The Seer (20 page)

They all
turned to stare in disbelief at the two Mages.  ‘Surely not them?’ 
Brutus looked at her in askance.

‘I’m afraid so
brother,’ she sighed, swinging her own cloak on.  ‘Mage Powers is the
Under Secretary to the Head of Control and Maintenance of Dangerous and
Endangered Beasts and Mage Silver is his assistant.’

‘Couldn’t we
have at least been given someone with the ability to hold a sword by the right
end?’  Cain cried in a dismayed voice.  ‘This Contract’s going to be
challenging enough without being given a couple of useless Mages to carry!’

Mage Silver
stiffened and the air around him seemed to thicken and shift.  The
warriors instantly drew their swords and levelled them at him. 

Fabian held a
hand up, stilling them, ‘There will be enough bloodshed on the hunt,’ he said
quietly. 

‘Maybe … but
it’s always good to warm up.’  Xerxes growled.

‘We’ll meet at
the stables.’  Fabian informed Mage Powers curtly and strode from the
room, pulling Mistral with him.

The rest of
the warriors slowly sheathed their swords and followed in silence, deliberately
leaving the door open as a final gesture of insolence. 

‘So, the Ri
have the Gemini and another Seer now.’  Mage Silver whispered once they
were alone again.

Mage Powers
glowered darkly at the group of warriors visible through the open door,
‘They’re more powerful than they’ve ever been.  It doesn’t bode well for
our plans.’

‘I
disagree.’  Mage Silver watched Fabian place a protective arm around
Mistral and turn his head to whisper something to her.  ‘De Winter is a
touch possessive of his new wife don’t you think?’

Mage Powers
followed his colleague’s gaze to see Fabian and Mistral embracing in the middle
of the atrium, ‘Speak your mind quickly while he commands her attention!’

Mage Silver
bent his head close and whispered urgently, ‘What do you think De Winter would
do if another man attempted to seduce her?’ 

Mage Powers
frowned, ‘De Winter’s hardly the most balanced individual.  He’d probably
kill any love rival he had … if she didn’t first,’ he added sourly. 

‘Precisely my
conclusion.’  Mage Silver smiled coldly.  ‘Now, where’s that dragon
report Pickering wrote?  There was something else in there that I think
will assist our cause perfectly.’

The ride to
the elven settlement took them the rest of the afternoon and was mostly spent
in silence due to the unwelcome presence of the two Mages.  The twins held
a whispered conversation between themselves for some of the way but even that
dried up as they finally approached the high wooden fence surrounding the small
mountain village.  The sky had taken on the glory of a mid-winter sunset,
bright pinks and vibrant reds scorched the sky, staining the jagged white peaks
of the Northern Range in a dramatic wash of colour.  Apart from a few
occasional flakes drifting lazily down through the air, the skies remained
mainly clear with no sign of the imminent heavy January snow falls.

‘I don’t
suppose there’s any chance we could make a start for the mountains tonight is
there?’  Xerxes asked quietly.

‘No.’ Fabian
replied shortly.

‘I have to say
I agree brother.’  Brutus said, grinning at Xerxes’ obvious dismay at
having to spend an evening in his home village.  ‘I really don’t fancy
camping out in the mountains during winter just so you can avoid facing up to
some of your past mistakes.’

‘I’m not
avoiding anything!’  Xerxes retorted.  ‘I was just considering how
beneficial it would be to get in position before daybreak – you know, beat the
snows and all that –’

‘Yes brother,
of course you were.’  Brutus smirked.

Cain glanced
thoughtfully up at the sky, ‘I have to say that it does look like it’s going to
snow soon.’

Everyone
laughed when Xerxes immediately looked hopefully up at the clear sky, now
scattered with the first faint stars of evening.  Xerxes scowled heavily
and pulled his hood closer around his face, muttering something unintelligible
about idiots.

A short while
later they had halted outside a huge set of wooden gates.  Fabian
dismounted and banged his fist against them three times.  He paused then
repeated the action.  A silence fell.  Mistral looked out from
beneath the heavy cowl of her cloak, watching Fabian’s breath rise up around
him in a cloud of mist.  It was apparent there was some sort of code to
the knock and she wondered why.  The village was so remote they surely
didn’t suffer from unwanted callers.  She listened to the sound of quiet
footsteps walking quickly towards them from the other side and heard a high,
musical voice speak; unmistakably elven.

‘
When a dragon flies, he seeks it with his eyes.  When a dragon roars,
he holds it in his claws. When he slumbers deep, he dreams of it in his sleep.
 But there beneath his head, it forms his stony bed. What Is It?’

