Gleacher thrust into her hands the oddest looking object Mistral had ever seen. It looked like a miniature mantelpiece clock but only had one hand instead of two. In the centre of the clock face Mistral could see two noughts mounted on a cylinder that obviously spun to reveal more numbers.
Gleacher pointed to the three knobs sticking out of the top of the clock, ‘Press the first button to start the hand moving when the competitor begins and press the second when they complete the course to stop the time. The cylinder in the middle spins to record the duration. You will need to write down the numbers showing then press the button in the middle to reset it.’
Mistral stared at the bizarre contraption in her hand and immediately knew that it was an invention of Mycroft Casterton’s, ‘Is it accurate?’ She asked dubiously.
‘Yes.’ Gleacher confirmed curtly. ‘I have been testing it myself all week.’
Mistral desperately wanted ask “doing what?” but knew Gleacher would never answer, so she just nodded instead and stuffed the clock into her cloak pocket.
‘Master Sphinx will be addressing the warriors before the tournament begins to outline the first event. Since you are not competing it is not necessary for you to hear the rules, so you may follow me now.’
‘Thank you so much for reminding me.’ Mistral muttered under her breath and followed Gleacher across the empty Training Arena towards the paddock where the Ri herd usually grazed, now devoid of horses and laid out in preparation for the first event. Wooden poles had been driven into the ground forming three long lines with a crossbow target placed at the end of each. A table and two chairs had been placed at each of the far ends, covered by white silken awnings. Mistral watched the awnings rippling in the light wind and was pleased that she would at least be dry whilst she was being bored. She took her seat and withdrew the curious time-keeping object from her pocket, placing it carefully on the table she glanced down at the list of names written on the piece of parchment in front of her. She scanned the long list and paused at one to trace her finger along the slanting script that spelled out the name she heard whispered in her dreams.
Fabian De Winter …
She smiled and resisted the urge to dip her quill in the pot of ink and insert the words “Lord” and “Cassius”.
‘Perhaps unsurprisingly there are ninety six entrants in the first event, which means that you will be recording a minimum of thirty results, so do please focus.’
Mistral looked up with a disheartened expression, ‘Thirty?’
He nodded, ‘There are three judge’s stations for the first event; you and I are running this one, Master Casterton and Mistress Lightwater the second and Master Nox and Bernadette the third.’
Mistral hid a smile at the thought of Malachi suffering Bernadette’s inane chatter for the duration of the first event and bent her head over the parchment, pretending to scrutinise the entrant’s names.
‘Hang on a minute!’ She said suddenly. ‘This one’s only an apprentice!’
‘The tournament is an open event Mistral.’
She nodded in surprise and, not for the first time, found herself marvelling at Leo’s seemingly limitless cunning. Opening the event to apprentices could only increase his popularity with them, despite the fact that they stood a snowball’s chance in hell of even completing the first event.
‘Warriors! I salute you!’
Mistral rolled her eyes at the sound of Leo’s self-important voice and looked over to the watch him address the tightly packed mass of warriors in the village square.
‘There are two rules that apply to today’s tournament: the first; do not dismount at any point during your event, and the second; ride to the best of your ability!’
Mistral gazed over the sea of warriors gathered in the Square. Spirit stood out like a gold coin, gleaming in the weak rays of sun that found their way through the heavy rain clouds. She smiled wistfully, focussing on the figure on her back she listened in on his thoughts, which were typically full of determination and focus.
‘Mistral, would you excuse me?’
‘What?’ Mistral looked around with a bewildered expression on her face, why would Gleacher ask her permission for anything? ‘Oh!’
Imperato’s timeless eyes met her startled look.
‘How are you my daughter?’
‘Er, good –’
‘I hear that you and Mage De Winter were successful in bringing a herd of unicorns to the Isle.’
Mistral registered the note of paternal pride in his voice and suppressed the urge to raise an eyebrow. It was eighteen years too late to start that sort of behaviour as far as she was concerned. She nodded and looked away, seeking out Fabian again.
