The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) (35 page)

Mistral choked
on her mouthful of food. 
Of all the smug
…

Fabian opened
his eyes and grinned lazily at her.  Mistral experienced the same odd
swooping sensation from earlier and found herself, unusually, at a loss for a
suitable retort.  Shooting him another black look she concentrated on
finishing the food as quickly as she could.  The moment she had stuffed
the last morsel into her mouth she leapt to her feet and stalked off to
retrieve Cirrus.  Ignoring Fabian, who appeared to have fallen asleep, Mistral
mounted Cirrus and pulled him around to pick up the trail once again.  She
rode on alone, still seething at his arrogance and had only just begun to calm
down when the sound of hoof beats behind her told her that he was catching her
up.

‘Charming,’ he
murmured, riding up alongside her and slowing his mare to match Cirrus’
pace.  ‘Do you always walk out on your dinner guests?’  his face was
set, his eyes fixed on the trail ahead, but his tone was light. 

‘Only when
they fall asleep on me,’ she snapped back.

He smiled, and
his whole face changed, making him look younger, freer.  She found herself
glancing at him more often as they rode on again in the same relaxed silence as
before.  Before long the trail began to slope more steeply as it led them down
towards the river, growing narrower and forcing the horses closer
together.  Fabian’s leg suddenly brushed against hers and her heart leapt
at the contact,  She yanked reflexively on the reins, pulling Cirrus
behind his horse.  Noticing her sudden reaction, Fabian gave her a
peculiar look before murmuring an apology and urging his horse ahead. 

Mistral was
relieved that he’d taken the lead and couldn’t see her face anymore.  She
was disturbed by her reaction.  In truth, she had avoided physical contact
of any kind for most of her life, enduring only the briefest of hugs from her
adoptive parents when it was absolutely unavoidable.  Unless it was in a
fight, Mistral rarely touched another person.  She reasoned that this was
probably why she had reacted so oddly – the unexpected contact had caught her
off her guard. 

They rode
single file for the next hour, the trail dropping more steeply and then
levelling out when they finally reached the banks of the River Amber where they
halted to let the horses drink.  Mistral dismounted and stood beside
Fabian and gazed silently out over the wide stretch of water.  Together
they watched the afternoon sun sparkling on the glassy surface of the
river.  A feeling of calm washed over her and she suddenly thought how
pleasant it would be to remain there for the rest of the day. 

‘The ford is
less than a mile from here.’  Fabian’s voice dragged her out of her
reverie.  ‘The Port of Blackneath about two miles beyond that, our journey
is nearly over.’

There was a
note of satisfaction in his voice that made her wonder if he would be pleased
to end their journey, as though travelling with her had been an irksome task he
had been obligated to perform.  Scowling angrily Mistral abruptly pulled
Cirrus back from the water’s edge, mounted and rode on down the trail.

Fabian watched
her go in surprise and gave his head a slight shake.  He really had never
met anyone quite as impetuous.  One minute she was laughing and the next
looking at him as though she desired nothing more than to run him through with
one of her swords.  He sighed and mounted up, cantering up behind her and
overtaking to assume the lead again, smiling at how much that would irritate
her. 

They followed
the trail as it wound alongside the sluggish river, the still air heavy with
insects and floating cotton-white seed heads.  The warmth of the sun
combined with the long ride began to make Mistral feel sleepy, her irritation
at Fabian faded and she found her mind wandering dreamily.  She watched
Fabian through half-closed eyes while he rode ahead of her, straight-backed and
calm.  Only the movement of the muscles in his shoulders betraying the
effort it took to control his highly-strung mare.  Sunlight cast a halo of
golden light around his dark hair and glimmered against the marble white skin
of his forearms.  Studying him lazily, Mistral suddenly became conscious
of an unfamiliar emotion sweeping through her.  Alarmed by the
irrepressible force of the sensation she was abruptly completely alert, struck
by the strangest thought that something vital to her essence, her soul, had
been irrevocably changed. 

