The crowd echoed his laughter, leaving the warrior who had spoken flushed with anger at being publically ridiculed.
‘Oh dear, that’s one vote lost.’ Phantom sighed.
‘Never had him anyway.’ Phantasm muttered dismissively. ‘He’s in Master Nox’s camp.’
‘So they’re duelling for points? Like at The Festival of the Arcane?’ Mistral asked quickly.
The twins nodded.
‘Although I’m sure there’ll be a twist in it somewhere.’ Phantom added, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully.
‘I think probably having Mage Grapple as the duellist is the twist brother.’ Phantasm murmured, watching Mage Grapple shed his cloak in preparation for the start of the duels.
Mistral watched Clovis and Grendel moving the horses from the Arena to leave it clear for the duelling to begin. She laughed quietly when the crowd instantly parted to give the firebrand stallion a wide berth. It stepped out with a strong gait, its fearless black eyes bright. Mistral’s gaze travelled greedily over the sleekly muscled flanks, imagining how exhilarating it would feel to ride such a powerful animal.
‘I wonder if he’s for sale –’
‘If he is, it’s not to you.’ Phantasm remarked shortly.
‘Why not?’
Phantasm raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly down at her thickening waist.
‘I won’t always be pregnant!’ Mistral flared. ‘I could just buy him, but not ride him till after the baby is born!’
Phantasm made a disbelieving noise and shook his head.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means, Mistral, that I don’t trust you! And,’ he added nodding meaningfully towards the vanishing firebrand, ‘it looks as though I’m not the only one!’
Mistral spun around to see Fabian trotting Spirit across the village square after Clovis. She immediately hurried after him, muttering furiously under her breath. She arrived at the yard and slipped quietly into the gloom of the stableblock to find Clovis and Grendel hauling the bad-tempered firebrand into a stall, watched in stony-faced silence by Fabian.
‘I want that horse out of the Valley before I leave on this Contract!’ he snapped when Clovis appeared from the stall, rubbing a hand over his sweating face.
‘Why’s that Fabian?’ Mistral demanded quietly.
Fabian spun around to fix her with his cold black stare, ‘Because I saw the way you were looking at him Mistral! Do you think I don’t know how much an animal like this appeals to you?’
‘I already have a horse Fabian!’
Fabian raised an eyebrow, ‘So, if he were to come up for sale, you wouldn’t be interested?’
Mistral pouted and lifted her chin defiantly, ‘Might be –’
‘How can I ever be expected to take any work if you insist on finding trouble the moment my back is turned?’ Fabian exploded, startling the firebrand who promptly kicked out and smashed a hole in the partition between the stalls.
‘Saturn’s already sold.’ Clovis cut across their argument in a gruff voice.
Mistral spun around with a dismayed look on her face, ‘Who to?’ She cried.
‘Me.’ Grendel lumbered out from the stall, rubbing a hoof shaped swelling on his forearm.
‘Oh!’ Mistral was instantly taken aback. Clovis had been searching for over two years for a horse strong enough to bear the huge warrior’s bulk and the firebrand stallion was the perfect solution.
‘I don’t want you anywhere near that horse Mistral.’ Fabian’s voice was quietly insistent, his black gaze commanding.
‘She won’t be.’ Grendel grunted. ‘I’m going out tomorrow. Might be away some time,’ he added enigmatically and stomped out of the stableblock leaving Mistral glaring at Fabian.
‘Happy now?’ She demanded petulantly.
‘Nearly,’ he smiled disarmingly and opened his arms.
Mistral promptly abandoned her bad mood and melted against him with a sigh. Staying angry with Fabian required more will-power than she possessed; admitting defeat was much easier, and far more enjoyable.
‘Now I’m happy,’ he murmured, bending his head to kiss her.
‘Well Master Sphinx isn’t!’
Mistral looked around guiltily to see Phantasm’s green eyes shining angrily in the dim light of the stableblock.
‘While you two are hiding in here, canoodling like teenagers –’
‘What the hell is canoodling?’ Mistral whispered to Fabian while Phantom continued to upbraid them peevishly.
