The Seer (63 page)

‘Have
you?’  Mistral gave him a startled look.

‘Perhaps I
should have mentioned it.’  Fabian murmured apologetically.  ‘But
since you were cooking for the twins too, I thought one more wouldn’t matter.’

‘I hope you
like roast boar.’  Phantom muttered in a low aside to Samson.  ‘It’s
all she eats these days.’

‘Actually I’ve
got a joint of beef roasting in the oven.’  Mistral responded
indignantly.  ‘But if that’s not good enough for you Phantom, then please
feel free to go eat in the Refectory.’

Phantom was on
his feet in a flash, hastily dragging his cloak on, ‘Roast beef?  Why
didn’t you say?’

They headed
out into the rain-soaked night, pulling up their hoods against the heavy
downpour and hurrying across the village square.

‘This
weather’s going to make tomorrow’s tournament a bit challenging.’ Samson said
then looked over at the smaller paddock where the unicorns were huddled
together looking wet and miserable.  ‘I must admit, I thought they’d be
bigger.’

Fabian
laughed, ‘Believe me, they make up in spirit for what they lack in
height.  Whoever ends up taking the Contract will earn that money.’

‘I intend to.’
 Samson responded confidently.

They ate,
elbow to elbow around the table in the kitchen of the small house Fabian had
rented.  Feeling pleasantly warm and sleepy after a sumptuous dinner of
roast beef and all the trimmings, Mistral leaned back against her chair and
listened happily to the talk and laughter flowing around her.  Samson
could tell a tale; mostly at another warrior’s expense, but he was also happy
to recount some of his own amusingly disastrous Contracts as well, and even
Fabian joined in to reminisce about some of their shared Contracts. 
Mistral watched her Mage with a lazy smile, marvelling at how completely at
ease he appeared at the moment.  She had become so used to seeing him
tense and preoccupied that the new relaxed Fabian was something of a revelation
to her; one she would miss terribly if,
when
, he left on the unicorn
Contract.

‘Ah, but thank
you for an excellent dinner.’  Samson raised his goblet of wine in a toast
to Mistral, dragging her out of her private reflections.  She gave him a
rueful smile and raised her own glass of water in return.  ‘No wine?’ He
frowned, noticing for the first time that Mistral wasn’t drinking. 
‘That’s not like you!’

‘Banned,’ she sighed
discontentedly.  ‘Thanks to your godson.’

‘Let me get
this straight.  Just because you’re having a baby, you’re banned from
drinking, hunting, taking any vaguely interesting Contracts
and
tomorrow’s tournament?’  Samson exclaimed.  ‘Am I glad not to be a
woman!’

‘Which is
probably a blessing, considering the face you’ve been blessed with.’
 Mistral responded tartly.

Samson laughed
and rose to his feet, ‘I agree wholeheartedly.  But now, I must bid you
all good night, Fabian –’ he grinned at his old friend.  ‘I look forward
to beating you in the tournament tomorrow and to Leo beating Malachi in the
tournament that will follow.’

It was only
when the door had closed behind him that Mistral realised that she’d forgotten
to ask about his new horse.

‘Are we really
going to compete tomorrow brother?’  Phantom asked, looking unhappily at
the rain drumming against the window panes.

‘Not if it’s
raining like this,’ replied Phantasm with a yawn.  ‘I hate getting wet.’

‘The paddock’s
like a ploughed field.’  Phantom continued with a note of
self-justification in his voice.  ‘It could be dangerous for the horses –’

‘Oh don’t be
such a pair of wimps!’  Mistral exclaimed.  ‘I’d give anything to be
competing tomorrow!’

‘And what is
the French for tomorrow Mistral?’  Phantasm enquired as he rose to his
feet and swung his cloak on.

Mistral swore
at him in French, then added “demain” on the end.

‘Mage De
Winter!’  Phantasm turned to Fabian with a shocked expression on his
face.  ‘I recognise that one from your outburst at the Council!  I do
hope you haven’t taught Mistral all of the words I heard you use!’

Fabian smiled,
‘I have not taught Mistral any of those words.  Unfortunately, Golden has
learned a few.’

‘You’ve been
reading Golden?’  Phantom gasped, leaning across the table to fix her with
a reproachful look. 

