The Seer

by Kirsten Jones

  ‘She can read people in her sleep?’ Samson raised his eyebrows interestedly and took another swallow of wine.

  A shadow crossed Fabian’s face, ‘Her gift is increasing so fast it’s almost frightening. I woke up last night to hear her talking in French, repeating a conversation between Christophe, his Captain of the Guard, and Malachi.’

  ‘All three? At once?’

  Fabian nodded, his dark eyes suddenly veiled, ‘She can read multiple minds now.’

  ‘Damn! That’s a neat trick!’ Samson exclaimed in an impressed voice. ‘But what did she hear?’

  ‘Later –’

  ‘Samson? Is that you?’ Mistral called through from the kitchen.

  Fabian looked confused but Samson gave an incredulous laugh and replied in the same language she had greeted him in, ‘Yes Lady De Winter! Present, correct, and damned hungry.’

  ‘Good!’ Mistral reverted to their own language as she walked through from the kitchen, grinning and wiping her hands on a linen towel. ‘Because I think I’ve cooked too much, as usual.’

  ‘When,’ Fabian interrupted sharply, ‘did you learn to speak elven?’

  ‘Got bored in The Cloak yesterday lunchtime, so I asked Brutus to teach me some.’ Mistral explained with a casual shrug. ‘It’s the mountain version, but it’ll be good enough for me to understand what our son’s going to be learning when he goes to school.’

  Fabian closed his eyes and leaned back against the sofa, ‘I suppose I had better brush up on my elven or suffer you two talking behind my back.’

  ‘Do you want the gravy putting on yet, oh bossy one?’ Phantom called from the kitchen.

  ‘Yes, if you’ve left anything for us to pour it over!’ Mistral replied over her shoulder then turned back to grin at Samson. ‘Thanks for the gift by the way, I know he’ll love it, although I’m not sure I want him to have his own set of throwing knives for quite a while, even if they aren’t sharpened. I just hope Eloise can still run fast by the time he’s old enough to be chucking them around.’

  Samson shook his head and laughed as Mistral vanished back into the steamy kitchen, ‘Ah brother, I’m never sure whether to envy you or pity you for being wed to Mistral. You’re never going to be able to conceal a thing from her!’

  Fabian smiled softly, his dark eyes watching her while she laid the table, ‘That maybe so, but remember that I never have to explain myself either.’

  Samson’s expression became rueful, ‘Yes, that can get a bit wearing.’

  They ate and talked of events in the Valley; Leo’s appointment of Bryden Wolfsnare and the pleasing lack of Mage Grapple’s presence. He had not visited the Valley at all during July since neither Mistral nor the twins had been required at any of his meetings; mainly because they were all concerning the contentious issue of approving the next Divinus. The Rochfortes’ supporters at the Council were doing a good job of contesting Leo’s right to be the next Divinus; so far the Council had met to debate the appointment three times and a decision had still not been reached. At Fabian’s request Mistral had spent an entire day sporadically reading Mage Grapple’s mind during the last lengthy meeting. The debates she’d heard varied from being pointlessly tedious to making her blood boil with rage; particularly when one Councillor had the audacity to question whether they should permit a Mage to head the Ri, claiming that he would have access to a power he had no training in, and therefore no right wield. Most were frustratingly boring, with one very nearly sending her into a coma when she made the mistake of listening through Mage Grapple’s mind to Councillor Rosenberg outlining a proposal to appoint a sub-committee to debate the relevance of the title “Divinus”, arguing that it gave the bearer delusions of grandeur.

  ‘Most of the arguments the Rochfortes’ supporters are putting forward against Master Sphinx’s appointment are blatantly groundless.’ Phantasm sighed. ‘But each has to be debated and ruled out before the next can be dealt with.’

  ‘Delaying the whole process massively.’ Phantom continued while he attacked a slice of roast beef. ‘Which is exactly what Christophe and Malachi wanted to achieve.’

  ‘Buying them enough time to complete their plans and travel to the Isle.’ Phantasm finished.

  ‘It’s so frustrating!’ Phantom exclaimed between mouthfuls. ‘We could sort the whole thing out from round this table! Mistral could just tell us who to influence at the vote and the whole messy business would be over!’

