The Seer

by Kirsten Jones

  Mistral laughed and looked around the tavern, reading the aura’s of the gathered warriors. A dreary fog of disdain, mistrust and boredom filled her vision, apart from one sunburst of vibrant yellow.

  ‘Any takers?’ Phantom asked lightly.

  ‘Only one. Our resident poet seems to like the idea of more talk and less action.’

  Phantom rolled his eyes, ‘Ah, of course. Mistress Lightwater.’

  ‘She’d be out of a job if Mycroft got his way.’ Cain observed drily. ‘Unless we were all in the Infirmary with paper cuts and injuries from dropping books on our toes!’

  Mistral snorted with laughter but quickly turned it into a cough when Leo stepped through the door. His intimidating presence instantly quelled her mirth and any quiet conversations being held. There was no question of him having to force his way to the bar; warriors instantly moved aside to create a clear path for him.

  ‘Ah, the good ship Leo in full sail,’ murmured Cain.

  Mistral smirked but she had to admit that Leo did move with the stateliness of a galleon, straight-backed, square-shouldered and head held high he strode to the bar and turned to face the packed room. He remained silent for a long moment, ensuring the full attention of every single warrior before he finally spoke.

  ‘Warriors of the Ri, tonight you will exercise your right to choose,’ he paused to rake the room with his icy stare. ‘Choice. None of you chose the mixed blood that runs in your veins, or the title of half-breed bestowed upon you by your birth. But your lives changed the day you embraced your right to choose, and you chose the life of a warrior. Know that we are not defined by our blood but by the choices we make, and with that knowledge be proud of who you are. Live your life by this one simple fact and your funeral pyre shall burn with righteous flames.’ Leo bowed his head and stepped back to thunderous applause.

  ‘You’ve got to admit, he knows how to work the crowd.’ Phantom whispered to Mistral.

  She pulled a face and clapped politely, ‘At least it was short.’

  ‘Round three!’ Xerxes announced in an eager whisper.

  Mistral looked up to see Malachi Nox already stood at the bar. She hadn’t even noticed him enter.

  ‘Read him Mistral.’ Fabian breathed in her ear.

  Mistral nodded once and immediately focused on the air above his short, dark hair. The hours she had spent inside his mind allowed her almost instant access and his thoughts seethed into hers, broiling with anger and vitriol. Other emotions tore at her mind; revenge, the excitement of a long awaited moment finally being reached and an overwhelming desire for vengeance that dominated his thoughts ... but Mistral could See nothing of how he planned to achieve it.

  Her eyes slid back into focus with a frown, ‘I can’t See what he’s going to do, he’s not thinking of it.’

  ‘The truth will out.’ Fabian murmured softly and took hold of her hand.

  She slipped her fingers between his and interlaced them tightly, glad of the comfort of his touch.

  Malachi gazed coldly at the expectant faces before him then turned to address Leo with a sneer, ‘Well spoken, Master Sphinx. Truly, those were words to stir the blood. Blood!’ He cried more loudly and spun around to sweep the packed tavern with his glittering black gaze. ‘Master Sphinx speaks of blood and of choices! But what choices will he make for the Ri?’ Malachi paused and let the question hang dramatically in the air. ‘Will he choose to lead us into the Council’s enslavement?’ He continued in a softer voice. ‘I think we should know before we choose him.’

  A rumble of assent ran around the room. Mistral had no doubt it had been started by one of Malachi’s followers. Leo remained silent and stared glacially at Malachi until it became obvious that he wasn’t going to favour Malachi’s pointed remarks with a response.

  ‘Master Sphinx speaks so grandly of the unimportance of blood!’ Malachi continued in a scathing tone. ‘And he does not lie! Your blood is meaningless to him! It is less than the residue to be wiped from his blade after battle! Do not be fooled by the illusion of your loyal and steadfast Training Captain! He has deceived you with a plan so ingenious that had I not born witness to the truth myself, I would never have believed the sheer depths of its audacity.’ Malachi turned to look at Leo again, speaking in a voice laden with disdain. ‘The orphaned boy adopted by the Ri, raised as a warrior to become the youngest Training Captain ever known. It is rather a heart-warming tale of achievement in the face of adversity is it not? But, have you ever stopped to consider just why he has been so successful?’ Malachi turned sharply to face the room of warriors once more. ‘It’s almost like … magic.’

