The twins looked at her glumly.
‘Well, going by today’s performance, I don’t think that Master Sphinx will be recommending us for a second year, do you?’ muttered Phantasm moodily.
‘He might recommend that we retake the first year though,’ sighed Phantom. He raised his mud-splattered face to squint up at the darkening sky. ‘Come on, we’d better hurry up a bit or the Equus will be in The Cloak and Dagger for the night.’
After some enthusiastic encouragement Cirrus, Mars and Jupiter broke into a grudging trot and the stableyard soon appeared out of the growing darkness. They were relieved to see lights blazing in the forge, the Equus was still working.
‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing trotting those horses?’ bellowed the Equus angrily, ducking out from the low doorway of the forge. ‘They’re lamer than one-legged goblins! Which is what you’ll all be if I ever see you doing that again!’
Wiping his hands on his leather apron, the Equus strode up to them and ran a large calloused hand gently first down Jupiter’s leg, then the other two horses.
‘Hmm,’ he finally growled, standing up and taking the reins from the three apprentices. ‘Nothing to worry about ... just need a new shoe apiece. Expect you’ll be wanting me to do it right away then?’ he demanded, raising his craggy eyebrows and glaring beadily at them.
‘Our only concern is for the welfare of our horses,’ replied Phantasm smoothly. ‘Not with the timescale.’
The Equus grunted and turned away from them, leading the horses towards the yard, ‘Good, because I’ve got a rush on tonight,’ he muttered gruffly. ‘I’ll see they’re fixed up proper in the morning.’
Phantasm and Phantom exchanged a look of frank disbelief but said nothing until the Equus was safely out of earshot.
‘Since when has he got a rush on?’ Phantasm muttered scathingly.
‘Only when it’s nearly closing time,’ murmured Phantom in reply.
Mistral was exhausted and filthy; the last thing she wanted to do was play guessing games with the twins. Their love of intrigue and gossip was amusing when she had the energy, but tonight all she wanted was a shower followed by a meal.
‘I’m going to get cleaned up,’ she said shortly and walked off in the direction of the dorms.
The rain started to fall again as Mistral trudged up the path to the Main Building. She bowed her head against the needle sharp drops and raised the hood of her cloak. As though defying her, a sharp wind promptly sprang up and drove the rain beneath the drooping brim of her hood. Mistral scowled to herself and wondered if the day could get any worse.
‘Hello Mistral, you’re looking glamorous as usual I see,’ a voice called mocking.
Apparently her day had just managed to get worse.
Cain and Grendel were heading down the path towards her. Mistral ignored them and made to barge between them but Cain stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
‘Phew! What is that whiff?’ he grinned mischievously and peered around, looking for the source of the smell.
Mistral ignored him and tried to move around him. Cain was irritating without even trying, but when he did try he took her patience to the limit. He moved to block her path again and Mistral considered punching him.
‘Oh dear,’ he sighed and shook his head. ‘It is you that smells like a walking dung-heap. I’d take a shower if I was you or you’ll be the only one not taking the Contract for hygiene reasons!’
‘What Contract?’ Mistral snarled through gritted teeth.
Cain laughed and started walking down the hill towards the village again, ‘Be in The Cloak and Dagger and you’ll find out,’ he called cheerfully over his shoulder. ‘I’ll even get you a drink in!’
Grendel stayed, blocking Mistral’s path and blinking stupidly, ‘Are you coming then?’ he asked slowly.
‘Not if you two are going to be there!’ she snapped and stormed off up the hill.
Grendel looked hurt and turned, as if to follow her but Cain’s voice called him from further down the path. Heaving a sigh, Grendel shrugged and lumbered after Cain.
‘I couldn’t smell anything bad,’ he mumbled when he caught up with Cain.
Cain favoured him with an exasperated look, ‘No brother, you wouldn’t, because you smell worse than twenty dung-heaps in a row! Now please hurry up or Gleacher will have fulfilled his quota before we get there!’
