The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams)

by Kirsten Jones

  ‘Good day to you Floris.’ Phantasm smiled at the surly barman who merely grunted and slung a dirty cloth over his shoulder.

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘Please Floris. If it’s not too much trouble,’ murmured Phantasm.

  Mistral stifled a smile at the barman’s decidedly unsuitable name but decided from his grumpy expression that jokes on the subject would not go down well. She also noted the heavy looking club hanging from a nail on the wall behind the bar.

  Whilst the twins politely enquired about a room for her Mistral leaned back against the bar and turned her attention to the rest of the room. There were only three other occupants in the tavern. A pair of what were obviously elves by their lithe build and long fair hair were playing a game of knucklebones and a heavily cloaked figure sat alone at a table in the darkest corner.

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Phantom in her ear as he passed her a drink. ‘You see all sorts in here – it’s great!’

  Mistral laughed quietly, she could tell that Phantom was the less serious of the two.

  ‘When does training begin?’ she asked, taking a grateful sip of the goblet of spiced wine that Phantom had handed her.

  ‘First week of the New Year. More people will arrive over the next week to Register. Its lucky you came now, you got the last single room – or you may have ended up having to share with someone,’ he winked at her and she glared icily back. ‘Or maybe they would have just seen you first and decided to sleep in the hayloft!’ he added quickly.

  Mistral laughed, she could tell she was going to get along with the twins. Despite the amount they talked, they were easy company.

  That evening they sat around a table in The Cloak and Dagger, feeling warm and at peace with the world after eating a huge meal of venison stew and drinking far too much spiced red wine. Mistral plied the twins with questions about the Valley over a long game of knucklebones.

  ‘So where are the apprentices that were trained this year?’ Mistral asked, looking around curiously. There were only four other occupants, the two elves had left but the heavily cloaked stranger was still sat alone at the back. The tavern’s three new arrivals were obviously newcomers like her and the twins and kept casting inquisitive glances at their table.

  ‘They all Qualified last week – that was a wild night I can tell you! We couldn’t get to sleep for the noise in the tavern, it went on practically until dawn … anyway, once they Qualified they all signed up with the Ri’s Agent; Scrimshaw and Scuttle – which is pretty much mandatory as the Ri need to recoup their training costs somehow -’

  ‘Training costs?’ Mistral interrupted sharply, she had hoped to spend the money Brothertoft had given her on more exciting things than training fees.

  Phantasm nodded as he shook the dice and rolled them onto the table, ‘Ha!’ he exclaimed, flicking over one of her knucklebones. ‘My win I think,’ he said in a satisfied tone, sweeping the bronze coins from Mistral’s side of the table to his. ‘Yes, training costs. The Ri train us for a year and then we work solely for their Agent for the first year as a Qualified warrior. It’s a fair enough deal, I suppose,’ he shrugged dismissively.

  ‘Unless of course you wish to stay for a second year’s training, then its two years of doing whatever work the Ri’s Agent wish you to.’ Phantom added quietly.

  ‘Why would anyone want to stay for another year? Is that only if you fail the first year?’ Mistral asked, intrigued.

  The twins laughed at her, ‘If you’re going to fail the first year I don’t think the Ri would invite you back to re-take!’ Phantasm said. ‘Training to be a warrior is something you either can or cannot do, it’s not a case of try and try again until you master the knack of hunting things and killing people! No, a second year is to further develop more ... specialised skills,’ he finished with a slightly superior look on his face.

  ‘Special skills?’ Mistral prompted, becoming slightly irked with Phantasm’s habit of not fully explaining himself.

  Phantasm looked at her over the top of his tankard with an amused expression, ‘Honestly Mistral, just where were you raised? Whilst half-breeds cannot possess the Craft, even if one of their parents was a sorcerer, they can sometimes develop a gift or special skill bestowed to them by their Arcane parent. For example, elves have an exceptional sense of hearing, nymphs are dangerously beguiling, goblins are excellent metal-workers ... and then there are the more unusual gifts, such as the Divinus has. But they tend to be quite rare.’ Phantasm threw his brother a smug look.

