‘It’s a sorcerer’s ship,’ Mistral muttered with a half-smile, echoing Fabian’s exact words to her.
She wondered distractedly what he was doing now and quickly surmised that he was probably stuck in the treaty negotiations. With a sudden burst of black humour Mistral imagined him being sat next to his love rival, Marcus of St Martine. She could almost see the look on his face.
The rest of the warriors dismounted and gathered on the quayside whilst Gleacher boarded to speak with the Captain. Mistral studied the Ri’s ship more closely while they waited. It was about half the size of the monstrous vessel that Mage Grapple had commanded on the journey here. Sails and ropes were being prepared for their homeward journey. She watched, fascinated, as the crew scrambled up and down the rigging, appearing like insects high up above to vanish under reams of heavy white sail cloth.
Gleacher soon returned to the quay. His face bore the satisfied look of someone who had received good news.
‘I have spoken with the Captain, the winds are fair and we sail immediately. Load the horses and bank the straw high and thick; there’s storm coming in. The Captain is confident we can run before it. If he’s right, we should make good time.’
‘And if he’s wrong?’ growled Grendel.
‘Then we swim to Elysium,’ replied Gleacher shortly.
Mistral felt a chill run down her spine, not the thrill of fear she normally felt when faced with a dangerous situation, but a genuine desire not to drown. What the hell is wrong with me? she thought in exasperation. Feeling compassion for a lovesick Mage, fighting for free and now afraid to die? At this rate she was going to have to hang up her swords and take up knitting.
With that depressing thought in mind, Mistral led Cirrus up the wooden ramp into the gloomy hold of the ship. Once she was satisfied that he was secure in his stall with enough straw to pack him in during the storm she quickly made her way up onto the deck.
The deck was laid out in a similar way to Mage Grapple’s warship but with more provisions for longer journeys since the Ri did not travel with the same unnatural speed. Chicken coops, barrels of water and fruit, sacks of grain and crates of dried meats were all securely lashed down. She made her way carefully to the bow, keeping out of the way of the crew who were busy throwing sheets of oilskin over the crates of provisions, tying them down tightly to protect them from the storm. Mistral stayed at the bow and watched the ship being cast off, listening to the rattling sounds of the anchor being hauled up, the hiss of ropes being flung from the quay to the boat and the surprising boom of the unfurled sails filling with wind. She remained on deck as the ship negotiated the harbour entrance and for the second time in as many days Mistral found herself staring out at a vast empty ocean.
Mistral turned to look behind her, watching the harbour and the desert village shrink into the distance. The huge sand dunes rising up behind the village were soon just a slither of yellow on the horizon below an ominously heavy sky of inky black clouds. The storm was moving in quickly. Already the wind had taken on a distinct raw edge, blowing icy spatters of rain across the empty deck. Mistral could hear the muffled noises of the Ri warriors settling in below deck. Despite the news of the pending storm the mood was light. There had been no casualties during the Contract and good money had been made. The unmistakable sounds of a card game getting underway drifted up to her. She could hear Xerxes loudly taking bets, someone was playing an instrument, it sounded like a pipe of some kind. Mistral had no desire to go and join them, preferring to stay alone on the deck for as long as the conditions permitted. She leaned against the rails and reflected on the events of the last week, knowing that she should feel some elation or in the very least gratification that everyone was travelling back to the valley alive despite the odds that had been stacked against them. She sighed and tried to drag up the enthusiasm to join the warriors in their celebrations below decks, but an incomprehensible feeling of listlessness was rooting her feet to the deck. She felt powerless to wrench her gaze from the vanishing stretch of land on the horizon. The further it slipped from her sight the more a strange numbness began to grow inside of her. With every rise and fall of the deck Mistral knew the ship was moving further out into the ocean and, inexplicably, it felt like she was slowly dying with every inch it travelled.