Mistral’s mood was not improved by being clean. The hot shower she had dreamed of on the long trek home had, in fact, been as cold as ice. She towelled herself dry energetically to get her circulation going again and reflected angrily that Golden must have been in before her on another epic pampering session and used all the hot water. Combing the knots from her long hair, Mistral mused to herself that if she ever got bored and decided to rewrite the dictionary she would simply put the word ‘Golden’ in as the definition of selfish.
Clean, dry if not a little cold, Mistral felt marginally better when she left the showers and ran straight into Phantasm and Phantom having an excited whispered conversation in the corridor.
‘Finally!’ said Phantasm looking up.
‘How long does it take to wash a little mud off?’ Phantom demanded, grinning at her from under a slick of wet hair.
‘Do I need your approval on my bathing regime?’ Mistral demanded, a little bewildered by the greeting party waiting for her outside the bathroom.
‘No, but you should, that soap you use – ’
‘Removes dirt,’ said Mistral flatly. ‘Was there something you wanted? Only I’m not dressed for company,’ she said, motioning at her wet hair and bare feet.
Phantasm and Phantom moved closer to her and spoke as one in a low urgent voice. Mistral hated it when they did that, she found it hard to understand them, plus it was a bit creepy.
‘Master Shacklock is in The Cloak and Dagger. He’s got a massive Contract for mercenaries. It’s really good money Mistral! We need to get down there now to get signed up – now!’
‘Wait a minute, Mercenary Contract? For a bunch of unqualified first years?’
Phantasm and Phantom nodded enthusiastically.
‘I think whoever has bought the Contract is after quantity, not quality,’ Phantom quipped with an ironic raise of his eyebrows.
Mistral frowned at them for a moment and then gave a sigh of understanding, ‘So that’s the Contract Cain was on about.’
The twins shared a look of urgency, ‘We need to get down there now Mistral, or Master Shacklock might fulfil his quota without us!’
‘Oh alright then, I could do with a drink after the day we’ve had – but let me get some boots on first,’ sighed Mistral.
Phantom grinned and held out a pair of socks and boots from behind his back.
Mistral ground her teeth together and snatched them from him, ‘I really hate it when you go through my room to get stuff,’ she muttered angrily.
‘So ungrateful,’ gasped Phantom with a wounded look on his face.
Phantasm and Phantom fell back to whispering amongst themselves while Mistral laced her boots. Their murmured conversation was too rapid for her to catch but she thought she heard the word ‘coin’ mentioned more than once. The twins had no money and hated it. They were also extremely intelligent and ambitious. It surprised Mistral slightly that they would be interested in mercenary work at all. It was usually the kind of work undertaken by low-grade warriors.
Mistral felt her flagging spirits lift as they all walked out of the dorms and along the path down to the village. It was hard to be glum around the twins, their natural exuberance was infectious.
‘So, why are you interested in taking a Mercenary Contract then? I mean, it’s hardly your sort of thing is it? Loads of fighting for something you don’t even believe in and all that,’ she asked conversationally.
‘Money, Mistral. We believe in money,’ said Phantasm with a wide grin. ‘You know, of course, that most Contracts are unpaid for the first year after finishing training?’
Mistral nodded, ‘Course I do. The Ri has to recoup their training costs somehow, I suppose. So we work for them until the debt is paid. Which will be two years for us – if we get invited to stay on that is,’ she added darkly, thinking of their disastrous day.
‘Exactly!’ Phantom cried enthusiastically. ‘Well this Contract is money up front!’
‘It’d be nice to have some money,’ Mistral conceded, thinking of the worryingly large debt she was racking up in The Cloak and Dagger.
‘Definitely.’ Phantom gave an emphatic nod. ‘You can get those awful butterfly knives you dream about and my brother and I are going to save the money and pay our debt to the Ri back as quickly as possible.’
‘Oh yes,’ agreed Phantasm. ‘There is no way I’m spending two years of my life dispatching smelly swamp dragons for the Ri! We need to be getting on with our careers! The bright lights of the Mage Council beckon!’