‘Not sure.’ Fabian murmured back. ‘But I suspect he could be referring to the fact that I was kissing my wife when I should really be duelling with Mage Grapple for a place on the Contract.’
‘Oh!’ The finale of the tournament had completely slipped her mind, but then, she reflected with a smile, most things seemed to slip her mind when Fabian kissed her.
‘You can stop smirking Mistral! It’s entirely inappropriate for the Ri’s Seer to be hiding in a stable with one of the finalists!’
‘When have I ever done anything appropriate?’ Mistral replied archly.
Fabian laughed and took her hand, pulling her out into the stableyard to make their back towards the Arena. It had started to drizzle. Mistral pulled the hood of her velvet cloak up and hurried to keep up with Fabian’s long strides.
‘Tell me how this tiebreaker works,’ she asked a little breathlessly.
‘Eximius will be the challenge; we will all duel with him for a three minute round. The three who score the highest will be awarded the Contract.’
‘Is Mage Grapple any good?’
Fabian hesitated for a second before replying in a flat voice, ‘Formidable.’
They had reached the village square and Mistral was unable to ask any more questions, all her breath was needed to keep up with Fabian while he forced his way through the dense crowd. As they approached the edge of the Arena, Leo’s voice could be heard outlining the scoring system that would be used for the duels.
For once in her life, Mistral listened carefully to the details. She wanted to understand exactly what was going on. It seemed to her to be a simple system; the sword points were to be dipped in a heavy paste of white chalk to make verifying any strikes easier. Strikes to the chest were worth three points and strikes landing on any other area of the body, excluding the head, were worth one point.
Once Leo had finished speaking, Fabian left Mistral with the twins at the edge of the Arena and strode over to take his place in the line of waiting finalists, all gazing apprehensively at the intimidating figure of Mage Grapple, stood with both hands resting on the hilt of his sword. Imperato had returned to stand beneath the awning at the table where Gleacher was seated, the clock in front of him set ready for the first round to begin. Mistral wished she were there too as the rain began to fall harder, soaking into the hood of her cloak and dripping from the fur trim.
Samson stepped forward to take the first duel to a smattering of nervous applause and a ragged cheer from a small group of warriors that knew him well. The rain swiftly turned the already muddy Arena to resemble something closer to a lake; but neither Samson nor Mage Grapple appeared to be bothered by either the rain or the mud sucking at their boots. The atmosphere across the village square tightened, all noise died away leaving in its place a tense silence. Every eye was now fixed upon the two figures facing each other in the centre of the Arena.
Raising his arm into the air, Leo looked at Samson and Mage Grapple in turn then dropped his hand and stepped quickly out of the way to the piercing whistle blast from Gleacher.
Samson immediately lunged at Mage Grapple who parried the strike, their swords meeting in a ringing clash. Mage Grapple swiftly countered, causing Samson to leap out of the way, slipping and nearly falling in the quagmire of mud. He recovered quickly and circled around before suddenly leaping forward with a rapid series of strikes; each deftly parried and countered in a flash of steel.
The duel had begun.
For the fi
rst minute the pair duelled in intense silence, the watching warriors too disbelieving of the sight before their eyes to do anything but stare in frank astonishment at the skill at which Mage Grapple wielded his sword. Samson was a skilled fighter too, but he was no match for Mage Grapple’s wealth of experience; the scars on his face and arms bore testimony to the numerous battles he had fought during the violent struggles to establish order on the Isle.
As they entered the second minute of their bout, the crowd suddenly came to life and began to cheer their warrior on, applauding each attempted strike and groaning when it was deflected. If Mage Grapple noticed the crowd’s lack of support for him, it didn’t affect his performance. He fought with the same detachment that defined his cold and emotionless personality. Mistral found herself wondering about the man he had once been; that had fallen in love and suffered the loss of both his lover and their child, the child that was now a grown man standing not three feet away from him.
By the end of the three minute round, Samson was covered in streaks of chalk paste and Mage Grapple had two faint marks on one arm. Samson had scored two points.
