The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams)

by Kirsten Jones

  ‘In bed,’ said Brothertoft shortly, failing to add that Elnora had been there since yesterday morning.

  Mistral nodded vaguely and returned her attention to the rabbit, beginning to joint it.

  Brothertoft studied her as she worked, realising that the strong, resourceful girl he had thought of as a daughter had in fact become a stranger to him in recent times. Physically she bore none of the traits of any of the Arcane races but resembled more closely someone with sorcering blood. She was taller than the other girls in the village, with long dark hair and eyes so deep brown that they were almost black. Her restless, independent nature had left her friendless; not that this bothered Mistral. She seemed content with her own company and was rarely talkative unless it was to describe a particularly challenging hunt.

  ‘Mistral,’ began Brothertoft in another attempt to draw her into a conversation. ‘You know it’s the winter solstice next week.’

  Mistral grunted and reached into the bag for another rabbit.

  ‘It’s when children of sorcering families traditionally begin their training in the Craft,’ Brothertoft ploughed on.

  Mistral didn’t respond and the silence was filled by the gentle tearing sound of her skinning another rabbit.

  ‘You – you don’t think you have the Craft do you?’ Brothertoft asked hopefully.

  Mistral looked up at him and suppressed a sigh, trying to keep the irritation she felt from showing on her face. What was Brothertoft going on about?

  ‘The Craft?’ Brothertoft repeated encouragingly. ‘Do you think you might have it?’

  ‘No,’ she said shortly.

  ‘Have you ever tried to cast a spell?’ he persisted, looking at her intently with his watery eyes.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I could show you – If you’d like to try?’

  Mistral sighed again and placed the knife down beside her half-skinned rabbit before fixing him with a stony glare.

  ‘Brothertoft, I do not have the Craft. Can we drop the subject? Only I’ve got three more of these to skin.’

  Brothertoft sighed and gazed into his tankard, turning it gently in his gnarled hands.

  ‘Elnora says that when the rest of the village find out you don’t have the Craft they’ll run you out.’

  Mistral shrugged disinterestedly, she already practically lived in the forests anyway.

  ‘She wants me to send you to the Valley of the Ri to train,’ Brothertoft finished quietly.

  Mistral looked at him. The Valley of the Ri? She’d heard the village children discussing it in hushed tones, as though it were something to be afraid of.

  ‘Have you heard of it?’ Brothertoft asked, looking at her carefully.

  Mistral shrugged, ‘Village kids tell stories about a place that trains thieves and assassins –’

  Brothertoft scowled, ‘They do more than that. The Valley of Ri train hunters, and trackers too, something you would be a very good at,’ he nodded towards the bag of rabbits.

  Mistral said nothing but continued to gaze at him, her dark eyes wide in her expressionless pale face.

  ‘The Ri are a sanctuary for,’ he paused and shot her an almost apologetic look, ‘half-breeds. They train them as warriors … I think they call them that … anyway, these warriors provide a valuable service to the Isle,’ he said with a proud note of defiance in his voice, almost as though he were trying to convince himself, not Mistral. ‘And the warriors get paid for the work they do … Contracts or something they call them –’

  Mistral’s eyes shone as she listened to the old man speak. Escape from Nevelte? Train to be a warrior? Get paid for hunting and tracking; something she could do by second nature? She only had one question –

  ‘How do I get there?’

  Brothertoft regarded her for a moment, ‘Is there nothing you want to stay here for?’

  Mistral didn’t even pause to think.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No-one? A boy perhaps?’ Brothertoft tried again in a slightly hesitant voice.

  Mistral looked at him as though he had just suggested she take up ballet dancing, ‘No,’ she repeated in an icy voice.

  Brothertoft sighed deeply and reached inside his leather jerkin, bringing out a small leather purse bulging with coins.

  ‘I went to market and sold your skins. You’ll need money in the Valley,’ he said, placing the purse onto the table with a dull thud.

  Mistral’s eyes flashed. The chance to buy some decent knives at last! The hunting knife she used was Brothertoft’s old one and had seen better days.

  Mistral reached across and collected the purse of money without comment.

