The Seer

by Kirsten Jones

  ‘I’ll bet he has.’ Mistral said in a disgruntled voice. ‘So not only are you going to be forcing me to learn French, but you’re also going to be trying to make me eat green stuff too are you?’

  ‘If you have no objections, I have requested for lunch to be served to us here.’

  Mistral spun round, embarrassed to have been caught bickering with the twins by Mage Grapple.

  ‘Thank you Mage Grapple.’ Phantasm instantly responded in a polite voice.

  ‘Please come and take a seat at the table Lady De Winter, and tell me what you have Seen.’

  Mistral rose to her feet, slightly stiff for having been sat motionless for so long, and walked over towards Fabian. He had risen from his chair and was holding it out for her to take. She couldn’t resist a smile at his unfailing good manners and promptly forgave him for speaking with the twins behind her back.

  Mage Grapple took a seat opposite her and folded his hands onto the table top, waiting patiently for her to begin.

  ‘Who would you like me to start with?’ She asked, a little uncertain of what he was expecting.

  ‘Who did you read first?’ He responded evenly.

  ‘Mage Green.’

  ‘Then Mage Green it is.’

  Mistral drew in a long breath and took a moment to gather her thoughts before she began. Of the four Mages, Mage Green had been the most troublesome to read; his mind leapt from subject to subject with confusing speed and Mistral had found following his erratic thought process both exhausting and unrewarding.

  ‘Mage Green is a worrier,’ she said with a slight smile. ‘I couldn’t bear to be inside his mind for too long! He worries about everything and anything, from the weightiest issues being dealt with by his department to whether his housekeeper has prepared his evening meal in accordance with his instructions. As you can imagine, he’s in a complete dither about the subject of teaching elven in the schools. He has no idea of which way to vote.’

  In truth, Mage Green had made up his mind to vote in favour and changed it straight away a total of fifteen times, at which point Mistral had grown heartily sick of the indecisive Mage and moved on to reading –

  ‘Mage Castledine, er, junior. He was quite surprising actually. Although he looks like he might still be directly affected by the results of today’s vote –’ Mistral immediately wished she hadn’t said that. Making unthinking quips about one of Mage Grapple’s Councillors probably wouldn’t go down to well. But he merely continued to regard her with the same impersonal expression he always wore and waited for her to continue. ‘Er, well, he actually has very firm views on a lot of subjects, not just this one. He’s strongly in favour of the Mage “right to rule” faction in the City and believes that Arcanes should be grateful to be given living space on their Isle … anyway, to cut a long story short, he will definitely be voting against elven being taught in the Council School.’ Mistral stopped talking as the door opened and Bernadette wheeled in a trolley of food. Despite the resulting rumble of hunger her stomach gave, Mistral eyed the domed plate covers with trepidation. Bernadette’s inability to cook anything edible was renowned.

  ‘Floris asked me to bring this in.’ Bernadette announced shortly, and without another word promptly left the room.

  Oh thank heavens she didn’t cook it!

  Mistral echoed Phantom’s silent relief and gratefully accepted the plate of food that Fabian placed in front of her. Lifting the cover she closed her eyes and inhaled the delicious smell of roast boar.

  Mage Grapple ate nothing but waited patiently while Mistral demolished her plateful. She looked up to realise that he was watching her with something close to amusement in his cold grey stare.

  ‘Oh! Sorry! Are you waiting for me to carry on?’ She said, looking flustered. ‘Where was I?’

  ‘Green is undecided and Marcus Castledine is against.’

  ‘Right, yes. So I read the older Castledine next. He’s totally the opposite to his younger brother, much more balanced in his views. He can see the benefits to having elven taught in the schools and feels it will create a culture of greater understanding between the Mage and Arcane races. He will be voting for the proposal.

  ‘And finally I read Mage Rosenberg.’ Mistral paused and took a sip of water. The round-bellied Mage had spent most of the meeting obsessing about his menu choice for lunch and had barely given any consideration to the subject being debated, only deciding right at the end to vote in favour simply to irritate Mage Castledine junior, who it was apparent he disliked intensely for some jokes he overheard him making about his appearance at the last official Council function. ‘Erm, I think he’s going to vote in favour,’ she finished lamely.

