccessfully tried
to chew through the night before.

‘Tell me what
you remember about yesterday’s manticore hunt,’ he said.

Mistral sat
up, rubbing life back into her stiff limbs, ‘Not a lot,’ she frowned.  ‘I
remember being furious with Xerxes, Bali and Saul for shooting the big male
manticore before I could have a go … and for not telling me I was the
bait.  Then the female turned up and I had a great fight with her! 
She got me on the arm, look!  And on the leg with her tail … oh!’ 
Mistral’s voice tailed off.

‘Yes. 
Oh.’

Mistral
dropped her head into her hands, ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Not your
fault,’ said Phantasm briskly coiling up the rope.  ‘It was the manticore
poison.  Apparently it has that effect.’

Mistral hugged
her knees miserably, ‘What?  Makes the victim incredibly abusive to
everyone within earshot?’ 

‘No, the
poison gives the victim an unrealistic sense of invincibility.  You were
just angry because we wouldn’t go let you hunt gargoyles … in the dark … on
your own.’

Mistral
groaned, ‘I’m never going to hear the end of this one am I?’

‘Probably
not,’ agreed Phantasm.  ‘But you survived and we got two fine skins
instead of one thanks to you.  Now please get a move on, it’s time we started
heading back.’

Mistral
apologised profusely to Saul, Bali and Xerxes who had borne the brunt of her
bad language then spent most of the ride back to the Valley trying to keep her
temper in check as she endured repeated requests to recite some of the swear
words she had regaled them all with the previous night.

‘Come on
Mistral, what was that one about me having a sense of adventure that was
smaller than a goblin’s –’ 

‘Leave it
Xerxes!’  Mistral growled.  ‘If you must know, I learned most of them
from the Training Lieutenants.  You just need to get on their wrong sides
a bit more, then you’ll know what I do!’

‘Thanks but
I’d rather not.  I had enough of the windswept treatment from Barak before
we left yesterday!’  Xerxes said with feeling.

They entered
the Valley back through the North Gate before midday.  Mistral felt
drained and sore, her arm ached and the wound in her leg throbbed and tingled
in a way that told her she ought to have it looked at by Serenity.  She
swung herself stiffly out of the saddle with a resigned sigh; a trip to the
Infirmary beckoned.  That place was becoming slightly too familiar for her
liking.

After stabling
Cirrus, Mistral limped her way over to the Main Building under the disbelieving
gaze of Phantom and Phantasm.

‘I can’t
believe she’s going their voluntarily!’ whispered Phantom to his brother.

‘I think
Mistral might just be after some respite from the teasing actually,’ Phantasm
smiled.

Pushing open
the door to the Infirmary, Mistral stepped into the large white room.  It
was bathed in bright sunlight that made her blink and lift her hand to shield
her eyes.

‘Good morning
Mistral.’  Serenity’s cool voice called from the row of beds, she paused
from her task of neatly tucking in a starched white sheet to look at Mistral. 
‘I missed you yesterday afternoon.’ 

Her voice had
a slight edge to it and Mistral found herself fidgeting uncomfortably under her
questioning look. 

‘Sorry. 
Something came up,’ she muttered apologetically.

‘So I see,’
said Serenity crisply.  ‘Would you like me to have a look at those
wounds?’

‘Yes … er,
please,’ Mistral added catching Serenity’s sharply raised eyebrows.

Serenity
nodded and indicated to the bed she had just finished making, ‘Now, you come
and lie on this bed for a moment – it really does has the best view, I often
stand here when I’m thinking about something –’

While Serenity
bustled off into the storeroom to retrieve whatever instruments of torture she
needed, Mistral clambered painfully onto the bed.  She groaned. 
Everything hurt.  She turned to look out of the window and admire the view
Serenity had praised so highly, but couldn’t help thinking that the best view
of the Infirmary was seen over her shoulder as she walked away.

‘Now, before I
can treat you I need some information.’  Serenity was back, her look
stern. 

‘Like
what?’  Mistral was suddenly apprehensive. 

