The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams)

by Kirsten Jones

  Looking up, she could see the underside of the rocky outcrop a few feet above her. She was nearly there. Bracing her weight on the balls of her feet Mistral began to inch her way up until she was climbing alongside the craggy outcrop hosting the gargoyle’s nest. Abruptly, the series of fault lines in the rock she had been following ceased. There were no more suitable holds to take her above the nest. She would have to leap to the outcrop from where she was.

  Mistral clung to the rock, studying the distance between her and the nest. She calculated that she could just about make the jump. The lip of the outcrop was rough, which would make a good holding, but the tangled mass of twigs that formed the nest spilled right across the small platform, leaving little clear rock.

  Locking her toes more securely into the fault, Mistral lowered her heels, pushing her bodyweight down in preparation to change her grip. Bracing herself to make the leap, Mistral began to sway her body back and forth, building a gradual momentum that would help carry her over the last stretch of blank rock. Fixing her gaze on her destination she cleared her mind of doubt and centred all of her will power on what she was about to do, telling herself that she could make the jump and would grab rock, not loose twigs. She swung her body to the left one final time and pushed off, flinging herself through the air towards the outcrop. She flexed in the air, twisting round to face the jagged edge of rock and throwing her hands forward with fingers outstretched, ready to curl into a grip at the first touch of stone.

  The rush of air whistled in her ears and stung her eyes but she refused to blink, not letting her gaze leave the target. In a heartbeat her body smashed into the rough edge, slamming the breath from her lungs in a painful rush. Her hands slapped down onto the rough surface of the platform, instantly curling into claws desperately digging into the rough stone, seeking any purchase. Twigs and bones dragged underneath her fingertips as she began to slide inexorably back towards the edge. Gripping precariously at the sloping base of the outcrop with her knees Mistral tried to cling on long enough for her scrabbling fingers to find something to hold on to. Panting from the effort, Mistral forced her fingertips more deeply into the stone and instantly felt the sharp pain of one of her nails tearing off when the finger became trapped in a split in the rough surface.

  Ignoring the pain she rammed her finger in deeper and gripped the underside of the outcrop with the sides of her feet, spreading her weight more evenly while she hauled herself up. Her finger was agony, her legs felt like rubber and then suddenly she was sprawled face first in the stinking debris of the gargoyle nest. Retching at the stench of sulphur and rotting meat Mistral pushed back into a squatting position and allowed herself a moment to recover. Breathing heavily and grimacing at the foul smell Mistral took stock of her injuries. Her arms and legs shook from the exertion of the climb. Her back was grazed, her ribs bruised and her fingers were barely recognisable. And there was still the daunting task of the climb down to complete.

  Breathing normally again, Mistral completed her self-examination and concluded that there was nothing too serious. Holding her breath she peered cautiously into the depths of the reeking nest, looking for eggs. At first all she could see was a deep layer of bones, feathers and fragments of rotting animal hide. Her eyes raked the layer more carefully, unwilling to put her hands into the putrid mass and feel around. Her closer inspection paid off when she finally spotted four oddly shaped black objects half-buried in the debris. Opening her saddlebag ready, she warily stretched out her hand to grasp one of the eggs. It was hard and cold, its surface pitted and harsh to the touch, like a piece of volcanic stone. She felt something move inside and dropped it into her saddlebag with a repulsed shudder. She quickly threw in the rest before securely buckling the flap and strapping the saddlebag onto her back.

  With the hard part of her task done Mistral allowed herself a few minutes to recuperate. She sat back on her heels and looked out across the mountain range. Despite her detached state of mind Mistral couldn’t help but be awed by the breathtaking scenery. From her elevated position she could see all the way across the mountains, right down to where the Valley of the Ri was hidden beneath a cap of white cloud. Peaks and ravines fanned out before her, made miniature by the distance but no less magnificent. Sunlight sparkled on the domed bank of cloud sitting over the lower slopes of the mountain and glinted on the dark ridges that rose out like islands in a milky white sea. Mistral glanced down at the plateau far below her. She could see Cirrus, a black dot moving restlessly against the grey backdrop of the cliff face. A sudden icy gust of wind blew round her, lifting her briefly with its force. She gazed at the drop below her with indifference, wondering if the fall would kill her then shivered when another blast of icy air rocked her forwards. The wind was picking up. She heard Cirrus whinny nervously. It was time to go.

