The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) (47 page)

‘Hello
Mistral, are you in need of my care?’

Mistral shook
her head and walked over to where Serenity was sitting, hesitating there with
her hand on the back of the empty chair in front of the table.

‘Can I talk to
you?’

‘Be my guest,’
Serenity smiled and indicated towards the chair. 

Mistral sat
down and clenched her hands together tightly in her lap, wondering know how to
begin.

Serenity
regarded her gently over the top of the scales, waiting patiently. 

‘Um, do you
remember Isadora?’  Mistral began in a faltering voice.

‘Of
course.  Bali’s Bonded partner.  A tragic story,’ sighed Serenity,
her smile fading instantly.

Mistral nodded
absently and then leaned forward, her face suddenly intense, ‘Does it always
have to be like that?  I mean – well, tragic.’

Serenity
regarded her with a slightly bemused expression, ‘Well no, I meant it was
tragic because Isadora felt she couldn’t live without Bali.  Bonding is
not tragic Mistral.  It’s when one soul completes another.  A truly
wonderful event.’

Mistral
frowned and looked down at her tightly clasped hands, ‘But what if one of them
is unaware that someone has decided to dump half their stupid soul on
them?  Does that mean they’ll just give up and die like Isadora did?’

Serenity
frowned at her, ‘Bonding is mutual Mistral.  It is not possible for it to
be unrequited.  It would be very hard to walk away from someone once you
have Bonded with them, agony in fact.’

Mistral nodded
wordlessly.  Serenity had that bit right – but as to Fabian having
mutually Bonded with her, well, she could have laughed out loud.  He was
too busy building a nest with someone else’s wife.

‘Is there
something you want to tell me Mistral,’ Serenity asked gently.

Mistral looked
up, nudged out of her own thoughts.  Serenity was gazing at her intently
with a look that was too knowing and far too sympathetic. 
 Overwhelmed with a sudden urge to be anywhere but in that room Mistral
leapt to her feet, words tumbling from her mouth in a garbled rush.

‘No, no
nothing!  I’ve got to go … er, thank you –’  Mistral turned and fled
from the room, pushing the Infirmary doors open with a loud bang in her haste
to leave.

Leo stepped
out from the shadows of the apothecary store when the doors had swung shut
behind her.

‘What ails
her?’ he asked softly, his gaze on the closed door.

‘Nothing
physical,’ Serenity’s voice was evasive. 

She began to
tidy away the array of bottles on the table in front of her, stacking them
neatly back into the open cabinet.

Leo frowned,
switching his icy gaze to Serenity’s face, ‘What then?’

Serenity
didn’t reply for a moment or two, placing the last bottle into the cabinet she
gently closed the doors and turned to face Leo.

‘Love,’ she
said simply.

‘A passing
affliction.’  Leo’s voice was coldly indifferent.  His eyes flickered
around the room, already bored by the conversation.

‘For some,’
Serenity agreed mildly, but her gaze was pitying.  ‘But for others it is a
deep and binding affinity.’

Leo’s eyes
immediately switched back to her face, interest flared in their sapphire
depths, ‘Do you know what blood she has?’

Serenity
looked thoughtfully at Leo, her marble white brow furrowing slightly. 
Typical Leo, no concern for the girl’s health, just what value she had to the
Ri. 

‘No,’ she
replied shortly.

Leo frowned in
frustration, ‘No matter,’ he muttered softly before speaking in a clearer voice
to Serenity.  ‘Well, the cure is quite straightforward.  Just find
out which apprentice it is that she’s mooning over and pour a love potion down
his throat.’  Leo flicked a hand dismissively, underlining the callous
tone of his voice.

‘It’s not
quite that simple,’ Serenity murmured sadly, gazing thoughtfully at the closed
door after Mistral.  ‘I do not think that it is one of the apprentices.’

Leo studied
her face through narrowed eyes, ‘Who then?’ he demanded impatiently.

Serenity
pursed her lips and shook her head but she would not meet his icy glare. 

He scowled
suddenly, forcing the name out between his gritted teeth.

‘Fabian.’

Serenity kept
silent and avoided his eyes.  Leo took her silence as confirmation that he
was correct.