‘Well, what
caused these wounds would be a helpful start, because that,’ she said pointing
to Mistral’s leg wound, ‘is obviously poisoned.  I can see the discoloured
skin through the rip in your trousers and I can’t find an antidote for a poison
until I know the creature that made the wound.’

‘Oh.’
 Mistral looked reluctant. 

‘Mistral,
please!  Whatever it was I assure you I have been treating warriors in the
Valley for a long time now and I’ve lost count of the bizarre injuries I’ve
seen resulting from over ambitious hunting trips and ill-advised Contracts!’

Mistral looked
into Serenity’s eyes for a moment before dropping her gaze and fiddling with
the bedsheet, leaving dirty brown smudges on the clean hem.

‘Does Master
Sphinx have to know?’

Serenity
sighed, ‘I haven’t told him that you failed to return yesterday afternoon, if
that’s what you’re worried about.  I think we can keep this little visit a
secret too, if you wish.’

Mistral looked
up at Serenity, her expression grateful, ‘Please, because I’m already in a load
of trouble with him.’

‘I know,’ said
Serenity with a smile.  ‘But I still need to know what creature you have
been fighting with.’

‘Manticore,’
Mistral mumbled unhappily.   

‘There, that
wasn’t so hard was it?’  Serenity sighed.  ‘Now, the next important
question is what blood do you have?’

Mistral stared
at her blankly, ‘Why do you need to know that?’

‘Some
antidotes are poisonous to certain Arcane races,’ Serenity explained, frowning
slightly.  ‘Surely you would know that from your upbringing with your
tribe?’

Mistral didn’t
reply and looked down at the bedsheet, rubbing distractedly at the dirty
smudges she had made.

‘Mistral?’ 
Serenity prompted gently.  ‘I do need to know or I can’t treat you.’

Mistral sighed
and continued to stare down at the bedsheet, ‘I wasn’t raised by my tribe so I
have no idea what blood I have.  I was found outside The Velvet Forests as
a baby and raised by an old sorcering couple in Nevelte.’

Serenity
looked at Mistral carefully, studying her face.

‘And you don’t
have the Craft?  You’re not a sorcerer’s child?’ she asked after a moment.

Mistral shook
her head and kept her gaze down.

‘I can’t see any
elf blood in you,’ Serenity murmured, frowning.  ‘Or yarthkin, or
nymph.  What other tribes live in The Velvet Forests?  I wonder –’
Serenity suddenly stood up walked across the Infirmary, heading into the
storeroom.

Mistral
listened to the clinking of glass bottles and leaned back against the pillows
feeling miserable.  Confessing to Serenity that she had no idea who or
what she was reminded her of how much of an outcast she had felt growing up in
Nevelte.  Why, she wondered moodily to herself, did everyone seem to be
obsessed with blood-lines?  The children in Nevelte had constantly boasted
about being able to trace their own blood-line back to some great Mage or
other, and even here in the Valley, where everyone was of mixed blood, it still
seemed to be important. 

Serenity
returned a short while later carrying a tray packed with glass bottles of all
different colours and sizes.

‘Now,’ she
said briskly and placed the tray down on Mistral’s bedside table.  ‘Let’s
start with a simple willow bark extract to ease the pain.’

Mistral eyed
the colourful array of bottles dubiously.  She knew what ingredients went
into some of the potions.

‘Fine,’ said
Mistral, accepting a dose of the potion Serenity offered her.  ‘But I’m
not taking anything with the toad livers in that I was boiling yesterday.’

Serenity’s
hand hovered of the glass bottles, finally selecting a small ruby coloured
flask with a bright green wax seal.

‘You mean
this?’  she said, holding the bottle up for Mistral to see.  ‘I don’t
think you need to take it Mistral.  I brew it especially for some of the
men in the Valley; it’s a cure for baldness you see.’

‘I think I’d
rather go bald,’ said Mistral with a shudder. 

‘Oh they do
anyway, but for some reason they can’t seem to get enough of the stuff.’  Serenity
shrugged lightly then frowned.  ‘I’m not sure I will ever understand the
male ego, and believe me, I’ve spent years trying.’

