The Seer (71 page)

‘Imperato and
Alyssa?  But they didn’t even raise you!’

‘Exactly! 
They dumped me on a clapped-out pair of sorcerers to be brought up in a dull fleapit
where the most exciting thing to happen was the mystery of someone killing the
village rooster!’

‘That’d be you
I assume?’

Mistral
shrugged crossly, ‘Damn thing used to crow when I was sneaking back from
overnight hunting trips and wake up Brothertoft, and boy would he moan! 
He’d bang on for hours about how dangerous the forests were and how I would
never attract a suitable husband behaving the way I did.’

‘Well, I think
you proved him wrong there.’

Mistral sighed
and gazed over at the forests again, her face losing all expression while her
mind reached out to Fabian’s, ‘Two days ride –’ Her dreamy voice abruptly
changed to one filled with excitement.  ‘I’m going to go and meet
them!’  She declared impulsively.  ‘It’s only a day’s ride if I meet
them halfway!’

‘No you are
not!’  Cain snapped and grabbed hold of Cirrus’ reins, holding him back.

‘Oh come on
Cain!  It’s only one night out in the open!  It won’t kill me!’

‘It’s not
about you Mistral, as I keep telling you!’

‘How could I
forget?’  She fumed, pointing to her swollen waist.

‘Well,
apparently you just have!’

They argued
all the way back across the meadows, breaking off to briefly greet the guard on
duty at the North Gate then resume their disagreement down the path to the
village.  At the village square they were met by a sight that instantly
made them both stop and stare in astonishment.

Grendel was
sat astride the magnificent firebrand stallion with one of the nymphs from the
Vale of Belleville clasped firmly in his arms, her face bearing an expression
of slavish devotion.  Mistral eyed her with a disgusted look and sincerely
hoped that she never wore a similar expression when she looked at Fabian, but
suspected that she possibly did.

‘Looks like
another damned wedding is imminent then.’  Cain muttered bad-temperedly
and kicked his horse on.

The morning of
Fabian’s return found Mistral hiding in the twins’ bathroom and trying to
ignore Phantasm shouting at her through the locked door.

‘Come on
Mistral!  According to your infallible connection to your Mage they should
be riding through the meadows right about now!  If you want to be in the
square to greet him you’d better get out of that bath!’ 

Mistral heaved
a sigh and looked at herself in the mirror again.  What would Fabian think
when he saw her?  She must be nearly twice the size she was when he
left.  Would he hate how big she was becoming?  Shoving her anxious
thoughts aside, Mistral pulled on her shirt and trousers.  Leaving her
hair loose she finally exited the steamy bathroom to be met by Phantasm wearing
an impatient expression.

‘Hair.’

‘Washed,’ she
responded automatically.

‘No Mistral,’
he snapped, dragging her by the hand to the dreaded stool in his bedroom. 
‘I know you’re worried about Mage De Winter’s reaction to how much you’ve grown
over the last, what’s it been?’

‘Sixteen days
and five hours; give or take –’

‘Quite,’ he
said briskly and proceeded to drag a comb through her tangled hair.  ‘So
allow me to at least make some of you look presentable, since you refuse to
wear anything but those damned trousers.’

‘They’re
comfy,’ she argued back. 

Submitting
reluctantly to his administrations Mistral was surprised to find that she was
almost pleased with the fleeting glimpse of her reflection Phantasm allowed her
before he hurried her down the stairs and towards the door being held open by
Phantom.  Just managing to grab her velvet cloak from the back of the sofa
as she was pulled past, Mistral swathed herself in its disguising mass while
she was almost physically hauled towards the village square.

‘They’ve
already passed through the North Gate!’  Phantom exclaimed when the
distinctive tolling of the warning bell sounded out. 

Phantasm
promptly dragged her into a jog, ‘Do get a move on Mistral, or we’re going to
miss their arrival!’

A considerable
crowd had already gathered by the time the twins and a breathless Mistral
arrived in the square.  The three warriors had become something of heroes
in the Valley; each had successfully competed in a tournament and then duelled
with Mage Grapple to secure their place on a historical Contract: it was the
stuff of legends.  They had guaranteed their places in both the Ri’s
history books and the Council’s.  It was a seminal moment for a Valley of
half-breed thieves and assassins.