  The room was gripped with suspense. Mistral felt Fabian’s hand tighten around hers, confirming her fear of what Malachi was going to do, and there was no time left to instruct the twins to stop him …

  ‘Your Training Captain, the would-be Divinus ... is a Mage.’

  There was a moment’s stunned silence before the room erupted into shocked exclamations and shouted denials. Xerxes swore under his breath and instantly scanned the parchment in his hand to see if anyone had bet on that outcome.

  Malachi held up a thin hand calling for silence, turning to fix Leo with his malevolent black stare, ‘You speak of blood! Yet you deny your own! What do you know of loyalty and the brotherhood of the Ri? You are Mage born! No half-breed condemned to a life of killing for money, but born of the ruling class! Destined to a life of privilege by the blood that runs in your veins. How long were you to live this farce? Was this the plan all along? Infiltrate the Ri; gain a position of power, then lead us straight into the Council’s thrall?’

  Leo’s face was like a death mask, utterly devoid of any emotion.

  ‘Are you really saying that Master Sphinx is a Mage?’ A warrior called out in a disbelieving voice.

  ‘Oh yes. A full-blooded Mage.’ Malachi’s face twisted into a snarl of contempt. ‘Proposing himself as the next Divinus of the Ri!’

  Leo did not speak but stared with icy calm at Malachi while a taut silence spread out across the room. Every pair of eyes stared at Leo with a mixture of accusation, disbelief and anticipation; waiting for him to refute Malachi’s claims. It was so quiet that Mistral could hear every breath she drew, shallow and rapid.

  ‘You do not speak Master Sphinx!’ A voice cried out.

  Mistral turned to see one of Malachi’s followers glaring insolently at Leo.

  ‘Or should that be Mage Sphinx?’ The warrior beside him jeered.

  Leo fixed the warrior with his cold stare and lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, ‘There is nothing to speak about.’

  ‘Do you deny your blood?’ The warrior demanded harshly.

  ‘It is irrelevant.’

  ‘Maybe to you, Mage, but not to us! We deserve an explanation!’

  An angry murmur rippled through the room in response to the warrior’s outburst. Mistral gripped Fabian’s hand more tightly while they waited for Leo’s reply. The sounds of discontentment grew louder and Mistral realised with dawning horror that Leo wasn’t going to respond to the warrior’s demand.

  ‘He’s got to speak!’ Mistral hissed urgently to Fabian. ‘He’ll just look like an arrogant Mage otherwise!’

  Fabian didn’t reply. He was staring at Gleacher Shacklock.

  ‘We deserve the truth!’ The warrior shouted. ‘The Ri can’t have a Divinus of Mage blood!’

  The room erupted in a roar of agreement and Malachi’s face blazed victoriously. He turned to give Leo a pitying smile before facing the room again, raising his hands to call for order.

  ‘Blood!’

  It was not Malachi’s voice that silenced the tavern, but the granite hard voice of Gleacher Shacklock. He stared impassively across the sea of watching faces and slowly began to roll up his shirt sleeve, exposing a scarred forearm. Drawing his dagger he pressed the razor-sharp edge to the inside of his elbow and deliberately drew a long line down to his wrist. ‘The liquid essence of life.’ He tilted his head to regard t
he crimson line of blood welling up along the length of the cut, running down his arm to gather and fall in heavy droplets onto the table, splashing the surrounding tankards with their fine scarlet spray.

  The resulting silence in the room was absolute. Every warrior was utterly transfixed by the sight of Gleacher’s blood dripping down onto the table.

  ‘Mine has flowed on more occasions than I care to recall.’ Gleacher smiled humourlessly and held his arm up a little higher, watching the blood running down to gather in the crook of his elbow. ‘Is my blood not the same colour as yours? Does it not run with the same vigour when released?’ Gleacher’s grey eyes roved questioningly around the room of warriors; warriors that had all entrusted their lives to him countless times. ‘When my blood is nothing but ash at the base of a funeral pyre, how will you remember me? As a half-elf? Or a half-Mage? I desire neither to be my epitaph.’ Gleacher concluded. ‘I ask only to be remembered for my actions, not my blood.’