Mistral nodded
and yawned, ‘Most lunchtimes actually.’

‘Why didn’t
you say?’

‘Not a lot to
tell.’  Mistral shrugged.  ‘She gets her hair done every day, and the
hairdresser swears quite a bit, which is about the most interesting thing
that’s happened actually.’

‘Don’t suppose
you’d read her now would you?’  Phantom tried hopefully and gave her his
most charming smile.

‘No chance,
when the sun goes down reading Golden is off limits.  Put it like this,
they go to bed early in the mountains.’

Phantom’s
smile instantly faded, ‘Enough said.’

‘Talking of
early nights brother.’  Phantasm said, stifling another yawn.  ‘We
ought to get going.  If it’s not raining tomorrow I think we should
compete, otherwise the other warriors may think we’re only there to fix the
event.’

‘I hadn’t
thought of that.’  Phantom rose from his chair with a dismayed look on his
face and followed his brother to the door.  ‘I hope it’s raining –’

The next day
was overcast, although it was not actually raining the skies were heavy with
the promise of yet more torrential downpours.  Mistral was sat in bed with
Prospero laid across her feet, both of them sulkily watching Fabian lacing on
his boots.  ‘Can’t I just do the first event?  It’s not even hard!’

Fabian didn’t
even look up as he spoke, ‘No.’ 

‘Please?’ 

He sighed and
sat upright before turning to pull her onto his lap, ‘Absolutely not.’

‘I can’t
believe I’m reduced to watching, it’s going to be so frustrating!’ 

‘Actually,
I’ve arranged for you to be one of the judges.  I thought it would keep
you amused.’

‘Wow, thanks.’
 Mistral muttered ungratefully.  ‘So now I’m working on a Sunday,
today just gets better and better.’ 

Her bad mood
increased when they reached the stableyard.  Everywhere she looked there
were warriors preparing for the tournament.  Horses were being
fastidiously groomed and coaxed into having their manes and tails ornately
plaited before being saddled with tack that had been polished until the leather
gleamed; but Spirit surpassed them all.  Mistral had spent most of the
previous afternoon helping Fabian to bathe and groom the nervous mare until her
golden coat shone with an unrivalled lustre.  Her long mane was so silky
that Mistral couldn’t make it hold the tight plaits she was attempting. 
Giving up, she brushed them out and left it hanging loose.

‘I think it
suits her more that way anyway,’ she said, passing the bridle to Fabian. 

‘What’s
this?’  Fabian held the bridle up, examining the new noseband; a broad
strap of leather decorated with triangles of shining brass that exactly matched
Spirit’s burnished gold coat.

‘Oh, I bought
you a couple of presents for luck, well, I know you don’t believe in luck but I
just wanted Spirit to look good.’ 

Mistral held
out a new saddlecloth, a bright white square of quilted cotton that would
complement the white-blonde of Spirit’s mane and tail.  Fabian didn’t
respond, he was staring at her with the most curious expression on his face and
it took Mistral a moment to realise that he was at a loss for words.  She
wondered sadly when the last time was that he had been given a present.

‘You can thank
me by losing in the first event,’ she said briskly and threw the saddle cloth
over Spirit’s back.

‘If I lost
every tournament I ever entered I would still have won,’ he said softly and
slid his arms around her.

Fabian rode
out of the stableyard a short while later to join the other warriors gathering
in the village square.  Every single one was mounted on an immaculately
turned-out horse, but still Spirit stood out like a star in the night
sky.  Mistral watched him riding away with a dreamy expression on her
face, the memory of his embrace still lingering in her mind.

‘Going to wish
us luck then?’

‘I’ll do more
than that.’  Mistral said, dragging herself out of her Fabian-based
reverie.  ‘I’ll fix your times for you if the money’s right.’

‘You’re
judging?’  Xerxes and Brutus instantly gathered around her, dragging their
unusually well-groomed horses behind them.

‘Uh-huh.’
 Mistral grinned slyly.  ‘What’s it worth?’

‘Fifty.’ 
Xerxes said promptly, completely unabashed at what he was suggesting.

‘Gold or
silver?’

‘Silver! 
I’m not that rich!’