Feeling suddenly
self-conscious, Mistral hovered at the back of the excited knot of people all
looking up at the path leading from the North Gate.  A sudden drumming of
hooves signalled the arrival of the homecoming warriors.  Mistral
immediately held her breath when three figures cantered into view, her hands
clenching into nervous fists.  Samson and Brutus rode into the square
first, their dusty faces lit with broad grins at the burst of cheering, but it
was the dark figure riding behind them that held Mistral’s aching gaze. 
The face she adored was hollow-cheeked and shadowed by two weeks growth of
beard, his tousled hair even more unkempt, but to her he was, as ever,
completely and utterly perfect. 

The crowd
converged on Samson and Brutus the moment they dismounted but Fabian forced
Spirit on, his eyes raking the mass of people for the one he sought so keenly
until he saw her, hanging back at the edge of the crowd, looking almost
shy.  Calling her name, Fabian threw himself from Spirit and strode
towards her, leading his exhausted mare behind him.

Mistral
watched him approach, arrested by the dark eyes that haunted her dreams; or
were they his dreams?  She could barely tell the difference anymore. 
But this, this was real, the figure standing before her, reaching out for her
with acute yearning.

‘Oh!’ 

His cry of
surprise was like a knife blow to her.  She bit her lip in fear as he
recoiled, withdrawing his hands to stare down in wonderment at the hard mass
that had obstructed their embrace.

‘You’ve
grown!’

Mistral bit
her lip harder, closing her eyes to avoid seeing his reaction; dreading the
emotion she would see reflected in his eyes and his aura.  Disgust? 
Revulsion?  She felt his hands slide beneath her cloak to caress the
evidence of the life growing within her, holding her with a touch so gentle
that she finally dared to open her eyes, only for the breath to be stolen from
her by the force of his stare.  Fabian’s eyes burned with an emotion far
deeper and more torrid than any he had ever expressed before.  It seared
with an intensity echoed in the velvet whisper of his words.

‘My love.’

Mistral and
Fabian didn’t appear for the next two days, and possibly would have remained
behind closed doors for even longer if it had not been for the pressing matter
of the election of a new Divinus.

‘Seriously
Fabian, why don’t we just get the twins to work their gift?’  Mistral
asked while Fabian knelt to lace up her boots.  ‘It would save so much
stress!’

‘Freedom of
choice is important Mistral.  Especially to the Ri,’ he rocked back on his
heels and gazed at her expressively.  ‘You know what precious little of
our lives is actually defined by our own choosing; so much is –’

‘Destiny.’ 
Mistral finished for him.  ‘I know all about that.  But –’

‘No.  The
warriors will elect who they genuinely believe has the appropriate skills to
fulfil the role of Divinus.  Pure and simple.’

‘I don’t know
what Malachi has planned though,’ she persisted.  ‘He’s sure to have some
twisted scheme up his sleeve, but I haven’t Seen what!’

‘I do not
doubt that he has a plan.’  Fabian rose to his feet, holding out a hand to
her.  ‘But let’s trust that the majority of warriors believe in Leo’s
ability to lead the Ri.’

Giving up on
arguing with him, Mistral took his hand and rose to her feet.  Leaving
Prospero stretched out across their unmade bed, she followed Fabian down the
stairs and out of their house into the cool spring night. 

The Cloak and
Dagger was heaving with warriors recently returned to the Valley to cast their
vote in the election.  Floris had cleared out the backyard to make extra
space, it was now filled with warriors standing around, drinking heavily while
they engaged in lively debates about the qualities of the three
candidates.  More warriors spilled out into the village square.  Fed
up with his door being continually banged open, Floris had propped it open to
allow the warriors to walk in and out freely, and slightly more quietly.

Mistral
followed Fabian into the overcrowded tavern, keeping a tight hold on his hand
while he pushed through to reach a table at the back where Xerxes was holding
court.

‘Finally
decided to grace us with your presence have you?’  He cried loudly and
leapt to his feet, yanking out a chair and dusting it off with a theatrical
flourish.  ‘I’ve been saving you that chair for two days now!’

Mistral gave
him a warning look and sat down.

‘So, I take it
Mage De Winter wasn’t too horrified by the new, larger you then?’  Phantom
whispered in her ear once Fabian was safely heading back towards the bar.

‘That is so
none of your business!’  Mistral whispered back and promptly blushed when
he raised his eyebrows suggestively, much to the amusement of her brothers who
burst into a chorus of laugher at her reaction.

‘Ah, talking
of all things maternal, you know we had to deliver a foal on the journey don’t
you Mistral?’  Brutus grinned at her from the other side of the table,
obviously still revelling in his newfound hero status. 

Mistral
nodded.  Fabian had told her all about the week spent driving the unicorn herd
across the Isle; one mare had given birth, but they’d also lost another to a
manticore. 

