The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) (6 page)

Feeling the familiar rush of
adrenalin Mistral dug her heels in Cirrus’ flanks.  The big horse
immediately lunged forwards, forcing Mistral to grab wildly at his mane to stop
herself sliding down his back.  Keeping one hand on the leadrope to guide
him and the other wound tightly through his mane Mistral bent low over his neck
and urged her horse on.  Through whipping branches and dripping bracken
they crashed, leaping fallen logs and thick tree roots.  Deeper and deeper
into the forests they travelled, following the occasional flashes of Prospero’s
white tail.  The less agile Cirrus struggled to keep pace with the dog
through the dense forests and several times Mistral had to guide him around
overgrown sections that Prospero had simply crawled under.  The gleam of
his pale fur began to appear less frequently and before long Mistral realised
she could no longer hear the sounds of Prospero chasing the hind either. 
Cursing softly to herself she hauled on the leadrope and dragged Cirrus to a
halt.  She sat still, listening tensely.  Above the heavy thudding of
Cirrus’ heart and his snorting breaths she could hear only the pressing silence
of the forests. 

Cirrus fidgeted impatiently
beneath her.  Mistral turned him in a circle, letting her eyes rake their
surroundings for any sign of her dog.

‘Damn it Prospero!  Where
are you?’   

Silence met her muttered
question.  She turned Cirrus again, noting the change in the
scenery.  The trees were thinner here with more open stony ground and
occasional dense patches of gorse.  Mistral could see the grey mountain
peaks through the sparse branches of the towering pines.  They had
travelled further west than she had first thought and were now close to the
lower slopes of Western Range.  Glancing around at the resolutely still
bushes Mistral felt herself start to panic; just how was she going to explain
to Fabian that she had lost her new dog on their very first hunt?

‘Prospero!’

Her ringing shout was greeted by
silence.  Cirrus whickered and pawed the ground in agitation.

‘PROSPERO!’  Mistral
bellowed again, anxiety giving her voice a raw edge. 

A low rumbling growl erupted from
the trees on her right.  Mistral immediately pulled Cirrus round, hope
leaping in her chest – Prospero!

Cirrus snorted in fear and began
to back away when the head and shoulders of a mountain bear pushed through the
low branches of spruce.  Blinking and sniffing the air cautiously the bear
growled again, its beady black eyes locking hungrily onto Mistral.

Mistral muttered an oath under
her breath and fought to control her frightened horse.  She could see the
bear was only a juvenile and by its confused manner she guessed it had been
roused from hibernation by some disturbance … which, Mistral reflected
ruefully, had probably been her.    

Assessment complete, Mistral
swiftly weighed up her options.  It wouldn’t be too hard to tackle a bear
with her throwing knives or even her swords if it came to it. 

‘I’ll take those odds,’ she
muttered.  Reaching instinctively over her shoulder for a sword her hand
grasped uselessly at thin air, remembering too late that her swords were back
in her room and she was facing a bad-tempered bear armed with only a
dagger. 

‘Not such good odds,’ she
revised.  Pulling quickly on the leadrope Mistral urged Cirrus to back
away.  Cirrus baulked, snaking his head and fighting against her to try
and turn.  Mistral knew he wanted to bolt, but if he did the bear would
surely chase after them.  She eyed the bear’s huge paws warily.  One
well-aimed swipe from the vicious looking claws would cause serious damage to
her horse; something she couldn’t risk.  She was going to have to force
Cirrus to back away to a safer distance before she could let him have his head.
  

‘C’mon boy.’  she hissed quietly
and tugged again at the rope, pressing into his sides with her heels to
encourage him to walk backwards.  Cirrus fought her, shaking his head
agitatedly.  Threatened by Cirrus’s nervous behaviour the bear suddenly
roared and rose up onto its hind legs.  Cirrus gave a high-pitched neigh
of terror and reared.  Swearing loudly Mistral lost her grip and slid from
her horse, crashing to the wet ground mere feet from the angry bear.  She
staggered quickly to her feet and grabbed for Cirrus but he’d already fled,
stopping a short distance away to paw the ground nervously.

