The Seer (62 page)

Mistral
blinked.  School?  She had been taught to read and write in the one
of the homes of the Nevelte villagers and hated every second.  She would
rather their son didn’t have to suffer school at all, but she supposed he would
require an education of some sort.  But the Council School?  She
remembered Phantom’s dream about his school days and how he and his brother had
been bullied for being half-breeds, which is exactly what her son would
be.  There was only one place she could think of that would accept their
son simply for who he was, and not what blood-line he carried.

‘Thanks, but
there’s a good school in the Valley,’ she said quietly and felt the reassuring
pressure of Fabian’s hand on hers.

Mage Grapple
nodded in acceptance of her polite refusal, ‘Should you reconsider, there will
always be a place available to any child bearing the name of De Winter.’

Fabian made no
reply and immediately led Mistral from the room.

‘Any child?’ 
Mistral burst as soon as the Meeting Room door had closed behind them. 
‘Just how many of your children am I meant to be having?’

‘Hundreds.’
 Fabian turned to pull her into his arms, kissing her until the twins’
repeated coughs grew too loud to ignore.

Over the next
two weeks two sets of posters began to appear all over the Valley, one set
promoting the forthcoming tournament and the other depicting the smiling
features of Mycroft Casterton above a slogan proudly declaring him to be “
The
Thinking Warrior’s Divinus
”.

‘He’ll be
waiting a long time to meet one of them!’  Phantom muttered as they passed
another poster pasted to the door of The Cloak and Dagger.

Grendel was
less diplomatic and dragged a huge hand across the poster as he passed, ripping
it from the door and crumpling it between his fingers.

‘Not a fan
then brother?’  Phantom asked lightly.

Grendel
scowled heavily and muttered something foul under his breath about Mycroft then
promptly stomped off towards the bar.

‘What was that
all about?’  Phantasm asked, watching the half-troll shoving his way to
the bar.

Mistral
sighed, ‘Mycroft is of the belief that trolls have subnormal intelligence and
that their existence on the Isle serves no purpose.  He took the time to
explain his theory to Grendel at great length.  Well, let’s just say that
it didn’t go down well –’

‘I’m not
surprised!  Grendel can’t help his bloodline any more than the rest of us
can!’  Phantasm exclaimed, ‘Honestly, for a “Thinking Divinus” he was a
bit tactless!’

‘And stupid,
Grendel could squash him like a fly!’  Mistral added.

They all
looked over to where Grendel was stood at the bar, easily head and shoulders
above the other warriors around him, and twice as broad. 

‘Oh, just look
over there!’  Phantom hissed in Mistral’s ear.  ‘Is that really
Master Nox stood at the bar?’ 

Mistral
followed Phantom’s gaze to see Malachi standing further along the busy bar with
a small knot of warriors gathered around him.

‘Looks like
it,’ she said disinterestedly and quickly walked over to join Xerxes and Brutus
at their usual table before Phantom could make the request she knew was
coming.  Leaving his twin to buy their drinks Phantom immediately followed
her.

‘You’ve been
reading him haven’t you Mistral?’ He began in an eager voice the moment they
had sat down.

‘A bit.’
 Mistral replied, looking down and fussing Prospero to avoid Phantom’s
inquisitive look.

‘What’s
this?’  Xerxes asked, looking up interestedly.

Phantom leaned
across the table to whisper secretively, ‘Master Nox has put in a royal
appearance to try and drum up support for his campaign; look!  He’s
holding court over by the bar –’

Xerxes looked
over and gave a low laugh, ‘Does he really think that appearing for a drink in
The Cloak will make the warriors warm to him?  He’s got the personality of
a corpse!’ 

‘Maybe so, but
Mage Grapple being in the Valley isn’t exactly doing Leo’s popularity any
favours brother.’  Brutus whispered.  ‘And you can bet your last
bronze coin that Malachi’s making the most of it.’

‘Let’s find
out!’  Phantom turned to look expectantly at Mistral. 

Mistral closed
her eyes and sighed.  She’d been looking forward to enjoying her ration of
ale, administered under the beady eyes of the twins, and not reading anything
more than the expression on Xerxes’ face when she beat him at cards.  ‘Oh,
just give me a moment brother,’ she groaned when Phantom continued to stare at
her.

‘Why?’

