The Seer

by Kirsten Jones

  ‘I’m sure you did.’ Fabian smiled. ‘Forgive my manners; this is Mistral – my wife.’

  Castor drew back his hood to give Mistral a frankly assessing look before dipping his head in a courteous greeting, ‘It is my pleasure to meet the La–’

  ‘Er, just Mistral ... please,’ she interrupted quickly.

  Castor laughed and strode alongside them into the small village, his soft hide boots making barely any sound in the snow, ‘The guest quarters have been prepared and a retrieval party has been organised to meet you in the lower ranges in two days’ time.’

  Fabian nodded and halted. They had reached what were obviously the stables; a long low roofed building built of tarred black timbers. ‘Thank you Castor, you have been as helpful and efficient as ever.’

  Castor accepted the compliment with a smile, ‘I will see you in the tavern once you’ve settled your horses.’

  Mistral watched the tall elf stride away through the snow before turning to Fabian with a frown, ‘Why does everyone insist on trying to call me by that ridiculous name?’ She whispered angrily. ‘And how come I seemed to be the only one who didn’t know about it?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Fabian ducked inside the stables.

  Mistral followed him into the gloom, inhaling the warm musky smell of horses and dry straw, ‘I suppose not,’ she muttered, trailing into a stall behind Cirrus and unrolling a heavy blanket from the back of her saddle to spread over him. ‘But no-one calls you Lord De Winter do they?’

  Fabian gave her a look from the next stall that instantly made her realise just why nobody would ever dare. Vowing to practice that look, she finished buckling the blanket securely around Cirrus and looked along the row of stalls. Most of the occupants were stocky mountain ponies with shaggy winter coats but at the end of the row she spotted Cain’s light grey mare and the twins’ geldings. Brutus and Xerxes’ two horses must be further down, but she couldn’t see that far through the fading light. Of the horses’ owners there was no sign.

  ‘Where are they?’ She asked with a frown.

  ‘Where do you think?’ Fabian replied, leaving Spirit’s stall and stepping up to encircle her in his arms.

  ‘Ah, but of course.’ Mistral smiled and leaned back against him, reveling in the warmth of his embrace.

  ‘The tavern,’ they sighed in unison.

  Mistral followed Fabian back out of the stables. She drew in a deep breath of the crisp winter air and shivered. The moon had risen, casting a cold silvery glow across the snow covered houses. Mistral felt Fabian’s arm wrap around her and sank gratefully into his warmth as he led along the narrow main street. The small houses were built in the same harsh grey stone used in the Council city, but here the effect was softened by the use of dark timbers for the upper stories. A thin carpet of snow crunched beneath their feet. Mistral shivered again and pulled the hood up on her cloak. It was bitterly cold; even the glittering prospect of the dragon hunt couldn’t quite mask the unpleasant prospect of camping in winter. She looked out from under her hood at the silent houses. A few lights glowed from within the lower rooms, but no-one was out in the street. The village was almost eerily deserted, which made Mistral wonder again why they had such rigid security at the gates. She tilted her head to look at Fabian. His hood was thrown back; moonlight shone against his pale skin and turned his dark eyes to gleaming jet. She gazed at him for a moment before remembering what she’d been about to ask.

  ‘Fabian?’

  ‘Yes?’ He turned to gaze silently at her.

  Mistral stared back, finally forcing her mind to focus on something other than the way the stars reflected in the liquid black depths of his eyes, ‘Um, oh yes. Why did you have a coded knock and a password to enter? I mean, what could possibly trouble this village? We’re literally in the middle of nowhere and look at the fence they’ve got!’

  Fabian looked over at the high palisade fence, the tops of each timber were chiseled into a wickedly sharp points, ‘The fence is to keep out mountain trolls. It’s almost impossible to regulate their numbers up here. The Northern Range is the largest and most inhospitable stretch of mountains on the Isle.’

  Mistral grimaced, ‘How are they going to feel about Grendel being here ?’

  ‘Grendel is Ri. There will be no problem.’

  Mistral nodded in relief. Grendel’s ability to withstand extreme temperatures coupled with his formidable strength and endurance made him a valuable asset to have on the dragon hunt. She looked curiously at Fabian again. ‘But why the password at the gate? I’m not sure a troll would even bother to knock, never mind answer a riddle!’