  Mage Grapple raised one scarred eyebrow fractionally, ‘His reason being?’

  Mistral looked unhappily at Mage Grapple, suddenly feeling like a gossip, ‘He hates Mage Castledine, the younger one that is, and knows this proposed policy will be something he’ll be very strongly disposed against.’

  If Mage Grapple was disappointed that his elected Council members made their decisions based on getting even with each other over personal slights, he gave no sign but continued to contemplate her with a typically dispassionate expression, ‘And the elven representatives?’

  Mistral tried not to look caught out. She hadn’t been asked to read any of the chieftains but had actually read them all. Not trusting her pathetic ability to lie, and especially not to someone as astute as Mage Grapple, she decided to admit the truth. ‘Well, yes, I read them too ... just to gain the other perspective –’

  Of course you did …

  Mistral forced herself not to react to Phantom’s jibe and tried to look sincere.

  ‘I would have been dismayed if you had not.’ Mage Grapple replied.

  ‘They’re all completely in favour, bar one. Chieftain Larch is a bit sceptical –’ That was putting it mildly, but Mistral didn’t feel she could repeat the disdainful insults the elven chieftain had been thinking, especially not some of the swear words ... although she made a mental note to try and remember some of them for future use herself.

  ‘That is perfectly understandable.’ Mage Grapple templed his fingers together thoughtfully. ‘So, in summary, I have two Councillors who are disposed to vote favourably, one who is not and one who cannot decide what robes to wear in the morning.’

  Mistral choked back a laugh and heard the twins’ surprise in her thoughts.

  Was that really Mage Grapple making a joke?

  ‘This is well, the motion will be carried,’ he said with a satisfied nod and rose to his feet, indicating that their meeting was over.

  Mistral stood up and felt Fabian take her hand, but before he could lead her from the room, Mage Grapple had strode around the table to stand before them.

  ‘I would appreciate a word with you and your wife please De Winter –’

  The twins shot her intrigued looks but slid obediently from the room. Mistral wasn’t fooled by their meek exit, she knew they would be hovering impatiently by the door ready to grab her the moment she stepped foot out of the room.

  ‘I would like to offer your child a place in the Council School.’ Mage Grapple began without preamble.

  Mistral instantly felt Fabian tense. His reply was curt, bordering upon rude. ‘That will not be required.’

  Mage Grapple’s scarred face remained impassive. He had obviously expected this response from Fabian and switched his gaze instead to Mistral. ‘And what school do you wish your child to attend Lady De Winter?’

  Mistral blinked. School? She had been taught to read and write in the one of the homes of the Nevelte villagers and hated every second. She would rather their son didn’t have to suffer school at all, but she supposed he would require an education of some sort. But the Council School? She remembered Phantom’s dream about his school days and how he and his brother had been bullied for being half-breeds, which is exactly what her son would be. There was only one place she could think of that would accept their son
simply for who he was, and not what bloodline he carried.

  ‘Thanks, but there’s a good school in the Valley,’ she said quietly and felt the reassuring pressure of Fabian’s hand on hers.

  Mage Grapple nodded in acceptance of her polite refusal, ‘Should you reconsider, there will always be a place available to any child bearing the name of De Winter.’

  Fabian made no reply and immediately led Mistral from the room.

  ‘Any child?’ Mistral burst as soon as the Meeting Room door had closed behind them. ‘Just how many of your children am I meant to be having?’

  ‘Hundreds.’ Fabian turned to pull her into his arms, kissing her until the twins’ repeated coughs grew too loud to ignore.

  Over the next two weeks two sets of posters began to appear all over the Valley, one set promoting the forthcoming tournament and the other depicting the smiling features of Mycroft Casterton above a slogan proudly declaring him to be “The Thinking Warrior’s Divinus”.

  ‘He’ll be waiting a long time to meet one of them!’ Phantom muttered as they passed another poster pasted to the door of The Cloak and Dagger.

  Grendel was less diplomatic and dragged a huge hand across the poster as he passed, ripping it from the door and crumpling it between his fingers.

