The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams)

by Kirsten Jones

  Mistral frowned at him, ‘But we’re already in debt! Every apprentice is! We know we’ve got to work exclusively for the Ri once we’ve Qualified to pay them back for our training.’

  ‘No this would be more of a personal debt –’ Phantasm turned suddenly to fix her with a hard look. ‘Think about it Mistral! My brother and I have the power to influence thoughts while you could well have the Sight! Do you realise what that could mean for Master Sphinx’s career? He’s ambitious beyond anything I’ve ever seen. With our gifts we could help him to achieve everything he wants!’

  Mistral and Phantom shared a dubious look and waited for Phantasm to continue.

  ‘We’re way out of our depth on this Contract. He knows it and we know it. Mage Grapple will never deign to meet with three Ri apprentices! Even if we somehow managed to warn him of the Ri’s presence in Rufus the Red’s army, he’s still going to travel to The Desert Lands. His sister’s life is in danger! So the end result of our impending failure will be all our brothers being killed because we failed.’

  ‘Is there nothing we can do?’ Phantom asked helplessly.

  ‘Us? No. But Master Sphinx can.’

  ‘Then why hasn’t he?’ Mistral demanded in a confused voice.

  ‘Timing Mistral. This is all about timing.’ Phantasm replied knowingly. ‘Master Sphinx will act, but only at the very last minute when we truly believe all is lost.’

  Phantom shook his head disgustedly, yet there was a hint of admiration in his expression too, ‘He’ll manipulate us into feeling guilt, desperation and then gratitude. It’s a classic technique to gain control over someone.’

  Phantasm nodded grimly, ‘We would be in his debt … emotionally,’ he added quickly as Mistral opened her mouth to argue that point again. ‘And obligated to answer his every beck and call. With our skills he could both know the thoughts of any person he wished and bend their will to his own. He could control a room full of people like puppets; Council Officials, the Magnate even Mage Grapple!’

  ‘Why on earth would anyone want to do that?’ Mistral demanded sulkily.

  ‘Why indeed?’ Phantasm mused then looked seriously at Mistral. ‘It is my firm belief that Master Sphinx seeks to be the next Divinus and ultimately challenge the Council for rule of the Isle.’

  Mistral clenched her teeth and struggled to restrain her rising temper, ‘I really think that you’re going just a bit over the top here! It’s a bit of a leap from Leo sending us on an admittedly tough Contract to him assuming the power of the Divinus and ruling the Isle!’

  ‘Really?’ Phantasm demanded in a suddenly angry voice. ‘Let’s just assume, in your fantasy world where we can actually carry out this accursed Contract, that we manage to have a “chat”, as you so endearingly call it, with Mage Grapple and he doesn’t see things our way and jumps on his warship with his army and sets sail. What do we do then?’

  Mistral fidgeted agitatedly with her reins while she thought. Phantasm had a point. How would they get to The Desert Lands?

  ‘We’d just have to charter a boat from Blackneath,’ she shrugged defiantly.

  Phantasm looked at her coldly, ‘And how much money do we have Mistral?’

  ‘Well, surely we could sort something out –’ her voice tailed off. They had no money at all to pay for the sea crossing.

  ‘Perhaps we could simply ask them to send the bill to the Ri?’ Phantasm’s tone was cutting.

  Mistral shrugged and stared moodily at the reins bunched in her hand while the twins fell into a brooding silence.

  ‘So how do you see it working out then?’ she eventually asked, breaking the heavy silence.

  ‘We follow the requirements of the Contract,’ Phantasm said calmly. ‘Travel to Nevelte to ascertain whether Mage Grapple has passed by. Either way, we carry on. We can’t hang around at Nevelte and wait for him to turn up; it’s too much of a long shot that he will go there at all. So we head north west, around The Velvet Forests ,’ he paused to fix her with a stern look, ‘and make haste down to the ford at the Amber River. We establish whether or not he’s been through the ford; an army on the move will leave considerable evidence, and either wait if there are no signs of them passing through or move on to Blackneath if they have been through before us.