A thousand oaths sprang to her
lips but she silenced them and slowly reached for her dagger, keeping her eyes
fixed on the bear pacing towards her.  She tensed, ready to dive when the
bear lunged.  Her body was still but her mind wheeled, running through
survival strategies, but none of them looked very promising.  Mistral
almost smiled … only she could end up facing a spring bear alone armed with
only a dagger.  One thing was certain, if she survived this then Fabian
was probably going to kill her.  

A snarl ripped from the bear’s
heavy muzzle, forcing Mistral’s attention back to the danger lumbering towards
her.

‘Here goes nothing,’ she muttered
and gripped the hilt of her dagger more firmly. 

Something huge and grey erupted
from the bushes beside her.  Mistral instantly flung herself down and a
huge creature leapt over her, launching into the bear.  She blinked, his
name escaping her lips in a startled gasp.

‘Prospero!’

Twisting his body to crash
sideways into the bear Prospero sunk his teeth into its heavy neck.  The
bear roared in anger and snapped at the dog but couldn’t reach him. 
Prospero’s body was pressed close to the bear’s while he held it in a crushing
bite.  Prospero growled and tugged backwards, dragging the snarling bear
across the forest floor.  The bear fought back, lashing out with its claws
but its efforts were in vain.  Prospero was trained to do this. 
Keeping out of the bear’s range he continued to hail it across the ground by
its throat.

Mistral watched, awestruck, while
Prospero halted and carefully adjusted his bite on the bear’s neck.  Once
he was satisfied that his grip was right he slowly began move his head from
side to side, steadily increasing the motion until he was shaking the bear like
he would a rat, throttling it.  Eager to help her dog Mistral darted
forwards with her dagger raised only to be driven back by the bear’s thrashing
claws.  The bear couldn’t reach Prospero but it could reach her. 
Mistral backed off then tried again; dodging and ducking until she was within
inches of driving her dagger in.  She felt claws hook into her shirt,
ripping through the fabric to tear at the skin beneath.  Cursing with
frustration, Mistral grabbed at her bleeding arm and backed away, resigning
herself to watching anxiously while Prospero continued to crush the life out of
the bear. 

The bear’s struggles slowly
became weaker until eventually they ceased altogether.  With a low groan
the bear’s head slumped limply to the ground and its black eyes fixed in a
glazed stare.  Giving it one last vigorous shake Prospero released his
grip and promptly sat back on his haunches, looking expectantly at Mistral.

Mistral stared at him in stunned
silence before she realised that he was waiting for her approval.

‘Um ... good boy?’  Mistral
finally managed and Prospero’s tail beat the forest floor in response to the
praise.  

‘But how are we going to get that
home?’ she asked, dropping a hand down to gently rub Prospero’s velvet ears
while she gazed thoughtfully at the bear. 

After a lot of softly spoken
words through clenched teeth Mistral eventually persuaded Cirrus to stand still
long enough for her to shove the bear onto his back.  It wasn’t fully
grown and also thin after the long winter but even so, Mistral was sweating by
the time she managed to push the bear up over Cirrus’ withers and then pull
herself up behind it.

Whistling for Prospero Mistral
kicked Cirrus on into a stilted trot.  Unnerved by the extra weight and
the strong bear scent he shied continually, threatening to unseat Mistral every
time and making her legs ache from the effort of continually gripping. 
Prospero loped steadily alongside them, occasionally glancing up at Mistral and
wagging his tail.  She knew that he was her dog now and smiled to
herself.  Pleased as she was, Mistral wasn’t fooled by the convenient
timing of her gift.  Fabian was about to finish his stint as Training
Lieutenant and would shortly be leaving her and the Valley for the Mage Council. 
 

Fabian hadn’t bought her a
hunting dog.  He had bought her a guard dog.

‘As part of your time under my
tutelage I shall endeavour to install in you an understanding of the
intricacies of the Craft.’ 

Malachi swept dramatically around
his tower room as he spoke, his clipped voice oddly muffled by the book-lined
walls.

‘Tell me apprentice,’ he said,
abruptly turning to face Mistral.  ‘What do you know of The Craft?  I
understand that you were raised by sorcerers.’

Mistral sighed inwardly. 
Had Serenity told the entire Magnate about her dull upbringing in the small
village of Nevelte?

‘They weren’t very accomplished
sorcerers so I only know the basic stuff.’  Mistral replied with a shrug.

