Gradually the shimmering image grew clearer, revealing itself to be an array of brightly coloured tents that stood out vividly against the bleached wilderness of the desert. The predominantly red silken canvases flapped and billowed in the hot desert wind as though they were alive. Rufus the Red was obviously not worried about the whereabouts of his camp being obvious.
Mistral spurred Cirrus on, eager to reach the camp before the heat of the day grew any more intense. She drew closer ad almost smiled when she made out the massive form of Grendel on guard duty at the camp’s entrance. He had noticed her approach and was stood upright, his battle axe raised ready to challenge the unknown rider. Slowing Cirrus to a trot and then a walk, Mistral hailed him once she was within earshot.
‘Grendel! It’s me! Mistral!’
Grendel grunted in acknowledgment, swinging the head of his battle axe down with a heavy thud.
‘Mistral?’ Grendel blinked stupidly at her. ‘How did you get here? You weren’t on the ship,’ he frowned heavily and struggled to figure out how she could be there.
‘Long story brother, I’ll tell you later,’ said Mistral and reined Cirrus to a halt beside him. ‘But right now I really need to meet with Master Shacklock. Can you show me which tent he’s in?’
Grendel grunted and turned to face the camp.
‘See that massive red and white thing that looks like a circus tent? Well three down from that on the right is the Ri’s tent,’ he said, lifting a huge hand to point along the avenue of tents.
Mistral looked in the direction he was pointing in. She could clearly see the huge billowing red and white tent Grendel was referring to and kicked Cirrus on.
‘Thanks brother. See you later,’ she said quickly and rode into the camp.
Mistral held Cirrus at a steady walk along the rows of tents, not wishing to attract any more attention than necessary. She kept her eyes fixed steadfastly in front of her when she rode by the open mouths of the tent entrances and resisted the urge to return the curious glances and suspicious stares from Rufus’ soldiers. The mood in the army camp was not as she had expected it would be. Some of the tents exuded an almost carnival atmosphere with the noisy occupants in high-spirits. Mistral could smell the ripe fumes of wine mixed with heavy-scented tobacco coming from almost every tent she passed. It appeared that Rufus’ men were treating the forthcoming battle as an excuse to enjoy some revelry.
Mistral passed the large red and white tent to see a raucous party taking place. She urged Cirrus into a trot when one of the occupants spotted her through the awning and shouted a lewd comment. When she reached the third tent along Mistral immediately knew it was the right one by the lack of noise and alcoholic fumes pouring out of the entrance. She dismounted and led Cirrus into the wide opening, pausing just inside the dim, cool interior of the tent.
It was like walking into a blissful sanctuary. Ri warriors and apprentices were sat on brightly coloured cushions on the floor, talking quietly or polishing weapons and checking armour; there were even a couple of games of knucklebones being played.
‘Mistral!’ Brutus stepped out of the shadows at the tent’s entrance to greet her. ‘Better late than never! I thought it wasn’t like you to miss a fight!’
‘Brutus,’ Mistral nodded a greeting while she scanned the inside of the tent and quickly spotted all of the apprentices sat together around a low table, only Columbine was absent from their group. She was sat on her own at the back of the tent, looking dejected. Mistral noticed that Konrad was staring at her with a strange gloating expression on his face. Snapping her gaze back to Brutus, Mistral spoke in a low voice filled with urgency.
‘I’ve got important news for Master Shacklock. Is he here?’
‘Yes I am Mistral, and I would very much like to know what you are doing here.’
Gleacher Shacklock’s sharp voice cut across the quiet of the tent like a thunderclap. He strode across the tent towards her. At the sound of her name the apprentices all looked up from their table and grinned at her, a few of the warriors also glanced across with mild curiosity.
‘Brutus, see to Mistral’s horse!’ Gleacher ordered.
Brutus blanched at being instructed to handle Cirrus but didn’t dare argue. Mistral passed him the reins with a brief look of commiseration before turning her attention back to the Ri’s formidable Training Contracts Officer.
‘Follow me,’ he said curtly then turned and strode back into the depths of the tent. Mistral followed, keeping her head down to avoid the questioning looks she was getting.
Gleacher settled himself onto a large cushion next to a low table and indicated for Mistral to sit opposite him. Mistral sat quickly and paused briefly to wish that she had Phantasm’s oratorical skills before leaning forward over the table to speak without being overheard. She knew the Contracts Officer well enough to know he would expect her to relay her story right away; he would ask questions later.
‘Master Shacklock, I am under Contract to Master Sphinx. He received news that Rufus the Red has been fed misinformation about the valuable minerals under the sands … well, apparently there aren’t any, so this battle is all for nothing. Anyway, Master Sphinx suspects a high ranking Council Official of passing the false information on to Rufus in an attempt to discredit Mage Grapple. Er, Marcus of St Martine is married to Mage Grapple’s sister you see ... and she has petitioned Mage Grapple for help in this battle and he’s travelled from the Isle with an army of warlocks,’ Mistral paused for breath. She knew it was all coming out as a garbled jumble of words but Gleacher merely continued to look intently at her with his unfathomable iron grey eyes. ‘Well,’ she went on, ‘my Contract was a two-fold one; firstly to travel down to Blackneath and meet up with Mage Grapple and try to persuade him to turn back – which I obviously failed to do … and the second part was to get here by any means necessary and tell you about the warlocks.’