  ‘Not a fan then brother?’ Phantom asked lightly.

  Grendel scowled heavily and muttered something foul under his breath about Mycroft then promptly stomped off towards the bar.

  ‘What was that all about?’ Phantasm asked, watching the half-troll shoving his way to the bar.

  Mistral sighed, ‘Mycroft is of the belief that trolls have subnormal intelligence and that their existence on the Isle serves no purpose. He took the time to explain his theory to Grendel at great length. Well, let’s just say that it didn’t go down well –’

  ‘I’m not surprised! Grendel can’t help his bloodline any more than the rest of us can!’ Phantasm exclaimed, ‘Honestly, for a “Thinking Divinus” he was a bit tactless!’

  ‘And stupid, Grendel could squash him like a fly!’ Mistral added.

  They all looked over to where Grendel was stood at the bar, easily head and shoulders above the other warriors around him, and twice as broad.

  ‘Oh, just look over there!’ Phantom hissed in Mistral’s ear. ‘Is that really Master Nox stood at the bar?’

  Mistral followed Phantom’s gaze to see Malachi standing further along the busy bar with a small knot of warriors gathered around him.

  ‘Looks like it,’ she said disinterestedly and quickly walked over to join Xerxes and Brutus at their usual table before Phantom could make the request she knew was coming. Leaving his twin to buy their drinks Phantom immediately followed her.

  ‘You’ve been reading him haven’t you Mistral?’ He began in an eager voice the moment they had sat down.

  ‘A bit.’ Mistral replied, looking down and fussing Prospero to avoid Phantom’s inquisitive look.

  ‘What’s this?’ Xerxes asked, looking up interestedly.

  Phantom leaned across the table to whisper secretively, ‘Master Nox has put in a royal appearance to try and drum up support for his campaign; look! He’s holding court over by the bar –’

  Xerxes looked over and gave a low laugh, ‘Does he really think that appearing for a drink in The Cloak will make the warriors warm to him? He’s got the personality of a corpse!’

  ‘Maybe so, but Mage Grapple being in the Valley isn’t exactly doing Leo’s popularity any favours brother.’ Brutus whispered. ‘And you can bet your last bronze coin that Malachi’s making the most of it.’

  ‘Let’s find out!’ Phantom turned to look expectantly at Mistral.

  Mistral closed her eyes and sighed. She’d been looking forward to enjoying her ration of ale, administered under the beady eyes of the twins, and not reading anything more than the expression on Xerxes’ face when she beat him at cards. ‘Oh, just give me a moment brother,’ she groaned when Phantom continued to stare at her.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your godson needs some beer.’

  Phantom sniffed disapprovingly but leaned back and waited with something vaguely resembling patience while she took a drink from the half-tankard Phantasm placed on the table in front of her.

  ‘Take your time Mistral,’ he murmured and placed his own tankard of ale on the table then sat down on her other side and proceeded to stare at her with equal intensity.

  Feeling the pressure of the twins’ double gaze, Mistral gave a resigned sigh and looked over at the half-vampire, focussing on the air above his jet-black hair until the shimmering vision of his aura exploded into view, quickly followed by the whisper of his thoughts in her ear.

  The Council are fools! They do not appreciate the power that the Arcanes hold, or the strength of the Ri! We are the centre of that power. Mage Grapple is using the Valley as a glorified meeting place at the invite of Master Sphinx. He is defiling our sanctuary!

  Mistral had heard enough. Breaking the connection with his mind she ignored Phantom’s impatient look and reached for her drink again, taking a long swallow before putting him out of his misery. ‘Nothing new brother. Malachi is preaching revolution to the converted, who, unfortunately, are lapping it up –’

  ‘Lapping what up Mistral? And how is my godson?’

  Mistral blinked and looked up to meet the scarred face of Samson. Instantly grinning with pleasure she kicked out a stool for him to sit on. ‘Your godson is fine, but his mother’s bored stupid!’

  ‘Ah, but you’re looking well,’ he flashed a gold-toothed grin and nodded towards her gently swelling figure.