‘What a
palaver that was!’  Brutus continued.  ‘Samson was useless!  For
a warrior that’s seen more blood than a butcher he was really squeamish about
birthing the foal!’

‘I’ll bear
that in mind.’  Mistral remarked under her breath, looking up gratefully
as Fabian returned from the bar with two tankards.  Her gratitude waned
slightly when he passed her the half-f one. 

Fabian
shrugged slightly and smiled, and was instantly forgiven. 

‘Business good
brother?’  Mistral asked, peering at Xerxes speculatively over the top of
her tankard.  His eyes were ringed with tiredness but lit with a fanatical
gleam that spoke of only one thing; gambling.

He quickly
looked around before leaning across the table to mutter furtively to her, ‘I’ve
made more money over the last week than we got paid for the Ten Year Cull!’

‘That’ll buy
Marietta a lot of dresses!’  Mistral whispered back with a grin.

Xerxes made
frantic hushing gestures with his hands, ‘Not so loud!’  He hissed,
glancing around with a panicked expression before continuing in a whisper so
quiet that Mistral had to strain to catch the words.  ‘For pity’s sake
don’t let Marietta know I’ve made a load of money!  And she’s not to find
out what I’m going to do with it either!’

‘Which is
what?’  Mistral asked, trying not to smile at Xerxes’ efforts to be
secretive.

‘Buy a house
–’

‘What? 
For you and Marietta?’

‘Not
likely!’  Xerxes exclaimed, looking appalled at the idea.  ‘For me!’

‘And
me!’  Brutus added loudly.

‘Hallelujah.’
 Cain murmured and raised a tankard in a toast to himself.  ‘Here’s
to finally having my flat back.’

‘Seen
Grendel?’  Phantom asked her while Xerxes and Brutus fell to arguing
between themselves about their proposed living arrangements.

Mistral shook
her head, ‘Not since he rode into the Valley with that nymph tucked under his
arm.’

Phantom pulled
a face, ‘The stench alone must have nearly melted her!  Was she screaming
to be released?’

Mistral frowned
thoughtfully, ‘Not really, more gazing adoringly at him … kind of like Prospero
does at food.’

‘Or like you
do at Mage De Winter.’  Phantom muttered into his tankard. 
‘Sickening –’

Mistral
exercised her newfound ability to swear in French then glanced quickly at
Fabian, but he didn’t appear to have heard.  He and Phantasm had their
heads bent close together in a serious looking conversation.

‘Ah, down to
business,’ Xerxes announced, pulling a piece of parchment from his top pocket
with a flourish.  ‘Place your bets please gentlemen and er, lady –’

‘What
on?’  Mistral asked with a sigh.

‘The speeches
of course!  Duration, content, whether there’ll be any fighting, the
amount of times Mycroft uses the word “culture” –’

‘I’ll make a
wager on how many warriors fall asleep during his speech.’  Brutus slapped
some silver coins on the table.  ‘Six!’

‘Done.’
 Xerxes swept the coins away and hastily scribbled a note on his piece of
parchment.  ‘Consider it your first instalment on your rent brother.’

Leaving Xerxes
taking bets from anyone he could persuade to part with their money, Mistral
took another sip of her drink and listened in on Fabian’s conversation with
Phantasm.  They were discussing the election process, along with almost
every other occupant in the tavern. 

‘Assuming that
Master Sphinx is successful, he will then have to travel to the Council to
present his case for their approval.  Do you think he will wish us and
Mistral to attend too?’

Fabian shook
his head, ‘There is no way Eximius could allow a Seer and two mind controllers
to be present, it would cast too much doubt on the validity of the
outcome.  Besides, it is not advisable for Mistral to undertake long
journeys at the moment.’

‘Of course.’
 Phantasm nodded then frowned.  ‘However, it would have been useful
to know the outcome first hand.  When will the Council’s decision be
officially declared?’

Fabian
shrugged, ‘It depends.  Aloysius was elected unanimously after just one
week of debate.  It can take considerably longer if there are any
contentious factors.’

Like the
candidate being a Mage and the son of Mage Grapple …

Phantasm’s
thought made Mistral look up sharply, hoping he wouldn’t speak it.  She still
hadn’t managed to get around to telling Fabian that the twins knew the true
nature of Leo’s parentage. 

‘And if there
are contentious factors?’  Phantasm asked instead, making Mistral exhale
softly with relief.

‘If the
Council’s vote is not decisive, the whole process begins again –’

‘The warriors
have to vote again?’ 