‘And just how did you get here?’ Gleacher interrupted in a colourless voice.
‘Er, on Mage Grapple’s warship.’
Gleacher gave her and appraising look, ‘And just how did you convince Mage Grapple to allow you to travel on his warship?’
Mistral’s eyes slid from his to stare down at the wooden table. For some inexplicable reason she was unwilling to mention Fabian De Winter’s involvement.
‘I explained to Mage Grapple why I had to travel and asked him for safe passage,’ she said truthfully, looking him in the eye once more.
To her relief he seemed to accept her explanation and nodded briefly.
‘So, the Mage’s army will engage in combat with the Ri. This is something that is strictly forbidden, and the unnamed Council Official,’ he paused and Mistral could see by the disdainful curl of his lip that he already suspected who that might be, ‘highlights Mage Grapple’s apparent lack of knowledge of where the Ri are working. Very clever,’ he mused. ‘What do you know of Mage Grapple’s plans?’ he asked in a sharper tone.
‘He and Marcus of St Martine and ... and Mage De Winter are going to ride out to try and negotiate with Rufus this afternoon,’ Mistral said, hoping he wouldn’t notice her hesitation.
‘Mage De Winter is here?’ Gleacher’s eyes sharpened.
Mistral nodded and quickly spoke again to avoid any further questions on that subject, ‘Mage Grapple also told me that he will instruct his warlocks not to deliberately engage with any Ri warriors should we end up facing one another in battle.’
‘How considerate of him,’ Gleacher murmured and fell silent.
He leaned forward onto the low table on his elbows, bowing his head in thought. Mistral sat quietly while the Contract’s Officer thought and gratefully accepted a flagon of water that Brutus quietly set down on the table in front of her. Mistral stole a glance at Brutus’ face as he turned to leave and saw a fresh bruise staining the pale skin of his cheekbone. She grimaced. No doubt Cirrus had been hard to handle as usual. She would have to apologise to Brutus on behalf of her horse – but then, they might have rathe
r larger things to worry about very soon.
Mistral had drunk two cups of water before Gleacher raised his head and spoke again, ‘So far there has been no breach of Contract. We will await the outcome of the negotiations this afternoon. Now, what do you want to do?’
Mistral looked blankly back at him, ‘What do I want to do?’ she repeated uncertainly.
Gleacher looked at her intently, ‘You are not Contracted to fight in this battle Mistral, what you decide to do while you are here is your choice.’
Momentarily taken aback, Mistral frowned and rubbed a hand across her forehead while she thought. With a sudden jolt she realised that she had completed the requirements of Leo’s Contract. Admittedly she had failed in the first part by not managing to convince Mage Grapple to turn back, but she had achieved the aims of the second part. She had travelled to The Desert Lands by any means necessary and informed Gleacher of the dangers his warriors would be facing. The knowledge that she had succeeded gave her no satisfaction at all. Nothing had changed. If the negotiations failed the Ri would still end up facing the warlock army in battle. In reality, there was no choice to make. Her decision had already been made four days ago when she signed her name on the bottom of the Contract in Leo Sphinx’s tower room.
Mistral sat up straight and looked directly into Gleacher cold eyes, ‘With your permission, Master Shacklock, I wish to fight with the Ri.’
Gleacher did not respond immediately but favoured her with a long, calculating look, ‘You have skills that would be useful,’ he said finally. ‘I agree to you joining our ranks.’
Mistral nodded her thanks and stood up to leave then hesitated when she looked across the tent and saw the gathered warriors and apprentices. She was sure they’d have plenty of questions to ask that she didn’t feel up to answering yet.
‘Does Grendel need a relief for guard duty,’ she asked on the spur of the moment.
Gleacher looked up at her and nodded. Mistral thought she saw a glimmer of understanding flicker across his stern features but it was gone in a flash.
‘Yes, take the next shift. I will send one of the apprentices along to relieve you before we eat.’
Mistral slipped quickly from the tent and into the bright sunshine, filled with relief that Gleacher had accepted her story without too many questions. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with keeping the whole truth about her journey from him, but she couldn’t see how to leave out Fabian’s involvement without leaving some bits out ... and hadn’t Leo specifically told her to avoid mentioning Fabian at all costs? Or was that only to Mage Grapple … she couldn’t remember. Mistral listed reasons in her mind to justify to herself why she had been so unwilling to discuss Fabian’s considerable involvement, but a small part of her had to admit it was mainly because he had saved her from the wolverines then personally escorted her for the duration of the sea crossing after tending Cirrus for her. She cringed. It all made her sound like some hapless female in need of constant protection, not an apprentice in the Ri.
Still wrapped up in her thoughts Mistral didn’t realise she had reached the camp entrance until a familiar dung-heap aroma filled her nostrils. Grendel was squatting like a huge toad in the cool shadow of the canvas wall, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the desert road.
‘I’ve come to take over,’ she said, quietly stepping into the shade beside him.