  She stood up, bracing herself against the wind pushing at her. A split second before she heard the high-pitched shriek she realised her mistake. She had let her scent mingle with the strong smell of the nest and obligingly stood up to let it blow straight to the gargoyles, letting them know that their lair was under threat.

  Swearing at her stupidity Mistral quickly scanned the sky then sucked in a sharp breath of air.

  There!

  Two ragged black moths appeared, flying in erratic jerky movements towards her. Noting with relief that they were still a long way off Mistral hastily considered her options.

  To begin the climb down would be suicide. She would be unable to defend herself and the gargoyles would pluck her from the rockface and fling her to the ground like a rag doll. Mistral cursed herself for leaving her crossbow at the base of the cliff. If she’d had that she could have picked them off as they flew towards her.

  Stand and fight? One false step and she would fall like a stone.

  Her mind wheeled. Fight or climb?

  Or ... both?

  Mistral quickly made her decision. Moving swiftly she unwound the rope from her body. Ignoring the stabbing pain in her bleeding fingers she tied a heavy knot in one end and swung it under the rocky outcrop. The weight of the knot carried it around to the other side, landing with a dull thud into the empty nest. Mistral grabbed the knotted end and tied it, creating a loop encircling the entire platform. Next she took the free end and wound it once under her arms, tying it securely and hoping fervently that it would take her weight.

  Harsh screams rent the air. The gargoyles were drawing nearer. Mistral drew her swords and looked up. They were closer now. She could see their dark leathery bodies, no bigger than a small child’s dangling in the air beneath wings the texture of cobwebs. They had small black eyes and short dog-like muzzles pulled back in snarls to reveal thin teeth like needles.

  Mistral shuffled backwards against the cliff face, kicking portions of the nest aside to clear space for her feet. Twigs and debris tumbled over the side, infuriating the gargoyles. They screamed and began to swoop lower, heading directly for her. Mistral slid her right heel back until she felt it make contact with the rock behind her, angling both her swords upwards she bent forward into a half crouch and prepared for the attack.

  The gargoyles shrieked and circled, raking at her face and arms with their long talons. She ducked and thrust her swords blindly upwards and felt her sword point sink into something soft. A scream and a spatter of warm liquid told her that her aim had been good. She looked up to see the injured gargoyle give a feeble flap of its wings then stall and drop into a spinning fall, bouncing off the sheer sided rock and plunging to the hard ground below.

  Mistral hastily rubbed her forearm across her face to clear the stinging blood from her eyes. Curved talons ripped into her raised arm, tearing at the flesh where seconds before her eyes would have been. She swore and swung her right sword across, swiping the avenging gargoyle away with the side of the blade. It wheeled through the air, lashing Mistral across the face with its long tail as it whipped past. The split second it took to regain its balance gave Mistral just enough time to spin around to f
ace it. Giving an ear-splitting screech of rage the gargoyle lunged for her, smashing into her chest with a force that flung them both from the platform.

  They fell together, tumbling and twisting through the air. The gargoyle screamed and squirmed manically, its black leathery face inches from Mistral’s. She could feel its claws ripping at her while they bounced off the rockface, hurtling towards the ground. Mistral felt a gut wrenching snap as the rope pulled her up short and she hung, suspended in the air, still a long way from the ground. The snarling gargoyle was on her in a heartbeat, its needle sharp teeth snapping at her face and neck. She tried to hold it at bay with her swords but couldn’t use her arms properly; the rope cutting into her armpits was too restricting. With a stab of fear Mistral knew that if she raised her arms too high she would slip out of the rope and fall. The gargoyle circled above her, keeping a safe distance from her sharp swords and waiting for an opportunity to strike. Suddenly, Mistral knew what she had to do. Stabbing wildly at the gargoyle with one sword she began to saw desperately at the rope above her with the other. It quickly began to fray but Mistral was forced to stop and use both swords to defend herself again. She twisted in her rope harness, trying to strike the gargoyle. Left and right she turned, feeling the sharp jolt as the rope fibres tore under her weight. The gargoyle screamed and dived for her again. Mistral jerked away and the rope snapped, sending her plummeting like a stone towards the rocky ground, arms flailing wildly at the screeching gargoyle still clawing at her.

