The Seer

by Kirsten Jones

  Imperato laughed. A deep pleasant sound that took Mistral back slightly; she didn’t think she’d ever heard him laugh before.

  ‘I have lived long enough to master the art of patience. It will come to you, I promise. You have fire, like your mother. She has mellowed with the passing of time, but in her youth – ’

  He let his sentence hang in the air and gazed off into space, a look of such tenderness on his face that Mistral instantly smiled. It was obvious to her that Imperato loved Alyssa with more than the irrefutable ties of Bonding.

  ‘Warriors! I salute your skill!’

  Mistral heaved a weary sigh and turned to watch her brother-in-law address the huge crowd gathered in the village square.

  ‘I will announce the results from this event then I entreat you all to enjoy a meal which I have requested Floris to provide , with maybe a tankard or two of his finest ale –’

  Leo paused to allow the resulting laughter to subside. Mistral rolled her eyes at his blatant crowd pleasing, and the more revolting fact that they were actually falling for it.

  ‘Then I invite you all back to cheer on the final six competitors; who, in reverse order, will be –’

  Mistral realised that the parchment that had lain on the table in front of her was missing. Gleacher must have retrieved it while she was arguing with Imperato.

  ‘Cain!’

  A cheer went up. Mistral found herself standing up and clapping with the rest of the warriors.

  ‘Jasper!’

  The warrior that had successfully copied Cain’s tactic let out a loud whoop.

  ‘Brutus!’

  Mistral’s hands stung from clapping so hard and she seriously thought her face might split from grinning.

  ‘Samson!’

  Impossibly, her grin widened as she watched Samson’s scarred face break into a triumphant smile.

  ‘Erin!’

  Mistrals’ grin became a grimace and her clapping hands curled into fists. She was gratified to note that the responding applause was polite rather than rapturous.

  ‘Fabian De Winter!’

  No words could express the depth of emotion that overwhelmed Mistral when she looked across the Arena to see her Mage, sat motionless on his gold horse and staring with breathtaking intensity at her. Her hands fell open by her sides and her smile faded to be replaced by a look of profound longing. Ignoring the congratulations around him Fabian abruptly spurred Spirit across the Arena. Reining to a jarring halt he reached down and swung her up onto the front of his saddle. With no words to say Mistral simply wound her arms around his neck and kissed him unashamedly, completely oblivious to the suggestive calls and laughter of the crowd watching them ride slowly back across the Arena.

  Floris had prepared a hog roast and was serving it from a row of trestle tables in the village square. Mercifully, the rain held off and a carnival-like atmosphere quickly developed. Warriors drank, ate, and laughed at each other’s heavily embellished tales of their efforts in the tournament. To her disgust, Samson seemed to be enjoying Erin’s overly obvious flirting. When the irritating half-fairy vanished to go the bar at precisely the same time that Mage Grapple collared Fabian, Mistral grabbed Samson to hiss angrily in his ear.

  ‘If you so much as hold her hand you will never be my son’s godfather!’

  Samson threw back his head and laughed, making Mistral scowl even harder, ‘Come on Mistral, she’s got fairy blood! It’s like reliving my apprenticeship all over again! Eudora had quite a reputation in those days –’

  ‘I don’t care about Eudora! Just promise me that if Erin ends up on this Contract then you’ll keep an eye on her for me – ’ Mistral’s voice choked off.

  Samson instantly stopped laughing and looked at her in surprise, ‘Oh come on Mistral! You can’t seriously think that Fabian would even look at her!’

  Mistral’s face crumpled with the effort of holding back more tears.

  ‘You do, don’t you?’ Samson’s expression was incredulous. He bent his scarred face close to hers to speak more quietly. ‘Do you know how long I have known Fabian?’

  She nodded, rubbing away the silent tears with the sleeve of her velvet cloak.

  ‘Then you must know that you and he, together, have something I never imagined possible. Nothing could ever come between you two.’

  ‘Still don’t want my son’s godfather messing with a tart,’ she mumbled angrily.

  ‘No, I suppose I should start setting an example to Samson Junior –’

  ‘He’s not being called that!’