  ‘More bold words!’ Malachi snarled. ‘But they change nothing! Master Sphinx has concealed the true nature of his blood from us all for years! How can we trust such deceit?’

  ‘Deceit?’ Gleacher demanded sharply. ‘There is no deceit in an orphaned baby not knowing his blood!’

  ‘You knew!’ Malachi pointed an accusing finger at Gleacher. ‘Yet you helped to conceal the truth! You are as guilty of deception as he!’

  ‘There is no crime in concealing the nature of his blood! Show me a warrior that boasts of the blood that runs in their veins and I will show you a warrior who is lying! We all hide from the prejudice our mixed-blood evokes! It is the very reason for the existence of the Ri!

  ‘Warriors!’ Gleacher’s voice thundered across the tavern with renewed force. ‘Summon to mind the times your Training Captain has stood shoulder to shoulder with you on a battlefield, when his blood has soaked the earth at your feet! Those are the only times that his blood should matter … when it fell in place of yours! There was no conspiracy! Only an unwanted baby left to die in the forests!’

  A ringing silence fell over the room. Gleacher stepped back, rolling down the sleeve of his shirt while Malachi glared at him with corrosive hatred.

  ‘It is time to vote!’ Mycroft’s shouted order was immediately followed by a surge of restless muttering amongst the warriors.

  ‘What do you See Mistral?’ Fabian whispered urgently.

  ‘Indecision.’ Mistral murmured, her eyes scouring the olive green haze of auras. ‘Some anger from Malachi’s supporters –’

  ‘Is he really a Mage?’ Xerxes whispered quickly to the twins.

  They nodded wordlessly and Xerxes snorted angrily.

  ‘Not voting for him then brother?’ Phantasm murmured softly.

  ‘Oh, the Leoship’s still got my vote.’ Xerxes replied with a shrug. ‘Doesn’t change anything for me , I’d still rather have a Mage as a Divinus than Malachi.’

  ‘There’s no choice really.’ Brutus agreed. ‘Mycroft would turn us into some sort of ballet school, and Malachi would work us into the ground, or just let his nearest and dearest feed off us!’

  ‘How about you brother?’ Xerxes asked Cain in a low voice.

  ‘Better the devil you know.’ Cain replied grimly.

  ‘But Master Nox, you have not told us how you would lead the Ri yet!’

  Mistral turned at the sound of Samson’s rasping voice. He was seated at a table on the far side of the room surrounded by a group of stony faced warriors.

  Malachi favoured Samson with a lengthy cold stare before he replied, ‘It is no secret –’ he paused to lay heavy emphasis on the word.

  ‘Like he’s so honest!’ Xerxes muttered under his breath.

  ‘– that I believe the future of the Ri lies in severing all ties with the Council.’

  There were several enthusiastic shouts of agreement but Samson raised his voice above them to call loudly, ‘What? No more Council Contracts? The most highly paid work we get is from the Council!’

  Malachi’s voice became angry, ‘There would be other work as highly paid!’

  ‘Oh really? Where from exactly?’ Samson looked around as though trying to spot some, causing a smattering of laughter from the tables near him.

  ‘Mercenary work –’

  ‘Ah yes, mercenary work.’ Samson intoned heavily. ‘How we all adore selling our lives for a cause we don’t believe in.’

  ‘You believe in money!’ Malachi spat, his thin face twisting in anger at the ridicule in Samson’s tone.

  ‘Not as much as you do!’ Xerxes suddenly shouted. ‘How many Contracts did I take as an apprentice with little added extras for you? All those odd items that I sweated and bled to bring back to impress the mighty Magnate with my abilities! All just for you to sell on the black market!’

  Several warriors turned to give Xerxes curious looks, but most merely raised their eyebrows in silent agreement. Malachi’s misuse of the apprentices had obviously been long suspected by many.

  Malachi stiffened, his narrowed glare full of black hatred, ‘You dare accuse a member of the Magnate, warrior?’ He demanded in a voice that vibrated with fury.

  Xerxes shrugged nonchalantly, ‘Accuse? No. I’m just embracing this new concept of being open and honest, Master Nox.’

  Malachi and Xerxes locked stares across the room.