  Mistral heaved a sigh and leaned back against the wall, resting a hand lightly over her growing bump, ‘Here for the tournament then?’ She asked resignedly, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Of course! The chance to outride your husband and earn some gold? I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’

  ‘Not if you’re still on that donkey you keep trying to pass off as a horse!’ Mistral scoffed.

  ‘You’ll be eating your words tomorrow Mistral, that donkey you refer to has been upgraded.’

  ‘You’ve got a new horse?’ Mistral was instantly interested. ‘What’ve you bought?’

  ‘You’ll just have to wait and see.’ Samson gave her another sparkling grin and wouldn’t be drawn any further on the subject.

  Mistral studied the disfigured face of Fabian’s most trusted friend. She’d seen him in Fabian’s dreams so many times that she knew him far better than their relatively short acquaintance warranted. She knew how he’d gained almost each of his scars, and of his powerful aversion to fish of any kind, and the name of the girl who he had nearly wed in a fit of passion many years ago; all of which made her feel a great rush of affection towards the scruffy, scarred warrior sat opposite her. ‘Been listening to Malachi?’ She asked casually. Samson was a time-served warrior, respected and trusted. If he was seen listening to Malachi it would be a huge stamp of approval on the devious Magnate member’s ideas.

  Samson frowned and shook his head vehemently, ‘No chance. My vote lies with Leo. I’ve fought beside him on more mercenary Contracts than I care to remember. Apart from Fabian ... and maybe Gleacher, there’s no-one I would trust more.’

  ‘Let’s hope that enough of the warriors feel the same as you brother.’

  Mistral smiled when Fabian appeared by their table.

  Samson rose from his seat to greet him, ‘Ah, my friend it is good to see you again! Tell me everything about this wretched campaign, and more to the point, why do I keep seeing Mycroft’s face on posters everywhere? There’s even one in the Refectory, as if Bernadette’s cooking wasn’t enough to put you off food for life!’

  Fabian smiled and sat down next to Mistral. She leaned in beneath the arm he placed around her and listened contentedly to their conversation. ‘Mycroft is of the firm belief that he will be the next Divinus. He even cornered Eximius after his last meeting and asked him how often he would be expected to
attend the Council for meetings. I think Mycroft is a little unhappy about the idea of the length of the journey.’

  Samson laughed, ‘I bet he is! The exercise might actually kill him.’

  ‘If Malachi’s backers don’t first.’ Fabian cast a dark look over to where Malachi was leaning conspiratorially along the bar to whisper to his audience.

  ‘Backers?’ Samson asked, taking a long drink from his tankard. ‘Malachi is rich! Why does he need more money?’

  ‘Different kind of backers. Malachi has made rash promises to his father’s tribe in return for helping him gain the position of Divinus.’

  ‘He’s made a pact with Bellicose La Monte?’ Samson paused with his tankard halfway back down to the table. ‘He wouldn’t be that stupid!’

  ‘Ambitious rather than stupid.’ Fabian corrected in quiet voice. ‘If Malachi fails in his attempt to become the next Divinus, then Bellicose is going to be extremely disappointed.’

  Samson scowled, ‘I still have no idea why Eximius gave that tribe of blood suckers sanctuary on the Isle in the first place!’

  Fabian gave a half shrug, ‘You know Eximius. He believes in the Isle existing to offer a home to all Arcane and sorcering races, even those with decidedly less appealing feeding habits.’

  Mistral gave shudder and thought of the poor girl from the bakery, bled dry and her body dumped in the meadows to be mauled by wolves. There was a brief lull in their conversation while both Fabian and Samson watched Malachi talking to the warriors around him, his sallow features set in disdainful sneer.

  ‘Hardly the expression of someone saying nice things is it?’ Phantasm said mildly.

  ‘When does he ever say anything pleasant?’ Phantom retorted.

  ‘Never, which has formed the whole basis of his campaign.’ Fabian said quietly. ‘He is gaining favour by spreading mistrust about the Council while Mycroft is doing a poster campaign and boring anyone stupid enough to be caught in the same room as him with his grand plans for turning the Valley into some sort of institution dedicated to learning.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Samson asked with a frown.