Mistral’s face clouded, ‘Brother, I –’
Phantasm silenced her with a hard look, ‘Master your gift Mistral. Do not let Saul’s sacrifice be in vain.’
‘I swear it!’
Phantasm regarded her for a moment longer then nodded, ‘Then tonight we honour the fallen and tomorrow we leave, and your work begins.’
‘No more trouble. No more stupid behaviour.’ Mistral vowed in a hissed whisper. ‘I will focus on nothing but mastering Sight.’
‘And I promise that you will not be alone. We will be there for you Mistral.’
Phantasm was gone, his voice a murmured memory in her ear. She watched him moving gracefully through the crowd to join his brother, their blonde hair gleaming in the golden firelight.
Mistral turned to Fabian, her face blazing with an intensity to rival the pyre, ‘I need you now Fabian. You cannot leave me again! Swear to me, here and now, that you will not leave me until I master the Sight!’
Fabian gazed back, his eyes an oasis of dark when all around was heat, ‘I will never leave you again Mistral. I swear it on my life –’
Mistral flinched, ‘No! Not that! I would rather you left me than that!’
‘Then what would you have me swear on Mistral? Only you mean anything to me and I will never take you in vain.’
‘Swear on the pyre. On Saul. My brother.’
His eyes glowed, dark coals of fire, ‘For you I will swear it, no other. But I swear on life Mistral, not death. For the life we will have, that is the promise I make.’
‘Arcanes! We join together at the end of another festival to celebrate!’
Bryden’s voice rang out over the Arena once more, commanding the feasting tables to attention.
‘As ever, the final did not disappoint, although the gorgon was defeated before the event began, I think the replacement provided an equal challenge!’
Bryden paused and smiled benevolently at the resulting burst of laughter. Mistral stared in disbelief at the chieftain. Was he amused by what had happened?
Fabian tightened his grip on her hand, drawing her eyes to meet his, ‘It is the way Mistral, do not be offended. Saul was not the only one to die.’
‘But he didn’t die trying to win this damned festival! He died saving me!’
‘All the more reason to honour his passing in the way he would have wanted. He was Arcane too.’
Arcane. Saul was so much more than that. He was Ri, he was her brother and he was dead. Mistral doubted a few drinks shared with some drunken elves could do justice to the many things her brother had been.
‘I ask you all to join me now in our Ceremonial Feast, for we have fallen heroes to drink to and a new champion to crown!’
Bryden finished his speech to resounding cheers. The crowd began to move away from the funeral pyre towards the long row of tables, signalling the start of the feast.
Mistral stared at Fabian, her eyes wide, ‘I can’t do this! I – I can’t sit and eat and drink while Saul lies there burning!’
Fabian gazed steadily at her, ‘You must honour the fallen Mistral.’
She held Fabian’s calming gaze for a long moment then closed her eyes. Drawing in a deep breath and exhaling slowly she opened them again. She owed Saul so much more, but this would be a start.
Mistral allowed herself to be led to a table, sitting down without noticing who she was near and staring numbly at the goblet of wine that appeared in front of her. A voice spoke on her right and she realised Samson was next to her. A small wave of relief washed over her. She was grateful not be near her brothers. To see the blame in their eyes would be more than she could take. She drank little and ate nothing, only dimly aware of the raised voices, laughter and ... there, like another voice in the background ... the constant crackle of the funeral pyre. Occasionally one of the Arcanes would stand up and deliver an impassioned speech to much cheering and raising of goblets. Mistral didn’t even try to listen. She focussed purely on the sound of Fabian’s voice talking quietly with Samson, letting its velvet tones sooth her raw mind and fill her with peace.
Another voice spoke to Fabian. It was familiar, but not one of her brothers. Mistral turned to see the owner and found herself staring blankly at the regal features of Imperato. Fabian nodded in response to Imperato’s question and looked at Mistral. She blinked and gazed back, unsure of what was expected of her.
Imperato looked at her, pity and understanding shone briefly in his eyes before he repeated the request he had made to Fabian.