  Mistral nodded absently and took a drink from her tankard to hide the expression of surprise on her face. So the skill she possessed would guarantee her a second year’s training … that was something to think about.

  One of the newcomers rose from his seat and wandered over. The twins and Mistral watched him approach. He was not very tall and slightly built with sharp features and quick blue eyes.

  ‘Good evening brothers and sister,’ he said politely, nodding towards Mistral. ‘My name is Cain. I presume you’re here to train too?’

  Phantasm smiled politely and indicated to a chair at their table, ‘Phantasm … my twin Phantom and this is Mistral. Care to join us for a game?’

  Cain grinned and his sharp features instantly changed into a mischievous expression that Mistral recognised only too well. She had been annoyed by the teasing antics of the forest dwelling tribe of hobs enough times on her hunting trips in The Velvet Forests to recognise that Cain had some of their blood.

  ‘I think I’ll sit this one out,’ she said quietly, giving Phantom a meaningful look.

  ‘Don’t you trust my blood, sister?’ Cain asked shrewdly, giving her a sly smile. ‘You’d be right not to. I could cheat an elf out of his bow and arrow!’

  Phantom laughed and reset the bones on the table for a new game, ‘Now there’s a challenge if ever I heard one!’

  Phantasm shook the dice, ‘May I suggest a small wager? Just to make it interesting?’

  Before long the other two who were obviously brothers came over to join them, introducing themselves as Xerxes and Brutus, two half-elves. By midnight the twins had accumulated a fair sized pile of coins each that Xerxes was enthusiastically trying to persuade them to bet on the next game.

  ‘I think I know when to call it a day,’ said Phantasm with a contented smile, sweeping the pile of coins from the table and into a leather purse before rising slightly unsteadily to his feet. ‘I bid you all a pleasant evening.’

  Mistral managed to drag Phantom away from the game shortly after, having first agreed to meet up for a re-match the following evening. As they climbed the stairs together Mistral looked over her shoulder to check they weren’t going to be overheard before she turned to him to ask him about something that had been puzzling her all evening.

  ‘Why did he call me sister and you brother? He doesn’t think we’re related does he?’ she whispered.

  Phantom laughed out loud and shook his head, ‘Seriously Mistral, where were you raised! It’s a respectful term for anyone you don’t know but wish to be polite to.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mistral pausing outside her door and watching Phantom wandering haphazardly towards his room.

  He struggled with the latch for a few minutes then called ‘G’night!’ a touch too loudly before falling through the open door.

  Seeing The Truth

  The next morning Mistral awoke at dawn. She lay in bed and gazed around at her unfamiliar surroundings feeling an almost euphoric excitement slowly creep over her. She was in the Valley of the Ri! Suppressing the desire to whoop with joy Mistral leapt from her bed and hastily threw on some clothes. After a cursory wash and a brief attempt at dragging a comb through her hair she opened her door and stepped out onto the dark, narrow landing. Not bothered by the earliness of the hour, Mistral rapped enthusiastically on the door of the room next to hers to hear the grumbled complaints from within as the twins were roused from sleep.

  ‘Told you she was an early riser!’ Mistral could hear Phan
tom’s sleepy voice muttering reproachfully. ‘She’d got that look about her. You can get the door … you’re closest.’

  Phantasm’s response was too low for Mistral to hear but there was as dull thud followed by a grunt of pain then the door was suddenly thrown open by a tousle-haired Phantom. He yawned and stretched before finally fixing her with a resentful look.

  ‘Good morning Mistral, how nice of you to drop by.’

  The irony of his greeting was completely lost on Mistral, ‘Come on! You promised to show me the Valley!’

  Phantom stared at her wordlessly for a moment, but since she appeared not to show any signs of leaving, he gave in and sighed. ‘Fine, we’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast in five minutes.’

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ she said firmly. ‘Just in case you fall back to sleep.’

