The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams)

by Kirsten Jones

  ‘Then die for your damn stupid pride!’ Fabian stood up abruptly and stalked across the rocks away from her.

  Mistral mouthed wordlessly, momentarily dumbstruck, ‘My pride?’ she seethed, leaping to her feet. ‘At least I’m not charging off on some lovesick crusade to moon over someone that doesn’t want me!’

  Fabian spun around to face her, his face a frozen mask of anger, ‘You know nothing!’

  ‘Oh don’t I?’ she whispered with a dangerous look in her eyes and, without even trying, she called up the vision of his aura.

  Maybe her anger had sharpened her senses, or maybe the time she’d spent with him had made him easier to read, either way his aura swam into view almost instantly. A halo of copper coloured stubbornness swirled around him, tinged at the outer edges with an angry scarlet glow. Fiery tongues of pain flickered across her vision and right at the innermost edge, nearest to his body, a brief glow of pale pink swam into view. Love, again.

  Mistral made a scornful noise and turned away from him. Her anger draining from her as suddenly as it had come, leaving her feeling empty and oddly sad.

  ‘You know nothing,’ Fabian repeated softly.

  Mistral didn’t move until she heard his retreating footsteps fade away into the distance. She felt strangely bereft, even lonely. For the first time in her living memory, she felt like crying.

  Fabian walked quickly back to the where the warlock army had gathered, his black gaze sweeping their massed ranks for Mage Grapple. He did not have to look very far. Even amongst the burly figures of the warlocks Mage Grapple stood out. He turned as Fabian approached and raised a scarred eyebrow questioningly.

  ‘The Ri warrior will not be requiring a guard anymore,’ Fabian informed him tersely.

  Mage Grapple noted the tension in Fabian’s expression and regarded him for a long moment before replying.

  ‘She is returning to the Valley?’

  Fabian nodded once, not meeting Mage Grapple’s piecing stare.

  ‘Then I am sorry that you will no longer be travelling with us.’ Mage Grapple turned abruptly and began to walk away.

  Fabian looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, ‘What?’

  Mage Grapple turned, his scarred face coldly polite, ‘I assume that you will be escorting her back? Considering, of course, her recent mishap and resulting fear of travelling alone?’

  Fabian clenched his teeth as he realised that he had trapped himself with his own lie. Before he could reply, Mistral’s voice cut across his thoughts.

  ‘Mage Grapple, forgive my intrusion, but could we speak, alone?’

  Mage Grapple looked up sharply, his expression irritated. Fabian spun around to face Mistral, his face clouding with anger.

  Ignoring their looks of displeasure, Mistral continued in a clear voice, ‘Grateful as I have been to Mage De Winter for his heroic actions and admirable chivalry,’ she paused to give Fabian a black look. ‘I wish to request passage on your ship to The Desert Lands.’

  Mage Grapple said nothing but studied her face intently. His oddly mismatched eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Fabian stared furiously at her, but kept silent.

  Mistral took a step forward, ‘Mage Grapple?’

  Reacting to her movement two warlocks immediately moved closer to Mage Grapple, their hands reaching inside their robes for their swords. Without breaking his eye contact with Mistral, Mage Grapple raised a placating hand to his bodyguards.

  ‘Leave your weapons here,’ he said to Mistral, and turning on his heel began to walk away towards the river.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Mistral reluctantly left her swords on the ground and strode after him, ignoring Fabian’s look of cold fury when she passed him. She quickly caught Mage Grapple up but was careful to walk a few paces behind him. She had grown up listening to tales of his exploits on the battlefield and was awed by being in the presence of the intimidating Head of the Isle. They reached the bank of the river without speaking. Mage Grapple halted and stood looking silently out over the water, his hands clasped behind his back, seemingly lost in thought.

  ‘I am sure you appreciate my reluctance to allow a Ri warrior to sail with my army, given as when we reach our destination we will, in effect, be enemies,’ he said at length.

  Mistral thought privately that she should be the one to be reluctant to get on the ship, given that the terrifying warlock army would also be on board. Taking a deep breath, she forced her voice to remain calm and confident.

