The Seer (50 page)

Abruptly
taking Mistral by the hand, Fabian pulled her to her feet and strode swiftly
from the room, towing her along behind him.  Forced to practically run in
order to keep up with his angry strides, Mistral felt her stomach contract
queasily.  ‘Er, Fabian,’ she clenched her teeth together to try and halt
the wave of nausea.

Fabian did
break stride or turn around to look at her, ‘Yes?’ 

‘Can we slow
down?  I feel a bit –’

He immediately
stopped and spun around to face her, his expression contrite, ‘Oh, Mistral,
forgive me!  Do you feel ill?’

‘Running on a
full stomach … not so good.’

Fabian closed
his eyes and sighed, opening them again to gaze at her sorrowfully, ‘I allowed
my temper to get the better of me.  Please allow me to make amends.’

Lifting her
carefully into his arms, he carried her along the corridor to their room at a
much slower pace.  Mistral sighed and laid her head onto his shoulder,
murmuring the question she wanted to hear the answer to in words, not
thoughts.  ‘Please tell me what all that was about.  I don’t
understand why Gleacher was getting so riled.’

Fabian didn’t
reply straight away.  Frowning, Mistral tilted her head slightly to look
up at him but he refused to meet her gaze and continued to stare fixedly
ahead.  ‘Fabian?’ 

Fabian’s reply
was terse, the words clipped, as though he hated speaking them, ‘Gleacher once
had a wife.  She died in childbirth, along with their son.’

‘Oh.’ 
Mistral laid her head back against Fabian’s shoulder while she absorbed the
tragic piece of Gleacher’s past.  ‘So was angry with you because –’

‘He feels that
I am risking your life with my plan.’  Fabian finished quietly.  They
had reached their cabin; Fabian opened the door with her still in his arms and
carried her over to the bed.  Placing her gently down in the middle he
turned to close the door, pausing there with his back towards her. 
‘Gleacher is right.  I am so blinded by my own selfishness that I would
risk you.  Please ... forgive me Mistral.’  He turned to her, the
expression on his face so tortured that Mistral immediately slid from the bed
and ran over to him.

‘No!  No,
you’re not selfish!  I am!  Coming to France was my choice, and I’m
here because I have to be … not just to be with you, but for our son.  I
want him to have a future Fabian!  He – he will be a half-breed –’

Fabian’s arms
tightened around her, ‘I know.’

And suddenly
Mistral realised why Fabian was so obsessed by the Rochfortes.  Not out of
a desire for revenge, but because of their son; their half-breed son.  He
would never be allowed to remain on the Isle under a Rochforte rule but would
be forced into exile in order to survive, or worse, killed before he even had
the chance to flee.  She felt a surge of fierce protectiveness towards the
unborn life within her, startling in its depth and savagery, filling her with unequivocal
certainty that there was nothing she would not do to protect him.  Her
eyes darkened with fury at the faceless tribe of Rochforte and the threat they
posed to her child.

‘I swear I
will do anything to assure our son’s future Fabian!  I will slit the
throat of each Rochforte in turn and the pluck the thoughts from their fading
minds if I have to!’

The tension in
Fabian’s face abruptly softened.  He looked down at her angry expression
and lifted a finger to gently stroke her cheek.  ‘My tigress.’

Mistral gazed
up at him, her vitriolic mood melting beneath the warmth of his dusky gaze, ‘I
mean it Fabian.  I’m prepared to do whatever we need to for this to
work.  Reading a couple of Rochfortes is nothing,’ she paused, adding in a
more hopeful tone, ‘can’t we kill a few while we’re at it, just to even things
out a bit?’ 

He shook his
head slowly, a smile easing the corners of his mouth, ‘You cannot read corpses
Mistral, so let’s please try to refrain from killing any Rochfortes unless we
really have to.’

Mistral
sighed, ‘Shame.’ 

Fabian
laughed; his voice suddenly light, almost playful, ‘Well, Lady De Winter, this
is our last evening on board.  Sadly there are no Rochfortes available for
you to kill, so how would you care to spend the time?  Maybe a gentle
stroll along the deck?  Or perhaps a game of cards?’