Grendel grunted and nodded his head towards an insignificant puff of smoke on the horizon.
‘Dust cloud,’ he growled. ‘Horses approaching. I’ll sound the alarm.’
Heaving himself upright, Grendel stomped off towards the large red and white tent leaving Mistral to stare out at the distant cloud on her own.
Her pulse quickened when she realised that this must be Mage Grapple’s negotiation party. Fabian would be with them too … he would have to ride right past her … would he give any sign that he knew her? Her heat quickened at the thought of trying to explain that to Gleacher and the other apprentices. They would instantly treat her with suspicion and mistrust if they thought she had been lying to them.
Several loud shouts rang out from the camp behind her swiftly followed by the sound of galloping hooves. Four of Rufus the Red’s army thundered past her on horseback and out along the desert road to meet Mage Grapple and his party. Mistral instantly recognised the lead rider as the swarthy figure from The Cloak and Dagger. He was obviously one of Rufus the Red’s high-ranking soldiers. She watched the riders melt into the shimmering heat haze and couldn’t help but think that it didn’t bode well that Rufus the Red had chosen not to go in person. After a while Mistral realised with relief that Grendel wasn’t coming back and she was left alone with her thoughts once more.
The afternoon wore by slowly with the riders returning, stony faced and tight-lipped just before sundown. They did not look at Mistral as they rode into the camp entrance but she had plenty of time to study the aura of the one she assumed to be Rufus’ general as he approached. A halo of deep red ringed with shining copper hung in the air around his head. When he drew nearer Mistral could just make out a tinge of royal blue on the very outer perimeters of his aura before she had to drop her gaze to avoid staring too obviously at him. But she had seen enough to know that it wasn’t good news; anger, stubbornness and purpose. It looked as though they would be going into battle after all. Mistral sat back down onto the hard sand and was about to begin mentally making her battle preparations when a light touch on her arm made her jump.
‘Mistral,’ Saul spoke quietly and sat down in the shade next to her. ‘Master Shacklock has sent me to relieve you. They’re all about to eat.’
‘Thanks Saul, but I’m not hungry.’
‘Master Shacklock said I was to insist. Something about not wanting what little brains you had left to be fried by the sun,’ smiled Saul.
Mistral looked at him in surprise, ‘Master Shacklock said that? He never makes jokes!’
Saul chuckled, ‘Well not exactly, but his meaning was clear. Your presence is required.’
Mistral looked apprehensive, ‘Did he say anything else?’
Saul nodded and gazed out across the desert for a moment before replying, ‘Yes, he said that Master Sphinx had been informed of a double-cross and sent you to bring the information to us. We know all about St Martine’s connection to Mage Grapple and about the warlock army,’ he said grimly. ‘But thankfully everyone has got gorgon or troll skin armour – as if it didn’t stink enough in that hot tent with Grendel around!’
Mistral felt some small grain of consolation that all the warriors had good armour, but even so, she couldn’t help but think that only Grendel and the more experienced warriors would stand a realistic chance of surviving a fight with a warlock.
‘And nobody blames me?’ Mistral asked hesitantly.
‘For what?’ Saul looked mystified.
‘I don’t know, for the warlock army being here I suppose,’ she muttered, letting her voice tail off when she realised that she’d said more than she should have.
Saul shook his head, ‘Sometimes I think you’ve got a serious persecution complex Mistral! All the warriors are actually pretty impressed that you got here with the news at all, which reminds me,’ he turned suddenly to look at her, a curious expression on his face. ‘Did you really travel on Mage Grapple’s warship?’
Mistral nodded but didn’t say anything.
‘What was it like?’ Saul persisted.
Mistral shrugged, ‘I don’t know, I slept for most of the journey.’
Saul frowned, ‘You slept? But, how long was the crossing?’
‘One night.’
‘One night!’ Saul exclaimed in an awestruck voice. ‘It’s taken us four days to get here!’
Mistral stared at him. She had travelled across the breadth of the Isle and over an ocean in the time it had taken the Ri’s ship to make the crossing.
‘Why did it take so long?’
It was Saul’s turn to shrug, ‘I’m no sailor but the Captain was using som
e pretty choice swear words to describe the wind, something about the sails being flatter than a witch’s –’
Mistral laughed and held up a hand to stop him from finishing his sentence and they sat in companionable silence for a moment until Saul spoke again.
‘Where are the twins?’
Mistral sighed. She had been thinking about them too, hoping that they had made it back to the Valley.
‘We got set upon by that pack of Blackheart Wolverines running through The Velvet Forests. The twins’ horses got pretty badly mauled and they had to go back. In fact, when we get back to the Valley I was thinking of organising a hunt to clear the pack out, I owe those mangy mutts,’ she added in a vengeful tone.
‘A hunt would be good,’ he agreed enthusiastically and then his faced suddenly changed. ‘Hang on, so you travelled on your own after that?’
Mistral looked across the sands to avoid his gaze and shrugged. She didn’t want to even think about Fabian De Winter, never mind talk about him.
Saul looked impressed, ‘That took some guts! I’m not sure I would have gone on. But I’m glad you did, we know what we’re facing now.’
The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) Page 34