  Fabian smiled a little, ‘No, trolls are not known for their skill at riddling. The password is changed every month by the Council to ensure that only either tribe members or those on official Council business are able to enter the compound.’

  Mistral looked around at the simple mountain settlement. The small, functional houses and the few businesses that ensured the tribe were self-sufficient during the long winter months, but it could hardly be called affluent. She couldn’t imagine what treasures the elves possessed that would warrant such tight security. ‘They don’t look particularly well-off. ’

  ‘No,’ he agreed lightly. ‘They are not a rich or greedy tribe, however, they do possess the means and opportunity to be both, if they so wished.’

  Mistral looked at him, intrigued, ‘What?’

  He smiled back at her, the moonlight bleaching the paleness of his skin to a ghostly white, ‘This tribe owns the rights to collect dragon eggs each spring. The rights alone are worth a fortune, never mind the actual eggs.’

  Mistral’s eyes widened. Cain had spoken to her at length about dragon eggs and the powerful potions they could be used to make; not just the Enslavement Potions that Fabian had described, but others that were more dangerous and complicated to brew, but also infinitely more valuable. ‘What happens to the eggs?’ She asked in a hushed whisper.

  ‘The Council take an annual quota for their regulated production of certain potions and the rest are destroyed.’

  ‘Really?’ Mistral asked dubiously.

  Fabian nodded, ‘Elves have no interest in potion brewing and little in money. I know the elf who had the misfortune to cross Malachi was cursed with a love of money, but he was not a typical example of his race.’

  Mistral’s expression grew hesitant, ‘Do you think Cain knows about this?’ She asked and immediately felt as though she had betrayed her brother by even thinking ill of him.

  Fabian raised an eyebrow thoughtfully, ‘In view of the fact that Xerxes and Brutus were raised here I would have to say that he does, but, as he rightly pointed out on the journey, it is the wrong time of year for eggs anyway.’

  ‘Good,’ she sighed and then added quickly. ‘It’s not that I mistrust Cain or anything, I’d trust him with my life! Have done in fact … but he can be a bit of an opportunist.’

  Fabian stopped and turned to face her, gazing sincerely into her eyes, ‘Mistral, no-one could ever question the loyalty you show to your brothers, least of all me. I respect the bond you all share. You have no need to feel guilty simply for knowing their characters. You are aware of their individual strengths and also their weaknesses; that is all.’

  Mistral nodded, feeling the squirming sensation of guilt in her stomach ease. She slipped back beneath his arm and they continued to walk through the snow in silence until Fabian spoke again, his quiet voice pulling her from thoughts of dragons and more strangely, a sudden desire for roasted boar.

  ‘This is the tavern.’

  Mistral looked around and was surprised to see that they were stood outside the tavern. A wooden sign hanging over the door announced the name in faded letters of red and gold: The Mountain Refuge. Light poured out onto the snow from the two deep-set windows on either side of the door. Mistral peered through one of them hopefully. ‘Do you think they’ll have some food on?’

  Fabian smiled and pulled her away from the window and
into his arms, the warmth of his lips against hers temporarily robbing her of the ability to think; even about food. ‘I’m glad you’re hungry. You must be feeling better,’ he tilted his head to regard her closely. ‘You look better; much less tired.’

  ‘I feel better,’ she agreed with an expression that suggested it was something of a revelation to her. ‘But can we please eat? I’m famished!’

  Fabian laughed and unlatched the heavy door, pushing it open he stepped aside to allow Mistral into the lively noise of the tavern. She paused and looked around for her brothers while she waited for Fabian to close the door. The first thing that struck her was the heat. A fire was blazing in a large fireplace at the back of the room with most of the tables arranged to benefit directly from its almost unbearable heat. It seemed to Mistral as though the village’s entire male population were crammed into the overheated tavern and the noise level was such that she didn’t hear Fabian speak until he took her hand to gain her attention.

  ‘This way.’ Fabian nodded towards a table set at the back of the room, furthest away from the furnace-like heat of the fire.

