The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) (25 page)

The other
first years were gathered around a couple of tables nearby being typically
noisy.  A boisterous arm wrestling match was taking place between Xerxes
and Brutus on the only part of the table top not covered by tankards.  A
deafening crash rang out when Xerxes won the bout, slamming his brother’s fist
to the table top and sending half-full tankards of ale flying.

Gleacher
Shacklock broke off from his conversation with the stranger and glared
disapprovingly at the noisy table of apprentices. 

‘Quiet
please!’ he ordered in an iron voice. 

All sound in
the room quickly died and every face turned to look expectantly at the
Contracts Officer.

Gleacher’s
eyes raked the room coldly for a few moments before he spoke.  The first
years looked slightly bashful but the more experienced warriors stared back
dispassionately; they had seen it all before.

‘I am sure you
all know that there is a large mercenary Contract on offer tonight,’ he began
in a hard voice.  ‘Make no mistake; this is a mission from which some of
you will not return.  If there is anybody here unwilling to take the coin
of Rufus the Red in return for their life, please leave now.’

His strong
words were met with a ringing silence.  Nobody moved, although Mistral
thought she felt the twins twitch slightly by her side.

Gleacher
Shacklock nodded grimly, ‘Then you are all Contracted to fight for Rufus the
Red against Marcus of St Martine in The Desert Lands.  The payment for
your services will be made in full and in advance – you may collect from me as
you leave.  I will be travelling with you and overseeing your involvement
in the battle,’ he paused to fix the swarthy stranger next to him with a
piercing look. 

The stranger
stared back sullenly then shrugged.  Gleacher gave a satisfied nod and
addressed the gathered apprentices again.

‘Questions?’ 

A badly
scarred warrior Mistral had never seen before raised his hand.  Gleacher
nodded towards him briefly.

‘What
provisions are going to be laid on?’ he asked in a rasping voice.

‘We will be
camped with the King’s army.  Sufficient supplies have been allocated to
us.’

Another hand
lifted into the air at the back of the room.  Mistral noted with surprise
that it belonged to Columbine.

‘How long will
we be away?’ she asked in a petulant voice.

Mistral hid a
smirk.  Of course, she wouldn’t be able to stand being parted from her
precious Golden for longer than was absolutely necessary.  Come to think
of it, where was her precious Golden?

‘The campaign
will be short,’ replied Gleacher curtly and looked around the room for any
other raised hands.

‘How long is
short?’  Columbine persisted insolently.

Gleacher fixed
her with an icy glare, ‘Perhaps you would like to discuss the exact duration of
the battle during a strategy meeting with King Rufus himself when we
arrive.  You are being paid to fight, not plan your diary!’

Columbine’s
face flushed and she dropped her gaze to stare sullenly at the floor.

Gleacher’s
eyes swept the room again, but no more hands were raised. 

‘Good. 
We leave tonight.  Pack full armour and weapons.  Saddle your horses
with all due speed and be back in the village square in one hour.’

The smiles
slid from the twins’ faces the moment Gleacher Shacklock finished speaking and
they looked at each other in dismay.  Mistral didn’t notice, she was
mentally packing her saddlebag and was in a pleasant dither between throwing
knives or her trusted short bladed dagger before she eventually noticed the
twins’ glum faces.

‘What?’ she
asked, her mind still half-occupied by thoughts of knives.

‘An hour,’
echoed Phantasm miserably.

‘On
horseback,’ added Phantom gloomily.

Mistral looked
at them blankly, ‘Surely even you two can pack a bag in one hour?’  then
her face fell as the full implication of Gleacher’s words sank in.

‘Our horses,’
she moaned.  ‘They’re all lame!  Damn that cursed knucker!’

‘The Equus
said he’d have them ready for the morning, which is too late – we have less
than an hour,’ said Phantasm despondently. 

‘But we can’t
miss out on this Contract,’ said Mistral desperately.  ‘It’ll be really
good experience!  Besides, I’ve always wanted to see The Desert Lands –’
her voice tailed off dejectedly.