‘Huh! 
You must be quite well off by now Xerxes; you live in Cain’s flat rent free,
you don’t have a wife and child to support … well, not that you know of anyway
–’

‘Marietta is
costing me a fortune in dresses!’  Xerxes complained bitterly.  ‘Only
the best will do apparently, and boy, are they expensive!’

‘Shame they
always end up covered in straw.’  Brutus muttered and Mistral
laughed. 

‘Seriously,
can you sort this for us?  Like you did the cull?’

Mistral smiled
and shook her head, ‘Sorry brother, much as you know I’d love to give you this
Contract, it’s the twins that have the power of persuasion, not me.  I
only get to see the dirty laundry in people’s minds.’

‘But you’re a
judge!  Just knock a few seconds off our times!  We’ll make it worth
your while!’  Xerxes wheedled.

‘Please don’t
try to bribe any of my judges today Xerxes, or I will have your Contract
eligibility status reduced.’

They all
jumped guiltily at the sound of Leo’s voice and turned to watch him leading his
pale grey stallion out of the stables.

‘Just a bit of
a joke Master Sphinx.’  Xerxes muttered and immediately pulled himself
into the saddle and rode off before Leo could see the frustrated look on his
face.

‘Good luck
Brutus.’  Mistral said, giving his horse a pat.

‘Thanks! 
See you later!’

‘You will be
on time-keeping duties today Mistral.  Gleacher will give you your
instructions – and please, do not even consider what Xerxes was suggesting.’
 Leo snapped, giving her a hard glare as he swung himself into the saddle.

Mistral
watched him urge his powerful horse into a trot and exit the yard then
childishly stuck her tongue out at his back.

‘That’s a
professional look for the Ri’s Seer.’  Phantom said in an amused
voice. 

Mistral turned
to see the twins leading their quiet geldings towards her, ‘That’s where you’re
mistaken brother, because today I’m a judge.  Now let me have a look at
Jupiter’s bridle, the flash is too tight again –’ Mistral immediately began to
check the twins’ horses over, adjusting the straps on their bridles and
tightening their girths, offering last minute advice while she worked. 
‘Remember to use your body weight to guide them through the poles – and hold
the reins in one hand, you’ll need your crossbow ready –’

The twins
listened to her with resigned expressions on their faces.  Finally pulling
themselves into the saddle and gathering up their reins they began to ride out
of the stableyard with Mistral falling in step between them, still talking
enthusiastically until they entered the teeming village square.  Giving
her a muttered ‘See you later,’ they both rode away, keen to be free of her
bossing.

Mistral was
left standing alone in a sea of over-excited horses and was immediately
buffeted by a horse shying nervously on her right.  Stumbling and nearly
falling to her knees she realised she was the only one in the Square not on
horseback and suddenly felt extremely vulnerable.

‘I’ve always
wanted to do this –’  

Mistral heard
a familiar voice rasp in her ear as a pair of hands grabbed her and swung her
up onto the saddle. 

‘The whole knight
in shining armour thing really appeals to me.’

‘Samson!’ 

Mistral’s
gratitude was instantly replaced by embarrassment at being perched on the front
of his saddle like a child.  She automatically wound her hands through his
horse’s mane to steady herself then gasped aloud at the familiar coarse strands
between her fingers.

‘No
way!’  She was riding Cirrus.  Only it was Cirrus with a few vital
differences; the head was finer and the neck less solid.  Running her gaze
over the rest of the horse Mistral could instantly see from the slighter build
that Samson’s new horse was a mare, a firebrand mare.  ‘She’s beautiful
Samson!’

‘I know.’
 Samson said proudly.  ‘Now where should I be taking you before
Fabian challenges me to a duel?’

‘Oh, I’m on
time-keeping duties.  Leo told me to get my instructions from Gleacher.’

Samson nodded
and kicked his mare into a trot.  The long powerful strides were so
familiar to Mistral that if she closed her eyes she could almost have been
riding Cirrus, now one of the only horses still left in the stableblock.

‘What’s her
name?’  Mistral asked, gazing down at the horse with undisguised
admiration.

‘Alto, well
that’s what I call her anyway.’  Samson grinned ruefully.  ‘Her full
name is Altostratus, which is more than I can be bothered to say.’

