Settling down a short distance from the rest of the party Mistral drew her dagger and began to skin the deer, watching the group from beneath her eyelashes while she worked. Outwardly the three cousins gave every impression of being relaxed and enjoying the game of cards they were playing yet their auras spoke differently. A haze of deepest blue hung over their heads with Guillane’s erupting into violent flashes of red and black that threatened to engulf his aura.
Red and black. Rage and hatred.
She watched him carefully, noting the pair of swords buckled beneath his dark blue robe and the glint of a knife hilt in his belt.
Phantasm worked swiftly to make a fire using the dried sticks they had bought with them from the forests. Once it was burning steadily they would be able to feed it with dry peat from the surrounding moorlands and keep it going through the cold night. Antoine stood close to the fire, talking to Fabian in French. His aura was a beguiling mix of pale blue, lilac and silver, all positive indicators that made Mistral want to smile with pride. The head of the Rochforte tribe was not only relaxed in Fabian’s company but also liked him and was excited by the prospect of the meeting they had travelled to attend. Fabian’s was resolutely royal blue. It had not varied throughout the long afternoon. She let her gaze wander back to the three delegates to see yet more blue. She sighed then an explosion of colour at the edge of her vision drew her attention sharply back to see a rainbow soaring through Fabian’s aura. She blinked in surprise and found herself looking directly into his familiar black gaze. Fabian and Antoine were looking at her and talking in low voices. She felt herself blush and instantly bent over the deer she was skinning.
All light had faded from the sky by the time Mistral had jointed and speared the meat. She passed the skewered meat to Phantasm to arrange on the spits. Once they were in place he sat back down beside his brother. As agreed, the task of cooking the meat was hers.
Mistral knelt beside the fire, turning the spits and maintaining her constant vigilance of the delegates. She was so intent on the three cousins that the sound of a heavily accented voice in her ear made her jump. Turning sharply she met the enquiring gaze of Antoine Rochforte and realised with a burst of panic that he was addressing her in stilted English.
‘I thank you for this.’ Antoine gestured towards the roasting meat. ‘And I wish to offer you a drink, maybe a little wine?’
Mistral stared back, at a loss for how to respond. Wine was definitely out of the question, but how could she refuse without causing offense?
Before she could stutter a response Antoine’s eyes abruptly slid out of focus. He smiled vaguely then walked back to Fabian without saying another word. Mistral watched him leave, too astounded by his strange behaviour to feel the nudge on her leg. The nudge became a pinch and she jerked round with a frown to see the twins gazing at her.
The twins. She sighed with relief and turned her attention back to the roasting venison, for once thankful for their strange gift. Her relief was quickly vanquished by sudden worry that the cousins would have noticed Antoine’s odd behaviour. She risked a glance at them and was reassured to see them engrossed in their game, their auras unchanged. With a grateful lurch she remembered that Fabian had said they didn’t speak anything but their own language and wouldn’t know what Antoine had said to her.
Fabian.
Her eyes instinctively sought his, needing the reassurance in the cool black gaze that met hers. He gave the briefest of nods and continued his conversation with Antoine and Mistral felt the knot of tension in her stomach ease slightly.
When the venison was ready Mistral divided the meat into small wooden bowls, handing one first to Antoine who accepted it with a murmured ‘merci’. She served the two fair haired cousins next who both gave her frankly appraising looks, she flinched at the corresponding flash of ruby in their auras and quickly moved on to Guillane who took the bowl she offered without even raising his eyes to look at her. Finally she served Fabian but forced her eyes to remain on the steaming meat in the bowl. If she looked at him again when he was so close to her she would be undone.
Mistral and the twins ate sparingly. They had agreed a rota of shifts throughout the night and didn’t want to eat too much in case it made them feel sleepy. Phantasm and Mistral took the first watch. She was so tense she doubted sleep would come anyway and was amazed to see Phantom roll himself into his wolverine skin and fall straight to sleep.