‘Let’s go see
the Equus!’ said Phantom, his eyes shining with sudden hope.

‘Maybe we can
persuade him to shoe them tonight!’ agreed his brother eagerly.

‘Come on,
there isn’t a moment to lose!’  

Mistral
immediately starting to push through the jostling crowd of warriors all eager
to sign their names on the Contract laid out on the bar top.  Those that
had signed were forming a slightly more orderly queue in front of Gleacher
Shacklock to receive payment for the Contract.

Phantasm and
Phantom shot a covetous look at the bag of coins in Gleacher’s hand before
hurrying after Mistral, catching her up as she ran across the unlit cobbled
square towards the stableyard.

The stableyard
was teeming with frenzied activity; horses were being led out of stalls by
steely faced warriors, their calmness in direct contrast to the behaviour of
the apprentices who were running around frantically looking for missing items
of tack. 

‘Mistral!’ 
Saul cried, running up to her with an urgent look on his face.  ‘Did I
lend you my horse’s armoured breast plate?’

Mistral shook
her head, ‘Sorry Saul, not me.’

He swore and
began to look around distractedly as if hoping it might suddenly appear, ‘I
can’t take my horse into battle without it,’ he muttered and hurried off across
the yard into the tackroom. 

It was not
hard to guess where the Equus was.  Heat and light flooded out in equal
proportion from the open doorway to the forge.  The ringing sound of iron
being struck filled the air, punctuated by the hiss of hot metal plunging into
water. 

Mistral and
the twins hastened across the yard to the forge, dodging excited horses and
running apprentices.  They ducked under the low doorway and entered the
forge where the blistering heat struck them like a blow in the face. 

The Equus
worked bare-chested, sweat ran freely down his face and body while he hammered
a white-hot piece of metal against the anvil.  He did not look up when
they entered but continued to work, beating the shoe into shape.

Mistral felt
her heart sink as she took in the scene before her.  The Equus was shoeing
one horse and there were six more tethered to the wall at the back of the
forge, stamping and pushing impatiently against each other.  She scanned
the line of fidgeting horses with a growing sense of gloom.  Cirrus,
Jupiter and Mars were not among them.

Squinting
against the searing heat Mistral moved closer to the Equus and shouted his name
above the noise of the metal being worked.

‘Clovis!’ she
bellowed as loudly as she could.

The Equus
paused mid-strike and looked up at her with bloodshot eyes, seeing who it was
he stood upright, straightening out his back with a grimace of pain. 

‘What d’you
want Mistral?  You can see I’m busy,’ he said curtly and wiped a dirty
hand across his sweating brow.

‘Is there any
chance of us adding three horses on to the end of the line?’ she asked, smiling
hopefully into his grizzly face.

‘No,’ he said
shortly and immediately bent to pick up a white-hot shoe out of the forge with
a pair of tongues.

‘Please
Clovis!  I’ll do all the mucking out for a week!’

‘No,’ he
repeated more forcefully.

‘Two weeks
then!’ she pleaded desperately.

‘No, no and no
again!’  The Equus shouted, punctuated each ‘no’ with a ringing blow with
his hammer on the metal shoe.   

Mistral stared
at him in disbelief for a moment, then, typically, her temper flared.

‘I’ll just
shoe them myself then!’ she snapped.  ‘It can’t be that damned hard if you
can do it!’

There was a
resounding clang as the Equus flung his hammer down onto the stone floor. 
He stood up and loomed menacingly over Mistral.  The twins shrank back
against the wall of the forge but Mistral glared aggressively back into the
Equus’ scowling face.

‘Touch those
horses and I will beat you with a branding iron!’ he roared.

‘I’m missing
out on a Contract because you can’t be bothered to shoe three more
horses!’  Mistral screamed back at him.

‘Can’t be
bothered!’  the Equus spluttered, too outraged to finish his sentence.

‘Three won’t
take long!  Please Clovis,’ Mistral begged in a more reasonable
voice. 

