The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) (43 page)

Mistral felt
an instant lift in her mood when they left the confines of the Valley but
couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm that the other apprentices were obviously
feeling.  Cain and Xerxes were taking bets on who would hunt down the
largest wolverine, Saul was quizzing the twins on everything they could
remember about the pack’s hunting style and even the perpetually grouchy Konrad
was talking seriously with Brutus about tracking methods.  Mistral felt
oddly disconnected, as though she were riding in a bubble, cut off from the
rest of the apprentices.  She felt none of the thrill of danger, the
tingle of anticipation that a hunt used to give her.  The dead feeling persisted
even though she was out of the Valley, making her wonder for the thousandth
time what was wrong with her. 

Once they were
a safe distance from the North Gate they stopped to unwrap the cloths from the
horses’ hooves then gathered in a loose circle around Saul while he outlined
the hunting strategy.

‘We’ll head
for the southern side of the forests – that’s where Cain last saw fresh
signs.  Blackhearts aren’t particularly stealthy, mainly because they
don’t need to be.  Konrad reckons he can track this lot blindfold so we
should have no problems locating them.  Now, once we’ve found fresh tracks
I suggest using me and Konrad as bait.  We’ll go off into the forests and
ride around a bit then come back into the meadow, hopefully with them following
us.  Then we hunt them.  Everyone got their crossbows?’  Saul
paused to look around.  

They all
nodded, indicating to a short-handled crossbow strapped to the pommel.

‘Good, right
let’s get on with the hunt!  Oh, any questions?’  Saul added, turning
in his saddle as he began to ride towards the treeline.

Everyone
laughed and shook their heads.  It was typical of Saul to be impatient for
action.

They rode
across the moonlit meadow towards the edge of The Velvet Forests.  All
talk slowly ceased and the atmosphere tightened, gradually becoming charged
with a sense of purpose.  The apprentices were on full alert, their senses
sharpened by the cold night air and the absence of any sound other than the
gentle thudding of the horses’ hooves. 

Mistral, the twins,
Cain, Brutus and Xerxes reined their horses to a standstill and watched Konrad
and Saul ride into the black line of trees.  Their ghostly pale outlines
were quickly swallowed up by the deep shadows of the forest, leaving the others
alone in the meadow.  At a wordless signal from Brutus the remaining
apprentices fanned out in a straight line facing the treeline. 

Now came the
waiting.

Mistral gazed
at the meadow she had ridden over countless times.  It was almost
unrecognisable by night.  The moonlight was deceptive, disguising every
hollow and rocky rise to make the meadow appear treacherously smooth. 
Mistral was glad she knew the ground well; a less familiar rider could easily
risk injuring their horse if it came to a chase – and that could be fatal. 

Her survey of
the meadows complete, Mistral returned her gaze to the treeline, scanning it
carefully for any signs of movement, but the shadowy depths remained resolutely
dark and still.  In the absence of anything to do but wait Mistral checked
and loaded her crossbow, keeping it ready in one hand and holding Cirrus with
the other.  The minutes ticked by silently.  She stole a glance at
the other apprentices.  They were all staring intently at the treeline,
poised for action with their hands resting on the handles of their
crossbows.  The tension in the air was palpable.  Mistral longed
again to feel what they were experiencing; the anticipation and the thrill, but
she felt only a strange sense of detachment.

Cirrus
fidgeted and twitched his ears nervously.  Mistral steadied him with one
hand, keeping the other wrapped around the handle of her crossbow.  A
light breeze sprang up from behind them, lifting her hair and blowing it over
the front of her shoulder.  Cirrus snorted and wheeled suddenly to face
the meadow, pawing the ground anxiously.  Mistral hauled one-handed on the
reins trying to bring him round but Cirrus tossed his head and fought her,
refusing to turn.  Cursing him under her breath Mistral dug her heels into
his sides and tried to force him round but still he refused.  She glared
angrily at his snaking head, willing him to move when a faint movement out in
the meadow caught her eye.  A shadow, no more than a flicker of darkness
shifted imperceptibly but Mistral had seen it and stared hard until she could
make out the dim outline of a dark shape pressed low to the ground.  The
air hissed out between her teeth in a low curse.  The wolverine pack was
in the meadow behind them. 