‘Will you consent to healing one of my tribe?’
Mistral was instantly taken aback, ‘Me? But, I’m not good enough! Cain is though!’ she looked around quickly, trying to spot her brother amongst the shadowed faces along the table.
‘Mistral.’ Fabian’s soft voice made her stop searching and return her gaze to his. ‘Imperato has asked for you, not Cain.’
‘But my kit’s back at the tent –’
‘Use mine.’ Samson slid a roll of canvas towards her. ‘Haven’t had much call for it this time.’ he added in a disappointed sounding voice.
‘Oh, thanks.’ Mistral took the roll then hesitated and looked at Fabian. ‘You’re coming with me aren’t you?’
‘Of course, however I think it would be best if Prospero kept Samson company for the time being. He may not understand that the centaur’s pain is not anger at you.’
Fabian took her by the hand, following Imperato away from the heat and noise of the feast. The centaur moved quickly and Mistral found herself having to jog to keep up with Fabian’s long strides, hurrying past silent rows of empty tents towards the centaur camp. Imperato did not speak until they reached the large circle of tents, then he paused and turned to face her.
‘Dravite was severely wounded in the final. Our most experienced healers are our partners, who are not with us. Only your skill will save his life now.’
Mistral instantly felt a stab of panic. She had never treated a full-blooded Arcane before, never mind a creature as complex as a centaur.
‘I – I will do my best,’ she stammered, meeting Imperato’s deep look with as much confidence as she could muster.
‘That is all we expect of you, Seer.’
Imperato stepped aside to reveal Dravite lying motionless on the ground, his iron grey flanks stained black with dried blood from a deep wound on his side. Mistral slowly stepped forwards, her eyes travelling over Dravite’s body … or bodies …
She began to think methodically while she knelt to examine him. She would treat his upper body as though it were one of her brothers and his lower body as she would one of the Ri herd. She glanced at his face, he was deeply unconscious, for which she was grateful. At least he would be unable to react if she hurt him.
Mistral began her examination. His torso was that of a strong young man and was relatively unscathed. There were one two knife wounds that would require cleaning and stitching, but nothing life threatening. The main injury, as far as she could tell in the dim moonlight, was the long jagged wound in his flank. The bleeding has stopped, but as Mistral peered more closely at the torn skin she could see fragments of whatever weapon had caused the damage still left inside.
‘Could I have some more light please?’ she called briskly, already unrolling Samson’s kit to look for gauze and ointment to clean the wounds.
Soft noises followed her request then two centaurs appeared beside her, holding blazing torches aloft to cast more light over Dravite’s still form.
‘Fabian?’
He moved wordlessly to her side.
‘Could you lift Dravite for me please? His upper body I mean. I need to make sure there are no more wounds.’
Fabian complied silently and efficiently to each quietly spoken request. She examined his body, cleaning and stitching each wound, treating the larger one on his flank last. Mistral probed carefully around the rough edges of the wound, pulling out several long splinters of wood. It was a mess, and deep. She was surprised he had survived.
‘How did he get these in his wound?’ she held one of the splinters up to the torchlight for Imperato to see.
‘The giant Ri warrior armed with a sarisas.’
Mistral quickly looked down and began to thread a needle to stitch the wound. Imperato was describing Grendel.
‘You do not need to feel responsible for your brother, Seer. This is The Festival of the Arcane. It is a tournament. They were competing, not fighting. It was not personal.’
Mistral nodded mutely, keeping her attention fixed on the needle held tightly in her fingers. She couldn’t see much difference between competing at the festival and fighting. And as for personal, well, all the injuries she’d sustained over the course of the tournament felt pretty personal to her.
Mistral worked in silence, only speaking when she had need of Fabian’s assistance. Aware of the watchful gaze of the two centaurs holding torches over her, she took particular care to ensure the stitches were neat and even. When the last stitch was sewn she rocked back onto her heels and examined her work, concluding her assessment with a satisfied nod.