The cousins had erected two shelters made of animal hide and vanished into one almost as soon as they had finished eating. Antoine sat talking with Fabian for another couple of hours before he yawned and bid Fabian goodnight, disappearing into the tent his cousins had erected for him.
Fabian met her gaze across the fire. She didn’t need to read his aura to see the longing that reflected her own. She desperately wanted to be next to him, to feel the heat of his body and his arm around her, to hear the sound of his voice saying her name. But she remained beside Phantasm, determined to fulfil her promise.
The night crept by in an aching series of minutes that slowly became hours. Mistral and Phantasm slept for a few hours when Phantom and Fabian took over, waking before dawn to gaze up at the inky, starless sky. A heavy dew had fallen and Mistral was glad of the double warmth of her wolverine skin and the huge form of Prospero stretched out beside her. His eyes were closed but Mistral knew that he was not asleep. Her dog sensed danger and had not moved from her side all night.
Throwing back her wolverine skin Mistral glanced over at the two tents. Both flaps were tightly closed, signifying that the occupants were still asleep. She heaved a sigh of relief, glad of a respite from aura reading and the chance to just breathe without the feeling of being under constant scrutiny.
Fabian and Phantasm had taken the last watch and were sat a short distance apart, looking out over the grey landscape. All was quiet. Realising that this might be her only opportunity to have a wash and tend to nature’s other pressing needs without an audience Mistral stole away from the camp with Prospero padding silently at her heels.
The lake was still in the dawn light. A faint mist hung over the water, promising only cold. Mistral quickly shrugged off her shirt and washed, the iciness of the water shocking her tired mind into alertness. She was going to the Mage Council, a prospect that didn’t exactly thrill her but she was intrigued to see the place where their Isle was governed from. Combing out her hair and tying it back Mistral eyed the water longingly. A swim would be a good wakeup call but she quickly dismissed the idea. That definitely constituted the type of behaviour Fabian had banned. She dragged her shirt back on and had just finished doing up the buttons when a low growl from Prospero made her turn to see one of the fair haired cousins approaching.
Mistral cursed under her breath and leapt to her feet. Hadn’t Fabian told them to go everywhere in pairs? And yet here she was, all alone. Prospero growled again and she smiled.
She was far from alone. She had Prospero.
The cousin halted a short distance from her and smiled. Mistral nodded a curt greeting and began to walk back towards the camp with Prospero pressed so closely to her side that he was nearly pushing her over. The cousin spoke and Mistral realised that he had said something directly to her. She half-turned and saw an expectant look on his face as he repeated himself.
‘Etienne.’ he smiled and gestured to himself.
Mistral was dismayed to see a flash of ruby rocket across the aura of blue surrounding his head. Etienne was obviously about to try and live up to the reputation Fabian had warned her about.
A savage growl ripped from Prospero, his lip lifting to reveal a long, curved incisor. Etienne’s eyes widened and Mistral was gratified to see fear instantly swamp his aura. Dropping a grateful pat onto Prospero’s head Mistral shrugged apologetically at Etienne and continued back to camp with her huge dog prowling beside her.
Mistral could read anxiety in Fabian’s aura the moment she walked back to the camp, although his face betrayed nothing. She shook h
er head fractionally, privately thinking that it would be a whole lot easier when they could speak to each other.
She prepared breakfast then doused the fire and cleared the camp while they ate. When everyone had eaten she fed the leftovers to Prospero and hid a smile when she saw Etienne watching warily while he made short work of a deer leg.
It had begun to drizzle. They saddled up and continued their journey across the open moorland in silence. A heavy wet mist hung in the air, soaking the horses and coating Prospero’s coat with glistening droplets, like a thousand diamonds. The delegates looked miserable and shivered in their fur trimmed robes, pulling up their hoods and casting disgusted looks up at the flat grey sky.