  ‘That would be a mistake on two counts brother.’ Phantasm frowned. ‘Firstly, you know that Master Sphinx must be voted in legitimately and secondly, it would not do for Mage Grapple to become aware of the fact that our gift is more powerful than he believes.’

  Fabian nodded in agreement, ‘It suits our purpose well that Eximius is under the impression that you must be in the same room as the recipient of your gift.’

  ‘But why does he think that?’ Samson asked with a perplexed look. ‘Eximius is hardly a fool! I can’t believe he’d make such a simple mistake!’

  ‘He is comparing it to the Craft.’ Fabian replied. ‘Line of sight is vital when casting.’

  ‘Talking of line of sight; your first years need a bit of sorting out at archery, don’t they? One of them nearly hit me from the Arena today, and I was outside the stableblock!’

  ‘Shut up and eat your dinner Samson.’ Mistral said sharply.

  Samson laughed, ‘Proving unreceptive to your gentle instruction are they Lady De Winter?’

  Mistral pulled a face, ‘Unreceptive would be an understatement. They’re completely useless with the longbow!’

  ‘Get Bryden to teach them, he’s impressive with a bow. You saw him shoot at The Festival of the Arcane.’

  ‘Huh! Already asked Leo, but Bryden’s remit is second years only, it’s a status thing apparently,’ Mistral waved a hand irritably then froze with her hand held in mid-air. ‘But you might just have hit upon something there Samson!’

  Fabian looked at her over the brim of his goblet, raising his eyebrows in silent enquiry.

  ‘Who shot the best at The Festival of the Arcane?’ she asked him in an excited voice.

  He laughed and lowered his goblet, ‘The centaurs.’

  ‘It’ll be the ultimate distraction technique! They’ll be so amazed at having a centaur teaching them that they’ll forget all about their stupid inability to shoot straight! It’ll be the perfect chance for them to redeem themselves … we’ll go tomorrow and ask Imperato for his help, I promised Alyssa I’d visit her soon anyway.’

  ‘That was two months ago Mistral!’ Phantasm admonished her. ‘Is that your definition of soon?’

  Mistral pouted unrepentantly, ‘Been busy.’

  ‘But, really Mistral! Two months?’

  ‘They are centaurs Phantasm.’ Fabian cut in quietly. ‘Time is of no consequence to them.’

  ‘So that’s where she gets her appalling timekeeping from then.’ Phantom muttered under his breath.

  Ignoring Phantom’s muttered jibes, Mistral turned to Fabian, ‘Let’s go early, then we can go home for the night after we’ve seen Imperato. I could do with getting out of the Valley for a bit. I feel like a prisoner here sometimes.’

  Fabian smiled at her but when she returned her attention to her plate of food, his eyes suddenly became guarded. Samson caught his look and raised his eyebrows. Fabian gave an unperceivable shake of his head, letting him know that it was not something they could discuss openly. To cover the silent communication between Samson and Fabian, the twins immediately began making plans for their forthcoming day off.

  ‘So, Mistral’s off to see the centaurs tomorrow, Xerxes and Brutus have gone east on a Contract and Cain’s still painting his shop … what are we going to do with our one hard-earned day off this week brother?’ Phantom asked brightly. ‘It’s probably going to rain all day again, so please tell me it’s something that doesn’t involve being outside, and I don’t particularly fancy helping Cain either.’

  ‘Master Wolfsnare ha
s requested a meeting with us.’

  ‘Oh? What about?’

  ‘Some tribal dispute that Ares is struggling to resolve; he wishes us to use our gift to make the two quarrelling parties forget all about it.’

  Phantom’s cat-like eyes glittered with sudden interest, ‘Oh I do hope it’s over something scandalous, a love feud, or perhaps a murder –’

  ‘Sorry brother, but it’s a rather dull dispute over land rights between the Emerald Forest and Southern Downs tribes, and we’ve got the starring role of sorting it out.’

  Phantom’s face fell at the news that his one day off was going to be spent on such a mundane matter, ‘Starring role! I rather star in having a lie-in –’ He suddenly stopped and gave Samson a sly look. ‘Talking of stars, have you any plans to see your star-named lady tomorrow Samson?’

  Samson grinned lazily and leaned back on his chair, ‘No need to try and be subtle with me brother, I know of your insatiable need for gossip. Sorry, but a gentleman never tells.’