They rounded
the bend in the river to a sight that made Mistral instantly forget her strange
thoughts. 

The ford lay
before them; a rutted dirt track sloped down into the shallow section of
river.  The slow moving water was a frothing mass of brown water, churned
up by the iron shod hooves of the army riding across. 

Fabian reined
in sharply, holding his hand up to Mistral, signalling for her to stay behind
him.  She was too awed by the sheer numbers of the army to argue. 
Cirrus snorted and tossed his head at the overpowering smell of warlocks. 
They reeked of ozone.

The warlock
army were uniformly dressed in heavy black cloaks and, despite the heat of the
afternoon sun they were all cowled, hiding their faces from view.  They
rode in rigidly disciplined rows with no sound other than the rhythmical
thudding of hooves and splash of displaced water.  Mistral stared wide-eyed
at the advancing army.  Even from a distance she could see that each
warlock was unnaturally large.  They were all mounted, utterly motionless,
astride heavy warhorses.  She lost count of their numbers as row upon row
of sinister hooded figures forged through the murky water.  She suddenly
knew with a chilling certainty that if they met on the battlefield, the Ri
would be slaughtered.

Mistral urged
Cirrus forward a couple of paces so that she was beside Fabian, the horse
reluctantly obeyed her, his ears twitching nervously.  Mistral glanced at
Fabian; his face was set in a hard expression, his black eyes cold.

‘Stay here,’
he muttered to her, his eyes never leaving the massed ranks of warlocks. 
‘I will find Eximius and speak with him.’

Mistral frowned,
‘I think that’s my job isn’t it?’

Fabian’s head
snapped round to stare at her, his black eyes blazing, ‘Can you see that army?’
he hissed.  ‘Warlocks are not normal Mages.  They’re fighting
machines!  If they even suspect that there is something amiss here … that
the Ri are involved in any way … they will kill you without a second thought!’

‘It’s not your
decision to make,’ she insisted hotly.  ‘I have a Contract to fulfil –’

‘Your Contract
can go to hell for all I care!’  Fabian snapped.  ‘I will deal with
Leo!  And in the meantime I think he would appreciate getting at least one
apprentice back in working order.’

Without
another word he was gone, galloping towards the army and leaving her fuming,
torn between the urge to gallop after him and an unusual compulsion to listen
to reason.  

Still seething
with indecision Mistral watching Fabian galloped through the shallow water
alongside the flanks of the marching army, passing them easily and vanishing
from her sight when he gained the far side.  Not one of the hooded ranks
of warlocks cast a glance in Fabian’s direction when he galloped past. 
Mistral realised with a start that he must be known to them and found it hard
to think of Fabian as a Mage. 

Cirrus snorted
and tossed his head, unsettled by the strangeness of the sorcering army. 
He wheeled, fighting for his head, Mistral struggled to control him; she knew
he wanted to bolt.  There was no way she would get him to ride towards
that army after Fabian even if she wanted to.  She reined him in, talking
in a low soothing voice until he gradually calmed and stood still once more,
allowing Mistral to turn her attention back to the warlocks surging through the
water.  The entire army moved as one at a relentless and deliberate pace,
like an unstoppable wave of black menace pouring across the ford.  The
effect was almost hypnotic and Mistral lost track of time as she stood watching
them until she suddenly noticed that something was happening.

There was no
sound, no shouted order that she had heard, but the army seemed to be
responding to some unspoken command.  A ripple seemed to pass through the
ranks and the warlocks came to a halt, their horses standing perfectly still,
like statues rather than living creatures.  Mistral’s eyes raked the long unbroken
line of warlocks, looking for the cause of the halt.  She did not have to
look far. 