  ‘Why not? It’s a good name?’

  ‘Oh right! And you would teach him all your best traits would you? Like the time you were in Persia?’

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘I’m a Seer Samson!’

  Erin returned to be completely ignored while Mistral and Samson hotly debated the appropriateness of his behaviour during a Contract that had taken place nearly ten years ago.

  ‘Warriors!’

  Mistral and Samson stopped arguing as Leo’s distinctive voice rang out over the village square once again.

  ‘The final is upon us! Six will compete, but only three will be successful! It is a simple challenge –’ He paused dramatically to allow the good-natured shouts of disagreement to be voiced. ‘Separate the black horse from the herd and control it beside your own steed for two laps of the Arena!’

  Along with everyone else, Mistral turned to look at the Arena and instantly felt her world implode. There, in the midst of an adoring gaggle of Ri mares, was a creature of such unequalled magnificence that Mistral could only stand and stare. After a long moment of silent ogling, she managed to express her profound admiration with the only word that came to mind.

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘You can say that again!’ Samson echoed in an awed voice.

  A firebrand stallion stood proudly in the centre of the Arena. Mistral’s gaze travelled over the huge beast, noting the muscles that rippled beneath the glossy coat, the strong, clean legs and proud head. He towered above the Ri mares, his thick neck arching protectively around the nearest one. Rolling a black eye towards the crowd of onlookers, he struck the ground threateningly with a hoof the size of a dinner plate.

  ‘This is going to be tough.’ Samson muttered and pushed his way through the crowd to find Alto.

  The event wasn’t timed; leaving Mistral free to join the onlookers at the fence while the final six gathered in the Arena with some trepidation.

  ‘Makes Cirrus look tame doesn’t he?’ Phantom muttered in her ear.

  ‘Cirrus is gelded.’ Mistral retorted sharply. ‘Of course a full firebrand stallion makes him look tame!’

  ‘Easy sister, no need to get defensive!’

  Mistral sniffed then turned to fix Phantasm with a sharp look, ‘I hope you haven’t forgotten your promise!’

  He shook his head silently, his gaze not leaving the Arena.

  ‘Good. But I might just go get my knife belt anyway, just in case –’

  ‘And I might even let you.’ Phantasm cut across her smoothly. ‘If you tell me what you’re going to do in French.’

  Mistral’s foul reply, delivered in perfect French, was drowned out by Leo’s shouted order for the first contestant to step forward. No-one seemed keen to start and there was a long moment of silence before Fabian finally rode forward and took the coiled length of rope from Leo’s outstretched hand.

  Mistral watched with bated breath while Fabian calmly walked Spirit across the Arena towards the knot of mares, keeping his eyes down and offering the stallion no direct challenge, he pulled Spirit around and rode her back again. A simple tactic. Fabian was using Spirit as bait.

  On the fourth pass, the firebrand stallion was unable to resist the urge to try and claim the bright mare and left the protection of his herd. Mistral watched with something close to veneration as the stallion broke into a canter, the liquid smoothness of his strides belying the sheer power that lay within every heavy ho
of fall. Fabian allowed the stallion to draw near, almost casually looping the lasso around his colossal neck. He guided Spirit into a lap of the Arena, the firebrand stallion cantering in tandem by her side while he tried to woo her.

  Mistral gave a laugh of pure delight and clapped her hands together. The ease with which Fabian had completed the final event was almost comical, all because his mare appealed to the object of the task.

  When Fabian released the stallion and resumed his place amongst the contestants, Samson rode out to take the next turn and employed the same tactic with equal success. Mistral felt her hopes soar, Cain also rode a mare; if he did the same then final three would be him, Fabian and Samson – a combination she was more than happy to accept.

  The warrior called Jasper rode next; his heavyset liver-chestnut took an instant dislike to the firebrand stallion and challenged him. Realising that he didn’t have long to accomplish the desired outcome of the event before the two horses began to fight, Jasper flung a lasso over the firebrand stallion’s neck and hauled for all he was worth. The firebrand snorted with surprise at the unfamiliar sensation then resisted. Jerking his head back sharply, he pulled Jasper from the saddle with almost disdainful ease; eliciting a roar of laughter from the watching crowd. Mistral felt a wave of pity for the warrior, lying face down in the mud of the Arena. He climbed slowly to his feet, wiping mud from his face and grinning in good grace at his own failure before exiting the Arena to a round of applause.