  Mistral could dimly make out Grendel’s bulk through the haze of smoke hanging in the air. He was hunched forwards onto the table and Mistral wondered why until she realised that the bowed ceiling was so low he couldn’t sit upright without grazing his head on the jumble of copper pans hanging from each beam. There was no sign of the two Council Mages. Grendel was playing cards with the twins, Cain and Brutus but Xerxes was sat in the shadowed corner where the light from the fire couldn’t reach. Mistral was amused to see that he still had the hood of his cloak pulled up.

  ‘Looks like Xerxes is still trying to remain incognito,’ she whispered to Fabian, holding his hand tightly while she followed him through the tightly packed tables.

  Fabian glanced at the half-elf and murmured back a soft reply, ‘Mountain tribes are notoriously proud, not to mention insular. Xerxes’ actions will have caused great offense. I am sure that despite his efforts to remain unrecognised something will be said to him before the evening is out. ’

  Several of the elves nodded greetings to Fabian and glanced curiously at Prospero but did not speak or look at Mistral, for which she was relieved. To be introduced as Fabian’s wife and no doubt then be referred to as Lady De Winter again was probably more than her temper would stand on an empty stomach. She kept her eyes fixed on Fabian until they reached the table where her brothers were waiting expectantly for them.

  ‘Thank the stars you’re here!’ Xerxes hissed in a loud whisper from the depths of his hood. ‘Hurry up and sit down will you? I need you to block me from view! I’ve asked Grendel twice but he says he can’t move, something about a copper kettle hitting his head if he does!’

  The twins met Mistral’s amused look with broad grins, blatantly enjoying Xerxes discomfiture. ‘We took the liberty of choosing a drink for you.’ Phantasm pushed two battered pewter tankards towards Fabian and Mistral.

  ‘Yes, the selection was so wide and varied that we struggled to decide, however I think you’ll find the choice we finally made to be acceptable to your discerning palate.’ Phantom added with an elegant hiccup.

  Mistral gave him a sharp look and took a tentative sip from her tankard, ‘Eugh,’ she pulled a face. ‘Cider!’

  ‘Hmm.’ Phantom agreed with a lopsided smile. ‘Strong too –’

  The door to the tavern banged open with a force that immediately drew the startled attention of every occupant. Mistral turned in her chair to see an imposing elven woman standing in the doorway, her hands clenched into fists on her hips. Her penetrating blue eyes raked the room until they alighted on their table. She immediately let out an audible snort of disgust and began to march purposefully towards them, ignoring the fact that an almost reverent hush had fallen across the entire tavern. Every pair of eyes in the room followed her progress, moving silently aside to allow her to stride through unimpeded.

  ‘Oh, please … no.’ Xerxes moaned pathetically and shrank further back into the shadows of his corner.

  Brutus heaved a deep sigh of resignation and rose wearily to his feet, ‘Ah, brothers, sister … Mage De Winter … I would like you to meet our mother, Diannah.’

  ‘Well!’

  Brutus flinched slightly as his mother halted in front of their table and deliberately looked him up and down. She was tall and lithe, like her sons, with long blond hair swept back in a long plait to reveal blue eyes that were blazing with anger. ‘I was told,’ she paused and glared furiously at Brutus and the still hooded Xerxes, making it perfectly clear the news should have been delivered by them in person and not some third party, ‘that my wayward sons had dared to return.’

  ‘How are you mother?’ Brutus enquired with a brave attempt at a smile.

  Diannah cut him dead with a look that would have defeated Leo’s most glacial stare, ‘How am I?’ She repeated in wildly incredulous tones. The hush across the tavern deepened to a deathly silence as she sucked in a deep breath and prepared to reply. ‘You pair leave me to deal with the shame of your behavior with not so much as a letter or even a message in two years then you dare to stroll back in here, a pair of big proud Ri warriors, and ask me how I am?’

  Diannah’s voice had risen to a dangerously high pitch that Mistral recognised as the onset of hysteria. It was a state she had frequently induced in both her adoptive parents. She threw Fabian a wide-eyed look, trying to communicate silently that they should leave before the crockery throwing started, but he was gazing steadily at the inside of his tankard, his expression carefully neutral. Sensing her look, he reached over and took hold of her hand, the tiniest hint of a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

  Let Diannah have her say.