  ‘You have my solemn word that I will not be any trouble.’

  ‘The word of an assassin, how reassuring,’ murmured Mage Grapple. He turned towards her, his expression hard. ‘You will not attempt to sabotage my army, or my warship, in any way?’

  For a split second Mistral thought that she had misheard him, but the severe expression on his ravaged face told her that he was deadly serious. What did he really think one Ri apprentice could do against that vast army? Challenge them all to knucklebones and the loser jumps overboard? And, how stupid would she be to sink the only form of transport she had of reaching her destination?

  ‘Mage Grapple, I have no intention of trying to sabotage your army or your warship, I only wish to travel on it,’ she said sincerely. ‘I have failed to complete the aims of the Contract and I have failed my brothers. To fight and die beside them on the battlefield is the very least I can do.’

  Mage Grapple eyed her speculatively for a long moment, ‘A touch dramatic,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s hope it does not come to that.

  ‘I am not willing to underestimate you, however sincere you appear now. You have just freely admitted that you do not care for your own life, not that I needed your words to know that … taking on a pack of Blackheart Wolverines single-handed was proof enough! Oh, I am well aware of what De Winter told me,’ he said, holding up a hand to stop her objection. ‘Please forgive me, but you hardly seem the type to need rescuing.’

  ‘He did rescue me actually,’ Mistral admitted grudgingly.

  Mage Grapple regarded her silently, his disfigured face unreadable. Mistral was struck by the sudden thought that she could try to read his aura and gauge what he was feeling then remembered Leo’s warning and quickly decided against it.

  ‘We leave within the hour. You may stable your horse below but you will remain on deck for the entire journey.’

  He turned abruptly and strode off back to his waiting army.

  ‘Mage Grapple?’ Mistral called after him.

  He paused and turned to look enquiringly at her.

  ‘I don’t suppose there is any chance that you’ll reconsider sending your army?’ she asked hopefully.

  Mage Grapple favoured her with a contemptuous look before continuing on his way.

  ‘Er, Mage Grapple?’

  The Mage spun on his heel and glared furiously at her, ‘You are seriously trying my patience apprentice!’

  ‘Do I have your word that your army won’t try to throw me overboard during the night?’

  ‘Not unless I order them to,’ he growled and stalked off.

  Mage Grapple’s Warship

  By the time Mistral had collected Cirrus from the horse enclosure the warlock army were assembled ready to ride the short distance to the Port of Blackneath. She held Cirrus back tightly to let the huge warhorses and their silent riders surge past, moving with the same measured purpose she’d seen when they crossed the ford. They emanated a hostility that was almost palpable, unsettling Cirrus and, if Mistral were truthful, her too. She urged her nervous horse away and took refuge under the long fronds of the willow trees growing along the river bank. When the last row of warlocks had ridden off Mistral patted Cirrus and prepared to follow after them. She peered between the willowy curtains of her hiding place and was surprised to see that Mage Grapple and Fabian had remained behind.

  Both were on foot, their horses tethered at the ford’s edge. Hidden by the willow trees, Mistral stared at them intently, intrigued to know what they were discussing. Mage Grapp
le had his back towards her, shielding Fabian from her view. She was tempted again to read Mage Grapple’s aura. It was the perfect opportunity, although she knew it would only reveal to her his emotions, not his thoughts. Frustrated, she wished she had hearing as sharp as the half-elves, Brutus and Xerxes, or even Saul’s keen sight to be able to read their lips. Suddenly Mage Grapple began to pace back and forth while he laboured some point he was making. When he moved away from Fabian her gaze locked with his. He stared straight into her eyes, his face suddenly rigid with tension when he realised that she was spying on their conversation. Mage Grapple paced between them, briefly breaking the contact. When he moved again Fabian’s black gaze burned into hers with a cold fury. She stared defiantly back, determined not to be intimidated. Besides, if she broke cover now Mage Grapple would surely hear her and realise what she’d been doing. Suddenly Fabian’s gaze snapped back to Mage Grapple and his expression abruptly changed to one of acquiescence. Something in the way he glanced towards where she was made her think they were discussing her and she frowned, straining her ears to catch any fragments of their conversation, but the sound of the river and the distant rumble of the warlock army on the move drowned out any words she may have been able to catch. Mage Grapple stopped pacing and stood before Fabian with his head bowed, listening closely to whatever Fabian was saying to him. After a short while he nodded briefly and abruptly left, mounting his warhorse and pushing the huge beast into a heavy gallop after his army. Fabian watched him leave before throwing a blistering look in her direction and walking over to Spirit, swinging himself up into the saddle.