  With a sickening thud Mistral hit the hard ground of the plateau and everything went black.

  Something velvet was pushing itself into Mistral’s face, blowing warm air across her cheek. She opened her eyes groggily. Cirrus’ long face was inches from hers, sniffing her curiously.

  Her eyes flew open wide and panic flooded through her. She stared wildly up at the sky, expecting to see the gargoyle swooping down on her. She tried to lift herself up off the ground but her head swam sickeningly and blackness threatened to engulf her again. She groaned and slumped down again. Something crunched beneath her but she had no strength to investigate and lay still, breathing shallowly. Gradually the wave of nausea began to subside and she became aware of the cold ground beneath her cheek, solid and real. How had she survived? The fall alone should have killed her. And where was the gargoyle?

  Cirrus nosed her, snorting impatiently. Mistral groaned and began to sit up using her hands to help her. As she lifted herself slowly up her right shoulder protested sharply. Mistral winced and tentatively felt the sore area with her left hand and almost screamed at what her groping hand touched.

  The gargoyle was on her back. She could feel its sharp teeth stuck deep into the skin of her shoulder. Leaping to her feet Mistral spun wildly, trying to dislodge it. The gargoyle fell to the ground with a dull thump and Mistral instantly looked around for her swords and quickly spotted them lying a short distance away. Stumbling in her haste, she grabbed the nearest one and jerked round, sword raised ready.

  The gargoyle didn’t react. It lay unmoving on the ground in a crumpled heap, its long tail trailing limply away from the black leathery body.

  Mistral picked up her other sword and approached the fallen gargoyle carefully, aiming both points downwards at its prone body. It didn’t stir when she drew close. Not taking any chances Mistral stopped a short distance away and poked at the mangled body with the tip of her blade. It rolled over lifelessly.

  Mistral nearly laughed out loud. There was the answer to her miraculous survival! The gargoyle must have clung to her back to bite her and broken her fall. It had saved her life and been crushed to death as thanks. Feeling ungrateful, Mistral decided to cut its head off anyway, just to make sure.

  Cleaning and sheathing her swords made her shoulder pulse with pain but she couldn’t reach the wound to treat it. She decided to get back to the Valley and find the twins. Hopefully they would treat her, or failing that she would have to suffer a trip to the Infirmary. She moved stiffly around the plateau, gathering up her scattered belongings and stuffing them into her saddlebag. Cirrus followed her, occasionally shoving her impatiently in the small of the back with his nose.

  Doing her best to hurry, Mistral bent to pick up her tinder box and shoved it down the side of her saddlebag. Her fingers grazed against something hard and cold that seemed to twitch away from her touch. She peered into her saddlebag and saw with relief that the gargoyle eggs had also survived the impact. The idea of scrubbing broken gargoyle eggs out of her saddlebag was not one that had filled her with joy.

  Mistral could feel her shoulder worsening. A worrying numb sensation was spreading down her right arm. Hazily she tried to recall if gargoyle bites were venomous, but everything was starting to blur at the edges. She began to shake uncontrollably. Wrapping herself loosely in her cloak she grasped the pommel of the saddle with her good hand and hauled herself up. Without waiting for direction, Cirrus immediately broke into a trot towards the trail leading them over the ridge and off the plateau. Before he had reached the top of the short rise Mistral was slumped unconscious against his neck.

  Pale sunlight streaming in through the high window woke her. After a moment of confusion she sighed. She was in the Infirmary. Taking in the all too familiar surroundings with a bored glance she realised that she now spent more time here than in her own bed.

  The brightness of the light made her think it was around midday but she had no recollection of arriving. The last thing she could remember was fighting unconsciousness and trusting in Cirrus to find his way back to the Valley.

  ‘Mistral,’ a voice called softly from the end of her bed.

  Mistral lifted her head fractionally to see the gentle brown eyes of Serenity Lightwater gazing calmly at her.