  ‘The bear skin fetched quite a bit,’ Brothertoft said, eyeing the bag of coins wistfully. It held more money in it than he saw in a year.

  Mistral nodded, opening the purse and peering inside curiously before suddenly looking up sharply, ‘You didn’t sell the wolf pelt did you? Only I’ll need it for travelling –’

  Brothertoft shook his head and pointed to the door that lead to the cottage’s two tiny bedrooms. A full leather saddlebag lay by the door.

  ‘Elnora packed it for you along with the rest of your belongings.’

  ‘Good,’ said Mistral, picking up her knife and resuming her task with sudden enthusiasm. ‘So how do I get to this Valley then?’

  Brothertoft was silent for a moment and the sound of Mistral skinning rabbits once again filled the small kitchen.

  ‘I’ve never been there … but the Valley is rumoured to lie in the west of the Isle, beyond The Velvet Forests.’

  Mistral nodded, not looking up from her work, ‘Easy enough. About two days ride then,’ she said in a satisfied voice.

  Brothertoft looked up sharply, ‘I think you’d better go on foot Mistral, I can’t afford to pay for any horse you decide to “borrow”!’

  A mutinous expression flashed across Mistral’s face, she hated to be told what to do, ‘It’s too far to walk,’ she said stubbornly.

  ‘You’d leave me and Elnora a thief would you?’ Brothertoft asked angrily.

  Mistral glared at him. She didn’t give a fig about what people in Nevelte thought of her, but something in the old man’s expression made her think that this was important to him.

  ‘Fine, I’ll walk,’ she conceded reluctantly.

  Mistral finished the last rabbit and swept the skins and viscera into a wooden bucket then scraped the jointed meat into a large cooking pot.

  ‘When will you leave?’ Brothertoft asked quietly.

  ‘First light.’ Mistral said, rising to her feet and carrying the cooking pot over to the stove. ‘I’ll leave this to cook – I think I’ll get an early night.’

  ‘You’ll say goodbye to Elnora before you leave, won’t you?’

  Mistral gave him a strange look before nodding and walking across to the door that lead to the bedrooms. She stooped to collect the packed saddlebag then unlatched the door and walked through.

  Brothertoft watched the door close behind her, realising sadly that the strange look on her face had been surprise. Mistral had already forgotten about Elnora.

  The Valley Of The Ri

  Mistral left in the cold starless light that precedes the dawn. Stepping quietly out of the cottage and striding purposefully down the narrow street with her head full of thoughts of the Valley of the Ri. She was half-way across the meadow outside of the village before she realised that she’d left without saying goodbye to Elnora or Brothertoft.

  By the time she had climbed the short ridge that formed a natural boundary between the bowl-like valley that Nevelte rested in and The Velvet Forests, Mistral was beginning to regret her promise not to take a horse for the journey. It was going to be a long walk.

  After three days of monotonous walking, broken only by the brief interlude of hunting down another sabre-toothed boar, Mistral was finally nearing the western side of the Isle. The vast mountains of the Western Range loomed before her. Distant snow-capped peaks wreathed in cloud sloped down
to undulating green and brown lowlands. Mistral gazed at them with hands on hips. Somewhere in amongst them lay the Valley of the Ri.

  Mistral had passed through a couple of small villages on her journey. Her tentative enquiries as to the Valley’s whereabouts had been met with blank looks. Whether the ignorance had been feigned or not, Mistral didn’t get the chance to find out as she was invariably given the cold shoulder and left shortly after. Left to trust her instincts, Mistral walked towards the Western Range, looking closely for any signs of a well-trodden trail to suggest others travelling this way. At midday on her fourth day of walking Mistral struck lucky. The hard ground had so far revealed little in the way of tracks to follow, but a brief fall of snow during the night had left a soft powdery covering and Mistral could see a clear set of hoof prints heading west. With a renewed burst of enthusiasm she followed them and was soon rewarded by the appearance of a definite trail. She walked on, ignoring the pain of her blistered feet until a pair of massive stone gateposts loomed into view. She paused to study them. There were two vast wooden gates hung from each post, but they were open. Knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this was the entrance to the Valley of the Ri, Mistral strode purposely towards them. Glancing up as she walked between the towering gateposts, she was surprised to see a face staring intently back at her from a small lookout platform. Beside the guard, for that was obviously what he was, hung a large brass bell, but he made no move to either acknowledge her or ring the bell. Mistral dropped her gaze and walked on. She supposed it must be plain to him what she had come to the Valley for.