  She tugged Cirrus from the shelter of the willow trees and quickly pulled herself up into the saddle as Fabian rode up to her, his face a hard mask of anger.

  ‘Do you really have such little regard for your own life?’ he demanded in a cold voice. ‘Eximius would not take kindly to being spied upon!’

  ‘I was not spying!’ Mistral snapped defensively. ‘I was merely waiting here until his friendly army of doom had moved out of the way!’

  Fabian glared at her for a moment longer and narrowed his eyes suspiciously, ‘Please tell me you didn’t attempt to read his aura!’

  ‘The thought never entered my mind!’ Mistral retorted, trying to look affronted.

  Fabian glowered at her for a moment longer, ‘You are a terrible liar,’ he said. A glimmer of humour flickered across his pale face that vanished as soon as it had come. ‘If you are ready to leave now Eximius has requested that I escort you to the port.’

  ‘Please yourself,’ Mistral shrugged dismissively, immediately urging Cirrus into a fast canter along the track the army had taken.

  She scowled to herself as she heard hoof beats following her. Fabian’s condescending attitude was becoming more than a little irritating. Who was he to tell her not to read Mage Grapple’s aura? She fumed, conveniently forgetting that Leo had expressly forbidden exactly that in Fabian’s presence. And since when did she require an escort? Mistral snorted out loud at such a ridiculous notion and pushed Cirrus on into a gallop, desiring nothing more than to leave the annoying Mage far behind her.

  The port of Blackneath soon came into view. Mistral slowed Cirrus to a more measured canter and gazed out at the wide blue of the ocean. She could hear the distant sound of the waves and smell salt on the faint breeze. Blackneath was really nothing more than a few small stone houses clustered around a surprisingly large square harbour, now filled with the black-robed warlock army. They were assembled in neatly ordered rows waiting to board a huge vessel docked at the quayside, dwarfing the crude fishing skiffs moored alongside it.

  She rode down the track into the small village and made her way quickly along the narrow cobbled street leading straight to the harbour without waiting for Fabian to catch her up. Entering the open space of the quay she dismounted Cirrus and joined the back of a line of warlocks waiting to lead their horses into the cargo deck of the warship. As she drew steadily closer to Mage Grapple’s warship Mistral found herself staring up at it in amazement. She had never seen a ship of such magnitude before, never mind sailed in one. Its steep wooden sides rose majestically out of the water and curved around to a distant bow hidden from her sight by the sheer width of the vessel. Twin masts towered over the huge open deck, which was mostly empty apart from a few orderly coils of heavy rope and barrels of supplies neatly secured in the centre. She peered around the warlocks in front of her and glimpsed the dark cavernous interior of the cargo deck but before she could step onto the ramp a hand clamped heavily over hers, trying to take Cirrus’ reins.

  ‘Mage Grapple has instructed me to load your horse,’ a hooded warlock rasped.

  ‘No chance,’ Mistral snarled, instantly forgetting Fabian’s earlier warning.

  She pulled her hand from his grasp and dropped the reins so that Cirrus was free. Cirrus tossed his head and swung his hindquarters around to barge the warlock out of the way. The warlock cursed and slapped the big horse hard, making him move. A wave of sheer rage engulfed Mistral. She stepped forward so quickly that the warlock didn’t see her move until she was so close to his hidden face that she could smell his sour breath.

  ‘Touch my horse again and I will slit your throat,’ she threatened in an icy hiss.