‘So she’s
related to Cirrus then?  One of the cloud-named generation Clovis used
that firebrand mare for?’

Samson nodded,
‘His sister actually.  The warrior Clovis sold her to died, and she came
up for sale to settle his gambling debts; surprisingly no one wanted her.’

‘I can’t think
why.’  Mistral murmured, running a hand down the glossy black neck. 

‘Oh I think a
few tried, but she’s sometimes a little bit temperamental –’

Mistral
laughed at the familiar note of defensiveness in Samson’s voice.  How many
times had she passed Cirrus’ downright cussedness off as “wilfulness”?’

‘I only left
you alone for five minutes and already you are in another man’s arms!’

Samson grinned
roguishly at Fabian, who was looking at Mistral with a half-exasperated, half-
amused expression on his face.  She blushed furiously and began to stutter
an explanation, only to be cut short by the curt tones of Gleacher Shacklock.

‘Mistral, if
you are ready to follow me now, then I will show you to your station for the
first event.’

Fabian had
dismounted to swing her down from the pommel of Samson’s saddle, making her
feel like some kind of parcel being passed around in a child’s party game.
 For a brief moment she found herself held tightly against his body. 
Inhaling the intoxicating scent of his skin in a dizzying rush she closed her
eyes and impulsively whispered words into his ear she would never have imagined
saying to anyone, ever; even in a thousand lifetimes.

‘Win for me.’

His dark eyes
burned into hers for one perfect moment and then he was gone, leaving her
standing dazed, dimly aware of the clipped tones of Gleacher’s voice issuing
instructions to her.

‘You will be
required to record the time of each competitor.  I will record the
accuracy of their shooting ability and any errors that are committed.’

With a
herculean effort Mistral dragged her gaze away from the dark-haired rider
cantering away on a shining gold horse and looked into Gleacher’s stern
features, ‘What am I using to time with?’  She managed to ask.

‘If you can
summon up the enthusiasm to hold it, this –’

Gleacher
thrust into her hands the oddest looking object Mistral had ever seen.  It
looked like a miniature mantelpiece clock but only had one hand instead of
two.  In the centre of the clock face Mistral could see two noughts
mounted on a cylinder that obviously spun to reveal more numbers. 

Gleacher
pointed to the three knobs sticking out of the top of the clock, ‘Press the
first button to start the hand moving when the competitor begins and press the
second when they complete the course to stop the time.  The cylinder in
the middle spins to record the duration.  You will need to write down the
numbers showing then press the button in the middle to reset it.’

Mistral stared
at the bizarre contraption in her hand and immediately knew that it was an
invention of Mycroft Casterton’s, ‘Is it accurate?’  She asked dubiously.

‘Yes.’ 
Gleacher confirmed curtly.  ‘I have been testing it myself all week.’

Mistral desperately
wanted ask “doing what?” but knew Gleacher would never answer, so she just
nodded instead and stuffed the clock into her cloak pocket.

‘Master Sphinx
will be addressing the warriors before the tournament begins to outline the
first event.  Since you are not competing it is not necessary for you to
hear the rules, so you may follow me now.’

‘Thank you
so
much for reminding me.’  Mistral muttered under her breath and followed
Gleacher across the empty Training Arena towards the paddock where the Ri herd
usually grazed, now devoid of horses and laid out in preparation for the first
event.  Wooden poles had been driven into the ground forming three long
lines with a crossbow target placed at the end of each.  A table and two
chairs had been placed at each of the far ends, covered by white silken
awnings.  Mistral watched the awnings rippling in the light wind and was
pleased that she would at least be dry whilst she was being bored.  She
took her seat and withdrew the curious time-keeping object from her pocket,
placing it carefully on the table she glanced down at the list of names written
on the piece of parchment in front of her.  She scanned the long list and
paused at one to trace her finger along the slanting script that spelled out
the name she heard whispered in her dreams.

Fabian De
Winter …

She smiled and
resisted the urge to dip her quill in the pot of ink and insert the words
“Lord” and “Cassius”.

‘Perhaps
unsurprisingly there are ninety six entrants in the first event, which means
that you will be recording a minimum of thirty results, so do please focus.’

Mistral looked
up with a disheartened expression, ‘Thirty?’