‘No, only the
Council process is repeated.  But the candidate would be summoned to
respond to the issues that prevented the vote from being decisive.’

‘Then they
vote again?’

‘Yes, and
hopefully for the final time.  Although I have heard tales of the process
taking over a year before.’

Not sure I
can stand a year of Master Casterton lording it over the Valley …

Mistral nodded
in silent agreement with Phantasm’s unspoken thought.  More than once
she’d caught the twins emerging from a storeroom on the third floor where
they’d been forced to hide in order to avoid another one of Mycroft’s sermons
on his plans for the Valley. 

‘Warriors! 
It is time!’

Gleacher’s
iron shout rang out over the hubbub of voices, instantly commanding the
attention of everyone in the packed tavern.  The warriors that had been
loitering in The Cloak’s backyard squeezed into the already tightly jammed
room, even more forced their way in from the village square.  Mistral felt
the familiar black panic creeping over her at the sheer volume of bodies
pressed into the space around her … the curse of her claustrophobia, something
else she hadn’t got around to telling Fabian … she closed her eyes and forced
herself to take a slow breath, fighting down the wave of irrational fear.

Think of
open spaces Mistral.  It’s fine, both the doors are open.  You could
get up and walk out anytime you wanted to …

Mistral
listened to Phantasm’s calming thoughts and drew in another deep breath. 
She opened her eyes to gaze at the stars in the small patch of sky just visible
through the open door, until it was suddenly obliterated by the portly figure
of Mycroft Casterton.

‘Here we
go!’  Xerxes muttered, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically while
Mycroft bustled importantly through the crowd to the bar.

‘Don’t forget
I’ve got ten silver coins on him saying the word “cultured” at least
twice!’  Cain hissed under his breath. 

‘Yes,
yes!’  Xerxes waved a hand at him.  ‘Now hush!  I need to hear
this!’

‘I don’t think
Mycroft has ever elicited that response in anyone before.’  Phantom
remarked to Mistral.

‘Certainly not
in me anyway,’ she murmured back then rested her elbows on the table. 
Sinking her chin down into her hands, she prepared for a long, boring speech.

Accepting a
goblet of wine from Floris, Mycroft turned and held it aloft to the roomful of
warriors before him, ‘I toast you all, my brothers!’ 

Apart from a
few stifled laughs, a heavy silence met his salutation.  Everyone knew
that Mycroft had absolutely no right to make the warriors’ claim of
brotherhood.  The only time he handled a knife was when he also had a fork
in the other hand.

‘Good start.’
 Xerxes whispered with a grin.

Apparently
ignorant to the hostility radiating from the warriors before him, Mycroft
drained the goblet and set it back down on the bar before turning to address
his audience, ‘I have devoted my life to the furthering of education and
establishment of culture –’

‘One!’ 

‘No Cain, he
said culture, not cultured!’ 

‘– in this
most secluded haven of our kind –’

‘Our
kind?  What blood is he anyway?’  Mistral murmured to Phantom while
Mycroft droned on.

‘Human, can’t
you tell?’

‘Huh! 
That explains a lot!  But, how’d he get here?’

‘One of the few
that were invited over to act as consultants when Mage Grapple started his
reign.  The others are long dead, Mycroft is the only one left now.’

‘What happened
to the others?  Did they meet Mycroft and die of boredom?’

‘No, although
I am starting to feel the onset of a Mycroft-induced coma.’  Phantom
whispered back.  ‘There were only ever three humans on the Isle; Mycroft
and a married couple who fancied themselves as adventurers.  They went off
on an ill-advised tour of the giant territory and, perhaps unsurprisingly,
never came back.’

‘Shame they
didn’t take Mycroft with them.’  Mistral sighed and reluctantly returned
her attention to Mycroft’s speech. 

‘Permit me to
lead you into a future bright with promise!  The promise of a more
cultured Ri!’

‘Definitely
one!’

‘Fine! 
But please be quiet Cain!’

‘I foresee a
future where the secret talents of our brethren are celebrated and warriors are
no longer forced to hide away in darkened rooms to practise their art –’

‘What the hell
is he on about?’  Cain demanded in an irritable mutter.

‘I think he’s
referring to the fact that he once heard Xerxes singing his goblin song in his
dorm room after a good night in The Cloak.’  Brutus hissed back.

‘Lay down your
swords and take up your instruments!  Play, sing, read!  Become
learned!  The future will not be forged through bloodshed but through
words.  Debate!  The time honoured skill of oration!  Join me in
a more cultured future!’