  ‘Gentleman?’ Mistral choked on her glass of water while Fabian laughed quietly. ‘Come off it Samson!’

  ‘I am a perfect gentleman.’ Samson retorted, lifting his unshaven chin in a pious expression.

  ‘Oh really?’ Mistral scoffed. ‘Tell me this then, were you being a gentleman when you refunded that distraught Mage his Contract fee for confirming that his wife was having an affair – which was with you by the way; then crept back into his house that night and stole it anyway?’

  Samson threw back his head and roared with laughter, waking Prospero who leapt up and growled threateningly at the disturbance, ‘I’d forgotten about that!’ Samson gave her a gold-toothed grin and shook his head. ‘Ah, what it was to be young and reckless! But tell me Mistral, do you know about the time Fabian and I were stranded in this dingy port on the south side of the Desert Lands, and damn, it was dull! Until Fabian decided to take offense with the landlord of the only tavern, then all hell was let loose –’

  The rain drumming against the windows became background music to their talk and laughter; by the time the meal was finished and they had been entertained with a selection of Samson’s more outrageous tales, Mistral’s eyes were starting droop.

  ‘I suppose I’d better wash up,’ she yawned and made to rise from the table.

  ‘I don’t think so! We’ll clear away.’ Phantasm sprang to his feet and pulled her chair out for her. ‘You go to bed.’

  Phantom eyed the mountain of washing up unhappily, ‘Will we?’

  ‘Yes we will, my godson needs his sleep.’ Phantasm said firmly and shooed Mistral off up the stairs.

  They watched her vanish up the stairs. Once they heard the bedroom door close Samson leaned across the table to speak in a low voice to Fabian. ‘Tell me now brother, what did Mistral See last night?’

  Fabian swirled the dregs of wine in his goblet and gazed broodingly at the ruby liquid for a moment before he replied, ‘The final preparations have been made. Christophe and his party are ready to leave for the Isle.’

  ‘How long before they arrive?’ Samson asked quickly.

  ‘According to what Mistral heard last night, less than a week.’

  Samson narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, ‘Tight timescale … but workable. What are their plans?’

  ‘To contest Leo’s right to rule and propose Malachi as Divinus. The vote held in the Valley was too close for that not to be a viable option. And, sadly, Malachi has sufficient reserves of gold to ensure his success in any Council vote.’

  ‘Then he dies before that happens. We must intercept the party – but it’ll have to be done unofficially. Leo can’t be seen to be involved. It’ll just have to be just you and I.’

  ‘I agree.’ Fabian’s face was tense. ‘But I am torn.’

  Samson nodded slowly, ‘Mistral.’

  ‘I dare not leave her unprotected now! Malachi plans to send a party to the Valley to rally his supporters here and abduct her –’

  ‘You would not be leaving her unprotected, Mage De Winter.’ Phantasm interrupted softly.

  Fabian looked up to meet Phantasm’s eyes and frowned, ‘It is not my intention to offend you, Phantasm. You know of my reputation. My destiny was to be paid to die on some blood-soaked battlefield. Every Contract I fulfilled meant less to me than the air I drew into my lungs. Then, after half a lifetime of such a soulless existence, destiny saw fit to offer me something I lacked even the ability to imagine.’ Fabian paused and turned to look out of the rain spattered window. A long silence fell before he spoke again, his voice so quiet it could barely be heard over the sound of the rain. ‘And, despite the fact that she deserves so much more, for some reason she chose to share her life with a worthless creature like me. I thought her my absolution, but in truth she is my redemption, and I refuse to fail her.’

  ‘We would not fail her either Mage De Winter.’ Phantasm’s green eyes were hard as the cold jewels they mimicked.

  Fabian locked gazes with Phantasm, his own blazing with a sudden fire, ‘I know that you three are bound in ways that defy any definition, but I cannot simply delegate the responsibility of her life to another! I wish nothing more than to deal out death to Malachi and every cursed Rochforte that ever saw fit to suck breath into their unworthy bodies, but I will not ... I cannot ... leave her now!’

  A tense silence fell while Fabian and Phantasm continued to glare at each other across the table.

