The Seer (68 page)

‘Why’s that
Fabian?’  Mistral demanded quietly.

Fabian spun
around to fix her with his cold black stare, ‘Because I saw the way you were
looking at him Mistral!  Do you think I don’t know how much an animal like
this appeals to you?’

‘I already
have a horse Fabian!’

Fabian raised
an eyebrow, ‘So, if he were to come up for sale, you wouldn’t be interested?’

Mistral pouted
and lifted her chin defiantly, ‘Might be –’

‘How can I
ever be expected to take any work if you insist on finding trouble the moment
my back is turned?’  Fabian exploded, startling the firebrand who promptly
kicked out and smashed a hole in the partition between the stalls.

‘Saturn’s
already sold.’  Clovis cut across their argument in a gruff voice. 

Mistral spun
around with a dismayed look on her face, ‘Who to?’ She cried.

‘Me.’ 
Grendel lumbered out from the stall, rubbing a hoof shaped swelling on his
forearm.

‘Oh!’ 
Mistral was instantly taken aback.  Clovis had been searching for over two
years for a horse strong enough to bear the huge warrior’s bulk and the
firebrand stallion was the perfect solution.

‘I don’t want
you anywhere near that horse Mistral.’  Fabian’s voice was quietly
insistent, his black gaze commanding.

‘She won’t
be.’  Grendel grunted.  ‘I’m going out tomorrow.  Might be away
some time,’ he added enigmatically and stomped out of the stableblock leaving
Mistral glaring at Fabian.

‘Happy
now?’  She demanded petulantly. 

‘Nearly,’ he
smiled disarmingly and opened his arms. 

Mistral
promptly abandoned her bad mood and melted against him with a sigh. 
Staying angry with Fabian required more will-power than she possessed;
admitting defeat was much easier, and far more enjoyable.

‘Now I’m
happy,’ he murmured, bending his head to kiss her.

‘Well Master
Sphinx isn’t!’

Mistral looked
around guiltily to see Phantasm’s green eyes shining angrily in the dim light
of the stableblock.

‘While you two
are hiding in here, canoodling like teenagers –’

‘What the hell
is canoodling?’  Mistral whispered to Fabian while Phantom continued to
upbraid them peevishly.

‘Not sure.’
 Fabian murmured back.  ‘But I suspect he could be referring to the
fact that I was kissing my wife when I should really be duelling with Mage
Grapple for a place on the Contract.’

‘Oh!’ 
The finale of the tournament had completely slipped her mind, but then, she reflected
with a smile, most things seemed to slip her mind when Fabian kissed her.

‘You can stop
smirking Mistral!  It’s entirely inappropriate for the Ri’s Seer to be
hiding in a stable with one of the finalists!’

‘When have I
ever done anything appropriate?’  Mistral replied archly.

Fabian laughed
and took her hand, pulling her out into the stableyard to make their back
towards the Arena.  It had started to drizzle.  Mistral pulled the
hood of her velvet cloak up and hurried to keep up with Fabian’s long strides.

‘Tell me how
this tiebreaker works,’ she asked a little breathlessly.

‘Eximius will
be the challenge; we will all duel with him for a three minute round.  The
three who score the highest will be awarded the Contract.’

‘Is Mage
Grapple any good?’

Fabian
hesitated for a second before replying in a flat voice, ‘Formidable.’

They had
reached the village square and Mistral was unable to ask any more questions,
all her breath was needed to keep up with Fabian while he forced his way
through the dense crowd.  As they approached the edge of the Arena, Leo’s
voice could be heard outlining the scoring system that would be used for the
duels.

For once in
her life, Mistral listened carefully to the details.  She wanted to
understand exactly what was going on.  It seemed to her to be a simple
system; the sword points were to be dipped in a heavy paste of white chalk to
make verifying any strikes easier.  Strikes to the chest were worth three
points and strikes landing on any other area of the body, excluding the head,
were worth one point. 

Once Leo had
finished speaking, Fabian left Mistral with the twins at the edge of the Arena
and strode over to take his place in the line of waiting finalists, all gazing
apprehensively at the intimidating figure of Mage Grapple, stood with both
hands resting on the hilt of his sword.  Imperato had returned to stand
beneath the awning at the table where Gleacher was seated, the clock in front
of him set ready for the first round to begin.  Mistral wished she were there
too as the rain began to fall harder, soaking into the hood of her cloak and
dripping from the fur trim.