They were
being hunted.

‘They’re in
the meadow!’ 

Immediately the
others wheeled their horses around and raised their crossbows.  Mistral
could almost hear their breathing quicken and their eyes crack as they strained
to see the indistinct forms slinking towards them.

‘I count
eight,’ called Xerxes softly.

Mistral swore
under her breath.  Even taking into account the ones she and Fabian had
killed the remaining pack had been larger than that.

‘That’s not
enough!  I think they’ve split up!’

‘Circle?’
suggested Brutus quickly.

They
immediately backed their horses together in a loose circle, all facing outwards
so that every direction could be seen while their exposed backs were protected.

‘See them?’
hissed Phantom tensely.  He and Phantasm were facing the treeline and
couldn’t see the meadow.

‘Yes,’ Brutus,
Cain and Xerxes all replied softly.

‘Choose your
target and lock on.  Don’t hesitate to fire.  If they get close
enough to attack it’ll be a tough fight!’  Mistral warned in a low voice.

The sudden
sound of clicks told her that each crossbow was loaded and ready.  Mistral
raised her own, angling it slightly down towards an inky black form that was
still just out of range.  A cloud rolled across the moon, plunging the
meadow into complete darkness.  The horses snorted fearfully and several
guttural snarls ripped through the air, signalling the wolverines’ attack.

‘Fire!’ 
Brutus yelled.

Immediately
the air was filled with the sharp hiss of bolts.  A loud whine of pain and
a satisfying thud told the apprentices that at least one bolt had found its
mark.  They all hastily reloaded, struggling to control their nervous
horses at the same time. 

The moon
appeared from behind its veil of cloud and the meadow was once again bathed in
an ethereal silver glow, illuminating the vast forms of the Blackheart
Wolverines padding silently towards them, their heads held low and yellow eyes
gleaming.

‘In the
trees!’  Phantasm yelled, his voice cracking with panic. 

They all
jerked around to see the rest of the wolverine pack slipping silently from
between the dark trees.  Brutus swore and Xerxes exhaled in a long
whistle.

‘We’re
surrounded!’  

Mistral heard
the high-pitched whine of bolts followed by more yelps.  A beat of silence
fell then growls exploded all around them.  The pack in the meadow broke
into a loping run at precisely the same moment that the wolverines emerging
from the trees sprang forward. 

‘They’re
attacking!’  Xerxes shouted. 

Mistral fired
blindly at the oncoming wolverines then looped her crossbow quickly onto her
saddle; she would not have time to reload again.  Trusting Cirrus to have
his head and not bolt she reached for her double-swords.  Rasping sounds
on her left and right told her that the others had drawn their swords
too. 

‘This is going
to get messy,’ Brutus muttered and Mistral couldn’t help but agree. 

Suddenly the
wolverine pack halted, each lifting its long snout up to sniff the air.  A
single low whine echoed across the meadow and without another sound the
wolverines melted away, slinking quickly into the heavy shadows of the forests
and disappearing from sight.

Silence fell
and the tension mounted.  Mistral stared in the darkness with unblinking
eyes.  Was this another hunting strategy?  Lull their prey into a
false sense of security then attack?  She shot a perplexed glance at the others
and saw them looking confounded too. 

A sudden
thudding noise drew their attention back to the treeline.  Konrad and Saul
burst into view galloping flat out, bent low over the necks of their horses to
avoid the low branches as they crashed wildly through the trees. 

‘Get back to
the Valley!’  Saul yelled as he thundered up to them.  ‘No time to
explain!  Just go!  NOW!’

Without
stopping he galloped past and spurred his horse across the dark meadow. 
Konrad followed just behind, slightly slumped against his horse’s neck. 
Mistral could see he wasn’t holding the reins but had his hands wound into his
horse’s mane, as though he were clinging on for life.

‘Did you see
that?’  Xerxes exclaimed looking after the wildly galloping pair. 
‘Konrad had an arrow sticking out of his shoulder!’

Mistral heard
the twins swear in unison and the unmistakable twang and whistle of arrows
being fired. 

‘The elves!’

The hail of
arrows thudded uselessly into the ground a short distance from them; the elves
were still just out of range.