  She moved gracefully to Mistral’s side and pressed a cool hand to her forehead, ‘The fever has abated,’ she said in a satisfied tone. ‘But I want you to rest here again tonight.’

  Again? Mistral’s eyes flickered. Had she been here a night already?

  ‘Gargoyle venom is particularly nasty, I don’t want to take any chances.’ Serenity’s eyes searched Mistral’s face. ‘How do you feel?’

  Mistral knew she wasn’t referring to her gargoyle bites and shrugged then immediately winced. The movement caused a flare of pain across her right shoulder. She reached up with her left hand and gingerly felt around the offending area. It was heavily swathed in bandages.

  ‘Gargoyle bites,’ Serenity explained, checking the bandages with gentle fingers. ‘I’ve cleaned them well. There may be some scarring though.’

  Mistral’s expression was indifferent. She scratched distractedly at the bandages.

  ‘The venom itches,’ Serenity explained, watching her closely.

  Mistral nodded briefly and stared blankly up at the high vaulted ceiling. She could feel the fog of exhaustion creeping over her again.

  ‘I’ll let you get some sleep,’ Serenity murmured, brushing a hand across her cheek.

  Mistral closed her eyes and let herself drift, listening to the quiet sounds of Serenity moving around the Infirmary, the rustle of sheets being folded, the musical clink of bottles. Muted voices floated to her from a long distance away. Serenity was giving instructions to her assistant in the apothecary storeroom.

  Serenity’s voice was unusually sharp. ‘No, not that one, it’s poisonous to some breeds.’

  ‘Well, it would help if we knew what breed she was.’

  Serenity’s reply was too quiet for Mistral to hear. She felt herself float further towards unconsciousness.

  A third voice pierced the thickening veil of sleep, its unfamiliar clipped tones jarring her awake.

  ‘Serenity.’

  ‘Thank you Noah, I can finish up here.’ Serenity dismissed her assistant before responding to the newcomer’s curt greeting. Mistral heard the sound of Noah’s footsteps leave the Infirmary and fade down the corridor.

  ‘Good afternoon Malachi.’ Serenity’s voice sounded oddly stiff.
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br />   Mistral listened more carefully to the hushed conversation, intrigued. Malachi Nox was a member of the Magnate she had not yet met; he taught only second year apprentices.

  ‘Did the apprentice retrieve any gargoyle eggs?’ he enquired briskly.

  ‘Yes. They’re over there. I’ve packed them in ice to prevent them from hatching.’ Serenity paused briefly, as if waiting for Malachi to speak, when he didn’t, she continued in a disapproving voice. ‘I shall pass on your gratitude when she has recovered.’

  Malachi’s reply was coldly indifferent, ‘First year apprentices are not my concern.’

  ‘Well I think you will be tutoring this one next year.’

  ‘Really? She doesn’t look like she will make it to the end of the week to me.’ Malachi’s tone was sceptical.

  ‘She is made of strong stuff,’ insisted Serenity, a touch defensively.

  ‘And what is she made of exactly?’

  ‘She doesn’t know,’ Serenity’s voice was apprehensive. ‘She was a foundling from The Velvet Forests. Both her adoptive parents are dead now.’

  There was a brief silence.

  ‘She doesn’t resemble any of the Arcanes. Is she Mage born?’ Malachi mused speculatively.

  ‘She doesn’t have the Craft and,’ Serenity hesitated, ‘she can see auras.’

  ‘Really?’ Malachi’s voice was soft, thoughtful.

  Their murmured conversation blurred as Mistral slipped once more into oblivion.

  A Night Out

  December arrived, bringing with it cold bright days and the promise of the end of their long year’s training, yet Mistral’s depression seemed to deepen. In an attempt to try and lift her out of her bleak mood the twins dragged her to The Cloak and Dagger for the night. It was a Saturday evening and training had finished for the weekend. The tavern was heaving with apprentices and visiting warriors, all bent on enjoying themselves as much as possible. Mistral slunk into the darkest corner and sat listlessly on her stool, staring silently into space. The twins ordered food and chatted amongst themselves until it arrived, making occasional attempts to draw a listless Mistral into their conversation, but to little or no avail.