Samson stepped
forward to take the first duel to a smattering of nervous applause and a ragged
cheer from a small group of warriors that knew him well.  The rain swiftly
turned the already muddy Arena to resemble something closer to a lake; but
neither Samson nor Mage Grapple appeared to be bothered by either the rain or
the mud sucking at their boots.  The atmosphere across the village square
tightened, all noise died away leaving in its place a tense silence. 
Every eye was now fixed upon the two figures facing each other in the centre of
the Arena.

Raising his
arm into the air, Leo looked at Samson and Mage Grapple in turn then dropped
his hand and stepped quickly out of the way to the piercing whistle blast from
Gleacher.

Samson
immediately lunged at Mage Grapple who parried the strike, their swords meeting
in a ringing clash.  Mage Grapple swiftly countered, causing Samson to
leap out of the way, slipping and nearly falling in the quagmire of mud. 
He recovered quickly and circled around before suddenly leaping forward with a
rapid series of strikes; each deftly parried and countered in a flash of
steel. 

The duel had
begun.

For the first
minute the pair duelled in intense silence, the watching warriors too
disbelieving of the sight before their eyes to do anything but stare in frank
astonishment at the skill at which Mage Grapple wielded his sword.  Samson
was a skilled fighter too, but he was no match for Mage Grapple’s wealth of
experience; the scars on his face and arms bore testimony to the numerous
battles he had fought during the violent struggles to establish order on the
Isle.

As they
entered the second minute of their bout, the crowd suddenly came to life and
began to cheer their warrior on, applauding each attempted strike and groaning
when it was deflected.  If Mage Grapple noticed the crowd’s lack of
support for him, it didn’t affect his performance.  He fought with the
same detachment that defined his cold and emotionless personality. 
Mistral found herself wondering about the man he had once been; that had fallen
in love and suffered the loss of both his lover and their child, the child that
was now a grown man standing not three feet away from him.

By the end of
the three minute round, Samson was covered in streaks of chalk paste and Mage
Grapple had two faint marks on one arm.  Samson had scored two points.

The crowd
roared their approval and the duel continued with Cain stepping up to take the next
bout to loud applause.  He duelled with lightning fast strikes but was
continually forced to defend, driven back by his more powerful opponent and
ended the bout with a score of only one point. 

Leo
adjudicated each bout with impartial decisiveness; calling the score out in a
clear voice for the crowd’s benefit after each duel.  Not once did he
offer Mage Grapple a let, and not once did Mage Grapple request one.  He
duelled continuously, barely appearing out of breath when he nodded politely to
his opponent at the end of each bout and waited patiently for the next finalist
to step forward.

Completely
absorbed by each fiercely contested bout, it wasn’t until he complained that
Mistral realised she had been gripping Phantasm’s hand tightly.

‘Oh, sorry brother,’
she muttered distractedly and immediately grabbed it again when Fabian stepped
forward to duel. 

Phantasm
sighed and resigned himself to a broken hand.  

Fabian and
Mage Grapple nodded to one another and waited for the signal to begin. 
Gleacher’s short blast on the whistle was drowned out by the resonating clang
of their swords meeting.  Withdrawing, they circled and struck again,
locking swords in a powerful blow that must have jarred shockingly, but neither
gave any reaction.  Fabian’s face was set in a hard mask of concentration;
Mage Grapple’s fixed in his usual impenetrable map of scars.  The noise of
the crowd grew as the duel intensified, increasing in pace until it was almost
impossible to distinguish individual sword strokes through the heavy
rain.  Both duelled with a cold determination, each deftly parried strike
and counter executed with precision that spoke of exceptional skill. 
Mistral watched with unblinking eyes; her heart pounding with adrenaline,
either breathing in quick gasps or not at all.  The rain continued to
fall, drenching everyone to the skin, but nobody seemed to notice; every pair
of eyes in the Valley was fixed on the two figures duelling ferociously in the
centre of the Arena.

When Gleacher
sounded the whistle at the end of the bout a deafening roar went up from the
crowd.  Fabian and Mage Grapple stepped away from each other and nodded;
their faces typically emotionless.  Mistral was gratified to see Mage
Grapple’s chest rising and falling more rapidly as Leo quickly moved to examine
his armour for chalk marks before the rain washed them away.  Turning to
face the crowd, Leo held up four fingers.  Fabian had scored one strike to
the chest and another across Mage Grapple’s arm. 