  ‘Basically, it’s a wild goose chase until we actually catch up with Mage Grapple, or he catches up with us. Then we try and present our case to him, which my brother and I will work out in due course. Should that fail then I’m afraid we’ll have played right into Master Sphinx’s hands. We ride as fast as we can back to the Valley and admit our abject failure to him. He will of course leap onto a ship from the Ri’s western port and arrive in a blaze of glory to save the very same warriors we came within a gnat’s whisker from having obliterated by a warlock army.’

  ‘Can’t you give the Ri some credit for being able to fight?’ Mistral asked in an affronted tone. ‘I mean, this is what they do after all! I know the apprentices will be a bit out of their depth a bit, but there were plenty of well-seasoned warriors going too, you saw them in The Cloak and Dagger!’

  ‘Have you ever even seen a warlock?’ Phantasm asked sharply.

  Mistral pouted and looked stubborn, ‘No,’ she finally admitted.

  ‘They’re nothing like normal sorcerers. For a start warlocks are born, not just trained, so think of them as an almost entirely separate species. They’re gifted with limitless strength and stamina; have almost no concept of pain and definitely none of mercy and, as if that weren’t enough they also have the Craft!’

  Mistral’s temper flared at being so openly patronised, ‘If they’re so powerful then why isn’t the Isle ruled by them?’

  Phantasm clenched his reins tightly and drew in a deep breath; Mistral could tell that he was closer to losing his temper than she had ever seen him.

  ‘Because, Mistral, they’re not particularly intelligent. They exist solely to protect and serve the Head of the Council.’

  ‘Which will be Master Sphinx’s if he gets his own way,’ added Phantom.

  Mistral had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from making a sharp retort. Suddenly she didn’t want to argue with the twins anymore; they were just going to end up going round in circles. Admittedly, not everything was clear cut with the Contract, but she refused to believe things were as bleak as Phantasm was making out. She wondered distractedly what had made the twins so bitter and suspicious. They were always seeing some dark, hidden agenda when sometimes there just wasn’t one.

  Mistral sighed and decided to give up, ‘I think your plan will make a good starting point Phantasm,’ she conceded in a resigned tone. ‘And should the situation change then we’ll just have to think on our feet.’

  ‘So we still get to go to Nevelte and meet your family?’ Phantom asked, looking up quickly with a wicked gleam in his eye.

  ‘They’re not family! Just an old couple who gave me a bed for a few years!’ Mistral snarled, her temper fraying again.

  Phantom grinned, ‘Fine by me, whatever they are, they’re still going to have some great stories to tell!’

  Determined not be drawn into any more arguments, Mistral took a deep breath and made a concerted effort to shake off her grumpy mood. Racking her brains for a change of subject that didn’t involve Nevelte or the Contract she remembered something that Phantasm had mentioned the night before.

  ‘Tell me about the tale of the two tribes,’ she demanded abruptly.

  Phantasm looked quizzically at her, ‘Mistral, are you changing the subject?’

  ‘Well, it’s either that or I kill your brother, which would you prefer?’ Mistral asked sharply then quickly altered her voice to be more conciliatory. ’Please, Phantasm, you tell stories so beautifully,’ she added in a shameless attempt at flattery.

  Phantasm’s face immediately broke into an angelic smile, ‘Since you asked so very nicely, I shall gladly oblige. It will be a relief to talk about something else actually.

  ‘As you know, there are n
o kings or queens in sorcering society but the closest thing they have are the two families of Rochforte and Noble. The Craft is extremely powerful in both bloodlines and as a result, they’re held in the highest esteem.

  ‘According to Mage history, Alexandre Rochforte first appeared in France in the early eleventh century. The family of Rochforte integrated themselves into the highest echelons of society in every country they chose to live in; becoming advisors to royalty and aligning themselves with the most powerful political names of the day. Of course, their gift of the Craft allowed the Rochfortes to remain unscathed through every political and civil uprising that occurred, surfacing under another guise with just the right words to persuade the new person in power that they, the Rochfortes, were essential to the continued success of the new regime.’

  ‘Why didn’t the Rochfortes just assume power themselves?’ Mistral asked.