Fabian was
cantering lightly back along the line.  A cloaked figure rode beside him
mounted on an armoured warhorse.  Mistral felt her eyes widen when they
drew close enough for her to make out the features of the stranger.  The
rider was tall and broad and wore his greying hair cropped closely to his
skull, making the horrific scarring on his face stand out starkly.  Livid
scars criss-crossed the Mage’s face in a map of long-healed wounds that told of
a warlike past.  A single jagged scar cut down the right side of his
gnarled face, leaving his eye a strange milky colour that instantly reminded
Mistral of the Divinus.  As he approached Cirrus began to fidget restlessly,
pulling against the bit in his mouth.  Mistral reined him in distractedly,
her attention fixed on the imposing figure riding towards her.  She was in
no doubt that this was Mage Eximius Grapple.  Even from a distance he
exuded power and authority.  His famously disfigured face was hard and
cold beneath its mantle of scars.  Fabian rode silently beside him, his
face an inscrutable mask.  Mistral waited apprehensively for them to
approach and suddenly missed the twins. 

Mage Grapple
halted his horse a short distance away from her and Fabian reined Spirit in
beside him, he didn’t look at Mistral but kept his eyes fixed on a distant
point somewhere over her left shoulder, his expression carefully controlled.

An oppressive
silence fell while Mistral waited for the intimidating Mage to speak.  He
seemed in no hurry, but sat rigidly erect on his horse, regarding her
coldly.  The intensity of his eyes boring into hers made her want to look
away but she forced herself not to.  Lifting her chin slightly she looked
steadfastly back.  A faint shift in the hard set of his face made her
think he’d seen whatever he was looking for and he abruptly turned and muttered
something to Fabian that Mistral couldn’t catch.  Fabian nodded stiffly,
his face unmoving.  Without another word Mage Grapple wheeled his warhorse
around and cantered heavily back to his silently waiting army.

Fabian didn’t
move or speak as Mage Grapple rode away, his face drawn tight with
tension.  She flicked her gaze back to the retreating Mage, watching him
slowing his horse to a walk when he neared the motionless ranks of his
army.  He briefly inclined his head and spoke to two of the oddly frozen
warlocks and without pausing for a response, he kicked his horse on into the
ford, sending plumes of water up into the air as the heavy beast pounded
through the river. 

She looked
back at Fabian, instantly his black gaze locked onto hers.  His lips
barely moved as he spoke.

‘Two warlocks
are coming to guard you.  Whatever you do, do not antagonise them. 
Eximius has agreed to speak with me.’ 

‘But –’
Mistral began to argue in a whisper.

Fabian cut her
short with a searing look, ‘They will kill you without hesitation!  Just
try
not to irritate them and I will return to you as soon as I can.’

He pulled
Spirit’s head around and galloped off before she could respond.  Feeling
suddenly vulnerable, she watched him until his bright palomino was swallowed up
by the mass of black moving through the ford.  Her feeling of
vulnerability intensified when Mistral saw two huge warlocks peel off from the
rest of the army and ride towards her, their heavy horses moving with a
ponderous gait.  When they drew closer to her Mistral didn’t doubt
Fabian’s warning; she could clearly make out the outline of a sword hilt under
the side of each warlock’s robe. 

Without
seeming to give any visible command to their horses they stopped directly in
front of her, close enough for her to smell the stale odour of their sweat and
the ozone stink of sorcery.  Mistral held Cirrus tightly; he was fidgeting
nervously.  In contrast, the warlocks’ horses were so still that they
barely seemed to be breathing.  The silence stretched out while Mistral
waited tensely for one of the darkly cowled statues to speak.

After several
long seconds a voice emanated from the depths of one of the hoods, it had a
gravelly and strangely discordant sound, as though the user rarely spoke.

‘You smell of
blood.’

Mistral
blinked, taken aback by the sinister statement and realised with a start that
her clothes and hair were still covered in streaks of dried Wolverine
blood.  The fight with the Blackheart Wolverines in the meadow seemed a
lifetime ago, not a few hours ago. 

