Mistral made a dismissive noise in response. Bryden’s mannerisms were too similar to Leo’s for her liking.
While they waited for Bryden to begin the event Mistral gazed around curiously at the gathered tribes. The elves, tall and lithe, dressed in traditional leather trousers and loose shirts with their long hair tied back ready for the hunt. The small tribe of graceful sylvads, fair-haired and pale skinned, their almost ethereal beauty reminding her instantly of the twins. The fearsome amazons, long-limbed and olive-skinned, most wearing disdainful sneers beneath dark, close-cropped hair. The goblins, surly-faced and squat with greedy black eyes that slid covetously over the anything that didn’t belong to them. Perhaps not surprisingly a large space had been left between them and the next tribe of Arcanes; the mischievous hob, talking and laughing merrily. The reclusive tribe of centaurs had stopped a short distance away from all the other tribes, their proud faces composed and confident while they waited patiently for the hunt to begin. Mistral’s eyes moved from the centaur tribe to suddenly lock gazes with Fabian. He had halted Spirit a respectful distance away and was staring at her, his face suffused with an emotion so powerful that she immediately began to pull Cirrus around to ride over to him.
‘No time Mistral!’ Phantasm hissed, reaching out to grab Cirrus’ bridle. ‘Look! Chieftain Wolfsnare is about to speak!’
A respectful hush fell as Bryden held his arms open wide in a gesture of welcome. Mistral smiled when Phantom nudged her. It was a look painfully reminiscent of Leo, only Bryden wore his regal expression with natural ease, whereas Leo only ever managed to look pompous.
‘Brothers! Sisters! Welcome to the last event before the winners’ battle for the glory of being crowned ultimate champion. There is one place still to be taken in this afternoon’s final.’ Bryden paused and let his gaze travel slowly around the circle of tribes. ‘Which of you, I wonder, is worthy of that honour?’
Bryden’s words heightened the already charged atmosphere. For the fiercely proud Arcanes a place in the final was something they had dreamed of since childhood. The harpy hunt represented their last opportunity to fulfill that dream.
Smiling at the sense of urgency he had created, Bryden continued to speak.
‘Twenty harpies have been released within the confines of The Emerald Forests. You have two hours to bring down as many of them as you can.
‘When your allotted time has passed, a hunting horn will be blown thrice to signal the end of the hunt. The party to bring me the most harpies will have the honor of nominating one of their own to compete in the final.’
A resounding cheer rang out from the Arcanes. Bryden smiled indulgently and raised his hand to call for silence.
‘Now, to the small matter of cheating –’
A ripple of laughter ran through the tribes.
‘You will all now be issued with bottles of coloured dye to douse your arrows and bolts in. Any harpy shot by a member of your party will be stained with that colour. Each hunting party has a different colour to prevent any unlicensed “borrowing” of other hunted prey.’
The few remaining goblins grumbled loudly but were quickly silenced by a piercing look from Bryden.
‘If any of you do not feel that you can hunt satisfactorily within my rules then please, take your leave.’
The goblins fidgeted in sour-faced silence but stayed put. Mistral stifled a grin. They had obviously been planning to do quite a lot of “borrowing”.
‘Thieving little gits!’ Xerxes muttered, eyeing the goblins with ill-feeling.
‘Sometime Xerxes, you really are going to have to share your reasons for disliking our vertically challenged brothers so much.’ Cain said in an amused voice.
Xerxes scowled darkly at the goblins but didn’t reply.
‘My eleven warriors will position each party at different starting points around the treeline. There is no favoritism! Each tribe has the chance of an equally successful hunt from any of the starting positions –’
‘Oh, I’ll bet they have.’ Brutus muttered under his breath. ‘You just watch where his tribe’s hunting party is placed!’
Mistral nodded disinterestedly, she was looking over at Fabian again. Filled with the sudden desire to feel some sort of contact with him, she instinctively began to read his aura. The cloud that swirled obediently into view around his dark hair fluctuated between a bright amethyst and a heavy purple, signifying anxiety and frustration.
‘Mistral?’
She snapped her gaze around to meet Phantom’s.