‘Let’s go
before they fire again!’  Phantom yelled, pulling his horse around and
urging it into a gallop after the rapidly vanishing Saul and Konrad.

Mistral didn’t
need telling twice.  She pulled Cirrus around and caught a glimpse of the
elves, tall, silent figures lined up at the edge of the forests.  They
were already drawing their bows and would not miss again.

In a heartbeat
the apprentices were fleeing for their lives across the silver meadow, each
bending low over their horse’s neck, filled with the terrible anticipation of
an arrow finding its target in them.  Hearing Phantom curse Mistral looked
over sharply to see that his horse had stumbled – caught out by the deceptive
moonlight.  Relieved to see him still in the saddle, she returned her
concentration to Cirrus, but too late.  In that one moment of leaving him
unguided he tripped and went down onto his knees.  Mistral was flung
forwards onto his neck but somehow managed to hang on while he lurched back up,
thankfully on all four legs.  Shaken, Mistral urged him on in a frantic
undertone.  She could hear only too clearly the whine of arrows being
fired once more. 

A dull thud
and a sudden burning pain in her leg made Mistral cry out aloud.  Cirrus
snorted and veered sharply to the left and another arrow went sailing past
them.  Cirrus’ fall had cost valuable seconds and they were now within
range.  Gritting her teeth against the searing pain in her leg she urged
Cirrus to go faster, dropping the reins to give him his head.  The powerful
horse needed no further encouragement to flee from the danger he could sense
behind them.  Mistral clung on to his outstretched neck, feeling the
muscles in his shoulders bunching and straining as he pushed himself to gallop
faster than he ever had in his life.  They flew across the meadow, the air
roaring in her ears, making her deaf to any further sounds of arrows being
fired.  The agonising throbbing in her leg was making her feel sick, she
risked a glance at the wound and saw the arrow shaft sticking out from below
her hip.  It was buried deep into the muscle; she could feel the metal
head grating in time with Cirrus’ gallop.  Something dark glistened on
Cirrus’ flanks and for a panicked second she thought her horse had been shot
too but quickly realised that it was her blood.  She eyed the spreading
stain and knew she would pass out soon if she continued to bleed that
heavily.  Looking around desperately for the twins Mistral almost sobbed
with relief to see the North Gate looming out of the night directly ahead of
them.

‘No alarm
unless they follow!’  Saul cried up to the warrior on lookout. 

The warrior
nodded back and gazed out across the meadow, watching.  Once through the
gateway the apprentices slowed their spent horses, panic giving way to relief. 
They were safe.  The elves would not dare to attack them in a valley full
of Ri warriors. 

Mistral was
dimly aware of feeling relief too, but the pain in her leg was growing,
consuming every thought and demanding all her energy.  She clutched at Cirrus’
reins with shaking hands to slow him and bit back a scream when her leg bounced
against the saddle.

‘Mistral! 
What’s wrong?’ 

Phantasm was
immediately beside her, his face full of concern.  She opened one eye a
fraction and looked down at the arrow lodged in her leg. 

‘Damn!
 Phantom we need some help!  Mistral’s been shot!’

‘Don’t touch
it!’  Mistral panted when Phantasm instinctively reached out to pull the
arrow out.  ‘It’s bleeding too mu –’ 

Her words
ended in a scream as Cirrus shied at Phantom’s horse coming up alongside and
knocked her into Phantasm, driving the arrow deeper into her leg in an
explosion of red pain.  Then there was only blackness.

Mistral
drifted out of a heavy sleep to the unmistakable sound of glass bottles
clinking.  Without even opening her eyes she knew at once that she was
back in the Infirmary.  She flexed her injured leg gingerly and the
responding throb told her that her leg was still attached, albeit
painfully. 

Heaving a sigh
Mistral opened her eyes and looked around.  She was back in her usual bed
by the window.  The sky outside was heavy and grey, rain was sliding down
the long glass window and a strong wind was blowing, rattling at the window
panes.  Turning her head away from the window Mistral looked across the
room and saw Konrad lying with his eyes closed in a bed two down from
hers.  She suppressed a groan; if there was one thing Mistral hated more
than being in the Infirmary, it was being in the Infirmary with company.