  As Mistral strode through the gates she was abruptly presented with a sloping stony path that wound down the steep-sided Valley. Stepping slightly to the edge of the path and peering over, Mistral experienced a surge of sheer exhilaration as she looked out over the Valley of the Ri.

  From her elevated position everything in the wide valley appeared in miniature, like a child’s model. A small village nestled up against the western side. Narrow streets snaked between tightly packed houses. Smoke rose from the chimneys, curling up to be lost against the towering backdrop of the Western Range. Beside the village Mistral could clearly make out several low roofed buildings arranged around an open yard; a stableyard. She felt automatically for the purse of money around her neck. She had always dreamed of owning a decent horse, hopefully the Ri would be able to sell her one. Opposite the stableyard was some kind of large open space, light brown in colour, as though filled with pale earth or sand. Mistral stared at it in wonderment until she realised with a burst of excitement that it was a training area of some sort. Her eyes moved further along the Valley, noting with only passing interest a patchwork of farmlands filling the lower southern end before coming to rest on the strangest building she had ever seen. It looked like a castle that had been stretched in the middle and had four squat circular towers at each corner. The long middle section was three storeys high. The first and third floors had long narrow windows widely spaced apart, but the second floor had a long row of tiny iron-grilled windows that glinted in the pale winter sunlight. Mistral stared at it, mystified as to what a building like that could be for.

  ‘Rather looks like the architect couldn’t decide between designing a prison or a castle, doesn’t it?’

  Mistral spun sharply to look at the speaker and did an immediate double-take.

  ‘We usually have that effect,’ said the speaker smugly.

  Before Mistral stood two of the most perfect beings she had ever laid eyes on. They were tall and slenderly built, with sleek blonde hair. Their pale skin and striking emerald green eyes only intensified the strange almost angelic quality of their flawless faces. And, as if that wasn’t enough, they were absolutely identical.

  Mistral blinked and continued to stare in open-mouthed amazement while the speaker smiled at her.

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Phantasm, and this is my brother Phantom,’ he said in a lilting, musical voice and indicated to the mirror-image stood beside him with an elegant wave of a hand.

  ‘M-Mistral,’ she finally managed to stutter.

  ‘Would you care for us to show you the sights? Such as they are – my brother and I have been here for two weeks now waiting for training to begin, and we’ve explored the Valley quite thoroughly.’ Phantasm continued solicitously.

  Mistral hesitated. She wasn’t bothered about being given a personal guided tour, but she was tired after three days walking and would definitely appreciate being directed to a place where she could find a bed for the night.

  ‘Is there somewhere I can stay?’ she asked.

  Phantasm pointed to the strange elongated castle-like building, ‘The dorms are in that building there, but we can’t take up residence until after Registration next week.’

  Mistral sighed, reconciling herself to more nights wrapped in her wolf skin.

  ‘However, there is a rather fine drinking establishment tastefully named The Cloak and Dagger. They have some rooms,’ said Phantasm thoughtfully.

  ‘The Cloak and Dagger is both cheap and cheerful,’ agreed his twin brother brightly.

  Mistral looked at him, it was the first time Phantom had spoken and she was surprised to hear that his voice was slightly different, lower, with an almost husky quality.

  ‘In fact, I’ve heard that rooms at The Cloak and Dagger are on offer at the moment,’ continued Phantasm with a wide grin.

  ‘Yes, they’ve done away with the cheerful, so now it’s just cheap!’ laughed Phantom.

  Mistral couldn’t help smiling, despite the fact that they had obviously been using this joke on every newcomer to the Valley for the last two weeks.

  They began to walk along the path together, the twins on either side of her, talking over her as though she were a net in a tennis tournament.

  ‘That’s three females here to Register for training,’ said Phantom conversationally.

  ‘Well, two really. I wouldn’t like to vouch for Columbine being female,’ said Phantasm dubiously.