‘He needs water and something for the shock. Honey if you have it, but not mead. The alcohol will dehydrate him. I can leave you with a poppy compound to help with the pain and any fever, but try not to overuse it. Travel home lightly and make sure your healers check his wound thoroughly over the next few days for any sign of infection.’
Imperato accepted the bottle of medication she offered and remained close by, swishing his tail gently while she rolled up Samson’s medical kit. When she stood up, ready to leave, he finally spoke.
‘Walk with me Seer. Your Mage will wait until we return.’
Mistral immediately glanced at Fabian, seeking reassurance. What she saw in his dark gaze gave her the strength to fall in step beside Imperato. They walked slowly away from the campsite and out into the empty avenue of tents. Mistral glanced at the centaur chieftain beside her, studying his profile. Even when silent he emanated a sense of something ancient and powerful that left Mistral in awe.
‘Thank you for your work tonight. I am grateful.’
Mistral cast around for a suitable response to his gratitude. To say “it was nothing” implied that treating Dravite had been unimportant, and she was sure that would offend the proud creature beside her.
‘I hope he recovers,’ she finally offered.
‘As do I, Seer.’ Imperato suddenly halted and turned to face her, his timeless gaze holding hers with mesmerising power. ‘I know you lost a brother tonight. I can see the pain in your eyes. But why do I also see guilt?’
Mistral drew in a sharp breath.
Saul.
Focussing her mind on treating Dravite had offered a brief respite, but now the sleeping pain of losing Saul suddenly awoke and ripped at her with sharp claws.
‘I – he … Saul.’ Mistral paused to force down the lump that constricted her throat when she said his name. ‘He died in my place.’
Imperato continued to survey her with his disconcertingly piercing gaze, ‘To die for another is the way of the Ri. Why do you feel guilt?’
‘He … he loved me,’ she whispered and felt fresh tears sting her eyes. ‘And I couldn’t, didn’t … not the way he wanted –’
‘Of course you could not return his love. You are Bonded to the Mage. It would be impossible.’ Imperato said simply. ‘But answer me this Seer; if you had loved him back, do you think he would be alive now?’
Mistral frowned. If she had loved Saul the way she loved Fabian, would he still have stepped in to take the fatal blows that were intended for her? Of course he would. Just as Fabian had taken the arrow for her at Holdridge and would have done the same tonight had he been allowed into the Arena. With a spasm of self-loathing she realised she was grateful for Fabian not to have been the one killed.
‘There is no ill in being thankful for the continued lives of the ones we love.’ Imperato said quietly. ‘And the same gratitude must be extended to the brother who gave his own life for yours to continue. Do not waste his sacrifice.’
Mistral nodded, thinking of Phantasm’s words and her vow to master her gift. A silence fell between them and Imperato turned his face up to the stars. Mistral copied him, staring unseeingly at the bright pinpricks of light in the sky that held no meaning for her, thinking instead of Saul, and Phantasm’s words and of Fabian, always of Fabian.
‘Imperato?’ she asked hesitantly.
‘Yes Seer?’
‘Please, would you continue to help me to master my gift? When I return to the Valley, I mean.’
Imperato slowly turned his gaze to meet hers, his eyes distant as the stars reflected in their black depths, ‘I will offer you what guidance I can Seer. But only you can master your gift.’ he replied solemnly. ‘You must not fear the light, only the shadows that it throws.’
Mistral nodded uncertainly, not sure of what he meant. Imperato lifted his gaze back up to the stars once again and a long silence fell. Realising that their talk had finished, Mistral turned to leave.
‘Seer?’
Mistral paused and turned towards the centaur again.
‘Your fallen brother, he was of yarthkin descent?’
‘Yes.’
Imperato regarded her with his enigmatic gaze for a moment before sighing and nodding, ‘Then it was in his blood.’
Mistral waited for him to explain, or at least finish his sentence but he simply turned to look at the sky again.
Mistral hurried back to Fabian. He took her hand silently and did not question her on what she and Imperato had discussed, for which she was grateful. She had no doubt her reddened eyes told the story clearly enough. They returned to the Arena without speaking but Fabian’s presence by her side offered more comfort than any words ever could.