  ‘I think that we should vote now.’ Gleacher broke the frigid silence and strode over to place a large wooden box on the bar. The box was sealed all the way around with just one slot cut into the top. Placing a sheaf of parchment, a pot of ink and several quills beside the box, he stepped back and turned to address the warriors one final time. ‘Warriors … make your choice.’

  For a long moment no-one moved, then, with a loud scraping of wood on stone, Samson shoved back his chair and pushed his way through the unmoving warriors to the bar. He took one of the quills, dipped it in the ink then reached for a piece of parchment. The room was so still that Mistral could clearly hear the scratching sound of the quill as Samson wrote down his choice for the next Divinus. Folding it twice, he posted it carefully through the slot in the top of the box and returned to his seat.

  At once the room was filled with the sound of warriors rising from their chairs and making their way to the bar. Murmured conversations broke out all around, discussing the astonishing revelations in shocked tones. It was all vague background noise to Mistral, rapidly fading to an insignificant whisper while she sank into a trance-like state; reading the thoughts of each warrior that stepped up to write down their choice and place it into the box.

  ‘What do you See Mistral?’ Fabian’s voice held an unfamiliar edge of anxiety to it.

  ‘Malachi … Leo … Malachi … Malachi … Leo … Leo –’ she murmured indistinctly, her blank stare fixed on blackened beams above the bar.

  ‘It’s going to be close.’ Phantasm muttered then turned quickly to Brutus. ‘Where’s Grendel?’

  Brutus grimaced, ‘Busy.’

  ‘Well he’s about to get unbusy! We need every warrior to vote or we’re going to end up with Master Nox as our Divinus!’

  ‘I’ll leave the Valley if that happens!’

  ‘So shall I brother, but I would rather be paid to work and live in a house than scratch out a miserable existence in the forests!’

  ‘Fair point.’ Brutus agreed and rose quickly to his feet. ‘I’ll be back as quickly as I can –’

  It was midnight before the final warrior had cast his vote, then the slow process of counting them began; a task traditionally performed by the Ri’s Agents, Scrimshaw and Scuttle. Mistral had rested her head onto her folded arms and fallen asleep by the time the count had even begun.

  Xerxes looked up briefly from his parchment and shook his head, ‘I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve seen her asleep with her head on this table.’

  ‘Not sober though.’ Cain said while Fabian gently placed his folded cloak under her head as a pillow.

  Another hour passed. Xerxes fi
lled the time by feverishly checking the list of wagers he’d taken and calculating how much money he could potentially lose if Mycroft actually received more than one vote.

  ‘The votes have been counted twice with the same result! A new Divinus has been chosen!’

  The low murmur of conversation instantly died and every warrior turned to look at Vincent Scrimshaw, peering at them over half-moon spectacles from beside the wooden box at the bar.

  ‘One hundred and fifty six warriors voted tonight. The first candidate, Master Casterton, received votes totalling five.’

  There were a few laughs; Xerxes swore and quickly checked his list again.

  ‘The second candidate, Master Sphinx –’

  The atmosphere in the tavern became suddenly strained. Everyone was abruptly alert, either leaning forward on their seats or standing up a little straighter.

  ‘Received votes totalling –’ He paused and glanced down at the parchment in his hand while the warriors waited with bated breath for him to deliver the result. ‘Seventy six.’

  The tense silence held for a moment while rapid calculations were carried out, the twins suddenly grinned at each other and half the tavern erupted into triumphant cheers.

  ‘He’s done it!’ Brutus cried loudly. ‘The good ship Leo has only gone and sailed into harbour!’

  ‘By the skin of his teeth though.’ Cain said with a meaningful look at the bitter disappointment on the faces of some of the warriors in the room. ‘Seventy five of them voted for Malachi rather than have a Mage rule the Ri. What does that say about the mind-set of half the warriors in the Valley?’

  ‘That we’d rather have a corrupt, greedy half-vampire in charge than a Mage.’ Brutus replied, still grinning. ‘Tell you what though, I’m damned glad I went to fetch Grendel now, I reckon it was his vote that tipped it!’

  Nobody listened to Vincent Scrimshaw deliver Malachi’s results, or heard him loudly proclaim Master Leopold Sphinx as the Ri’s new Divinus. The tavern was growing rowdy again with warriors beginning to celebrate, although several had already got up and walked out, their expressions guarded.