‘He’s not even
here and he’s causing trouble,’ he seethed, clenching his fists in
frustration.  Taking a deep breath, he composed his face into a calmer
expression.  ‘Serenity, you know what potential she has – and how rare
they are.’

Serenity eyed
Leo uncertainly but nodded in agreement, ‘The last true Seer was the Divinus.’

‘Exactly,’
Leo’s tone hardened.  ‘And his time is drawing to a close.  The Ri
needs another to hold their value or we will be swallowed by the Council!’
 a fanatical light flared in his eyes, he was suddenly breathing
hard.  ‘And I will not spend my life in servitude to the accursed Council!’ 

Alarmed by his
fierce expression, Serenity took half a step back from him and folded her arms
protectively. 

Catching her
startled look, Leo quickly mastered his outburst and composed his face back
into its usual cold mask.

‘You
understand the importance of her health?’ 

Bewildered by
the speed of his mood changes, Serenity nodded wordlessly, her brown eyes wary.

‘Then I am
relying on you to cure her.’ 

‘There is no
cure,’ Serenity insisted gently. 

‘Then find
one.’  Leo snapped, his carefully controlled expression not quite
concealing the threat behind his words. 

November
dragged on in a procession of endless grey skies and drizzling rain. 
Mistral awoke at dawn as usual and lay staring at the ceiling.  The pale
grey light filtering through the window barely dispelled the darkness in her
room.  It was a Sunday, but instead of lingering in her warm bed she rose
and dressed quickly; it was too cold to dress slowly.  She sat on the edge
of her bed to drag on her boots, watching her breath mist the air in front of
her.  Boots on, she stood up and belted her double-swords across her back
then added a short crossbow.  Next she grabbed her saddlebag from the
floor and hurriedly began filling it with items she would need for the day: a
length of rope, medical kit, travelling cloak, leather fingerless gloves,
waterskin and tinderbox.  Mistral looked around for the last item she
needed and knelt down to peer under her bed.  There, nestling right at the
back in the dark shadows, was her knife belt.  She pulled it out and
quickly checked all the throwing knives were there before strapping the belt
on.  After a moment’s pause she reached under her pillow and pulled out
the short dagger she kept there, stuffing it into the back of her belt. 

Dressed and
ready to face the day, Mistral left her room.

The corridor
outside her room was deserted.  She made no effort to tiptoe, despite the
earliness of the hour and her booted steps echoed loudly on the wooden
floor.  She reached the end of the corridor and ran down the twisting
flight of stone steps to the ground floor.  The stone flagged floor muted
the sound of her footsteps as she strode past the Main Hall and on to the
Refectory.  She wasn’t particularly hungry but she knew that she must
eat.  She would need strength for the day ahead. 

The Refectory
was mercifully empty.  Mistral walked past the rows of tables and benches
and cast an indifferent glance at the sky through the long windows flanking the
length of the room.  It was a typical November day, the sky a uniform
brooding grey releasing occasional fat drops of rain to splash against the
glass. 

A clattering
noise coming from behind the double doors at the end of the room drew her
attention.  Bernadette was working in the kitchen, preparing
breakfast. 

As Mistral
neared the end of the hall, a pair of heavy wooden shutters banged open to
reveal the serving hatch from the kitchen.  A harassed looking woman in a
grubby white apron was stacking wooden bowls next to a large iron pot. 
She looked up and caught sight of Mistral.

‘Good morning
dearie,’ she smiled cheerfully, making her flushed cheeks dimple.  ‘Come
and get some while it’s still hot!’

Mistral lifted
the lid off the iron pot and sniffed warily at the contents.  Bernadette
was a dangerously enthusiastic cook. 

‘Porridge,’
Mistral concluded with a sigh of relief.

‘Yes dear,’
dimpled Bernadette, adding.  ‘And there’s a fish stew on the way!’ 

She bustled
off happily into the steamy depths of the kitchen leaving Mistral quickly
ladling out a small bowl of porridge before the fish stew arrived.  She
took her bowl and sat at one of the empty tables.  She was staring
morosely out of the window, her bowl of porridge untouched before her when a
voice startled her out of her reverie.

‘Well if it
isn’t our own ray of sunshine,’ sighed Phantasm sitting lightly down beside her
and laying a huge book on the table in front of him.