The crowd roared their approval and the duel continued with Cain stepping up to take the next bout to loud applause. He duelled with lightning fast strikes but was continually forced to defend, driven back by his more powerful opponent and ended the bout with a score of only one point.
Leo adjudicated each bout with impartial decisiveness; calling the score out in a clear voice for the crowd’s benefit after each duel. Not once did he offer Mage Grapple a let, and not once did Mage Grapple request one. He duelled continuously, barely appearing out of breath when he nodded politely to his opponent at the end of each bout and waited patiently for the next finalist to step forward.
Completely absorbed by each fiercely contested bout, it wasn’t until he complained that Mistral realised she had been gripping Phantasm’s hand tightly.
‘Oh, sorry brother,’ she muttered distractedly and immediately grabbed it again when Fabian stepped forward to duel.
Phantasm sighed and resigned himself to a broken hand.
Fabian and Mage Grapple nodded to one another and waited for the signal to begin. Gleacher’s short blast on the whistle was drowned out by the resonating clang of their swords meeting. Withdrawing, they circled and struck again, locking swords in a powerful blow that must have jarred shockingly, but neither gave any reaction. Fabian’s face was set in a hard mask of concentration; Mage Grapple’s fixed in his usual impenetrable map of scars. The noise of the crowd grew as the duel intensified, increasing in pace until it was almost impossible to distinguish individual sword strokes through the heavy rain. Both duelled with a cold determination, each deftly parried strike and counter executed with precision that spoke of exceptional skill. Mistral watched with unblinking eyes; her heart pounding with adrenaline, either breathing in quick gasps or not at all. The rain continued to fall, drenching everyone to the skin, but nobody seemed to notice; every pair of eyes in the Valley was fixed on the two figures duelling ferociously in the centre of the Arena.
When Gleacher sounded the whistle at the end of the bout a deafening roar went up from the crowd. Fabian and Mage Grapple stepped away from each other and nodded; their faces typically emotionless. Mistral was gratified to see Mage Grapple’s chest rising and falling more rapidly as Leo quickly moved to examine his armour for chalk marks before the rain washed them away. Turning to face the crowd, Leo held up four fingers. Fabian had scored one strike to the chest and another across Mage Grapple’s arm.
‘That’s the highest score!’ Mistral gasped, finally releasing her crushing grip on Phantasm’s hand to clasp her own together in rapture.
‘Is it? I was too blinded by pain to notice.’ Phantasm muttered, shaking out his throbbing hand.
‘The tournament is over! I commend every single one of you for taking part and I thank the skilled fighters for providing an excellent display of swordsmanship! Tonight we celebrate! Tomorrow Brutus, Samson and Fabian De Winter will leave to drive the unicorn herd across the Isle to their new home!’
Leo’s voice sounded across the square for the final time; the resulting cheers when he finished speaking were the final stamp of approval on the bold move of including Mage Grapple in the tournament proceedings.
‘”Skilled fighters”? Bit of a subtle reminder about Mage Grapple’s input, do you think?’
‘Too subtle, half of them won’t notice.’
‘Master Nox has –’
Leaving the twins’ to their whispered conversation, Mistral began to hastily pick her way through the churned mud of the Arena towards Fabian; her champion. He saw her approach and immediately left Samson in mid-conversation to stride over to her.
‘You’re soaked! And shivering! Why didn’t you go and sit under the awning? Here, take my cloak, it’s not quite as wet as you are. I’m taking you home –’
An All-Consuming Hunger
‘Better now?’
‘I think s-so –’
Mistral blew her nose on the handkerchief Phantasm offered her.
‘It’ll be a short two weeks, I promise.’
She nodded and promptly started crying again, ‘S-sorry – ’
‘Hormones.’ Phantom mouthed silently from across the room.
Phantasm rolled his eyes wearily and patted Mistral on the back while she continued to sob into his chest, ‘Right, well you are definitely staying here until Mage De Winter returns. I don’t want my godson being kept up all night by you in hysterics.’
‘I’m not in hysterics!’ Mistral snapped and sat up, leaving a large wet stain on the front of his shirt.