  Mistral listened to his unspoken thought and nodded fractionally. She quickly returned her gaze to her own untouched tankard of cider to prevent herself from goggling at the frightening sight of Diannah in full flow.

  ‘And you can take that hood down Xerxes! I know it’s you cowering under there!’ Diannah shrieked.

  Xerxes lowered his hood with trembling hands and slowly lifted his gaze to meet his mother’s querulous look. She exhaled slowly in a long hissing sound not dissimilar to that of an attacking viper and glared at her son. Xerxes seemed to shrivel and wilt under the intensity of her stare; he licked his lips nervously. ‘Er, d-did you hear that we competed in the Festival of the Arcane?’ He stuttered in an unrecognisable squeak.

  Diannah continued to glare at him in silence.

  ‘We – we thought you’d be proud –’ he mumbled faintly.

  Diannah suddenly seemed to swell like an angry bullfrog, ‘Proud?’ She shouted. ‘Proud? I would be proud if my son had managed to keep the promise he made to the chieftain’s daughter and marry her instead of being caught on the morning of their wedding in bed with her sister! Just what is so difficult about being a good husband? Yet none of the men in my life seemed to be able to accomplish that one simple task!’ She threw her hands up in the air in a despairing gesture, her voice suddenly wavering with the promise of tears. ‘Despite all my hard work you’ve turned out no better than your feckless father!’

  Xerxes cringed. This was clearly a familiar line of attack. ‘And how is Elspeth?’ He blurted in a desperate attempt to divert her.

  Diannah abruptly stopped crying and stiffened, ‘Elspeth?’ She hissed in a dangerous whisper. ‘You want to know how our dog is? I’ll tell you shall I? She’s still dead … she died about five years ago as well you know!’

  Xerxes met Brutus’ reproachful look with one of panic and back-tracked swiftly, ‘Er, I meant … Elizabeth!’ He cried with a pleased expression on his face.

  ‘She has a son.’ Diannah said shortly.

  ‘Oh she married then did she?’ Xerxes asked, looking mildly relieved.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What?’ Xerxes blinked in surprise. Brutus threw him a warning look which he missed and blundered blithely on. ‘That’s a bit scandalous
isn’t it?’ He laughed, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. ‘Certainly puts my little misdemeanor firmly in the shade!’

  Diannah favored him with a scornful look, ‘The son looks just like you.’

  Xerxes froze, his mouth hanging open in horror. Cain could clearly be heard crying with laughter into his tankard. Mistral kept her gaze firmly fixed on the tabletop, not daring to make eye contact with any of them. She could hear the sheer glee in the twins’ thoughts and risked a glance at Fabian. As usual, his expression was completely inscrutable but his thoughts were full of wry amusement.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll take the time to visit.’ Diannah continued icily. ‘I’m sure both Elsa and Elizabeth would like to introduce you to their sons.’

  ‘E-Elsa has a son too?’ Xerxes whimpered.

  Diannah nodded, and raised an eyebrow coldly.

  Across the other side of the room, someone started laughing, a deep rumbling roar that echoed around the tavern until suddenly everyone was joining in. Xerxes stared around, completely bewildered to be the cause of such merriment until Castor strode over to the table, his blue eyes gleaming with humor. He slapped Brutus slightly too heartily on the back and grinned over at a terrified looking Xerxes.

  ‘Diannah is mocking you Xerxes. Both of my daughters are now quite happily married, but as of yet have not been blessed with children.’

  ‘C-congratulations Chieftain Greenoak … please, pass on my best wishes to all of your family.’ Xerxes managed to mumble.

  Mistral glanced up at Castor in surprise … he was the chieftain? Without the disguise of a heavy cloak and hood, Castor had the unmistakable air of someone used to power and respect. He turned to Diannah and spoke quietly to her, she immediately nodded meekly and kept her head bowed until he turned away to speak with Fabian. ‘Brother, perhaps you would join me for a drink at my table? There are a few matters I would like to take this opportunity to discuss with you.’ Giving Mistral a polite nod, Castor turned and strode back across the room without waiting for Fabian’s response.