  Brutus rode up next. Mistral frowned anxiously; her brother rode a gelding and couldn’t use the same simple trick as Fabian and Samson. She watched him loosely coil the lasso in his hands and urge his horse into a trot towards the knot of mares surrounding the stallion. Mistral held her breath; would he try to lasso the stallion like Jareth had? She hoped not, Brutus was tall, but not overly broad. It would take a big warrior to handle the stallion. Brutus had obviously come to the same conclusion as her and made the unexpected move of lassoing one of the mares instead. Pulling the startled horse from the herd, Brutus led her away at a fast canter, causing the firebrand stallion to squeal in fury and give chase. Keeping the mare close to his side, Brutus knotted another loop in the end of the rope and held it ready. As the jealous stallion thundered up, he slipped it over the firebrand’s head almost without him noticing and continued to circle the Arena, leading the mare with the jealously protective stallion in hot pursuit.

  ‘Clever!’ Phantom remarked, clapping loudly along with the rest of the crowd.

  ‘Well, one of them had to have some brains.’ Mistral remarked drily.

  ‘Are you suggesting that Xerxes got the looks?’

  ‘No!’

  Erin rode forward next to muted applause. Mistral merely growled.

  ‘Easy now, let’s just restrain those pregnancy hormones a little bit shall we?’ Phantom laughed.

  Mistral noted with satisfaction that her costly pony was a gelding, unappealing to the stallion and too small to constitute a threat to his herd of mares. Erin was actually going to have to do some work this time.

  ‘She rides well.’ Phantom made the mistake of commenting.

  Mistral immediately slapped him down, ‘No she doesn’t! She rides like a half-full sack of potatoes! That pony is doing all the work!’

  Phantasm shot his brother a warning look over the top of Mistral’s head, indicating towards her clenched fists and the hilts of the two daggers just visible in the sides of her boots. Phantom raised his eyebrows in silent agreement to tread more carefully. Mistral on a good day could easily be angered into doing something as impulsive as throwing a dagger at a fellow warrior, never mind Mistral pregnant and facing two weeks without her Mage.

  Erin circled the Arena at a steady canter while she considered her options. On the third pass a warrior began to heckle her from the crowd and was soon joined by another until a chant began, urging her to “get on with it”. Mistral didn’t join in the chant, but she grinned and enjoyed watching Erin’s sharp features flush at the growing chorus of catcalls. Eventually losing her temper, Erin flung the coil of rope out to land neatly around the stallion’s neck. Turning her pony in a sharp circle, she pushed him into a gallop, intending to use the impetus of speed to drag the unsuspecting stallion from his herd. The stallion lifted his head in recognition of the rope around his neck but remained resolutely still. It pulled taut, yanking Erin from the back of her galloping pony with a surprised squeak. With a flash of devilment, the stallion abruptly reared and leapt away from the seclusion of his mares to canter around the Arena, dragging Erin face-down through the mud in his wake.

  Mistral tried very hard to be the better person and fight down her mirth, but when Phantom burst into musical peals of laughter she gave way and joined in.

  Grinning widely, Phantasm placed an arm around her shoulders and turned to whisper in her ear, ‘Didn’t I tell you it would be better if she failed on her own?’

  Mistral nodded and choked back another wave of laughter when Erin finally let go of the rope and stood up, her slight figure and mud splattered face making her look suddenly like one of the annoying dark-furred creatures that plagued the forests. ‘Spriggan!’ Mistral gasped and heard Phantom break into more fits of laughter. ‘She looks like a spriggan!’

  Erin stomped from the Arena to a storm of jeers and mocking applause, leaving only Cain to complete the event. Despite having been fooled with the same trick twice in a row, the firebrand stallion fell for the same simple ploy of being lured out by a new mare and Cain was soon bowing and grinning to the crowd after having completed two laps of the arena with the stallion trotting happily beside him.