‘Are you ready? We’re being led to our starting position.’
She turned to look at Fabian again. He was staring straight at her.
‘Come on Mistral!’
She kicked Cirrus on half-heartedly, continuing to hold Fabian’s dark gaze until he was lost from sight by the curve of the forests.
They were led around to northern facing edge of the forest and halted a short distance away from a tribe of sylvads. The leader eyed them with open hostility and began muttering with the others, pointing at Xerxes.
‘I think you upset them with your antics with the sylvad from the registration tent last night brother.’ Brutus whispered.
‘Did I?’ Xerxes replied airily. ‘Can’t say I remember her … oh well, point her out to me later and I’ll see if something about her jogs my memory.’
Mistral rolled her eyes at Cain who grinned and shook his head. It was apparent the manticore potion was doing a lot to help repair Xerxes’ dented ego.
The Ri halted their horses in a long line facing the forest. Mistral stared at The Emerald Forests and could instantly see why Fabian had likened them to a cave. Lush and thick, the treeline formed a solid green wall encircling the living fortress beyond.
The elf from Bryden’s tribe called for the hunting party to ride forward. Following Samson’s lead, Mistral and the twins rode up and gave their names, followed by Grendel stomping up behind on foot. The elf quickly scribbled down their names, his pale eyes flickering up when Mistral gave hers. His task done, he passed a bottle of dye to Samson and promptly took his leave. Samson uncorked the bottle and squinted at the contents.
‘Purple.’
He poured some onto the ends of his crossbow bolts then passed it to Mistral to repeat the process. By the time the twins had dowsed their bolts too the bottle was empty.
‘Sorry brother.’ Phantom held the bottle upside down, indicating to Grendel that it was empty.
Grendel shrugged, ‘Wasn’t enough for my axe anyway.’
‘I don’t think there’ll be any disputes over your kills Grendel.’ Samson remarked drily. ‘You’ve got the kind of face people don’t like to argue with.’
A chorus of cheers drew their attention to the starting signal; a single flaming arrow that arced high across the unblemished blue summer sky.
‘Ready?’ Samson demanded abruptly.
‘Ready!’
‘Then let’s hunt!’ Samson kicked his horse into a gallop.
With the Ri roaring at their backs and Samson at their head they thundered towards The Emerald Forests, reining to a sharp halt at the treeline. As its overgrown appearance had suggested, the greenery was too dense to ride through.
‘Grendel!’ Samson shouted. ‘Cut a path!’
The horses wheeled impatiently while Grendel hacked a path through with his axe. He stepped back, wiping his sweating face to let Samson, Mistral and the twins ride in first then followed, assuming his place at the back of the party. With a sensation similar to stepping into a warm shower they were immediately engulfed in the oppressive heat of the Forests.
Heavy swathes of dripping moss hung from the branches and coated every tree trunk in a vivid green sheaf. The air was heavy with moisture and even the sunlight that filtered down through the thick canopy had a liquid quality, creating the strange impression of being underwater. The silence was absolute. Dense cushions of moss absorbed any natural sounds and muted the horses’ hoof beats to dull thuds. With not a
single breath of wind to disturb the sultry air it was unbearably hot. Before long they were all sweating profusely. Even the droplets of water that sprayed back at them when they pushed through the undergrowth were tepid, like the forest itself was perspiring.
Occasional muffled sounds reached their ears; the distant cries of the other tribes calling out encouragement to their hunting parties; a shouted warning and the high-pitched whine of arrows. It was all heard and discounted. Their focus was set on hunting harpies.
Mistral’s eyes raked the interlacing branches above their heads while they rode. The abundant foliage gave ideal camouflage for any creature wishing to remain undetected. Her skin prickled uncomfortably, feeling the unseen eyes of forest animals watching them riding past. Picking up on her tension, Cirrus shied nervously. Mistral checked him absently with one hand, keeping the other gripped around the stock of her crossbow. Excitement grew inside her with every step Cirrus took, sending the blood coursing through her veins. The recklessness that defined her nature was taking over, her promises to Fabian already fading to a vague nagging memory, easily ignored.