  ‘Oh they were too clever for that,’ explained Phantasm. ‘Being in direct power would bring too much exposure; they wouldn’t have been able to hide what they really were. But by always staying just in the shadows, the Rochfortes enjoyed all the trappings of wealth and power with none of the risk. It was a simple but brilliant survival plan that served them well for centuries.

  ‘The second family in our story arrived on the pages of sorcering history books around a hundred years after the Rochfortes. Thaddeus Noble was a high ranking church official in England. His family have successfully secured themselves positions of power within the church for centuries. By happily passing the odd sorcering discrepancy off as a minor miracle they’ve enjoyed flourishing careers. Their family history is littered with saints, cardinals and even the odd pope. The Noble’s happily switched allegiances between denominations, depending on which was more powerful at the time, to ensure they were always in a position of strength and influence.

  ‘It was inevitable that the two families would clash; their fates being so inextricably woven to the fabric of the societies they had chosen to hide within. As the Church and royalty argued and fought throughout history, so did the Rochfortes and the Nobles – creating a sorcering civil war that literally went on for centuries.

  ‘But times changed. By the thirteen hundreds the situation for the sorcering world was becoming dire. Humans naturally fear that which they do not understand, and who can understand the Craft? They thought it was the devil’s work. The paranoia soon spread and gave rise to overzealous witch hunts. It was no longer safe for Mage families to stay within human society. They looked to their two revered families for leadership. A shaky truce was born and a search began to find a sanctuary away from the persecution of mankind. The Isle was discovered and quickly inhabited by fleeing sorcerers from all over the world.

  ‘The Isle we live on now was originally called The Grey Isle. At first the two tribes of Rochforte and Noble agreed to rule jointly. From the outset it was a disaster. Both were too used to autonomy and their loathing for each other too deeply ingrained to be changed overnight. Civil war erupted and the Isle fell into chaos; a state in which it remained until Mage Grapple rose to power and effectively united the two families by sheer brute force. However, the Rochfortes took umbrage at Mage Grapple being elected to rule the Council and left the Isle; vowing never to return and severing all ties with the Mage Council. To this day they refuse to acknowledge any of the laws that Mage Grapple brings into force to govern the tribes and sorcerers on the Isle. It causes Mage Grapple no end of headaches, they’re always trying to set up trade lines in banned goods or export some demented new species to the Isle.

  Now,’ said Phantasm, pausing to fix Mistral with a challenging look. ‘We come to the interesting bit. Specifically, who is descended from which line? The names may have changed over the years, but deep down, all sorcerers are either a Rochforte or a Noble. Can you guess what our friends Mage De Winter and Count Putreo Darke are?’

  Mistral pursed her lips thoughtfully, ‘Well,’ she began slowly. ‘They both sound French which would put them on the Rochforte side, but you said that they were from different families, so no, I have no idea,’ she said, giving up with a shrug.

  ‘Mage De Winter is a descendant from Noble on his father’s side, although his mother had some Rochforte blood too. Count Putreo Darke is a Rochforte; pure actually. He was one of the few that stayed on the Isle when the rest left but he changed his name to avoid some of the stigma attached to being a Rochforte.’

  ‘So it’s literally in their blood to hate each other,’ said Mistral thoughtfully.

  Phantasm nodded, ‘It makes Mage Grapple’s life difficult to say the least; managing an Isle full of virtually ungovernable Arcanes creatures and a Council made up of descendants from a blood feud that has bubbled away, with the odd violent eruption, for the last seven hundred years.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want his job,’ said Mistral fervently.

  Phantasm smiled, ‘He does it well.’

  ‘Have you met him?’

  ‘Once or twice, although I’m sure he wouldn’t recognise us as the small twin boys playing in the corner of the Council chamber during some of their long meetings.’

  Mistral listened to the note of bitterness in Phantasm’s voice with curiosity. She knew little about their upbringing aside from what they’d told her – that they were raised in the Mage Council’s stronghold in the north of the Isle until they left to train with the Ri.

  ‘Which family is Mage Grapple descended from?’ Mistral asked curiously.