‘Your godson
needs some beer.’

Phantom
sniffed disapprovingly but leaned back and waited with something vaguely resembling
patience while she took a drink from the half-tankard Phantasm placed on the
table in front of her.

‘Take your
time Mistral,’ he murmured and placed his own tankard of ale on the table then
sat down on her other side and proceeded to stare at her with equal intensity.

Feeling the
pressure of the twins’ double gaze, Mistral gave a resigned sigh and looked
over at the half-vampire, focussing on the air above his jet-black hair until
the shimmering vision of his aura exploded into view, quickly followed by the
whisper of his thoughts in her ear.

The Council
are fools!  They do not appreciate the power that the Arcanes hold, or the
strength of the Ri!  We are the centre of that power.  Mage Grapple
is using the Valley as a glorified meeting place at the invite of Master
Sphinx.  He is defiling our sanctuary!  

Mistral had
heard enough.  Breaking the connection with his mind she ignored Phantom’s
impatient look and reached for her drink again, taking a long swallow before
putting him out of his misery.  ‘Nothing new brother.  Malachi is
preaching revolution to the converted, who, unfortunately, are lapping it up –’

‘Lapping what
up Mistral?  And how is my godson?’

Mistral
blinked and looked up to meet the scarred face of Samson.  Instantly
grinning with pleasure she kicked out a stool for him to sit on.  ‘Your
godson is fine, but his mother’s bored stupid!’

‘Ah, but
you’re looking well,’ he flashed a gold-toothed grin and nodded towards her
gently swelling figure.

Mistral heaved
a sigh and leaned back against the wall, resting a hand lightly over her
growing bump, ‘Here for the tournament then?’  She asked resignedly,
already knowing the answer.

‘Of
course!  The chance to outride your husband and earn some gold?  I
wouldn’t miss it for the world!’

‘Not if you’re
still on that donkey you keep trying to pass off as a horse!’  Mistral
scoffed.

‘You’ll be
eating your words tomorrow Mistral, that donkey you refer to has been
upgraded.’

‘You’ve got a
new horse?’  Mistral was instantly interested.  ‘What’ve you bought?’

‘You’ll just
have to wait and see.’  Samson gave her another sparkling grin and
wouldn’t be drawn any further on the subject.

Mistral
studied the disfigured face of Fabian’s most trusted friend.  She’d seen
him in Fabian’s dreams so many times that she knew him far better than their
relatively short acquaintance warranted.  She knew how he’d gained almost
each of his scars, and of his powerful aversion to fish of any kind, and the
name of the girl who he had nearly wed in a fit of passion many years ago; all
of which made her feel a great rush of affection towards the scruffy, scarred
warrior sat opposite her.  ‘Been listening to Malachi?’  She asked
casually.  Samson was a time-served warrior, respected and trusted. 
If he was seen listening to Malachi it would be a huge stamp of approval on the
devious Magnate member’s ideas.

Samson frowned
and shook his head vehemently, ‘No chance.  My vote lies with Leo. 
I’ve fought beside him on more mercenary Contracts than I care to
remember.  Apart from Fabian ... and maybe Gleacher, there’s no-one I
would trust more.’

‘Let’s hope
that enough of the warriors feel the same as you brother.’

Mistral smiled
when Fabian appeared by their table. 

Samson rose
from his seat to greet him, ‘Ah, my friend it is good to see you again! 
Tell me everything about this wretched campaign, and more to the point, why do
I keep seeing Mycroft’s face on posters everywhere?  There’s even one in
the Refectory, as if Bernadette’s cooking wasn’t enough to put you off food for
life!’

Fabian smiled
and sat down next to Mistral.  She leaned in beneath the arm he placed
around her and listened contentedly to their conversation.  ‘Mycroft is of
the firm belief that he will be the next Divinus.  He even cornered
Eximius after his last meeting and asked him how often he would be expected to
attend the Council for meetings.  I think Mycroft is a little unhappy
about the idea of the length of the journey.’

Samson
laughed, ‘I bet he is!  The exercise might actually kill him.’

‘If Malachi’s
backers don’t first.’  Fabian cast a dark look over to where Malachi was
leaning conspiratorially along the bar to whisper to his audience.

‘Backers?’ 
Samson asked, taking a long drink from his tankard.  ‘Malachi is
rich!  Why does he need more money?’