  For a split second the warlock was too taken aback to react but quickly regained his composure and reached for his sword with an angry growl. Mistral had both of hers drawn in a flash and they faced each other, swords poised to strike.

  ‘I will stable Cirrus.’

  Fabian’s quiet voice seemed to come from a long way away. Mistral blinked and turned to see him holding Cirrus, who was stood calmly swishing his tail and nibbling at Fabian’s sleeve. Mistral suddenly realised that all the warlocks had stopped and were watching them intently. She slowly lowered her swords and looked back at Fabian again.

  ‘Thank you,’ she muttered.

  Sheathing her swords and keeping her head down Mistral walked quickly up the wooden loading ramp. At the top another faceless warlock pointed to a ladder leading to the top deck. She climbed up rapidly, grateful not to be in their company a moment longer.

  The deck stretched out before her in an endless expanse of wooden planks, bleached a silvery-grey by salt and sun. Mistral had only ever been in small river boats before and she staggered a little when she moved along the deck, unused to the rolling motion of the sea. She walked the length of the deck, keeping one hand on the heavy wooden rail running around the entire deck until she reached the tip of the bow. There she stopped and gazed down at the calm sea far below her, watching the waves gently tug at the thick metal anchor chain stretching down into the clear water. It was early evening, the sun had dropped below the western horizon and pale stars were starting to appear in the dusky sky. There was barely a breeze lifting Mistral’s long hair. She wondered vaguely how they were going to sail with no wind and suddenly hoped the warlocks would have to row. Placing both hands on the smooth wooden rail, she leaned further over, hoping to see banks of oars sticking out into the water.

  ‘I do hope you aren’t going to jump or rescuing you is going to become a full time job.’ Fabian appeared at her side and gazed out to sea, his face as unsmiling and set as ever.

  Mistral pulled herself back and turned around. Rudely ignoring Fabian she leaned back against the rail looked down the length of the ship, studying the massive structure with interest. Turning her gaze upwards, she noticed something that made her frown. Twin masts soared up into the darkening sky, the summits topped with a tiny lookout. A complicated network of ropes hung from each mast, swinging gently with the rocking motion of the ship, but she could see no sails ready to be dropped open.

  Mistral was completely at a loss to see how they would even leave the harbour, never mind get over a vast ocean; she hadn’t seen any oars and she couldn’t see any sails. Beside her, Fabian sensed her confusion and sighed, she could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

  ‘It’s a sorcerer’s ship,’ he muttered
disdainfully.

  Mistral looked at him, surprised at his tone and realised with a start that she’d never seen him use the Craft, not even when they were attacked by the Wolverine pack. Before she could frame the question she wanted to ask a barked instruction came from somewhere below them followed by the unmistakable grinding sounds of the anchor chain being winched back into the depths of the ship. Mage Grapple’s warship was making ready to leave harbour.

  The wooden ramp was drawn up with an echoing thud and suddenly the quayside was alive with activity, people were running, throwing and gathering ropes, all the time shouting instructions to each other that had no meaning to Mistral. If she had not been watching the quayside with such interest she wouldn’t have realised that they were moving, so smooth was the motion with which the warship was propelled forward. The people and the quayside rapidly shrank away as the ship glided smoothly towards the harbour entrance and out into the open sea. Once out of the protected confines of the tall harbour walls the sea was rougher and the ship forged ahead at a greater pace. The bow lifted and banged down repeatedly, forcing its way through rolling waves and sending white-flecked foam flying up into the air. The warship was moving at an incredible pace now, the salty air rushed at them, noisy, fresh, and exhilarating. Mistral had never sailed out on the ocean before and was mesmerised. Forgetting her earlier irritation at him she turned to ask Fabian a question and instantly her curiosity died.

  Fabian was staring at the foam-whipped ocean, his face glowing with a wild elation. Mistral gazed silently at him, captivated by the expression on his face. Gone was the serious and dark Mage and in his place was someone ... yes, there was no denying it. Fabian De Winter was like her. She could see that danger set him alive in the same insane way it did her. A bitter smile touched the corners of her lips when she mused that alike as they were, they would probably be facing each other across a battlefield tomorrow.