‘Such as?’  Malachi prompted
impatiently.

‘Well … Craft is passed through
bloodlines, so powerful sorcerers are born, not made –’ Mistral frowned while
she struggled to recall what else her adoptive parents had told her about the
Craft.  Neither had been particularly gifted and had tended not to use the
Craft at all, let alone speak of it.

‘And sorcering children begin
training during their sixteenth year, usually after the winter solstice – oh,
and warlocks have the Craft too but they’re not really Mages, more a separate
species altogether.’  Mistral finished with a grimace, remembering how
easily the two sinister warlocks had thrown her from her horse with a single
spell. 

Malachi regarded her coldly for a
moment, ‘Ill-informed does not quite do your lack of knowledge justice.  I
can see that I shall have to start at the beginning … unless you two have
anything to add?’

The twins gazed expressionlessly
back at Malachi before shaking their heads in unison.  Although they had
both been raised at the Mage Council’s stronghold in the north of the Isle and
probably knew as much about the Craft as Malachi, Mistral didn’t blame them for
wanting to keep quiet.  Malachi only ever seemed to ask a question when he
wanted to ridicule the answer.

‘Really, you are all most
woefully unprepared for a career at the Council!  Let me begin by
confirming that the Craft is passed through bloodlines, therefore a powerful
sorcerer is quite literally born to greatness just as a sorcerer with weak
powers will never have any chance of improving their gift, no matter how much
training they undergo.

‘The Craft itself is a force in
its own right, think of it as a separate life force that exists within a
sorcerer’s body.  It has a will of its own and with training can be bidden
but will essentially do anything to protect its vessel from becoming damaged,
whether the sorcerer is aware of it or not –’

‘What if the sorcerer has never
embraced their gift?’  Mistral asked with a frown.  Fabian and Leo
were both powerful Mages by their bloodlines but neither had ever trained their
gift.  If Malachi’s words were true it meant they had both probably used
the Craft without even being aware of it.

Malachi looked at her sharply,
obviously irritated by the interruption, ‘You are, I suppose, talking about the
Mage De Winter, who refuses to embrace his gift?’

Mistral nodded and kept her face
wooden.  Only she, Fabian and the twins knew of Leo’s true identity as the
illegitimate child of Mage Grapple and Fabian’s mother. 

‘The Craft will have protected
him whenever he was in direct danger, whether he was conscious of its
interference in his fate or not remains a question only he is able to answer.

‘Now, if the interruptions are
quite finished, perhaps I may be permitted to continue with your instruction?’ 
he turned to face them, arching a black eyebrow coldly.

‘I apologise Master Nox,’ Mistral
responded smoothly and felt Phantom twitch by her side.  She knew he would
be impressed by her unusual control over her notoriously fiery temper but in
truth, she was fascinated to learn more about the mysterious gift that was the
whole reason the Isle existed in the first place.

Malachi nodded once in acceptance
of her apology and began to pace the circular tower room once more.

‘Age!  The very thing that brings
down every single one of us in the end – even the Divinus must one day succumb
to the passing of time.  But with the Craft time’s effect is slowed. 
So we have the strange situation of the counting of years as a measure of a
lifetime being a pointless factor.  A powerful Mage or Magus could easily
live for two hundred years without appearing to age a day until their gift
eventually fades and they suddenly begin to wane … then the process of aging is
dramatically accelerated.  They usually wither and die within a few months
of beginning to show signs of aging.’ 

Mistral stared at him, not quite
concealing the horror she felt.  Would she wake up next to Fabian one day
and see an old man lying next to her?  Of course, she quickly reasoned,
that would be perfectly acceptable if she was an old woman too –

‘Smiling during my lessons is
quite inappropriate apprentice.  Please do not do it again.’ 
Malachi’s sharply spoken words swiftly dragged Mistral’s attention back to the
tower room.

‘Master Nox?’  Phantasm
interrupted in a quiet voice.  Mistral glanced at him out of the corner of
her eye.  He never spoke during Malachi’s sessions since he had been
mercilessly belittled during their first lesson.

‘Yes apprentice, what is it
now?’  Malachi asked in a weary voice and paused from his pacing to look
at Phantasm.