‘Alyssa asked me to send on her thoughts.’ Imperato’s deep voice held a strained note that made Mistral turn and look at him with frown.
‘She wanted to come today?’
Imperato nodded once, a short confirmation of a disagreement that had obviously caused them both some pain. Mistral closed her eyes to hide the irritation in her expression. The last thing she wanted was to cause a rift between Imperato and Alyssa. For a centaur’s bonded partner to leave the confines of the tribal home was almost unheard of; to attend a tournament in the Valley of the Ri would have been an unprecedented event. Alyssa must have been desperate to see her.
‘I’m sorry that I haven’t been back, but I have been really busy,’ she cringed at how lame her excuse sounded, despite the fact that it was genuine. ‘But I’m probably going to have a lot of free time over the next couple of weeks; Fabian is competing today you see.’
Imperato gazed at her impassively, ‘You believe your Mage will win a place in the final three?’
‘I know he will!’
‘Then I hope he does not fail your strength of conviction.’
‘He won’t!’ Mistral snapped back and found herself clenching her fists into tight balls of frustration. Eighteen years! After eighteen years of freedom she was suffering the first taste of a parent’s suffocating superiority; the firm belief that they knew it all when they really knew nothing! Just what did he know about her life? Nothing! Precisely that! Nothing!
‘You should have allowed Alyssa to come today,’ she said through gritted teeth, knowing it would irritate him.
‘Our ways are not your ways, daughter.’ Imperato responded mildly.
‘Oh really?’ Mistral flared, unable to stop herself. ‘So I can’t comment on your beliefs, yet you seem quite content to scorn my belief in my husband!’
Imperato turned to regard her with his fathomless eyes, ‘I meant no offense in my words, merely my sincere hope that my daughter would not be disappointed.’
Mistral’s indignation vanished, leaving her feeling small, like a deflated balloon; once so puffed up with hot air to be abruptly left shrivelled and ashamed. He was only expressing concern for his daughter; the same as she would wish for her son ... and woe betide anyone that so much as dared to even consider disappointing him!
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I thought you were getting at me, not … supporting me.’
It was such an alien concept for her to try and comprehend, that someone cared for her and wanted nothing in return. Fabian loved her implicitly, but he was the only living being she’d met that expected no return for his love. The twins, her brothers, even Prospero and Cirrus, all required something in return for their friendship and loyalty, a system of give and take that she was more than comfortable with … but the unconditional love that Imperato and Alyssa were offering to her was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. She barely knew them, yet they both seem ready to give her far more than she was prepared to receive.
Imperato did not respond to her muttered apology but gazed over at the village square. Leo had finished his speech and was instructing his Training Lieutenant, together with Gleacher to divide the warriors into their three groups. She could hear Gleacher’s voice shouting out the names of each contestant and indicating which set of poles the
y were to be racing through. This was the largest event and would take the most time; Mistral glanced down at the parchment in front of her again and re-read the names. She recognised Fabian’s, of course, and also Cain’s, and a couple of the others. One name struck her as odd; Erin, a female name. Mistral frowned, she hadn’t seen any of the amazon warriors in The Cloak over the last couple of nights, but then they were not famed for their ability to ride and wouldn’t have been particularly interested in the tournament anyway… so who was Erin?
The mass of horses and their riders gradually divided into three distinct groups then rode into the paddock towards the start-line of each set of poles. It was a simple test; twenty poles spaced evenly apart had to be ridden through and the bulls-eye of the target struck cleanly with a crossbow bolt before the rider returned through the poles. The rules were basic; if either a pole or the bulls-eye were missed, the rider was disqualified.
Gleacher returned to briefly collect a parchment and quill then walked up the course of poles to stand a safe distance behind the target, ready to record the accuracy of each rider’s shot. Mistral was left in the silent presence of Imperato, now gazing impassively over the sea of milling horses and riders. Each timing station was positioned at what was effectively the start and finish line; the riders would approach, give their name then await the starting signal before galloping through the course of poles towards the target.