Mistral
grinned, ‘Sometimes, you ask the most stupid questions.’

The next
morning dawned clear and bright with a strong breeze that filled the sails and
ruffled Mistral’s hair while she and Fabian stood on the deck, watching the
dark streak of land growing closer.  She leaned against the rails and
closed her eyes, savouring the sharp air, listening to the waves crash against
the ship’s hull.  Opening her eyes with a sigh, she gazed at the land they
were heading towards and felt a tingle of anticipation.

‘Show me where
we’re going.’  Mistral asked, narrowing her eyes against the sea breeze to
make out the misty outlines of mountains on the horizon.

‘North.’
 Fabian pointed in the direction they would be taking.  ‘The ride
will take most of the day.  I have a map to follow but I’m reasonably
familiar with the region.  The Mage is expecting two Ri warriors but does
not know it will be us.  I would prefer it if he were not to know that you
are a Seer, if you have no objections.’

‘None. 
But I’d like to practise on him though.  I need to find out whether I’ll
be able to follow thoughts in French.  It’ll help me prepare for the
Rochfortes.’ 

‘I
agree.  I will engage him in conversation this evening and provide you with
the opportunity to read him.  You can try to read him remotely as well and
repeat his thoughts for me to translate.  It will be valuable practise for
the real task.’

They spent the
next hour discussing various plans for rounding up the unicorn herd and driving
them back to the ship.  Once back on the Isle they were to be herded to
the Valley for the Equus to check and brand before being released into The Dawn
Forests in the north of the Isle.

‘Clovis is
really excited about having a herd of unicorns on the Isle.  He told me
it’s been a life-long ambition of his to handle one.’ 

‘Excited? 
I don’t think I have ever witnessed Clovis displaying any emotion other than
ill-temper.’  Fabian remarked drily.

‘He can be a
bit grumpy, but his hearts in the right place.’  Mistral smiled
affectionately.  The Ri’s Equus had been more of a father figure to her
than her adoptive father – or Imperato would ever be. 

Fabian gave
her a curious look, ‘We could make him a godfather too if you wish.’

Mistral
laughed and shook her head, ‘I think we’ve already burdened our son with
enough, don’t you?’

‘Maybe for the
next one then.’

Mistral had
nothing to say in reply to that and gazed out at the sea instead.

Fabian and
Mistral remained on deck while the crew docked the ship with practised
efficiency.  The small fishing harbour was busy; the stone quayside
doubled as a market place and the shouts of the vendors vied with the coarse
laughter of the fishwives.  They sat close to the edge of the quay on low
stools, surrounded by piles of strong-smelling fishing nets and a flock of
hopeful seagulls.  Mistral was fascinated by the swiftness with which
their gnarled hands moved, deftly separating the tangled nets and occasionally
tossing the odd lifeless catch back into the sea to be dived upon by one of the
gulls.  She was so transfixed by watching the old women that she jumped
when Gleacher appeared silently beside them.

‘Your horses
are ready to be unloaded.  We will await your return and keep the ship
ready to sail.’

‘Thank you.’

Fabian’s
softly spoken response was punctuated by an echoing thud as the ramp was
lowered onto the quayside.  Mistral leaned over the rail and looked down
at the quay to see that their arrival had attracted only a little
attention.  Apart from a small group of excited boys, no-one appeared
interested in a large black-flagged ship that was blatantly not a fishing
vessel.  The lack of interest was odd, almost suspicious.  She turned
to say as much to Fabian but his next words to Gleacher immediately made her forget
her concern.

‘With your
permission I would like Mistral to read you to keep us informed of any
unexpected events that may arise.’

‘Of course.’

Mistral felt a
flash of annoyance.  Malachi … Leo … Bellicose, and now Gleacher? 
How much fun could one girl have? 