  Phantom’s impolite response was lost in the sound of the door being slammed in her face. Mistral leant against the wall opposite the closed door, tapping her foot impatiently. She was desperate to get down to the armourers and spend some money...

  By the time the twins finally emerged from their room looking immaculately washed and brushed, Mistral was nearly climbing the walls with impatience.

  ‘What took you so long?’ she exploded as they stepped out onto the dim landing.

  Phantom favoured her with a cool look, ‘I think the question should be – what didn’t take you so long?’

  Mistral looked down at her tatty shirt and old trousers, ‘I suppose I could do with some new clothes,’ she admitted ruefully.

  ‘A hair cut wouldn’t go amiss either,’ muttered Phantasm.

  Mistral picked up the end of her long ponytail and frowned at it, ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘Only everything Mistral.’ Phantasm sighed and steered her towards the stairs. ‘But let’s start small. The Ri has a uniform of sorts that all the warriors wear and new clothes will improve your appearance greatly. We’ll go to Mistress Eudora’s shop first.’

  After a hasty breakfast of cold meats and bread Mistral was literally dragging the twins out into the misty December morning. The air was damp and cold, silvery wet cobwebs hung from almost every lintel and window frame. The twins shivered and looked sulky at being outside on such a cold morning but Mistral barely noticed the chill as she strode purposefully across the village square towards the narrow main street she’d seen the day before.

  ‘First stop, Toothe and Nayle,’ she called over her shoulder to the twins, lagging unenthusiastically behind her.

  Mistral walked up the main street, gazing curiously up each steep cobbled alleyway they passed at. There were more houses there, crammed tightly together with long lines of washing stretching out from their upstairs windows, giving the tiny streets a tunnel-like appearance. Each house she passed on the main street had a shop as its ground floor. Mistral found herself walking more slowly to stare in through the glass-fronted windows at the strange items on display. Apothecary shops selling potions and lotions to cure every ailment imaginable and some she really wouldn’t want to, a butcher’s window hung with meats from animals Mistral had never even seen ... but everything suddenly paled into insignificance beside the display in the window of Toothe and Nayle.

  Mistral pressed her hands against the glass to stare through the dusty panes at the vast array of weaponry on display. Daggers and hunting knives were arranged in gleaming rows. Swords of all lengths and breadths rested on a drape of plush black velvet. Some had curved blades, others straight, and some with wickedly sharp looking second blades nearer the handles. A massive double-headed axe swung from an insubstantial looking chain, casting a moving shadow over a tray of glittering throwing knives. Staffs of all lengths and strange looking fork-like implements were stacked at the back of the display, some leaning against a glass-fronted case containing a pair of silver inlaid butterfly knives with wrought gold handles.

  Mistral pressed her face up against the glass to peer further into the gloomy interior of the shop. There were more items in cases around the shop and even more hanging on the walls and from the beamed ceilings. She could just make out the dim shape of a small hunched figure doing something at a workbench right at the back of the shop.

  ‘Well, are we going in or are you just going to steam up the glass all day?’ asked Phantom pointedly.

  Mistral looked around, startled; she had forgotten the twins were behind her. ‘Sorry,’ she said vaguely, her eyes drawn again to the shining butterfly knives.

  ‘Oh come on, I’m getting older here!’

  Taking the flight of rough-hewn stone steps up to the shop’s front door two at a time, Mistral pushed open the door and stepped eagerly into the dimly lit interior. The twins followed at a more sedate pace, pausing to peer curiously into several of the glass-fronted cases as they wandered around the shop.

  The hunched figure Mistral has spied through the glass regarded them over the top of a pair of half-moon spectacles. As he moved towards them, Mistral could see that he was obviously of goblin descent by his tell-tale leathery skin and short, hunched stature.

  ‘Welcome to Toothe and Nayle,’ he said in a rasping voice. ‘Titus Nayle at your service.’

  Before Mistral could demand to be shown everything in the window, Phantasm strolled over to the counter and leaned casually against the heavy wooden top ad offered the shopkeeper a charming smile, ‘We need to be armed for our first year’s training,’ he said lightly.

  ‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Titus shuffling around from the other side of the counter and lifting swords out from one of the cabinets, laying them onto the top for the twins and Mistral to examine. Mistral picked each one up as he laid them out with an expression of rapture on her face.

  ‘Elven, elven, elven,’ Titus muttered under his breath as he pulled out gleaming blades of different lengths and shapes, laying each one carefully down. ‘Ah! Goblin-forged, at last!’ he announced happily laying a short, heavy looking sword onto the counter.

  ‘You favour goblin over elven?’ Phantasm asked, running a finger experimentally down the sword’s gleaming blade.

  Titus fixed Phantasm with his beady eye, ‘Elf blood are you?’ he asked sharply.

  Phantasm shook his head and gave a small smile.

  ‘Good,’ said Titus. ‘They always take offense when I recommend goblin … but it’s so much more durable you see –’

  Mistral quickly grew bored as Titus went on to compare the many qualities of goblin-forged swords with the apparently lamentable failings of elven-forged swords and wandered across the shop to peer into one of the many glass-fronted cabinets. Inside was a pair of straight bladed, mid-length swords. Slipping the catch on the cabinet, Mistral opened the door and slid her hands around the hilt of each sword. She lifted them out and held them up in the air. The weight of each sword felt perfectly balanced, the hilts could have been moulded for her hand. She spun them experimentally by her side. She had only ever used a single short-bladed knife for hunting with and was surprised at how natural it felt to handle two much longer swords.

  ‘I’ll take these,’ she said impulsively.

  Titus broke off from his boring monologue to look up at her in surprise, ‘Elven,’ he muttered under his breath and shuffled towards her. ‘Well, I suppose they are nicely balanced for your height and weight,’ he added slightly reluctantly. ‘You’ll be needed this as well –’ reaching into the depths of the open cabinet he brought out a leather sword belt designed to be worn across the chest with the swords stored on the wearer’s back.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mistral distractedly, still examining her new purchase. ‘Can I have a look at the throwing knives in the window too?’

  By the time the twins managed to drag Mistral from Toothe and Nayle she had purchased the double swords, a set of throwing knives and belt and a short-bladed dagger. She had spent a lot of the money in the pouch Brothertoft had given her and was in a dither over the butterfly knives when the twins’ patience finally snapped. They had also purchased single
elven-forged swords and throwing knives but did not share Mistral’s seemingly limitless preoccupation with the butterfly knives.

  ‘How many weapons does one girl need?’ Phantom asked huffily while he dragged her bodily from the shop, still shooting covetous glances at the knives being placed back into the cabinet in the window.

  ‘Thank goodness that’s over! The more elven goods we bought the more I was convinced he was going to test one of those tacky goblin-forged swords on us!’ Phantasm exclaimed. ‘Right, now let’s get new clothes next.’ he hauled Mistral past a garish window display of middle-eastern weaponry and into the shop next door.

  A bell tinkled overhead when they pushed open the heavy door and stepped into another dimly lit shop. Mistral hadn’t seen the sign over the door but could immediately tell they were in a shop selling nothing that interested her. Every wall was covered from floor to ceiling with shelves stacked high with garment upon garment in only one colour. Black.

  Mistral turned in a slow circle, taking in the overpowering gloominess of the shop with disbelieving eyes when a tinkling giggle made her jump. Turning quickly to look at the only piece of furniture in the room, a long granite topped counter, Mistral couldn’t see at first who had made the noise. As her eyes raked the counter for a second time she saw a shadow move and realised that there was a tiny woman stood behind the counter. She was dressed entirely in black and blended almost perfectly into the vast wall of black material behind her. Her features were small and sharp, almost pixie-like. She had tiny sapphire blue eyes that shone greedily as they roved over the double image of perfection standing at her counter.

  Phantasm slid his elbows smoothly onto the counter and smiled politely her over his folded hands, ‘Good morning Mistress Eudora. If it would not be too much trouble, could you please supply us with clothing for our apprenticeships?’