The funeral pyre had burned low in the time they had been gone. Deep shadows veiled the Arena, casting the tables and their occupants into darkness. The mood was high but volatile, fuelled by too much wine and three days of bloodshed. Mistral watched two rival tribes start to fight while the remaining few goblins shouted encouragement. The good natured banter displayed at the start of the festival was rapidly descending into drunken violence.
‘Mage De Winter, Mistral.’
Phantasm appeared, looking pale and drawn in the coppery glow of the funeral pyre.
‘We are ready to leave when you are.’
Fabian nodded and turned to speak a few words to Samson before rising to his feet and stepping away from the table. Keeping hold of his hand tightly, Mistral quickly stood up and followed him.
Phantasm walked quietly up on her other side, ‘I’ve packed your saddlebag for you.’
She gave a jerky nod in response, suddenly wondering whether Saul’s bag had gone onto his pyre with him.
‘Oh, and congratulations.’ Phantasm added flatly.
Mistral looked at him warily, was he about to make some barbed comment about her being responsible for Saul’s death?
‘You won the festival.’
Mistral stared at him, stunned into speechlessness.
‘I’ve packed your winnings with the rest of your belongings.’
Phantasm walked away before she could tell him to unpack them and throw them on Saul’s pyre.
‘I think Bryden was a bit offended that you weren’t there to collect them in person, but Grendel was happy to do the honours.’ Phantom murmured in her ear, gliding up silently beside her. ‘Mind you, his acceptance speech left a little to be desired. It’s amazing how much meaning he can put into a grunt.’
His soft chuckle of laughter drifted back as he moved off to catch his brother up. Mistral was left staring after them, feeling utterly confused.
‘I won? But … how?’ she asked Fabian in a bewildered whisper.
‘You were first to touch the rope that released the gorgon. Since the gorgon was already dead, that makes you the winner.’
‘So I won by default?’
Fabian turned to her, his blac
k eyes glowing with anger, ‘No Mistral. You won because you fought with skill and courage! Not only did you slay your sphinx but you also faced and defeated the manticore which had actually been released for Bellona, but as you correctly predicted, it was irresistibly drawn to your scent.’
Suddenly Mistral’s head felt too heavy to be held up by her neck. She let it drop, keeping her face hidden. She was horrified to find out that she had won; certain that everyone would now think Saul had been her second not Grendel’s, and had given his life for something so completely meaningless as winning the festival.
‘Fabian ... I never meant … I didn’t want … to win!’
‘I know.’ Fabian said softly. ‘So do your brothers Mistral, and anyone else’s thoughts on the matter are of no consequence.’
She nodded silently and held his hand more tightly, keeping her head bowed while she tried to make sense of her turbulent thoughts. Her feet moved of their own accord while she replayed the last few hours over in her mind, looking for answers, or at least striving to reconcile herself with what had happened.
Fabian had already answered her first question. The manticore had attacked her instead of Bellona, drawn by the scent of her fresh blood. Cain had confirmed that the twins were responsible for Ares’ sudden inexplicable urge to pick a fight with Bellona just as the amazon was about to strangle her. The mystery of the lifeless gorgon was solved too. It had already been slain by Columbine.
Columbine.
Mistral was suddenly overawed by the sheer strength of hatred driving Columbine, enough to face a vicious gorgon within the confines of its cage then conceal herself beneath its corpse. She would have known from listening to gossip around the campfires that Mistral had won the first event and secured a place in the final. All she had to do was kill the gorgon and wait. Mistral knew for certain that Columbine would have attacked whoever had reached the gorgon first, not caring who or how many she killed, just so long as one of them was Mistral. A shiver ran down Mistral’s spine. More than Saul could have burned tonight because of Columbine’s twisted obsession, but she was dead now, a headless corpse that could never harm again. Leaving thoughts of Columbine, Mistral turned her mind back further, to the beginning of the event, recalling something that had puzzled her.
The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) Page 57