Mistral and the twins pulled on their own cloaks but left their hoods down, knowing they would restrict their vision. The twins’ auras showed that they were calm and focussed. Mistral knew this was exactly the type of Contract they had trained as warriors for and wondered what her own aura would reveal. Hiding a sigh, she hazarded a guess that it was probably showing frustration and boredom in equal amounts.
They rode in silence for the next two hours. Mistral kept the Rochfortes’ auras constantly in her vision, occasionally allowing herself to dwell longingly on Fabian’s. Prospero padded silently by her side, his watchful eyes fixed on the three cousins.
The rain began to fall more heavily as they ascended a steep rise, making the going heavy. Steam rose in misty clouds from their horses’ damp flanks and Mistral’s hair hung in a wet sheet down the back of her cloak. She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the twins. Their faces shone with the rain that ran unchecked over their pale skin but their auras registered nothing but focus. She had to admit, considering that they hated being wet and cold, the twins had impressed her with their sudden resilience to the elements.
They gained the top of the rise and reined to a halt behind the party. Fabian was pointing something out to Antoine. Mistral glanced over to where he was indicating and felt her eyes widen in awe. The immense Northern Range dominated the skyline, an arc of jagged white-topped peaks. In their shadow lay flat grasslands, the wide expanse almost entirely filled by the largest city Mistral had ever seen. A huge stone wall ringed the sprawling mass of buildings, their dark slate roofs gleaming ominously in the pouring rain. Wide avenues and narrower alleyways criss-crossed the entire city like a spider’s web, all seeming to emanate from the centre where a vast white building took pride of place. Mistral quickly guessed it must be the Mage Council. Her eyes roved over the city again, daunted by the sheer scale. She suddenly felt completely unprepared for the next part of the Contract. She had been raised in a small rural village and had preferred her own company to that of the other villagers. Isolation was something she was familiar with, comfortable even. Moving to the Valley of the Ri had changed that somewhat, but nothing could prepare her for the sight of the heaving metropolis below her.
The delegates were pointing at the city below them and talking amongst themselves, the sound of their voices muffled by the heavy cloaks they wore and the constant drumming of the rain. Seizing what would probably be her only opportunity to speak unnoticed, Mistral quickly glanced at Phantasm and then Phantom, drawing their attention to her.
‘I’m going to need a running commentary,’ she breathed, keeping her eyes fixed on the delegates. Neither twin gave any indication that they had heard her, but she knew they had when she immediately felt a gentle tug in her mind and a thought that was not hers rose to the front of her consciousness.
The Mage Council is the huge white building in the centre. We will have to ride through the city to reach it. There’s only one way in and one way out; through that gateway in the walls.
Only one way in and one way out. Mistral drew in a breath to force back the spurt of panic those words triggered.
Fabian and Antoine urged their horses on, descending the far side of the ridge with the cousins following closely and Mistral and the twins bringing up the rear. The rain began to ease as they approached the entrance in the city walls. Mistral could see a crowded market street beyond the gate, teeming with hundreds of people. She swallowed, feeling again the sharp spasm of claustrophobia.
They approached the gateway at a walk. It was guarded on either side by two black cloaked warlocks. Mistral could see that the air around them shimmered perpetually, as though they were stood in a heat haze.
The warlocks on duty cast continually; protective spells, nothing that will harm us – unless we give them reason to.
They rode between the two warlocks unchallenged, no doubt on orders from Mage Grapple. The power of their casting gave off a distinctive ozone reek that burned Mistral’s dry throat. She glanced at the sinister figures, remembering her run-in with their kind the year before. Whether they recognised her or not they gave no sign but stood immobile, silent and sinister in their hooded cloaks.