Mistral looked
at her as though she’d just expressed a desire to fly to the moon on a
cat.  What was there to understand?   

Serenity
sighed and seemed to drag herself out of some private reverie to see Mistral
regarding her peculiarly.

‘So, no toad’s
liver extract required today then.’  Serenity placed the bottle back on
the tray with a smile.  ‘But I think we can safely treat the poison with
tincture of larkspur and maybe add a splash of hellebore.’

It wasn’t
until Serenity had dosed her unwilling patient with a series of equally
foul-tasting potions and cleaned both of her wounds thoroughly with an ointment
that stung more than the manticore’s attack that Mistral finally managed to
escape.  She fled back to her room, eager to get out of her dirty and
blood-stained clothes that also now smelt strongly of the ointment Serenity had
used.  Reaching the sanctuary of her small, bare room Mistral was relieved
to see a folded pile of freshly laundered clothes sat outside of her
door.  Mistral bent to pick them up and felt a small burst of satisfaction
in knowing that Columbine had spent her weekend laundering all of the apprentices’
clothes and kicked her door open in slightly better spirits.

Throwing off
her dirty and ruined clothes, she realised with a grimace that a trip to
Mistress Eudora’s for some more would soon be in order or she’d be walking
around half-dressed.  The freshly laundered clothes on her bed were the
last set she owned that didn’t have more rips than material.  She pulled
on the clean trousers and began to think up ways to get around actually
visiting the shop; even considering the possibility of paying the twins to go
in on her behalf … Eudora would love the opportunity to drool over them again.

As she slid
the belt through the loops of her trousers she realised that there was
something wrong.  Either she had shrunk or the trousers she was wearing
weren’t hers.  They were far too big; her feet didn’t even show out of the
bottom of them.

Grabbing the
shirt from the pile and shaking it out, Mistral could see that it was also
blatantly not her size.  Mistral swore under her breath when she realised
who was to blame.  In a fit of pique Columbine had obviously decided to
mix up everyone’s clothes.

A knock on her
door and a voice calling her name broke her out of her angry thoughts of
strangling Columbine with whoever’s trousers she had been left.

‘Mistral? 
Is that you I can hear swearing in there?’  Phantom’s voice called through
her door.

‘Yes, hang on,
don’t come in!  I’m having a wardrobe malfunction!’  Mistral shouted
and quickly yanked her dirty shirt back on.

‘You and
everyone else!’  Phantom grinned at her when she threw the door
open.  ‘Bring your stuff and come down to the Main Hall; everyone is
trying to sort their clothes out!  It looks like a village jumble sale
down there!’

The unusually
searing temperatures of June seemed to intensify as July arrived, hot and airless,
turning everything in the parched Ri Valley to scorched brown.  It was a
relief each evening when the sun finally began to sink below the Western Range
and cool fingers of shadows reached out across the sweltering valley. 

Training was
being held at dawn each day before the blistering heat of the day made it
unbearable.  Their afternoons were spent working in the Infirmary or
studying in the Main Hall and it wasn’t until early evening that Mistral found
time to muck out Cirrus’ stall.  The stables were like an oven by then,
making it even more of an unpleasant task than usual. 

Mistral
sweated as she tossed dirty straw into a wheelbarrow, pausing often to rub
irritably at the chaff that stuck to her face and hair.  With a grateful
sigh she flung the last forkful into the mounded barrow and stretched her
aching back.  The cotton shirt pulled uncomfortably across her sweating
shoulders.  She briefly debated taking it off and finishing the job in her
vest but quickly dismissed the idea.  Whilst it seemed perfectly
acceptable for Golden to flaunt herself at every opportunity if Mistral so much
as removed a sock Xerxes would no doubt appear with a moronic leer on his face.
   