‘That’s the
highest score!’  Mistral gasped, finally releasing her crushing grip on
Phantasm’s hand to clasp her own together in rapture.

‘Is it? 
I was too blinded by pain to notice.’  Phantasm muttered, shaking out his
throbbing hand. 

‘The
tournament is over!  I commend every single one of you for taking part and
I thank the skilled fighters for providing an excellent display of
swordsmanship!  Tonight we celebrate!  Tomorrow Brutus, Samson and
Fabian De Winter will leave to drive the unicorn herd across the Isle to their
new home!’

Leo’s voice
sounded across the square for the final time; the resulting cheers when he
finished speaking were the final stamp of approval on the bold move of
including Mage Grapple in the tournament proceedings.

‘”Skilled
fighters”?  Bit of a subtle reminder about Mage Grapple’s input, do you
think?’

‘Too subtle,
half of them won’t notice.’

‘Master Nox
has –’

Leaving the
twins’ to their whispered conversation, Mistral began to hastily pick her way
through the churned mud of the Arena towards Fabian; her champion.  He saw
her approach and immediately left Samson in mid-conversation to stride over to
her.

‘You’re
soaked!  And shivering!  Why didn’t you go and sit under the
awning?  Here, take my cloak, it’s not quite as wet as you are.  I’m
taking you home –’

‘Better now?’

‘I think s-so
–’

Mistral blew
her nose on the handkerchief Phantasm offered her. 

‘It’ll be a
short two weeks, I promise.’

She nodded and
promptly started crying again, ‘S-sorry – ’

‘Hormones.’
 Phantom mouthed silently from across the room.

Phantasm rolled
his eyes wearily and patted Mistral on the back while she continued to sob into
his chest, ‘Right, well you are definitely staying here until Mage De Winter
returns.  I don’t want my godson being kept up all night by you in
hysterics.’

‘I’m not in
hysterics!’  Mistral snapped and sat up, leaving a large wet stain on the
front of his shirt.

‘Of course
you’re not,’ he agreed soothingly.  ‘But do you think you could try and
focus on the meeting we have this morning?  They often bore me to the
verge of tears, but to start one actually in tears would probably be a bad
move.’

Mistral drew
in a deep breath and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, ‘Meeting.  Yes. 
Er, what’s it about again?’

Phantom sighed
and recited the meeting details in a monotone, ‘A proposed policy to
re-establish the rights of the Mage farming population to grow heimia
salicifolia, or more commonly known as Erva de Vida.  Previously banned
because of its use to make a tea that has a mild hallucinogenic affect.’ 

‘Oh, yes, I’d
forgotten.’  Mistral sighed, then added in a hopeful voice.  ‘D’you
think they’d let us try some, just to make the meeting pass a bit quicker?’

‘No, more’s
the pity.  But talking of which, you missed a really good night in The
Cloak last night –’

Mistral nodded
but said nothing.  There was no way she’d been prepared to share Fabian
with a tavern full of warriors. 

‘Do you know
Grendel has gone to find that nymph, oh, what was her name –’

‘Liliana.’

‘That’s
it!  The one that turned up in the Valley looking for him!  Anyway,
he’s only gone off to the Vale of Belleville to look for her.  We might
have another wedding soon – ’

Mistral
listened to the twins’ mindless speculations on Grendel’s lovelife while she
pulled on her cloak and got ready to leave for the meeting.  Leaving Prospero
curled up with Eloise in front of the fire they stepped out of the house into
the damp morning air.  Mistral walked between the twins along the narrow
streets leading to the village square while they talked over and around her,
engrossed in a conversation in which she had absolutely no interest.  She
gradually let them walk on ahead, leaving her to mope along behind them, lost
in her own miserable thoughts.  Fabian had gone.  She had watched him
ride away through the dawn mists with Samson and Brutus, driving the herd of
unicorns before them.  She could still hear his thoughts; but it was not
the same as feeling his touch or seeing his smile with her own eyes.
 Wandering miserably up the path towards the Main Building, Mistral could
see the debris from the previous night’s wild revelry scattered around; empty
tankards, the odd half-eaten chicken leg and even a discarded boot.

‘Who goes home
with only one boot on?’  Phantom asked, looking in wonderment at the
single boot hanging forlornly from a shrub.

‘Probably the
same kind of person that sleeps with their boots on.’  Phantasm sniffed.