The wind began to gather strength, whipping the sea into towering foam-topped waves that threatened to engulf the ship as it bravely ploughed through them. Mistral knew she should get below deck where it was safe although a growing part of her didn’t care. The rocking of the ship was too violent for her to stand now. She clung to the rail, being thrown violently back and forth like a rag doll until a small grain of stubbornness deep inside her forced her to move. Unable to walk upright, she dropped down onto all fours and crawled to the nearest hatch, hanging onto the looped iron handle to balance herself against the lurching of the ship, she wrenched it open and rolled quickly into the dark opening.
Mistral landed with a dull thud on something soft and sweet smelling. Straw. She was in the stalls, relief washed over her that she hadn’t landed into the cabin where the other warriors were celebrating. Struggling to stand up against the motion of the ship, Mistral immediately fell down again. The rocking of the ship was more pronounced below decks, making it impossible for her to remain upright. The thundering crash of waves hurling themselves against the wooden hull deafened her as she crawled through the straw, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness. Nausea washed over her every time the ship rolled. Battling against the urge to be sick Mistral dragged herself forward, searching for Cirrus. The horses were surprisingly quiet; the motion of the sea and the dark had made them sleepy. Mistral wished it had the same effect on her as vomit filled her dry mouth. Finally she recognised the solid black rump of her horse and crawled gratefully into his stall, curling up into a ball in a bank of straw near him. Cirrus sniffed her curiously as she groaned and retched; willing him to trample on her and put her out of her misery.
The storm blew steadily for the rest of the day and into the evening. The Captain’s forecast had been correct, it was a following wind and they made good time. He confidently predicted to Gleacher that they would be in dock at the Isle a day early. If Mistral had known any of this she might have felt marginally better. She lay, stricken with sea sickness for the duration of the storm but even after it the weather eased her sickness persisted. She lay supine in Cirrus’ stall for the entire journey, forcing down sips of water from his water bucket at infrequent intervals and drifting in and out of feverish dreams, totally oblivious to the fact that Grendel and Saul had risked their lives by going out on deck to search for her during the storm, returning empty handed and convinced that she had been washed overboard.
The horses were checked three times a day, but aside from throwing food in his stall and refilling his water bucket, none of the warriors dared get too close to the notoriously bad-tempered horse and Mistral lay undetected, curled in the deep straw of his stall.
At evening on the third day the ship docked in the small port on the western side of the Isle under a heavy sky, grey with the threat of imminent rain. The Valley was half a day’s ride from the port and Gleacher did not want to push the horses after such a rough crossing. He issued orders for them to disembark, unload the horses, and set up camp a short distance away from the port.
The grinding sound of the solid wooden ramp being lowered woke Mistral from a restless sleep. She felt fresh air blowing across her, drying the sweat beading her clammy forehead. The sound of voices and footsteps grew closer; horses whickering and the jingle of bridles as they were tacked up ready to disembark.
‘Hey!’ she tried to croak but her throat was completely dry, her mouth and lips sore and chapped. She tried to lick her lips, but there was no moisture in her mouth. Dragging herself onto all fours she crawled to the water bucket and pressed her lips to the water. The cool water stung her lips and throat as she forced down a tiny sip, feeling her shrivelled stomach rebel she rolled over on
to her back, fighting the wave of nausea that washed over her. When it began to pass she called out again in a cracked voice.
‘Hey!’
‘Mistral?’ Grendel was peering down into the stall. He had been the only one to volunteer to try and unload Cirrus, figuring that his bulk might help restrain the wilful horse.
Fighting unconsciousness, Mistral stared blearily up into Grendel’s ugly face. She had never been happier to see him. Smiling weakly, she let the blackness claim her.
Return To The Valley
Mistral was half-asleep. She was resting under the trees in The Velvet Forests on a beautiful summer’s day. She felt warm and contented lying there, with her head pillowed on a soft bank of moss and her eyes closed, listening to the gentle sound of the light breeze moving through the leaves. Sunlight filtered down through the branches and dappled across her face; it was bliss. She drifted deeper into a tranquil doze then the rustling began to grow louder. The leaves rattled, piercing her warm veil of sleep. Mistral frowned at the noise. It was too loud, too much like voices, dragging her out of her peaceful sleep. Groaning irritably she opened her eyes a fraction, staring up not at branches and sky as she had expected, but straight into two pairs of vivid green eyes.