They trekked deeper, following Samson’s silent lead at a frustratingly slow pace. The dense layer of ferns covering the forest floor hid a multitude of half-rotten logs and tree roots that made riding at anything more than a walk impossible. Before long the occasionally heard sounds of the other hunting parties became fainter then faded away completely, leaving only the horses’ muffled hoof beats and their own quiet breathing to break the sepulchral silence. Warm beads of water dripped down onto them from the hanging drapes of moss but Mistral barely noticed. Her eyes moved relentlessly over the thick vegetation, searching for any signs of the harpies … or Columbine. She caught the twitch of a fern out of the corner of her eye and reacted instinctively, swinging her crossbow round as the swaying fronds parted to reveal a snake, winding quickly through the undergrowth.
The silence was suddenly broken by Grendel muttering a stream of swear words under his breath. Mistral and the twins turned sharply, their crossbows raised ready only to be disappointed by the sight of the half-troll waving his battle axe irritably at the cloud of insects clustered in the humid air above his head.
‘They could well be the only winged creatures you get to hunt today brother.’ Phantom muttered sourly and wiped moisture from his face with an equally damp sleeve.
‘Shh!’ Samson abruptly hissed.
Pulling his horse to a halt he raised a hand and signalled for them to ride up alongside. Instantly alert, Mistral and the twins reined in beside him and lifted their crossbows again, staring around tensely until Samson motioned towards the branches a short distance ahead of them.
Mistral narrowed her eyes and stared at where Samson pointed but couldn’t see anything. With her free hand she signalled her confusion, using the silent code all Ri warriors were taught. Phantasm responded with a quick motion, drawing her attention to a faint grey blur almost entirely obscured by the thick shield of leaves. She nodded once and tensed, her eyes locked onto their target.
Samson held up four fingers, indicating how many harpies he had spotted. Reaching for his crossbow and priming it quietly he turned to look at Grendel, gesturing silently to the leather sling looped in his belt.
Grendel nodded and pulled the sling free. Reaching into the pouch strapped on his belt he drew out a handful of heavy lead balls. Fumbling slightly, he dropped them into the sling then looked expectantly at Samson.
Samson held his hand up, instructing for Grendel to wait then gave a series of swift signals to the twins and Mistral. They watched him carefully, deciphering the rapid code. When he finished Mistral and the twins nodded once, indicating that they had understood.
His plan was simple; first the twins were to conceal themselves on the ground armed with crossbows, then Grendel would fire a sling of lead balls into the group of harpies to flush them out. Mistral was to remain mounted beside Samson, drawing the harpies towards them and allowing the twins clear shots from either side with Grendel providing back-up.
Satisfied that his instructions had been understood, Samson indicated to where he wished the twins to be positioned. They immediately slipped from their saddles and dropped to the ground, crawling quickly away through the damp ferns. Samson waited until he heard the soft double click of their crossbows being primed before looking at Mistral.
‘Ready?’ he signalled.
She nodded and immediately returned her attention to the four ghostly shapes just visible in the trees ahead of them. Raising her crossbow she gripped it tightly, feeling the heady sense of anticipation build. Samson gave a downwards flick of his hand and the taut silence was broken by the creak of Grendel’s leather sling being drawn.
The harpies stirred in response to the warning noise and became four distinct shapes. With a resounding snap Grendel released his sling and the lead balls flew through the air, pattering like heavy raindrops through the foliage. The resulting chorus of shrieks told them that the lead balls had found their marks. The hunt was on.
In a cacophony of screeching the enraged harpies burst from their hiding place, swooping down on translucent wings, their snarling mouths open wide to reveal curved needle-sharp teeth. Gripped by a rush of adrenaline that obliterated any lingering memories of her promises to Fabian, Mistral grinned and levelled her crossbow at one of the harpies. Noting fleetingly that the surprisingly large iridescent blue eyes were exactly the same colour as Leo’s, she adjusted her aim straight for one of them and fired.