  Phantom laughed, ‘No, she is rather … ambiguous –’

  ‘Is it unusual to have female warriors?’ Mistral suddenly asked, interrupting their game of conversation tennis over her head.

  ‘Fairly, but not unheard of – however, three in one year is a touch unusual,’ replied Phantasm lightly.

  A worrying thought struck Mistral. Would she be expected to share sleeping quarters with these two others?

  ‘These dorms,’ she asked tentatively, ‘how exactly are they laid out? I mean, is it just one big room, or are there rooms for each of us?’

  ‘We don’t all sleep in cloaks on the floor if that’s what you’re thinking! It’s two to a room, or one to a room in your case, providing no other females arrive,’ replied Phantasm. ‘You see the long building between the four towers?’ Mistral followed his pointing finger and nodded. ‘Well, the third floor is for the Magnate, the four heads of the Ri. They each occupy a tower room – apart from Mistress Lightwater. She has a room in the Infirmary she runs. The second floor is our dorms. Each of those grilled windows is a room … well more of a cell really,’ he added grimly. ‘The ground floor is where the Main Hall, Refectory, Laundry and Infirmary are, plus a couple of smaller rooms used by the Contracts Officer and the Training Captain.’

  Mistral listened, fascinated by what Phantasm was telling her. She hadn’t imagined such a complex structure. In her mind’s eye she had envisioned someone running a training regime, of course, but the size of the organisation left her slightly awestruck.

  ‘Who are the Magnate?’ she asked quickly, taking advantage of a brief pause in the twins’ seemingly relentless flow of information.

  Phantom responded to her question promptly, ‘Well, there’s Master Malachi Nox, but I’m not sure exactly what he does … Mistress Serenity Lightwater is a Healer and runs the Infirmary, Master Mycroft Casterton is very knowledgeable on the Isle’s Law and Council Politics, and there’s Master Leo Sphinx, he’s our Training Capta
in. He also has three Training Lieutenants to oversee our day to day training.’

  ‘And of course, let’s not forget the Divinus,’ added Phantasm softly.

  ‘I was just getting to him,’ said Phantom with a slight edge to his voice.

  ‘Who’s he?’ Mistral asked curiously.

  ‘The Head of the Ri,’ said Phantom quickly, before Phantasm could speak again. ‘He’s a Seer, and,’ he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, ‘he’s also rumoured to be a Necromancer.’

  ‘He sounds delightful,’ said Mistral with a shudder.

  ‘The Divinus has been a very powerful force in the history of the Isle,’ said Phantasm loftily. ‘Although his time is drawing to a close now, I’m afraid. He’s quite frail; apparently he rarely comes out of his tower room. He just sits up there convening with wraiths and shades day and night.’

  ‘Now who’s been listening to too much gossip in The Cloak and Dagger,’ muttered Phantom scathingly.

  They had reached the bottom of the steep winding track and were walking along a straight path that led into the village itself. Up close, Mistral could see the houses were all made of the local honey-coloured stone with small square windows set back behind traditional iron grills. Shutters pinned open on either side spoke of the hard winters the Valley saw each year. As they walked across the cobbled village square Mistral glanced up at the main street that rose steeply through the village. Each house had a shop as its ground floor selling a variety of strange and wonderful goods. Her eye was immediately drawn to the heavy wooden sign hanging over one shop that had the words “Toothe and Nayle, Official Armourers to the Ri” emblazoned below a faded painting of a curved sword. Vowing to go there first thing in the morning Mistral allowed herself to be steered across the cobbled square towards the heavy oak door of The Cloak and Dagger.

  Inside the smoky warmth of The Cloak and Dagger Mistral paused to let her eyes to adjust to the dimly lit tavern. The low, beamed ceiling and worn wooden floor gave the room a slightly shabby but comfortable air. Torches arranged at infrequent intervals around the stone walls and a steadily burning fire were the tavern’s only source of light, but that only added to the relaxed atmosphere. The twins walked over to the long wooden-topped bar and leant casually against it until the barman appeared from the back room. Scowling and heavy cheeked, he had the permanently flushed colouring of a man who had spent years drinking as much as he served.