‘At last, the hero awakes,’ said Phantom.
‘Heroine, please brother. It may be a man’s world but let’s not take that identity away from her,’ chided Phantasm, gazing concernedly down at Mistral’s bleary expression.
Mistral blinked dazedly at the twins and slowly became aware of her surroundings. She was lying in the Infirmary, in the bed nearest to the window and the sunlight was playing across her bed in golden dapples, mimicking her dream.
‘Water?’ Phantasm asked, courteously offering her a cup from her bedside table.
Mistral nodded and raised herself up on one elbow, groaning again as the room swam sickeningly. She took a couple of sips of water and sank gratefully back onto her pillows.
‘How do you feel?’ Phantasm’s perfect face was creased into a text book image of concern. Everything they did was so managed, so composed that Mistral almost smiled; it was good to see them again.
‘Rough,’ she admitted in a cracked whisper. ‘Sea sick,’ she added unnecessarily by way of explanation for her illness.
The twins raised their eyebrows in identical expressions of scepticism.
‘Mistral, you’ve been here for two days; it’s a bit more serious than motion sickness,’ Phantasm said softly.
‘Just what did you eat while you were in the desert?’ Phantom asked with a mocking smile. ‘A camel?’
Mistral felt her stomach roll over at the mention of food, she closed her eyes until the feeling passed.
‘Don’t mention food!’ Phantasm warned, catching the look on her face.
‘Sorry, sorry – won’t happen again,’ said Phantom sounding slightly sulky.
When the feeling of nausea subsided Mistral risked opening her eyes again.
‘Two days?’ she croaked incredulously.
Phantasm nodded, ‘Grendel found you in Cirrus’ stall and carried you out, in fact he carried you all the way back to the Valley – which reminds me, you need to take a shower –’
‘Cirrus!’ Mistral interrupted in a panicked mumble and tried to sit up again, only to be overwhelmed once more by light-headedness.
‘Is fine,’ confirmed Phantasm, firmly pushing her back on to the pillow. ‘Now where was I before the corpse tried to speak? Oh yes, Grendel carried you back to the Valley and Brutus was nominated for the unenviable task of leading Cirrus back – I think he’s grown rather fond of your stroppy horse by the way – and you were brought straight here. Of course, we immediately came to see, but we were beaten back by Mistress Lightwater –’
‘Skinny, but scary,’ interjected Phantom with feeling.
‘Which left us no option but to find our information from other sources –’
‘You left me here and went to The Cloak and Dagger,’ muttered Mistral, opening her eyes a fraction to give Phantasm a reproachful glare.
Phantasm looked supremely unrepentant, ‘Yes, in the interests of unearthing the truth, we left no stone unturned; and that may have involved spending the evening listening to, quite frankly, tall tales in The Cloak and Dagger.’
‘Did you really travel on Mage Grapple’s warship?’ Phantom butted in, his eyes shining with curiosity.
Mistral nodded and closed her eyes; that felt like a lifetime ago.
The twins fell silent and Mistral began to drift gratefully towards oblivion. Phantasm spoke, but his voice seemed to be coming to her from a great distance.
‘We’ll leave you now, but we will be back after lunch tomorrow,’ he murmured with a hint of a threat in his silken voice.
Mistral slept, deeply and dreamlessly for the rest of the afternoon. Serenity woke her in the early evening to offer her food but Mistral merely groaned and rolled over, falling straight back into a heavy sleep that lasted until the morning.
True to their word, the twins were back just after midday. Sauntering casually through the Infirmary doors and draping themselves elegantly on the two hard wooden chairs placed beside her bed. Mistral felt slightly improved by a good night’s sleep and the twins were encouraged to see that she was sitting up and drinking a cup of water when they arrived.
‘Feel up to talking?’ Phantom asked politely, stealing a piece of apple from the plate of fruit that Mistral was supposed to be trying to eat for lunch.