The harpy twisted sharply in the air and the bolt flew past, embedding deeply into a branch with loud thud. Mistral swore and hastily began to reload. The twins and Samson had also fired but the lethal hail of bolts only seemed to infuriate the harpies further. Snapping back the lock and raising her crossbow Mistral fired again. This time her aim was true and the bolt struck the harpy cleanly, but instead of driving into the grey skin it snapped in two and fell away without even drawing blood. Emitting a high scream of fury the harpy immediately dropped into a steep dive, heading straight for her. Cirrus gave a snort of terror and wheeled, desperate to escape the creature bearing down on him. With a shouted oath Mistral grabbed at his reins with one hand, clinging fiercely to her crossbow with the other. In the brief moment it took for her to regain control the harpy was upon her, its sharp talons reaching out to rake at the exposed skin of her face and forearms.
High-pitched whines sounded out as Samson and the twins fired at the harpy attacking her, their bolts finding their target but barely marking the harpy’s tough hide. Lashing out blindly with her unloaded crossbow, Mistral struck the harpy hard in the face. Giving an ear-shattering shriek it veered away, flying back to the three circling above them.
Looping her reins swiftly over the pommel of her saddle, Mistral rammed another bolt into her crossbow took aim again. But the harpies were no longer easy targets. They darted through the air with rapid, jerky movements, their dragonfly-like wings allowing them change direction with startling speed, making it nearly impossible for Mistral to get a clear shot.
‘Damn it! They’re going to mob us!’
Samson’s shouted warning came a split-second before the harpies grouped and dived, hurtling down in a grey mass of teeth and claws.
Chaos erupted. Cirrus snorted and shied violently, knocking Mistral’s crossbow from her hands. She cursed angrily and grabbed for her reins while Samson and the twins fired frantically, but their bolts seemed to have almost no effect on the harpies. With piercing screams the harpies converged on the vulnerable target of Mistral, unarmed and struggling to control her rebellious horse. Rolling his eyes in terror, Cirrus reared and finally succeeded in throwing Mistral from his back.
Mistral crashed heavily to the ground, the deep cushioning of wet ferns and moss breaking her fall but leaving her winded. She opened her eyes with a groan that immediately became a gasp of panic when she saw all four harpies diving towards her, their saucer-shaped eyes gleaming with vicious intent.
> Before she had time to reach for her swords everything was obscured by Grendel’s huge bulk looming over her, roaring and whirling his battle axe above his head to drive the harpies away. Gratitude gave her strength and Mistral rolled clear. Stumbling to her feet she hastily drew her swords and angled them upwards, turning slowly, her eyes fixed on the circling harpies. They dipped and dived, screaming in frustration, held back by Grendel’s axe. A movement on her right caught Mistral’s eye, she turned quickly and swore. Phantom had left his hiding place to help her. His sudden appearance immediately drew the harpies’ attention. With a chorus of ear-splitting screeches they dived for him.
Giving a shout of pure rage Mistral launched at the mob of harpies, slashing wildly with her swords. The harpies scattered, regrouping swiftly in the air above them but the few seconds was all the time Phantom needed to draw his sword. Leaping up with his sword outstretched he struck, cutting deeply into tough grey hide. The wounded harpy shrieked furiously and rounded on him with teeth and claws bared. Dropping one sword, Mistral shoved Phantom out of the way and lunged for the harpy, grabbing it around the throat and holding it at arm’s length while its sharp talons tore at her. Oblivious to the pain in her arm, Mistral glared into the harpy’s unblinking blue eyes and drew back her remaining sword.
‘Don’t hurt my brother, bitch!’
The hissed words preceded justified deliverance. She thrust the sword into its body, watching its eyes widened briefly then glaze to a flat, lifeless stare.
Tossing the limp body aside Mistral quickly grabbed her dropped sword and spun around ready for the next harpy. She realised with a spasm of irritation that both Phantasm and Samson had joined the fight and were blocking her from getting a clear strike at the three remaining harpies.
‘Get out of my way!’ she snarled and arced both swords through the air to slash at the exposed belly of a harpy diving towards her.
Samson barged past and knocked her over, lunging at the harpy she had injured and spearing it with a clean thrust. Mistral clambered to her feet and threw herself back into the fight with an outraged shout.
The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) Page 50