  ‘Join me for a drink in The Cloak, brother.’ Samson rose to his feet. ‘We have a day’s grace to find a solution, destiny permitting.’

  ‘Great!’ Phantom muttered when the door had closed behind Samson and Fabian. ‘Do you think destiny’s going to do the washing up too?’

  The Snake Bites

  Monday morning saw the start of August and the end of the heavy thunderstorms that had blighted July’s usually glorious weather. Fabian and Mistral were in the Arena waiting for the apprentices to arrive, having an argument.

  ‘I want you to stop now.’

  ‘No, Fabian! What would I do? Clean tack and polish your boots?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘No chance!’

  ‘Mistral! You are entering the ninth month of a pregnancy we have no idea how long will last! You could give birth any day! It is time for you to stop teaching now, or do you wish for our son to be born in the Training Arena?’

  Mistral pouted, ‘It has a certain appropriateness about it –’

  ‘No it does not!’ Fabian snapped furiously.

  Mistral eyed the rigid set of his jaw with a sinking feeling. He was impossible to argue with when he wore that expression. She opened her mouth to try anyway when her son decided to give her a few well-timed reminders of his presence. Grimacing and pressing a hand over her belly, Mistral realised that for once, she was going to have to give in. ‘Maybe it is time now,’ she muttered reluctantly then shot him a mutinous look. ‘But I refuse to clean your boots!’

  The hard lines on Fabian’s face softened fractionally, ‘And I would not expect you to, so I have taken the liberty of finding you some more suitable employment.’

  Mistral sighed despondently, ‘Where?’

  ‘Working with Cain, starting this morning actually.’

  ‘What? I can’t go just like that! Who’s going to help you with the apprentices?’

  ‘Ah, now that pleasure is going to be all mine.’

  Mistral spun around to see Samson loping towards her, his gold-toothed smile glinting in the bright morning sunshine.

  ‘Is this what you two snuck out to plan last night?’ Mistral demanded suspiciously.

  ‘Yes.’ Samson grinned brazenly. ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t listening?’

  ‘No I damned well wasn’t!’ She seethed. ‘I was more interested in sleep, more’s the pity! Because if I’d heard what you were scheming I would’ve come straight down to The Cloak and given you a piece of my mind! Oh! You two are incorri
gible! I can’t believe I’ve let myself be so easily deceived by a pair of such low-down reprobates! That’s it! I’m going nowhere! You can go be Cain’s new shop assistant, because I’m staying put!’ Mistral folded her arms and glared stubbornly at Samson and Fabian.

  ‘Low-down reprobate? Have you been speaking to Gemma?’ Samson lifted a mocking eyebrow.

  ‘No! But I can assure you I will be!’ Mistral narrowed her eyes. ‘Which story would you like me to begin with? Persia maybe?’

  Samson’s grin faltered slightly, ‘You wouldn’t do that to your son’s godfather, would you?’

  ‘Yes I damned well would! You double-crossing son of – ’

  ‘Hello my daughter.’

  A voice spoke with quiet resignation from directly behind her. Mistral spun around to meet the deep gaze of Imperato; the centuries old chief of the Isle’s most famed centaur tribe. Her father. Once again bearing witness to her fiery temper.

  ‘Oh, er, hello Imperato … Dravite … Faras.’ Mistral had the grace to look ashamed for being caught in the act of screaming at Samson by the austere centaurs.

  ‘Are they the apprentices you wish for us to teach?’ Imperato gazed over at the line of pale-faced first years, some openly gaping at the three centaurs stood in the Arena, others eyeing Mistral fearfully.

  Mistral cringed, realising that not only had her father just witnessed her complete loss of temper, but so had the apprentices – and probably half the Valley from how loudly she’d been shouting. ‘Yes, and good luck with them, you’ll need it!’ she snapped and giving Fabian a final glowering look, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the Arena.

  ‘Well-handled Samson.’ Fabian muttered, watching her leave with a dark look on his face.

  ‘It was never going to be well received news Fabian, you know that.’ Samson shrugged. ‘But never mind! Let’s see if we can’t sort out this bunch of weak-wristed excuses we’ve been lumbered with!’

  Mistral reached Cain’s shop in record time, completely out of breath but still fuming. She slammed open the door and stormed in, making the bell peal with a satisfyingly startled sound at the violence of her entry.