‘About what?’ she asked, shoving the plate of fruit towards him with a grimace of distaste.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Mage Grapple, the warship, The Desert Lands, the whole crazy adventure you had while my brother and I had to suffer the indignity of having foul-smelling antiseptic dabbed on parts I’d rather not mention by Mistress Lightwater,’ said Phantasm in an exasperated voice. ‘You know that everyone is hailing you as the saviour of the hour?’
Mistral stared at him, her eyes wide in her deathly pale face, ‘The what?’
Phantasm nodded and bit into a slice of pear, ‘Oh yes,’ he said in a bitter voice. ‘Mistral the saviour who journeyed across the Isle alone, hitched a ride on Mage Grapple’s warship alone, rode alone through the desert to find Rufus’ camp and bring the information so trustingly bestowed upon only her by Master Sphinx – do I need to go on?’
Mistral winced and picked at the hem of her bedsheet.
‘Did we forget to mention someone?’ Phantasm asked quietly, but his green gaze was piercing.
‘Leo told us not to mention Fabian’s involvement,’ she muttered lamely.
There was a long silence in which she could almost feel the twins swelling with righteous indignation.
‘We meant us! Not Mage De Winter!’ Phantom exclaimed angrily.
Mistral looked up, her face contrite, ‘Oh, I told them you were there up until the Wolverine attack – well I told Saul that anyway, he might not have told the others though –’ she trailed off when the scornful looks on the twins faces told her that Saul had obviously forgotten to mention that part.
‘Thanks to you the rest of the apprentices thought we were swanning around the Valley doing not a lot while they were all off risking their necks of some mad mercenary mission! Our reputation is in tatters!’
Mistral suppressed a snort; it was so like the twins to bring everything back to them.
‘Do I hear raised voices in my Infirmary?’ Serenity’s voice rang out from across the room.
The twins jumped and spun round guiltily, their expressions immediately apologetic.
‘Our apologies Mistress Lightwater, just trying to cheer the patient up with some light banter,’ said Phantasm smoothly, offering Serenity a dazzling smile.
Oblivious to Phantasm’s charm, Serenity strode over and rested a cool hand against Mistral’s forehead.
‘Any more disruptions to my patient’s recovery and I shall ban you two from visiting,’ she threatened. Fixing them both with a steely glare she turned
on her heel and swept back across the room.
‘See what I mean?’ Phantom whispered. ‘Really scary!’
Mistral pulled a face at him, ‘Coward! Your reputation was confetti before that Contract so don’t go blaming me! You’re just jealous because I completed it without you.’
The twins both leaned back on their chairs and crossed their arms at exactly the same time.
‘That’s completely untrue,’ Phantom snapped.
Mistral closed her eyes and sighed. If the twins were going to be like that she was going to have to resort to playing dirty to win them round. She didn’t have the energy for one of their marathon sulks.
‘It wasn’t easy you know,’ she said quietly, keeping her eyes down and fiddling with the bedsheet again. ‘Doing it all on my own ... without you two I mean.’
‘But you weren’t on your own were you? You had the wonderful Mage De Winter escorting you the whole way!’ Phantom hissed.
Mistral gazed forlornly at him, ‘No, he left me alone with two warlocks … and they cast on me,’ she whispered, somehow managing to make her voice sound even more pathetic than it already did.
The twins gasped in horror and instantly leaned forward, erupting in anxious voices at the same time,
‘No! Were you alright? Did you have your armour on?’
‘I knew we shouldn’t have let you go with him!’
Mistral hid a smile; she could play the twins like a musical instrument. Settling herself back onto her pillows Mistral let them berate themselves guiltily for a few minutes before deciding to put them out of their misery.
‘Look, I’m here now, safe and sound, so no harm done ... but you couldn’t do me a favour could you?’
‘Anything!’ they chimed in unison.
‘Get me out of here,’ she begged in a low undertone. ‘I don’t think I can take another moment of Serenity trying to feed me to death and, I’m really bored.’
Phantasm smiled and raised his eyebrows challengingly at his brother.
The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) Page 37