And suddenly it was all noise. The raucous shouts of venders and street hawkers filled the air, stray dogs barked and chased each other between the market stalls, making Prospero growl. Mistral wished she could draw her hood and hide from the onslaught to her senses. Everywhere was busy, loud and foul-smelling. To give her mind some respite and abate the panic that was growing she looked up, beyond the colourful stalls and garish shop fronts to the houses above, but there was little there to cheer her. Used to the warm honey-coloured stone of the Valley she found the grey moor stone bleak and cold to look at. Black slate roofs and long narrow windows added to the overall drab effect, strangely incongruent with the brightly coloured awnings of the shop fronts and market stalls. People thronged the streets, talking loudly and laughing but their party moved forward unhindered with no need of force. The crowd seemed to part instinctively and allow them through. Fabian and Antoine were easily recognisable for what they were; powerful Mages.
They rode along the busy street until Fabian halted before a set of ornately wrought gates guarded by two more warlocks. Mistral could see a wide avenue beyond, quiet and empty. She stared at the open space longingly while the silent warlocks opened the gates, every movement they made mirrored perfectly by the other, making the simple action appear almost rehearsed, like a staged performance.
The Council Officials all live on this avenue. The Council is the building at the end.
The thought rang with bell-like clarity in her mind, courtesy of the twins. Mistral’s curious gaze slid over the tall houses flanking the tree-lined avenue. The road was not cobbled but paved in smooth slabs, stretching down to end in the huge white building she had seen from the ridge on the moors. The houses were all built of the same cold grey stone as those on the market street but had an air of grandeur that spoke of prosperity. Painted iron railings enclosing neat courtyards, most boasting a marble statue or two. They rode further along the avenue and Mistral found herself struggling not to gape. Every house they passed seemed to vie with its neighbour to be the most extravagant. Fountains and lush gardens now replaced the neat courtyards and one even contained a pair of bored looking lions. By stark contrast the house next door was a derelict shell. The obviously once grand courtyard was overgrown; brambles tangled over a fallen statue and rubble filled the empty basin of a ruined fountain. Mistral glanced up at the blank and broken windows and wondered who had lived there.
The De Winter mansion …
Mistral felt her eyes widen involuntarily. This was the house that Fabian had grown up in, and surely now owned as he was the heir to the De Winter name. She looked at the building again and could see why he would never want to live there. Despite its crumbling state Mistral could tell the mansion could never have been called a home, not like their small mountain house near the Valley. Turning away from the place that held nothing but ghosts and bad memories for Fabian, Mistral swiftly checked up on the delegates’ auras. They were still predominately blue signifying the sense of purpose that had been prevalent but now also held a distinctive metallic sheen revealing that, despite their rigid silence, they were also filled with curiosit
y about the abandoned mansion.
On the opposite side of the avenue Mistral noticed a house that was more of a fortress than a private residence. A bare courtyard sat behind tall spear-topped railings, the narrow windows of the forbidding house beyond seeming to frown down at avenue below.
Mage Grapple’s residence …
That fits, Mistral thought with a slight raise of her eyebrow.
They were now nearly at the gates to the Council. Mistral studied the white building before her more carefully. She had assumed that the grey stone had simply been painted white, but could now see that she had been mistaken and the entire Council building was actually constructed from white marble.
Ostentatious isn’t it?
Mistral hid a smile. It was certainly eye-catching. A huge glass cupola sat over the centre of the main building with two wings stretching out at right angles, creating an open-ended square that was the courtyard they were about to enter. More warlocks opened another heavy set of gates with the same eerily harmonised movements, permitting them entrance to the paved courtyard. Fabian and Antoine dismounted and passed their reins to the liveried grooms that ran forward. Mistral watched the horses being led away around the side of the Council building and guessed they were headed in the direction of the stableyard. She was about to follow after them with Cirrus when she noticed the twins passing their reins to more grooms that appeared.
Feeling suddenly apprehensive Mistral reluctantly handed her reins to the groom that approached her, eyeing Cirrus nervously. Cirrus promptly flattened his ears and bared his teeth threateningly. Mistral watched the boy dragging her bad-tempered horse towards the stables and almost felt sorry for him.
The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) Page 13