‘Different
kind of backers.  Malachi has made rash promises to his father’s tribe in
return for helping him gain the position of Divinus.’

‘He’s made a
pact with Bellicose La Monte?’  Samson paused with his tankard half-way
back down to the table.  ‘He wouldn’t be that stupid!’

‘Ambitious
rather than stupid.’  Fabian corrected in quiet voice.  ‘If Malachi
fails in his attempt to become the next Divinus, then Bellicose is going to be
extremely disappointed.’

Samson
scowled, ‘I still have no idea why Eximius gave that tribe of blood suckers
sanctuary on the Isle in the first place!’

Fabian gave a
half shrug, ‘You know Eximius.  He believes in the Isle existing to offer
a home to all Arcane and sorcering races, even those with decidedly less
appealing feeding habits.’

Mistral gave
shudder and thought of the poor girl from the bakery, bled dry and her body
dumped in the meadows to be mauled by wolves.  There was a brief lull in
their conversation while both Fabian and Samson watched Malachi talking to the
warriors around him, his sallow features set in disdainful sneer.

‘Hardly the
expression of someone saying nice things is it?’  Phantasm said
mildly. 

‘When does he
ever say anything pleasant?’  Phantom retorted.

‘Never, which
has formed the whole basis of his campaign.’  Fabian said quietly. 
‘He is gaining favour by spreading mistrust about the Council while Mycroft is
doing a poster campaign and boring anyone stupid enough to be caught in the
same room as him with his grand plans for turning the Valley into some sort of
institution dedicated to learning.’

‘What’s
that?’  Samson asked with a frown.

Phantasm
heaved a weary sigh, ‘My brother and I had to listen to his plans throughout
our second year’s apprenticeship.  He believes that warriors should become
more learned in the arts and undergo less physical training.  He plans to
have a planetarium built, extend the library, and open a debating society.’

‘Can’t see
many farmers paying for a Contract to debate their knucker problem to death can
you?’  Samson laughed. 

‘No, or many
warriors needing to know what the movements of the planets mean.  For most
of them if the stars are out it simply means they should be in the tavern.’

Mistral smiled
to herself and thought of the centaur tribe, spending nights on end lost in
contemplation of the skies.  With a jolt she realised that Imperato would
be presiding over the tournament tomorrow.  She hadn’t seen him since
she’d abruptly left in the middle of the night without so much as a thank
you. 

‘So, apart
from organising this tournament and stumping up a load of gold for the prize
Contract, what else has Leo been doing to win the warriors over?’  Samson
asked.

‘Nothing.’ 
Fabian replied.

‘Nothing? 
Not even smiling a bit more than usual?’ 

‘No.’  Fabian
shook his head lightly.  ‘And I can see the logic in his thinking. 
He believes the warriors should decide who they trust to be the next Divinus
based on the past actions of the three candidates, not on some trumped up
promises made on the run-up to an election.’

That’s one
way of looking at it.  Or you could say that he’s actually so arrogant he
believes that the warriors will vote for him without even trying …

Mistral kept
her expression neutral while she listened to Phantom’s wry musings.  He
caught her eye meaningfully, knowing she’d heard him.  Mistral gave a
disinterested shrug and looked down at Prospero, stretched out asleep beneath
their table.  During the last two weeks she had read Bellicose, Malachi
and Mycroft each evening and then had to listen to Fabian and the twins
analysing what she’d Seen for what felt like hours.  In addition, she’d
attended a further two meetings under Mage Grapple, who had now mercifully left
the Valley for a brief spell, but would be returning in the morning to preside
over the next round of fun-filled meetings.  All in all, Mistral was
getting pretty fed up with both meetings and campaigns and couldn’t wait for
the vote to be over so that she could spend some time in her own head for a
change.

Bored with the
talk, Xerxes started a card game and instantly shifted the conversation on to
distinctly less weighty matters, ‘Samson!  Care to lose some money or
maybe a few of those teeth?’  Xerxes raised an eyebrow challengingly while
he shuffled his pack of cards.  ‘I’ve not met many warriors who can
honestly say they put their money where their mouth is.’

Samson laughed
good-naturedly and finished his tankard of ale, ‘Not tonight Xerxes.  I’ve
been asked to dinner by the Lady De Winter.’