Mistral smiled and rolled her eyes. The twins had ambitions of undertaking diplomatic work, highly paid and a lot cleaner than most Contracts, but mind numbingly boring in her opinion. The very idea of spending hours stuck in tedious Council meetings made Mistral want to die but she thought too much of their friendship to belittle their dream.
The brilliantly lit windows of The Cloak and Dagger beckoned them as they strode purposefully across the cobbled village square. A loud hubbub of voices and laughter could clearly be heard when they paused briefly outside the closed door.
‘Ready to make some money brother?’ Phantasm asked his twin, his green eyes glistening with excitement.
‘Always! Lead on brother,’ responded Phantom with a grin.
Mistral hid a smile and followed the twins into the packed tavern. A fragrant blue haze of tobacco smoke hung in the air, masking the less pleasant smell of the mass of unwashed warriors all crammed together. Mistral scanned the room, trying to make out the faces through the drifting smoke. Amongst the more familiar faces of the apprentices there were warriors she had never seen before, many of which bore the traces of long healed scars on their faces and exposed forearms. She realised that this Contract was not just for a few mercenaries; it was for an army.
Mistral followed the twins and pushed her way through the crowd to the bar. They elbowed in beside a warrior none of them knew and instantly noticed the straight-backed figure of their Contracts Officer close by, talking quietly to a swarthy faced man dressed in white robes.
‘Have we missed the details?’ Phantom murmured anxiously to his brother.
Phantasm quickly assessed the room, examining the expressions on the faces gathered before him.
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘Nobody knows what’s in the Contract yet. Look, see? They’ll all watching Master Shacklock. They’re still waiting to find out what it’s all about.’
‘Good!’ said Phantasm, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
Mistral spied Columbine hovering unhappily next to Konrad at the back of the room. She scanned the room again and frowned; she couldn’t see Golden anywhere.
The other first years were gathered around a couple of tables nearby being typically noisy. A boisterous arm wrestling match was taking place between Xerxes and Brutus on the only part of the table top not covered by tankards. A deafening crash rang out when Xerxes won the bout, slamming his brother’s fist to the table top and sending half-full tankards of ale flying.
Gleacher Shacklock broke off from his conversation with the stranger and glared disapprovingly at the noisy table of apprentices.
‘Quiet please!’ he ordered in an iron voice.
All sound in the room quickly died and every face turned to look expectantly at the Contracts Officer.
Gleacher’s eyes raked the room coldly for a few moments before he spoke. The first years looked slightly bashful but the more experienced warriors stared back dispassionately; they had seen it all before.
‘I am sure you all know that there is a large mercenary Contract on offer tonight,’ he began in a hard voice. ‘Make no mistake; this is a mission from which some of you will not return. If there is anybody here unwilling to take the coin of Rufus the Red in return for their life, please leave now.’
His strong words were met with a ringing silence. Nobody moved, although Mistral thought she felt the twins twitch slightly by her side.
Gleacher Shacklock nodded grimly, ‘Then you are all Contracted to fight for Rufus the Red against Marcus of St Martine in The Desert Lands. The payment for your services will be made in full and in advance – you may collect from me as you leave. I will be travelling with you and overseeing your involvement in the battle,’ he paused to fix the swarthy stranger next to him with a piercing look.
The stranger stared back sullenly then shrugged. Gleacher gave a satisfied nod and addressed the gathered apprentices again.
‘Questions?’
A badly scarred warrior Mistral had never seen before raised his hand. Gleacher nodded towards him briefly.
‘What provisions are going to be laid on?’ he asked in a rasping voice.
‘We will be camped with the King’s army. Sufficient supplies have been allocated to us.’
Another hand lifted into the air at the back of the room. Mistral noted with surprise that it belonged to Columbine.
‘How long will we be away?’ she asked in a petulant voice.
Mistral hid a smirk. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to stand being parted from her precious Golden for longer than was absolutely necessary. Come to think of it, where was her precious Golden?
‘The campaign will be short,’ replied Gleacher curtly and looked around the room for any other raised hands.