‘Gold.’ 

Fabian’s softly spoken answer was met by the sound of a heavy bar being
lifted and the heavy gates swinging open to permit them entrance into the
village.  

While Fabian greeted the heavily cloaked elf Brutus took the lead and rode
into the compound, swiftly followed by Xerxes, keeping his head buried deep
within the hood of his cloak.  Mistral hung back to let the rest of her
brothers go on ahead.  Prospero growled when the two Mages rode past and
Mistral made no effort to hush him.  She waited until they had passed her
before she dismounted and led Cirrus over to stand next to Fabian. 
Prospero was so close to her that she could feel his warm breath through her trousers.
 

‘Castor, it’s good to see you again.’

‘Ah, Fabian, my old friend.  I salute your unrelenting enthusiasm for
this Contract.’  Castor shook Fabian’s hand vigorously. ‘This must be the
third time you have taken it.’

‘I didn’t realise you were counting.’

‘Only the amount of times you safely return my friend.’  Castor
laughed and glanced up at the sky.  ‘The skies favour you.  The snows
do not look set to fall for a least the next week.’

‘This is well.  Our hunt should easily be completed within that time.’ 
Fabian turned to take Cirrus’ reins from Mistral and began to lead both horses
through the gates. 

Castor threw Mistral a surprised glance, ‘I heard a rumor –’

‘I’m sure you did.’  Fabian smiled.  ‘Forgive my manners; this is
Mistral – my wife.’

Castor drew back his hood to give Mistral a frankly assessing look before
dipping his head in a courteous greeting, ‘It is my pleasure to meet the La–’

‘Er, just Mistral ... please,’ she interrupted quickly.

Castor laughed and strode alongside them into the small village, his soft
hide boots making barely any sound in the snow, ‘The guest quarters have been
prepared and a retrieval party has been organised to meet you in the lower
ranges in two days’ time.’

Fabian nodded and halted.  They had reached what were obviously the
stables; a long low roofed building built of tarred black timbers.  ‘Thank
you Castor, you have been as helpful and efficient as ever.’

Castor accepted the compliment with a smile, ‘I will see you in the tavern
once you’ve settled your horses.’

Mistral watched the tall elf stride away through the snow before turning to
Fabian with a frown, ‘Why does everyone insist on trying to call me by that
ridiculous name?’  She whispered angrily.  ‘And how come I seemed to
be the only one who didn’t know about it?’

‘Does it matter?’ Fabian ducked inside the stables.

Mistral followed him into the gloom, inhaling the warm musky smell of
horses and dry straw, ‘I suppose not,’ she muttered, trailing into a stall
behind Cirrus and unrolling a heavy blanket from the back of her saddle to
spread over him.  ‘But no-one calls you Lord De Winter do they?’

Fabian gave her a look from the next stall that instantly made her realise
just why nobody would ever dare.  Vowing to practice that look, she
finished buckling the blanket securely around Cirrus and looked along the row
of stalls.  Most of the occupants were stocky mountain ponies with shaggy
winter coats but at the end of the row she spotted Cain’s light grey mare and
the twins’ geldings.  Brutus and Xerxes’ two horses must be further down,
but she couldn’t see that far through the fading light.  Of the horses’
owners there was no sign.

‘Where are they?’  She asked with a frown.

‘Where do you think?’  Fabian replied, leaving Spirit’s stall and
stepping up to encircle her in his arms.

‘Ah, but of course.’  Mistral smiled and leaned back against him,
reveling in the warmth of his embrace. 

‘The tavern,’ they sighed in unison.

Mistral followed Fabian back out of the stables.  She drew in a deep
breath of the crisp winter air and shivered.  The moon had risen, casting
a cold silvery glow across the snow covered houses.  Mistral felt Fabian’s
arm wrap around her and sank gratefully into his warmth as he led along the
narrow main street.   The small houses were built in the same harsh
grey stone used in the Council city, but here the effect was softened by the
use of dark timbers for the upper stories.  A thin carpet of snow crunched
beneath their feet.  Mistral shivered again and pulled the hood up on her
cloak.  It was bitterly cold; even the glittering prospect of the dragon
hunt couldn’t quite mask the unpleasant prospect of camping in winter. 
She looked out from under her hood at the silent houses.  A few lights
glowed from within the lower rooms, but no-one was out in the street.  The
village was almost eerily deserted, which made Mistral wonder again why they
had such rigid security at the gates.  She tilted her head to look at
Fabian.  His hood was thrown back; moonlight shone against his pale skin
and turned his dark eyes to gleaming jet.  She gazed at him for a moment
before remembering what she’d been about to ask.