Mistral said
nothing.  Before she met Fabian she’d often slept with all her clothes and
boots on.

The Meeting
Room on the third floor was laid out much as it had been on her previous
visit.  They were to sit at the end furthest away from the fire which, in
retrospect Mistral decided was probably a good thing; the combination of heat
and turgid subject matter would send her to sleep quicker than one of
Phantasm’s French lessons.

Mage Grapple
spoke with them briefly to outline their duties for the meeting.  She was
required to read each of the Mages in turn and establish whether any of them
harboured designs on recommencing the once highly lucrative illegal trade in
the herb.  The twins were only present to use their gift to subdue anyone
that suddenly became overly argumentative or obstructive.

Mistral
stifled a yawn when Mage Grapple left the room to fetch the other attendees, ‘I
can’t believe we’re doing this!’  She muttered disgustedly.  ‘I
trained for
two years
, and for what?  To sit in on a meeting about
some wretched herb that probably has less effect than Floris’ homebrew? 
It’s ridiculous!’

Phantom
sighed, ‘I know, hardly high-brow stuff is it?’

Mistral leaned
her head back against the wall behind her and stared up at the ornate ceiling,
‘To think, I used to climb mountains to clear gargoyle nests!  Hunt
manticore … cyclops … and now I sit in a room and listen to a bunch of fat
councillors blow hot air at each other across a table!’

‘Shh, here
come the fat councillors now!’

The meeting
wore by with painful slowness.  Voices droned on in a stream of endless
debates about allowing the intoxicating herb to be grown once again. 
Mistral read each of the Mages in turn and was only vaguely interested to find
that they all grew the herb themselves for private use. 

After two
hours of pointless debate, Mistral leaned fractionally towards Phantom to admit
to him in a whisper, ‘I’ve stopped listening.’

‘That’s
nothing, I’ve stopped breathing,’ he muttered back and closed his eyes.

She stifled a
giggle and caught a reproachful look from Phantasm.

You don’t
have to live with him … Oh!  I forgot!  You are for the next two
weeks!

Mistral hid a
smile at Phantom’s unspoken teasing.  His face was completely impassive,
but his thoughts suddenly took a slightly wishful turn.

It’s
alright for you, we’re stuck here, but you can wander off when you like! 
What I’d give to have your gift …

Recognising
the start of a lengthy whinge, Mistral quickly shut out his thoughts.  He
had a point though, here she was, feeling sorry for herself because she was
stuck in a dull meeting when really, she could be with Fabian, right now. 
Needing no further enticement to escape the boring confines of the Meeting Room
Mistral let her mind soar, free of restrictions and mindless debate about some
pointless plant.  With a blissful sigh she sank back against the wall
behind her and listened to Fabian’s thoughts.

They were
riding hard, driving the unicorn herd along the cliffside path around the
western edge of The Velvet Forests.  Samson was telling Brutus a story
about a Contract he had taken during his apprenticeship.  Mistral listened
for a moment, her eyes widening with every word she heard … it was definitely a
story she would be asking him
not
to repeat to his godson ... her son
... She smiled and focussed on Fabian again.  Lost in her reverie she
didn’t realise that the meeting had finished until Phantom whispered sharply in
her ear and she blinked, snapping out of her trance to meet the cold stare of
Mage Grapple.

‘What do you
have to tell me?’

‘Well,’ she
said slowly, stalling for time while she gathered her scattered thoughts, ‘they
all grow the stuff anyway.  None of them really have an issue with what
it’s used for, only who gets the rights on the profit from the sales.’

Mage Grapple
nodded, ‘Thank you.  Now, while we have a few moments of respite before I
must meet with them again and deliver my verdict, would you please read
Bellicose La Monte for me.’

The request
was completely unexpected.  Mistral could feel the twins’ amazement echoed
in their thoughts. 

I didn’t
expect that!

Bellicose! 
So he’s taking the threat seriously then …

‘Yes.’
 Mistral said quickly, in answer to both Mage Grapple and Phantasm.

Mage Grapple
sat back in his chair, his scarred face impassive.  The twins were nearly
falling out of theirs as they leaned closer, watching her intently. 
Closing her eyes, Mistral drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting
every muscle in her body relax and her mind clear.  It was so quiet in the
Meeting Room that she could hear the fire crackling at the other end of the
long room.  The sound became muted and gradually faded away completely as
her mind left the Meeting Room and reached out to beyond The Velvet Forests, up
over the High Moors;  and the way to the thoughts of Bellicose La Monte.