  ‘Noble,’ replied Phantom promptly. ‘But it takes a lot of work to trace his family tree back to a full-blooded Noble. I know, I’ve done it.’

  Phantasm inclined his head towards his brother with a weary expression on his face, ‘Phantom is fascinated by sorcering family trees,’ he explained.

  ‘You can tell a lot about a person by where they came from,’ said Phantom with a lofty look on his face.

  Mistral kept quiet. She had no idea where she came from. What did that say about her?

  Phantom was warming to his subject, ‘Take Mage De Winter for instance. He’s a Noble and should be enjoying the prestige and privilege along with all the other Council bigwigs, but he refuses to have anything to do with Council life.’

  Mistral was intrigued, ‘Why?’

  Phantom shrugged evasively, ‘I don’t know the details. I heard there was some family upset. Anyway, Mage De Winter is a bit of a dark horse to say the least. He holds a place on the Council due to his family name but we only ever saw him at one or two meetings; usually only when Mage Grapple had personally insisted on his attendance.’

  ‘What’s his connection with the Valley?’ Mistral asked. ‘I’ve seen him there a couple of times now.’

  ‘Mage De Winter is a Ri assassin Mistral.’ Phantasm said quietly.

  ‘Reputed to be the best on the Isle actually.’ Phantom added. ‘Has been for years.’

  Mistral had nothing to say in response to that and fell silent. The twins started a conversation between themselves, some aimless piece of gossip they’d heard about one of the Magnate. Mistral wasn’t interested, her thoughts were full of the dark figure of Fabian De Winter; the Mage who was also a Ri assassin. What would make a Mage train with the Ri? Sorcerers formed the ruling class of the Isle. They held positions of power, had wealth and status ... he was no dispossessed half-breed seeking sanctuary in the Valley, but member of the Mage Council, of Noble descent ... yet he chose to live the life of a warrior.

  Mistral stayed lost in her musings until they stopped at noon to rest their horses. They sat beneath the shade of a huge oak tree at the edge of the forests while they shared a meal and talked about the route they would take for the afternoon. Mistral was all for cutting through The Velvet Forests and shortening their journey but neither of the twins wanted to risk running into the pack of Blackheart Wolverines that Leo had warned them about.

  ‘They’re just big dogs!’ Mistral argued and picked exasperatedly at some cold rabbit. ‘Anyway, I’ve hunted wolves before and th
ey wouldn’t tackle three of us, they’re not that brave.’

  ‘These are Blackheart Wolverines Mistral,’ said Phantom in a condescending tone. ‘Hardly your average lapdog. Those things will take down a bear on their own and quite frankly, I don’t fancy our chances against a whole pack of them.’

  Mistral sulked while the twins packed up the remains of the lunch. She’d spent a lot of time in The Velvet Forests and had never come across anything that she couldn’t handle. Leaving the twins to finish clearing up Mistral stalked off to untether Cirrus and thought sourly that the twins could possibly be in the wrong profession if they were worried about a couple of wolves.

  They mounted up and rode on, travelling north west around the outskirts of the forests as per their instructions from Leo Sphinx. The twins chatted happily across Mistral who was riding between them in sullen silence. The closer they journeyed towards Nevelte, the more depressed she began to feel. She couldn’t believe that she was being forced into going back to the one place she’d been so desperate to escape from.

  Looking back, Mistral wondered why she had actually stayed so long in the village she loathed. Although, if the truth be told, most of her time had actually been spent in The Velvet Forests or trekking on a horse borrowed without the owner’s knowledge. Despite her increasingly extended absences Mistral had always eventually returned, however briefly, to the cottage. It was still home to her until the day she packed her meagre belongings and left for the Valley. She realised that something had always held her back from completely leaving the home that Brothertoft and Elnora had given her. It wasn’t love for the old pair, although they‘d always been good to her. It was something else, something Mistral couldn’t quite explain and, try as she might, she couldn’t quite shake the odd notion that she had been simply waiting for her destiny to become clear to her. Occupied by her thoughts, it took Mistral a while to notice that the twins had fallen uncharacteristically silent.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, noticing that both their faces were rigid with tension.