Despite her
chagrin at Fabian expecting her to read Gleacher without even asking her first,
Mistral couldn’t deny the burst of excitement she felt when she led Cirrus from
the dark confines of the hold into the bright sunlight of a foreign country. 
The sights and sounds that assailed her senses were both bewildering and
intoxicating.  Voices shouted in a language she didn’t understand, market
stalls laden with unfamiliar produce drew her curious stare.  She mounted
Cirrus and followed Fabian across the bustling quay, staring around with wide
eyes at all the strange sights.  A chorus of harsh cries drew her
attention back to the group of fishwives; the flock of gulls scavenging around
them had flown up into air and were wheeling about in an agitated
fashion.  Shielding her eyes against the bright glare of the sun, Mistral
watched the flock and was intrigued to see that they were mobbing a smaller
bird.  It dropped into a steep dive to avoid their attack and Mistral was
surprised to recognise the distinctive outline of a falcon.  Puzzled by
the presence of a hunting bird above a fishing harbour, she watched it speed
away northwards until it was just a speck in the blue sky.

‘Bonjour
monsieur, je suis Pierre.’

Mistral turned
away from watching the falcon to look at the old man who had addressed
Fabian.  His leathery skin and watery blue eyes spoke of a life spent
outside and the hand he offered was calloused by hard work.  Mistral
glanced at the sturdy mountain pony he was sat astride and immediately guessed
that this was the elderly Mage who had sold his herd of unicorns to Mage
Grapple.  But what was he doing here?  They hadn’t expected to be met
...

Fabian
immediately began speaking to the Mage in French and Mistral was left sitting
mutely on Cirrus while they conversed in a language she had no knowledge
of.  Quickly growing bored, she gazed around at the market stalls near to
her, immediately pressing a hand to her mouth when she breathed in the sweet
smell from the nearest one bearing the sign “Patisserie”.

‘Sorry!’ 
she gasped.  Kicking Cirrus into a trot she forced her way through the
crowds to be violently sick into the sea at the edge of the quay.  Honey
... She silently cursed the substance that had been her obsession only a few
weeks ago.  How could she have even stood to be in the same room as the
stuff, never mind spooned it straight from the jar into her mouth?  The
very thought brought on another round of retching and it was only when she’d
finished that she realised Fabian was waiting quietly beside her, holding a
skin of water.

‘Mistral? 
Are you well enough to travel?’

‘Oh yes.’
 Mistral replied in a faint voice while she rinsed out her mouth with
water.

Fabian
regarded her dubiously, ‘Pierre has offered for us to travel under Expediency
to his farm.  I think we should accept.’

‘If you think
so.’

Mistral’s
unusually meek response seemed to confirm Fabian’s suspicions about her
health.  He reached out to take hold of Cirrus’ bridle, leading him back
across the quay to where Pierre was waiting.  

‘
Nous
acceptons votre offre
, merci.’

The ride under
the power of Expediency did little to dispel Mistral’s nausea.  She closed
her eyes and hung on to Cirrus’ mane while the landscape sped past her in a
green blur.  Pierre was obviously not as powerful a sorcerer as Mage
Grapple and the journey still took them until the middle of the
afternoon.  It was with unconcealed relief that Mistral slid from Cirrus
and stood on solid, unmoving ground once again.

‘I will stable
the horses, you rest.’

Mistral nodded
weakly and watched Fabian lead Cirrus and Spirit away, leaving her alone with
the old Mage.  He grinned toothlessly and gestured for her to follow
him.  The stone farmhouse he led her into was cool and dark with stone-flagged
floors and low beamed ceilings.  Following him into a large kitchen
Mistral sank gratefully into one of the chairs and accepted a cup of
water.  Pierre began speaking to her in French, laughing and pointing at
her stomach.  She smiled faintly and nodded, guessing that Fabian had told
him the cause of her sickness.  She had no energy to try and converse with
him and was relieved when Fabian appeared in the low doorway and strode over to
stand protectively behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders.

‘How do you
feel?’

‘Tired –’

‘I will ask
where we are staying and let you have a rest.’

While Fabian
and Pierre held a conversation in French Mistral gazed disinterestedly of a
grimy window at the view; noting dimly that Fabian had been right, the flush of
spring colouring on the mountainside was very pretty.

‘Mais oui,
merci.’  Fabian finished his conversation with Pierre then spoke quietly
to her.  ‘Come with me, I will take you to our room.’