‘Fabian?’

‘Yes?’  He turned to gaze silently at her. 

Mistral stared back, finally forcing her mind to focus on something other
than the way the stars reflected in the liquid black depths of his eyes, ‘Um,
oh yes.  Why did you have a coded knock and a password to enter?  I
mean, what could possibly trouble this village?  We’re literally in the
middle of nowhere and look at the fence they’ve got!’

Fabian looked over at the high palisade fence, the tops of each timber were
chiseled into a wickedly sharp points, ‘The fence is to keep out mountain
trolls.  It’s almost impossible to regulate their numbers up here. 
The Northern Range is the largest and most inhospitable stretch of mountains on
the Isle.’

Mistral grimaced, ‘How are they going to feel about Grendel being here ?’

‘Grendel is Ri.  There will be no problem.’ 

Mistral nodded in relief.  Grendel’s ability to withstand extreme
temperatures coupled with his formidable strength and endurance made him a
valuable asset to have on the dragon hunt.  She looked curiously at Fabian
again.  ‘But why the password at the gate?  I’m not sure a troll
would even bother to knock, never mind answer a riddle!’

Fabian smiled a little, ‘No, trolls are not known for their skill at
riddling.  The password is changed every month by the Council to ensure
that only either tribe members or those on official Council business are able
to enter the compound.’

Mistral looked around at the simple mountain settlement.  The small,
functional houses and the few businesses that ensured the tribe were
self-sufficient during the long winter months, but it could hardly be called
affluent.  She couldn’t imagine what treasures the elves possessed that
would warrant such tight security.  ‘They don’t look particularly
well-off. ’

‘No,’ he agreed lightly.  ‘They are not a rich or greedy tribe,
however, they do possess the means and opportunity to be both, if they so
wished.’

Mistral looked at him, intrigued, ‘What?’

He smiled back at her, the moonlight bleaching the paleness of his skin to
a ghostly white, ‘This tribe owns the rights to collect dragon eggs each
spring.  The rights alone are worth a fortune, never mind the actual
eggs.’

Mistral’s eyes widened.  Cain had spoken to her at length about dragon
eggs and the powerful potions they could be used to make; not just the
Enslavement Potions that Fabian had described, but others that were more
dangerous and complicated to brew, but also infinitely more valuable. 
‘What happens to the eggs?’  She asked in a hushed whisper.

‘The Council take an annual quota for their regulated production of certain
potions and the rest are destroyed.’

‘Really?’  Mistral asked dubiously.

Fabian nodded, ‘Elves have no interest in potion brewing and little in
money.  I know the elf who had the misfortune to cross Malachi was cursed
with a love of money, but he was not a typical example of his race.’

Mistral’s expression grew hesitant, ‘Do you think Cain knows about
this?’  She asked and immediately felt as though she had betrayed her
brother by even thinking ill of him.

Fabian raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, ‘In view of the fact that Xerxes and
Brutus were raised here I would have to say that he does, but, as he rightly
pointed out on the journey, it is the wrong time of year for eggs anyway.’

‘Good,’ she sighed and then added quickly.  ‘It’s not that I mistrust
Cain or anything, I’d trust him with my life!  Have done in fact … but he
can be a bit of an opportunist.’

Fabian stopped and turned to face her, gazing sincerely into her eyes,
‘Mistral, no-one could ever question the loyalty you show to your brothers,
least of all me.  I respect the bond you all share.  You have no need
to feel guilty simply for knowing their characters.  You are aware of
their individual strengths and also their weaknesses; that is all.’

Mistral nodded, feeling the squirming sensation of guilt in her stomach
ease.  She slipped back beneath his arm and they continued to walk through
the snow in silence until Fabian spoke again, his quiet voice pulling her from
thoughts of dragons and more strangely, a sudden desire for roasted
boar.  

‘This is the tavern.’

Mistral looked around and was surprised to see that they were stood outside
the tavern.  A wooden sign hanging over the door announced the name in
faded letters of red and gold: The Mountain Refuge.  Light poured out onto
the snow from the two deep-set windows on either side of the door.  Mistral
peered through one of them hopefully.  ‘Do you think they’ll have some
food on?’  

Fabian smiled and pulled her away from the window and into his arms, the
warmth of his lips against hers temporarily robbing her of the ability to
think; even about food.  ‘I’m glad you’re hungry.  You must be
feeling better,’ he tilted his head to regard her closely.  ‘You look
better; much less tired.’