  ‘This is going to be interesting.’ Phantasm murmured.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Four successful finalists and only three places on the Contract.’

  ‘Oh!’

  They were not the only ones to realise that the Contract was over-subscribed. A murmur ran through the crowd. Some of the warriors began muttering under their breath and casting suspicious looks at Leo. If he capitulated and permitted four warriors to go it would either reduce the Contract value or look like favouritism, and neither would do his popularity much good. Fabian and the other three successful contenders were gathered in the Arena around Leo and Imperato, obviously discussing the problem. Mistral scanned the crowd, trying to gauge their reaction. Malachi was stood with his sour-faced group, his lips moving quickly and his face set in a poisonous expression.

  ‘I wonder what Master Sphinx is going to do.’ Phantom mused. ‘I don’t suppose you’d just give him a quick read would you Mistral? … Mistral?’

  Mistral was staring vacantly into space. Instantly recognising the blank look on her face the twins watched her intently, waiting for her to come out of her trance.

  ‘Who?’ Phantom breathed the second she blinked and her eyes focussed again.

  ‘Malachi,’ she sighed.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Oh, he’s capitalising on the confusion, saying that Leo should’ve foreseen the possibility of this outcome and how it’s a sign of his immaturity, he’s not ready to be the Divinus, the Ri need someone with experience.’

  ‘What, like him?’ Phantasm snorted.

  ‘Hush!’ Mistral said quickly. ‘Leo’s winding up to deliver another stormer!’

  ‘Warriors! We have one finalist too many! I hereby propose a tiebreaker!’

  A huge roar went up from the crowd but Mistral merely looked confused, ‘Why are they so excited about a tiebreaker?’

  ‘They’re warriors Mistral. They get excited by anything to do with swords.’ Phantasm sighed.

  Mistral instantly perked up, ‘Swords? So what’s a tiebreaker involve then?’

  ‘Usually duelling.’

  Mistral’s eyes shone with anticipation. She looked at the Arena to see that a heated discussion was taking place between the four finalists and Leo, calmly observed by Imperato.

  ‘Look!’ Phantom nodded over to where Mage Grapple was striding acros
s the muddy Arena. ‘If he interferes it won’t look good!’

  The twins and Mistral watched Mage Grapple halt in front of Leo and begin speaking to him, too quietly for any of their conversation to carry back to the tensely waiting crowd. Leo bowed his head while he listened to whatever Mage Grapple was suggesting, his face creased into a thoughtful frown. Finally he raised his head and looked at each of the finalists, appearing to ask them something before he gave a decisive nod and gazed over at the waiting warriors again.

  ‘Here we go.’ Phantom murmured as Leo stepped forward to address the crowd once again.

  ‘The four finalists have expressed a wish not to duel with each other –’

  A low groan of disappointment echoed around the packed village square, however there was little surprise in the sound; the four finalists all knew each other’s fighting styles too well to make any duelling particularly challenging or exciting to watch.

  ‘However, a solution has been proposed that I would like to put to you for your approval –’

  ‘Clever Master Sphinx, very clever.’ Phantasm smiled with grudging admiration. ‘Asking the warriors for their approval shows he values their opinion.’

  ‘Not really Leo’s style to ask permission though is it?’ Mistral muttered.

  ‘Of course not! Master Sphinx would never dream of seeking their counsel on any matters of importance, but to involve them in something like this is just good sense.’

  ‘Oh just see Malachi’s face! He could sour milk with that look!’ Phantom hissed gleefully.

  They all turned to see Malachi glowering furiously at Leo, now stood with his arms held open in a very Bryden Wolfsnare-ish type gesture.

  ‘Mage Grapple has agreed to be the static duellist!’

  A gasp ran around the square. A warrior stood close to Malachi shouted out in a belligerent voice. ‘Do you expect our warriors to try and defeat Mage Grapple and not suffer any consequences from his warlocks?’

  ‘No!’ Leo laughed. ‘I expect my warriors to duel with Mage Grapple and score points!’