‘Of course you’re not,’ he agreed soothingly. ‘But do you think you could try and focus on the meeting we have this morning? They often bore me to the verge of tears, but to start one actually in tears would probably be a bad move.’
Mistral drew in a deep breath and wiped her eyes on her sleeve, ‘Meeting. Yes. Er, what’s it about again?’
Phantom sighed and recited the meeting details in a monotone, ‘A proposed policy to re-establish the rights of the Mage farming population to grow heimia salicifolia, or more commonly known as Erva de Vida. Previously banned because of its use to make a tea that has a mild hallucinogenic affect.’
‘Oh, yes, I’d forgotten.’ Mistral sighed, then added in a hopeful voice. ‘D’you think they’d let us try some, just to make the meeting pass a bit quicker?’
‘No, more’s the pity. But talking of which, you missed a really good night in The Cloak last night –’
Mistral nodded but said nothing. There was no way she’d been prepared to share Fabian with a tavern full of warriors.
‘Do you know Grendel has gone to find that nymph, oh, what was her name –’
‘Liliana.’
‘That’s it! The one that turned up in the Valley looking for him! Anyway, he’s only gone off to the Vale of Belleville to look for her. We might have another wedding soon – ’
Mistral listened to the twins’ mindless speculations on Grendel’s lovelife while she pulled on her cloak and got ready to leave for the meeting. Leaving Prospero curled up with Eloise in front of the fire they stepped out of the house into the damp morning air. Mistral walked between the twins along the narrow streets leading to the village square while they talked over and around her, engrossed in a conversation in which she had absolutely no interest. She gradually let them walk on ahead, leaving her to mope along behind them, lost in her own miserable thoughts. Fabian had gone. She had watched him ride away through the dawn mists with Samson and Brutus, driving the herd of unicorns before them. She could still hear his thoughts; but it was not the same as feeling his touch or seeing his smile with her own eyes. Wandering miserably up the path towards the Main Building, Mistral could see the debris from the previous night’s wild revelry scattered around; empty tankards, the odd half-eaten chicken leg and even a discarded boot.
‘Who goes home with only one boot on?’
Phantom asked, looking in wonderment at the single boot hanging forlornly from a shrub.
‘Probably the same kind of person that sleeps with their boots on.’ Phantasm sniffed.
Mistral said nothing. Before she met Fabian she’d often slept with all her clothes and boots on.
The Meeting Room on the third floor was laid out much as it had been on her previous visit. They were to sit at the end furthest away from the fire which, in retrospect Mistral decided was probably a good thing; the combination of heat and turgid subject matter would send her to sleep quicker than one of Phantasm’s French lessons.
Mage Grapple spoke with them briefly to outline their duties for the meeting. She was required to read each of the Mages in turn and establish whether any of them harboured designs on recommencing the once highly lucrative illegal trade in the herb. The twins were only present to use their gift to subdue anyone that suddenly became overly argumentative or obstructive.
Mistral stifled a yawn when Mage Grapple left the room to fetch the other attendees, ‘I can’t believe we’re doing this!’ She muttered disgustedly. ‘I trained for two years, and for what? To sit in on a meeting about some wretched herb that probably has less effect than Floris’ homebrew? It’s ridiculous!’
Phantom sighed, ‘I know, hardly high-brow stuff is it?’
Mistral leaned her head back against the wall behind her and stared up at the ornate ceiling, ‘To think, I used to climb mountains to clear gargoyle nests! Hunt manticore … cyclops … and now I sit in a room and listen to a bunch of fat councillors blow hot air at each other across a table!’
‘Shh, here come the fat councillors now!’
The meeting wore by with painful slowness. Voices droned on in a stream of endless debates about allowing the intoxicating herb to be grown once again. Mistral read each of the Mages in turn and was only vaguely interested to find that they all grew the herb themselves for private use.
After two hours of pointless debate, Mistral leaned fractionally towards Phantom to admit to him in a whisper, ‘I’ve stopped listening.’
The Seer Page 54