Phantom glided
elegantly to the other side of the table, his angelic face mischievous, ‘We
trust you had a refreshing night of beauty sleep?’  he enquired with
theatrical solicitousness.

‘And sweet
dreams,’ murmured his brother, giving her a hooded look.

‘Yes
thanks.’  Mistral replied and looked quickly down at her cold
porridge.  She was convinced that the twins knew, or at least suspected,
the truth about her recent state of mind.

‘And what
delights has our cook extraordinaire prepared for us this morning?’ enquired
Phantom, dubiously poking Mistral’s untouched porridge with her spoon.

‘Porridge,’
Mistral replied.  ‘But there’s a fish stew on the way.’

The twins
instantly pulled identical faces of disgust, making Mistral smile.

‘Careful, it
might crack,’ Phantasm chided.

Phantom
clicked his fingers in his brother’s direction, ‘I’ll take the porridge –
without lumps, please waiter.’ 

His brother
shot him a filthy look and slipped from his seat, returning seconds later with
two bowls.  Laying them on the table with mock flourish he resumed his
seat and began to eat, enquiring between mouthfuls about Mistral’s plans for
the day ahead.  Sunday was usually a day to be filled with leisure, or any
Contract going if you were Mistral.

‘I’ve got a
Contract,’ she confirmed with a nod in the direction of her packed saddlebag.

The twins
raised their eyebrows questioningly.

‘There’s a
gargoyle nest in the mountain ridge above the northern pass.  They’re
picking off the flocks overwintering on the lower pastures.  I’ve got to
destroy the nest and the gargoyles too.’

‘What fun,’
teased Phantasm.  ‘You really know how to have a good time.’

‘And you do?’
she retorted, throwing a meaningful glance at the dusty tome on the
table. 

Phantasm
stroked the book’s leather cover reverently, ‘A Brief History of Council
Politics: Volume One.’

‘He’s saving
Volume Two for next week.  Apparently it’s a belter,’ added Phantom dryly.

Voices from
across the room made them look up.  More apprentices were coming in for
breakfast.

‘I’ve got to
get going,’ Mistral said quickly. 

Leaving her
bowl of porridge uneaten, she gathered up her things and rapidly left the
Refectory, keeping her head bowed to avoid talking to anyone. 

Mistral
stepped out of the Entrance Hall into a mist of fine drizzle and realised that
she did that a lot these days; left rooms as other people came in.  It was
more out of self-preservation than out of dislike for the other
apprentices.  She was terrified that one of them would look into her eyes
and see the truth she fought so hard to conceal.  In particular she
avoided Konrad, knowing that the half-drow would pick up on her misery and bask
in her emotional state like some huge parasite.

She made her
way down to the stableyard, nodding a greeting to the Equus when he appeared,
bare chested and sweating, in the doorway of the forge. 

‘He’s fed and
watered,’ he called then turned immediately back to the blistering heat of the
forge. 

Cirrus
whickered a greeting to her when she walked into his stall.  Mistral
smiled and felt a spurt of gratitude towards her horse, knowing that she didn’t
have to pretend to him.  She slipped a heavy cloth over his back before
adding his saddle and her saddlebag.  Finally she stroked his ears,
persuading him to lower his head so that she could gently pull the leather
straps of the bridle around his head, taking time to check each one was
correctly buckled before leading him out into the yard.

She swung
herself up into the saddle and walked him out of the yard and onto the path
leading to the North Gate.  She was grateful that they didn’t meet another
person.  It was still early and most people were taking advantage of their
day off to have a lie in.  Before long, she was trotting through the huge
North Gate and out onto the open meadows.  Drawing in a deep lungful of
damp air Mistral felt an immediate wave of relief at leaving the claustrophobic
confines of the Valley and not having to pretend and lie for the day. 

The light
drizzle stopped completely as she followed the narrow winding trail that would
take her up into the mountains.  It was colder here and before long
Mistral stopped to pull on the heavy cloak she had packed in her
saddlebag.  She redid the flaps and realised disinterestedly that she’d
forgotten to bring anything to eat. 