He lead her
from the kitchen and out into a long passageway, passing several wooden doors
until he halted outside one with a large iron key protruding from the lock.

‘This is our
room.’

Fabian opened
it and slipped the key into his pocket then stepped back to allow Mistral to
enter first.  She walked into the room, not entirely sure what to expect
having met their host, but to her surprise she was instantly enchanted. 
White-washed stone walls rose to meet a sloping beamed ceiling.  Two tiny
deep-set windows afforded them a stunning view of rugged pastures and the
distant snow-capped peaks of the mountains.  A large pine bed set against
one of the walls and a small wooden chair beside it were the only pieces of
furniture in the simple room, but it was all they needed.  Mistral glanced
at a second door set in the far wall.

‘Is that –?’

‘A
bathroom?  Yes.’  Fabian confirmed with a smile. 

‘Oh good.’
 Mistral sighed and immediately walked towards it. 

Leaving the
bathroom sometime later feeling considerably revived, Mistral smiled to see
Fabian stretched out asleep on the bed, fully clothed with his boots
still.  ‘Sorry, was I that long?’  she asked, climbing onto the bed
and lying beside him.

‘It wasn’t
your longest bath ever,’ he murmured sleepily.  ‘But I was considering
sending in a search party.’

She laughed
and propped herself up on one elbow to look at him, ‘What time is
dinner?’  I’m starving.’

‘When aren’t
you?’ He laughed softly and rolled over to kiss her.

They walked
into the kitchen a short while later to be greeted by the sight of Pierre on
his hands and knees rummaging through one of the cupboards, muttering angrily
to himself.  Mistral couldn’t understand his words, but it was obvious
that he was searching for something.  She raised an eyebrow questioningly
at Fabian but he merely shrugged and pulled out a chair for her to sit
on.  The sound of the chair legs scraping against the stone floor made
Pierre jump, then curse loudly when he banged his head.  Mistral hid a
smile; she didn’t need to understand the language to know what that word
meant. 

Fabian
apologised while Pierre reversed out of the cupboard and stood up, rubbing his
head.  He laughed but to Mistral the sound was almost forced, quite unlike
his earlier unreserved guffaws.  When Pierre knelt down again to retrieve
three earthenware bowls from the cupboard Mistral gave Fabian a meaningful
look, silently reminding him about providing her with an opportunity to read
their host.  Fabian gave a ghost of a nod in reply and immediately began
to converse with Pierre while he placed the bowls on the table then brought a
large dish of stew over from the stove.  Placing the dish down onto the
table, he lifted the lid and indicated for them to help themselves giving
Mistral the same toothless grin of earlier; but this time it didn’t quite seem
to reach his eyes. 

‘Et maintenant
nous manger!’

The stew was
hot and plentiful, filled with vegetables and chunks of meat that Mistral
couldn’t quite identify but was so hungry that she ate it anyway, taking the
opportunity to watch Pierre while he talked with Fabian.  Maybe she was
imagining it, but she was sure their host seemed more on edge than
before.  She caught him glancing quickly out of the window more than once,
and he continually turned the stem of his goblet in a distracted manner whenever
he spoke.  Mistral finished her meal and listened impatiently to their
incomprehensible conversation, wishing Fabian would hurry up and create some
sort of diversion so that she could attempt to read Pierre.  There was
something about him that was starting to make her feel uneasy.

Her chance
eventually came when Pierre rose from the table and walked a little unsteadily
to retrieve a third bottle of home-made wine from the dresser.  He
refilled their goblets and Fabian turned to raise his in Mistral’s direction,
as though toasting her.  She met his gaze over the brim of his
goblet.  Seeing the slight lift of one eyebrow she knew that he was about
to provide the opportunity she’d been waiting for.  Turning his back to
her, Fabian angled his body so that she was concealed and leaned across the
table to ask Pierre a question in a serious voice.  Pierre pursed his lips
thoughtfully then placed his own goblet down and bent his head closer to
Fabian’s to reply.  Seizing the moment, Mistral stared intently at the air
above Pierre’s dirty grey hair and willed her mind to empty, leaving it free to
focus on calling up the vision of his aura.