‘I
See
–’  Mistral opened her eyes to gaze unseeingly into the ravaged face of
Mage Grapple.

‘Tell me what
you See.’

‘
It is
time!’ 
Mistral’s words were a harsh hiss, spoken from deep inside
Bellicose La Monte’s mind. 

‘Time for
what?’  Mage Grapple prompted quietly when Mistral fell silent again.

‘He is
hunting; filled with an all-consuming hunger, a burning need … it devours him
from within –
so
hungry!
’  She spoke in Bellicose La Monte’s
voice again; a rasping whisper that sent shivers down the twins’
backs.  

‘Where is
he?’  Mage Grapple’s usually cold voice held a note of urgency. 

‘I can’t tell
… it is a street, narrow and cobbled.  The sky overhead is grey, it’s
raining, but he doesn’t notice … he is alone –’ Mistral frowned; her eyes
darted sharply around the room as though she was looking for something, finally
settling on a point in the air above Mage Grapple’s head.  ‘I see a fence
of iron railings … and a gate … it is open … I hear voices … laughter … shouts
… he is desperate … the craving is so strong that he cannot fight it any longer
–’ She frowned, then a look of terror flooded her face.  ‘Oh!
 No!  No!  Run!  Oh, please! 
RUN!
’ 

Suddenly she
was shouting desperate warnings to the victim that was nearly two hundred miles
away, her eyes wide with horror at the vision only she could See.

‘Mistral! 
Come back!’  Phantasm leapt to his feet and grabbed her by the shoulders,
shaking her from the trance.

‘No!  Oh
no!  We’re too late ... he’s gone –’ Her voice abruptly broke.  She
began to cry in deep wracking sobs filled with such desolation that was almost
frightening to witness. 

Not sure of
what else to do, Phantasm held onto her until her sobs lessened and breathing
slowed.  Mage Grapple looked on, his scarred face impassive, only the
tightness with which his hands clenched the arms of his chair revealed his
concern.

‘I’m back
now.’  Mistral said quietly.  ‘You can let go.’

‘You sure?’

Mistral nodded
wordlessly and Phantasm released her.  He sat back onto his own chair but
continued to watch her anxiously.

Mage Grapple
leaned forward fractionally and looked at her intently, ‘Tell me what you Saw.’

Mistral stared
bleakly into the scarred face before her, ‘It was a school.’

A horrified
silence fell.

Mage Grapple’s
eyes flickered, ‘The iron railings you Saw.  Were they topped with
gold-painted dragons?’

Mistral frowned,
her eyes sliding out of focus while she recalled her vision, ‘Yes.’

A shadow fell
over Mage Grapple’s face.  He abruptly rose to his feet and strode from
the room.

The twins
stared at each other with appalled looks on their faces.  ‘The Council
School!’

Mistral
snapped her head around to stare at Phantasm, ‘What?’

‘The
playground at the Council School is surrounded by railings topped with
gold-painted dragons.  A dragon is the Isle’s symbol.’  Phantom’s
face hardened.  ‘It was plastered all over that damned school.’

Phantasm
looked pensive, ‘It would seem that Bellicose believes Master Nox is a
certainty for Divinus if he’s blatantly hunting in broad daylight in the
Council stronghold.  Is it arrogance?  Or impatience?’

‘It’s neither
brother.’  Mistral said quietly.  ‘It’s hunger.  He broke a
decade of fasting when he killed the girl from the bakery and it awoke a
bloodlust that’s lain dormant for too long.  Bellicose isn’t born of the
Isle, he’s known a hunter’s life, and he longs to be free to satiate his
appetite again.  I could feel his longing!  It was like a pain
ripping at him from within, literally forcing him to act … he’s powerless to
resist the urge.’

‘Oh great, as
if he wasn’t charming enough without having an insatiable desire to suck the
life out of everything near him!’  Phantom muttered darkly. 

‘I saw the boy
he killed.’  Mistral continued in a frozen whisper.  ‘He was just
curious … he wanted to know what spell Bellicose had cast to change his eye
colour … he thought it would be a good trick to play on his mother –’

‘Enough now
Mistral!  I think you need to forget that vision, in fact, I think we all
do.  A long lunch in The Cloak is required, and I might even let you have
a drink, so come on, and do please try to stop crying!  You’ll only
dehydrate yourself, and that won’t do my godson any good.’