The trail
began to rise more steeply and Mistral let Cirrus have his head to pick his own
way through the loose stones and rocks.  His ears flickered occasionally
at the small sounds he heard, the scrabbling of a mountain hare running for
cover, the high call of an eagle hunting overhead.  Mistral listened
carefully for other sounds, the scream of an attacking gargoyle in particular. 
The Contract was not particularly difficult and she would have quite simply of
located the nest and shot it with a flaming bolt from her crossbow had she not
been given specific instructions to retrieve any eggs from the nest before destroying
it.  Nesting gargoyles were fiercely protective of their eggs and Mistral
spent the ride mentally preparing herself for the task, running through a list
of known ways to kill gargoyles.

Fire – very
effective and the easiest method.

Arrows –
ineffective, gargoyles have extremely tough skin.

Bolts –
better, even more effective if dipped in poison first.

Swords –
gargoyles need to be beheaded to be completely sure of death.

Daggers and
Throwing Knives – serve only as a distraction.  Effective only in the
softer skin of the throat and belly. 

She rode on
for the rest of the morning, climbing steadily higher up though the wet cloud
bank and out the other side, where the air was icily cold under a suddenly blue
sky.  She shivered, pulling the hood of her cloak up to cover her head.

The trail
crested a narrow ridge and dropped down to a small rocky plateau on the other
side.  The plateau was hemmed in by the ridge and by the sheer sides of
the mountain.  The trail ended here.  Mistral stopped and dismounted,
looking around on the ground for evidence of gargoyle activity.  She did
not have to look very far.  Animal bones were scattered all around, many
had been gnawed by something with very sharp teeth, leaving grooves in the
bone. 

Mistral turned
in a slow circle, scanning the sheer cliffs for the nest.  After a third
examination she saw it, an innocuous looking bundle of twigs perched high up on
a rocky outcrop with a wall of sheer rock continuing above it up to the rugged
summit.  Mistral studied the site carefully.  The gargoyles had
chosen well.  The jutting outcrop of rock it rested on provided good
protection from below and she couldn’t see any natural ledges or formations
that would allow her to approach from the side.  Mistral frowned then
shrugged.  She would just have to climb up take a closer look. 

She watched
the site closely for any signs of life.  Her task would be easier if she
could destroy the nesting pair before attempting to climb up and retrieve any
eggs.  After several minutes Mistral came to the conclusion that the pair
were probably out hunting.  It looked like her day was going to be long –
not only was the climb going to be awkward, she would have to hang around to
finish off the gargoyles before the Contract was completed.

Cirrus moved
restlessly around her, pulling against the reins she held tightly in her
hand.  He could smell the sulphuric odour of the gargoyles and it was
making him nervous. 

‘I know, I
know,’ she murmured soothingly to him, rubbing his nose reassuringly.  He
butted her with his iron hard head, nearly knocking her over.  ‘Alright
boy,’ she smiled.  ‘I get the message.  I’ll get on with it then we
can go.’

She took off
her heavy cloak, spreading it over Cirrus’ back and rump to keep him
warm.  Removing her saddlebag and tying her reins up onto the front of the
saddle, she let him wander around the small plateau.  He promptly
retreated to the side furthest away from the nest, his ears twitching
nervously.

Mistral pulled
out the items she had brought with her from her saddlebag, moving quickly as
the cold air began to make her shiver.  Yanking on the fingerless gloves
and looping the rope over one shoulder and around her chest she rolled up the
now empty saddlebag and stuffed it inside her fur-lined jerkin.  She would
use that to put any eggs in from the nest.  Leaving her tinder box and
medical kit at the base of the cliff she deliberated for a moment before
leaving her crossbow as well, it would only hamper her during the climb. 
Mistral began to walk slowly along the rockface, looking up for a suitable
route for her climb while she ran over her plan in her mind. 

Her plan was
simple.  Climb up, collect any eggs, get down, hang around and pick off
the gargoyles when they returned then shoot the nest with a flaming bolt and
leave.  Easy.

As she walked
along the base of the cliff directly beneath the gargoyle nest a small
horizontal crack caught her eye.  It was no wider than her hand but it
gave a good starting point.  Mistral studied the craggy rockface above
her, she thought she could make out a couple of small splits and fissures she
could use and further up there was a wider split in the rock that travelled up
for quite a distance.  She had her route; it was time to climb.