Mistral barely glanced at the first warrior who approached on an excited bay horse, ‘Name?’
‘Ezra.’
She ticked his name off and raised the whistle to her lips, ‘On my whistle –’ She blew the whistle and simultaneously pressed the first knob on the top of her clock, only then registering that Ezra had been the first year she’d wanted to pulverise for interrupting a private conversation between her and Fabian.
‘Time.’
Mistral slammed her hand flat against the third knob at Imperato’s muttered reminder. Giving him a silent look of thanks, she quickly wrote down the time showing on the dials against Ezra’s name before looking at the next warrior riding up to give his name.
Warriors approached the table in a continual stream, she efficiently ticked off each name, blew her whistle and recorded their time until Fabian approached the table on Spirit. Then Mistral could only gaze wordlessly at him while he smiled and spoke his name in velvet soft tones.
Her eyes followed his lean dark figure riding towards the start-line and gave a half-hearted blow on her whistle. Completely unnoticed by her, Imperato leaned over to press down the knob to start the time when Spirit plunged forwards at a flat out gallop, weaving nimbly through the poles with Fabian leaning low over her neck, controlling her with one hand while he aimed his crossbow for the target and fired, striking the bulls-eye with devastating accuracy before pulling her around in an impossibly sharp turn and racing back.
‘Time.’ Imperato murmured softly, pressing down the third knob on the clock in front of Mistral while she gazed longingly after Fabian, mindlessly twirling a lock of hair through her fingers.
The morning wore by in an endless procession of warriors and their horses. Cain rode with typical recklessness, his fleet grey mare outpacing all the others with almost disdainful ease, making Mistral grin with unashamed pride when she punched down the knob as he galloped past her. Eventually the last name on the list was reached and Mistral was finally faced with the owner of the name “Erin”.
The bright sapphire blue eyes and cropped curly hair immediately told Mistral that Erin had fairy blood. She grinned cheekily as she gave her name, revealing small even white teeth. She was riding a finely built pony, expensive looking, and for some reason that annoyed Mistral. She gave her whistle a prolonged blow, sending out a high-pitched squeal that echoed the inexplicable dislike she suddenly felt towards the petite warrior now galloping with irritating accuracy through the poles towards the target positioned at the end.
‘Miss, damn it! Miss!’ Mistral found herself wishing under her breath. But even from the distance of the table she could tell that Erin’s shot had been true and for the first time in her life, she was completely overwhelmed with jealousy. The thought of Fabian spending two weeks with the grinning, elfin-figured Erin was more than she could stand.
‘Is that the last one?’ She demanded and abruptly stood up.
‘The first event is completed.’ Imperato confirmed in his steady voice.
‘Good! Because there are a couple of people I really need to see right now!’
Leaving her scattered paperwork in the care of her surprised looking father, Mistral stormed across the paddock, her eyes raking through the mass of dishevelled warriors on contrastingly gleaming horses until she spotted the blonde heads she was looking for and marched towards them.
‘Tell me you lost!’ She hissed the moment she was in earshot.
‘We rode with skill and shot with accuracy.’ Phantasm replied stiffly.
‘Yes, yes of course you did. I’m sure it was text book! But did you lose?’
‘We may not have been the fastest on the field –’
‘Good!’ Mistral exhaled sharply with relief. ‘Because I want you to make her fall off in the next round!’
The twins followed Mistral’s glare to see Erin giggling up at a bemused looking Samson, who had obviously ridden well from the way she was flirting with him.
‘Why?’
‘She is not going to be spending two weeks doing that to my husband!’ Mistral growled with dangerous emphasis.
‘Oh please! As if your Mage would ever look at another woman!’
‘I don’t care! Make her fall off! Or I swear I’ll make your lives a misery for the next two weeks!’
‘Jealousy is so unbecoming Mistral.’ Phantasm reproved her with a frown. ‘And completely unlike you!’