The faceless
warlock didn’t speak again, but their hooded faces and massive bodies radiated
menace.  Mistral felt her skin crawl under the scrutiny of their unseen
gaze.  She could smell the Wolverine blood on her, making her feel dirty
and uncomfortable.  The sound of the river lapping against the bank beside
her filled her with a sudden urge to be clean, to wash the blood and emotion of
the day away.

‘I’m going to
wash,’ she said shortly and started to pull Cirrus’ head around.

‘Leave your
horse,’ the gravelly voice barked. 

‘I don’t think
so!’  Mistral snapped, remembering Fabian’s words a second too late.

A tremor
seemed to pass through the two warlocks and the air around them
shimmered.  Mistral suddenly smelt ozone again but before she could react
the spell hit her with a force that lifted from the saddle.  Carried by an
unseen wave of energy she spun head over heels up into the air then abruptly
crashed heavily onto the hard ground.  Winded and dazed, Mistral clambered
unsteadily to her feet.  Fabian had obviously not been exaggerating. 

Cirrus was
snorting and wheeling around her, his eyes rolling wildly.  Feeling anger
fill her with much needed strength, Mistral grabbed hold of his bridle and
jerked round to face the two motionless warlocks.  Her infamous temper was
on the brink of spilling over but she forced it back.  This was one fight
she would never win.  Willing herself to speak calmly, she placed a
soothing hand on Cirrus’ neck.

‘Where can I
leave him?’ she demanded and was pleased to hear that her voice didn’t shake.

Neither
warlock spoke or stirred for a long moment.  It was as though she were
talking to the dead.  Then the same gravelly voice that had spoken before
growled from beneath one of the dark hoods.

‘The horse
enclosure is on the south side of the ford.’

Mistral nodded
tersely and began to walk towards the silent warlocks, hauling an unwilling
Cirrus by the bridle.  Neither warlock stirred as she passed them. 
She kept her eyes fixed on the ground in front of her and carried on walking
towards the ford.  She felt the hairs of the back of her neck prickling
uncomfortably.  It went against every instinct to turn her back on an
enemy and her hand twitched for a sword.  Gritting her teeth, she
controlled the urge, knowing instinctively that one false move would be her
last.  It was only when she was nearly at the water’s edge that she realised
the warlocks had dismounted too and were walking behind her, as silent as
drifting smoke. 

The rest of
the army had crossed the ford now and the churned brown water was slowly
settling to become a tranquil glassy river once more.  Mistral knew it
would be easier to mount Cirrus and ride through the shallow ford but the spell
the warlocks had cast had left her legs feeling weak and shaky.  She
didn’t think she had the strength to mount, and there was no way she was going
to ask one of them for a leg-up.  Resigning herself to wet boots and legs,
she led Cirrus into the water and consoled herself with the thought that the
warlocks were on foot too.    

When she
gained the far side she immediately saw the horse enclosure.  At least
fifty solid looking warhorses were gathered in a large fenced area.  A
single wooden bar served for a gate at one end.  She approached the
entrance cautiously but no-one challenged her.  Sliding the saddle and
bridle from her restless horse, she lifted the bar and let Cirrus into the enclosure. 
He walked in with uncharacteristic reluctance and looked around uncertainly
before dropping his head to nibble at the sparse grass. 

Hoping that at
least her horse had the sense not to pick a fight with one of the colossal
warhorses, Mistral gave one last concerned look in his direction then made her
way back along the river bank to find a place to wash.  She shot her
sinister guards an apprehensive glance; would they follow her there too? 
But they were standing motionless once more beside the horse enclosure, their
own horses stood silently beside them.   

The late
afternoon sun was soothing on her skin after the coldness of the water. 
It felt good to be clean again and away from the watchful gaze of her warlock
guardians.  Mistral sat, barefoot, in her last pair of clean trousers and
vest, watching the sunlight sparkling on the rippling surface of the
river.  Every now and then a fish would break the surface and send circles
of diamonds spreading out across the water.  Mistral listened to the gentle
babbling of the water and the high calls of swallows swooping over the water
and felt her eyes begin to close.