‘How long is short?’ Columbine persisted insolently.
Gleacher fixed her with an icy glare, ‘Perhaps you would like to discuss the exact duration of the battle during a strategy meeting with King Rufus himself when we arrive. You are being paid to fight, not plan your diary!’
Columbine’s face flushed and she dropped her gaze to stare sullenly at the floor.
Gleacher’s eyes swept the room again, but no more hands were raised.
‘Good. We leave tonight. Pack full armour and weapons. Saddle your horses with all due speed and be back in the village square in one hour.’
The smiles slid from the twins’ faces the moment Gleacher Shacklock finished speaking and they looked at each other in dismay. Mistral didn’t notice, she was mentally packing her saddlebag and was in a pleasant dither between throwing knives or her trusted short bladed dagger before she eventually noticed the twins’ glum faces.
‘What?’ she asked, her mind still half-occupied by thoughts of knives.
‘An hour,’ echoed Phantasm miserably.
‘On horseback,’ added Phantom gloomily.
Mistral looked at them blankly, ‘Surely even you two can pack a bag in one hour?’ then her face fell as the full implication of Gleacher’s words sank in.
‘Our horses,’ she moaned. ‘They’re all lame! Damn that cursed knucker!’
‘The Equus said he’d have them ready for the morning, which is too late – we have less than an hour,’ said Phantasm despondently.
‘But we can’t miss out on this Contract,’ said Mistral desperately. ‘It’ll be really good experience! Besides, I’ve always wanted to see The Desert Lands –’ her voice tailed off dejectedly.
‘Let’s go see the Equus!’ said Phantom, his eyes shining with sudden hope.
‘Maybe we can persuade him to shoe them tonight!’ agreed his brother eagerly.
‘Come on, there isn’t a moment to lose!’
Mistral immediately starting to push through the jostling crowd of warriors all eager to sign their names on the Contract laid out on the bar top. Those that had signed were forming a slightly more orderly queue in front of Gleacher Shacklock to receive payment for the Contract.
Phantasm and Phantom shot a covetous look at the bag of coins in Gleacher’s hand before hurrying after Mistral, catching her up as she ran
across the unlit cobbled square towards the stableyard.
The stableyard was teeming with frenzied activity; horses were being led out of stalls by steely faced warriors, their calmness in direct contrast to the behaviour of the apprentices who were running around frantically looking for missing items of tack.
‘Mistral!’ Saul cried, running up to her with an urgent look on his face. ‘Did I lend you my horse’s armoured breast plate?’
Mistral shook her head, ‘Sorry Saul, not me.’
He swore and began to look around distractedly as if hoping it might suddenly appear, ‘I can’t take my horse into battle without it,’ he muttered and hurried off across the yard into the tackroom.
It was not hard to guess where the Equus was. Heat and light flooded out in equal proportion from the open doorway to the forge. The ringing sound of iron being struck filled the air, punctuated by the hiss of hot metal plunging into water.
Mistral and the twins hastened across the yard to the forge, dodging excited horses and running apprentices. They ducked under the low doorway and entered the forge where the blistering heat struck them like a blow in the face.
The Equus worked bare-chested, sweat ran freely down his face and body while he hammered a white-hot piece of metal against the anvil. He did not look up when they entered but continued to work, beating the shoe into shape.
Mistral felt her heart sink as she took in the scene before her. The Equus was shoeing one horse and there were six more tethered to the wall at the back of the forge, stamping and pushing impatiently against each other. She scanned the line of fidgeting horses with a growing sense of gloom. Cirrus, Jupiter and Mars were not among them.
Squinting against the searing heat Mistral moved closer to the Equus and shouted his name above the noise of the metal being worked.
‘Clovis!’ she bellowed as loudly as she could.
The Equus paused mid-strike and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, seeing who it was he stood upright, straightening out his back with a grimace of pain.
‘What d’you want Mistral? You can see I’m busy,’ he said curtly and wiped a dirty hand across his sweating brow.
The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) Page 21