‘Make her fall off or I will!’ Mistral snarled, reaching instinctively for the belt of knives she always wore, only to realise that they were missing.
‘Yes.’ Phantasm murmured, catching her reflexive action. ‘It is probably a good thing that your knife belt no longer fits around your waist.’
Suddenly Mistral was crying, uncontrollable tears of frustration and anger. Swinging himself from his saddle, Phantasm immediately pulled her into a hug, releasing her to look down at her tear-streaked face with an amused expression. ‘She’s a terrible flirt I know, but she can’t help it! Surely you can see she has fairy blood? She would probably flirt with a corpse!’
‘And that’s what she’ll be if she so much as goes near Fabian!’ Mistral managed between sobs.
‘I know it’s hard for you,’ he sighed. ‘Not able to compete and forced to watch another female warrior riding almost as well as you can … so, just because I don’t want my godson upset by your over-emotional state, I ‘m willing to suggest a compromise.’
‘What?’ Mistral sniffed tearfully.
‘If she passes the next round my brother and I promise to ensure that she’s not successful in the third.’
‘Why not the second? Just get rid of her!’
‘Mistral, this is a tournament! She may fail on her own yet, and wouldn’t that be more gratifying than knowing we’d used our gift to make her?’
‘No.’ Mistral scowled. ‘What would be more gratifying is for me to be allowed to outride her in the damned tournament instead of sitting on the side like some fat ornament!’
‘Fat?’
‘Yes!’ Mistral wailed and broke into tears again.
‘You are not fat Mistral! You are pregnant! That’s a baby growing inside you, not an overindulgence of cakes!’
Mistral said nothing and wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her cloak, knowing the split-second before he spoke that Fabian had witnessed her breakdown and was now standing right beside her.
Shooting Phantasm a warning look, she turned to face Fabian with a watery smile, ‘You rode brilliantly!’
‘And does my level of horsemanship usually reduce you to floods of tears?’
Fabian’s expression was instantly understanding, making Mistral cry again for deceiving him, ‘Do you want me to tell Gleacher you are not well enough to continue?’ He offered gently.
‘No chance! Er, I mean no thanks! I wouldn’t want to miss this for the world,’ she said quickly, catching Phantasm’s sharp look over Fabian’s shoulder while he held her.
To her relief a sudden flurry of activity in the village square diverted the attention away from her mildly hysterical behaviour. Mage Grapple and his small entourage were arriving. He dismounted and led his horse into the stableyard, returning almost immediately to the square with the obvious intention of watching the rest of the tournament.
‘Good move or not?’ Phantom murmured to his brother.
‘Good.’ Phantasm responded firmly. ‘Shows he’s interested in the ways of the Ri.’
‘He could probably outride quite a few of the warriors here today.’ Samson commented, hauling his mare to an unwilling halt beside them.
‘How’d she do Samson?’ Mistral asked, making an effort to return to her normal self.
‘How do you think?’ He grinned. ‘We won our group of course! Who was highest in yours?’
‘Er –’ Mistral had stormed away from her table without even looking at the times. ‘I don’t know, I suppose I should go and check –’
‘No need Mistral. Although I do need to verify the results I would prefer it if you stayed with them until I arrived.’ Gleacher strode over with a stack of parchment grasped in his hand, looking at her disapprovingly.
‘Sorry Master Shacklock.’ Mistral pulled an apologetic face. ‘Something came up.’
‘Duty first Mistral, everything else second.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she hid a grin as Phantom mimicked Gleacher’s teacherish expression behind his back.
‘Now please take these to Master Sphinx. He will need to announce the successful twelve going through to the second round.’
Mistral took the sheaf of parchments from him; her feet moving automatically towards where Leo was stood talking with Mage Grapple and Imperato while her eyes scanned the list of times written in her untidy scrawl. She swore violently when she noted that Erin’s time was the third fastest on the sheet, marginally behind Cain’s. The only grain of comfort was that Fabian’s time had been the fastest.
The Seer Page 51