She rubbed a
shirtsleeve across her sweating brow and thought longingly of the cold shower
that awaited her.  Grabbing the handles of the wheelbarrow with a sigh,
Mistral pushed the full barrow out of the dusty stableblock and down to the
manure heap.  A light breeze had sprung up and Mistral paused to enjoy the
feel of the air moving across her skin.  She closed her eyes and lifted
her face up, letting the breeze tease her long hair away from her hot neck and
send cooling rivulets of air down her back.  The sun had almost dropped
completely below the mountains and the temperature was more pleasant now. 
Mistral breathed in the scents drifting on the warm air: clean straw, the rich
musky smell of horses, the sharp tang of leather and, further away, the gentle
fragrance of jasmine and orange blossom. 

Feeling
marginally less hot and sticky, Mistral pushed the barrow on again and soon
reached the entrance to the enclosed manure heap.  All other smells were
abruptly obliterated by the overpowering stench coming from the mountain of
rotting straw and dung, forcibly reminding her of how Grendel smelled after a
training session.  She held her breath and tipped the barrow up, trying
not to think about the dreaded annual task of helping to shift the manure down
to spread on the farmlands.

Mistral
propped the empty barrow up against the side of the enclosure and walked slowly
back to the stable.  She had yet to lay down fresh straw and was in no
hurry to go back into the sauna-like heat of the stableblock. 

Voices
attracted her attention to the path running past the stableyard; it was Golden
and Columbine making their way back to the dorms, no doubt for a shower. 
Golden had taken off her cotton shirt and had thrown it casually over one
shoulder.  She had tied her long blonde hair up in a ponytail that swung
gently while she walked.  Beside her effortless grace Columbine looked
even more drab and dour than usual.  She squinted up at Golden with an
adoring look on her face, listening reverently to every word.  Mistral
watched them pass by in silence, feeling dirty and sweaty compared to Golden’s
cool elegance.  She suffered a rare pang of pity for Columbine who must
feel like that every day, living as she did in Golden’s perfect shadow. 
Watching the mismatched pair walk on up the path Mistral wondered why Golden
even bothered with the surly-natured Columbine but quickly reasoned that none
of the other apprentices had the patience to listen to her empty prattle. 
Only Columbine seemed content to suffer her self-obsessed monologues and
limitless selfishness.  Smiling slightly, Mistral was grateful for the
thousandth time that she didn’t have to share a room with them.

The sound of
hoof beats broke into her thoughts.  Mistral looked up with a frown; all
the horses were out in the paddock – so who was riding into the Valley?  A
visiting warrior maybe?  She listened more closely to the sound, trying to
work out which direction it was coming from.  The North Gate?  Yes,
she was sure.  It was coming closer now and definitely heading from the
Valley’s North Gate.  She looked intently along the track, curious to see
who would appear.

Mistral
noticed the horse first.  A palomino with a pale flowing mane and tail was
making its way with dancing steps down the track into the village square. 
Expensive
... Mistral let her eyes travel over the horse’s gleaming flanks,
taking in the well-worn tack before coming to rest on the rider.

The man rode
with easy grace, handling the horse’s skittish movements with a light
touch.  He wore the soft black moleskin trousers favoured by the Ri and a
black cotton shirt, unbuttoned at the neck.  A bundled travelling cloak
was attached to the back of the saddle; he had obviously journeyed to be
here.  His shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing the smooth skin of his
forearms.  Mistral could see the lean muscles rippling as he worked to
control the excitable horse.  The skin of his throat and face was pale, in
sharp contrast to the darkness of his hair which hung nearly to his shoulders
looking tousled and unkempt.  His face was partially hidden by the length
of his hair and Mistral could only make out the outline of a straight
nose.  Then he turned to face her. 

Eyes as black
as night stared into hers with a breathtaking intensity; she knew instantly
that he was a powerful Mage.  She stared back, rendered powerless by the
force of his black gaze and felt a strange imploding sensation in the pit of
her stomach, making her heart accelerate and the blood course through her
veins.  

‘Good evening
Mage De Winter.  Master Sphinx is waiting for you,’ Caleb’s harsh voice
called out.

The rider
abruptly snapped his gaze away to look at Caleb, releasing Mistral from the
spell of his stare.

Nodding curtly
to Caleb, the rider gave his horse the merest of taps with his heels and
cantered away, vanishing quickly from sight up the path to the Main Building.

That was the
first time she saw Fabian De Winter.