The Equus
glowered at her for a long moment, ‘Mistral, I’ve got six horses to do in less
than an hour.  Even if I wanted to do your three, which I don’t, I really
couldn’t.  There just isn’t enough time.  They’ll be done in the
morning,’ he said firmly and turned back to the horse he was shoeing.

Mistral stared
furiously at him for a long moment, watching his strong hands cradling the
horse’s hoof while he carefully fitted the shoe and began to tap the nails in.

‘I’m sure I
could do that,’ she muttered to the twins.

‘I heard
that!’ the Equus growled through a mouthful of nails.  ‘Now get out of my
forge before I lose my temper!’

The three
apprentices left quickly and traipsed dejectedly back across the hectic yard,
oblivious to the atmosphere of tense energy all around them. 

‘Aren’t you
ready yet Mistral?’ called a cheerful voice from the tackroom doorway.

Mistral looked
up to see Saul happily clutching the long leather straps of his horse’s
breastplate.

‘No, not yet
–’ she muttered evasively and walked on more quickly.

They left the
busy stableyard and walked back in the village square.  If anything, it
was more chaotic there.  Fully armoured horses were milling about in an
agitated fashion, being held by apprentices talking in loud excited voices,
eager to have the opportunity to use their newly learned battle skills. 
The more experienced warriors stood a little apart from the apprentices,
quietly checking their weapons.

Mistral and
the twins watched from the edge of the square, their expressions
downcast.  While the twins exchanged bitter comments about the Equus,
Mistral focussed her efforts on desperately trying to think of a way they could
still take the Contract.  She couldn’t bear the idea of being the only
ones to be missing out because the Equus wouldn’t shoe their horses.  It
was unthinkable. 

‘I can’t
believe Grendel is going.  He hasn’t even got a horse!’  Phantom
muttered furiously.

Mistral
suddenly clapped her hands together and laughed, ‘And neither have we!’

‘And that’s
amusing in what way?’  Phantom asked moodily.

‘If Grendel
can go on foot so can we!’   

The twins
didn’t reply and gazed at her sceptically.

‘I mean, it’s
not like we are going to ride across to The Desert Lands are we?’  Mistral
reasoned, warming to her idea.  ‘We’ll be on a ship!  So it doesn’t
matter if we don’t have our horses!’

‘And just how
do we get down to the port?  Ask one of the warriors to let us jump on
behind them?’  Phantasm asked scornfully.  ‘Grendel is half-troll, he
could run from one end of the Isle to the other without even getting a blister,
but I don’t fancy trying to keep up with this lot galloping down to the port!’

‘Oh, I hadn’t
thought of that bit,’ said Mistral, deflating again.

‘And I don’t
know about you, but I quite like the idea of being on horseback when everyone
rides into battle.  I think we might look rather stupid jogging along
behind the rest don’t you?’  Phantom added scathingly. 

‘Fine … fine …
I get the picture, we’re not going,’ muttered Mistral dismally, her shoulders
dropping in defeat.

They stood in
forlorn silence while the warriors gathered; the tension in the square
gradually intensifying until it was at fever-pitch.  A shouted command
from Gleacher Shacklock signalled their departure and suddenly they were gone,
the thunder of galloping hooves rapidly fading away to a distant rumble. 

‘Well that’s
it then,’ sighed Mistral.

‘I think an
early night is in order,’ said Phantasm, stalking off towards the dorms.

‘Hang on a
minute!  Look!  Someone’s has forgotten something,’ called Mistral
when the sound of galloping hoof beats suddenly began to grow louder again. 
‘It might be us!’

‘Yeah, right
–’  Phantom scowled but turned, hope glinting in his emerald eyes.

A horse, its
bright coat bleached to a pale gold by the moonlight, was being ridden at a
breakneck gallop down the path from the North Gate.

‘No, that’s
someone else,’ said Phantom with a frown.  ‘Everyone else left through the
South Gate.’

They watched
curiously as the horse drew closer and pounded past them, snorting and foaming
from being ridden hard.  Mistral knew immediately who the rider was. 
He did not turn and look at her this time, but the figure of Fabian De Winter
was instantly recognisable to her. 

‘Mage De
Winter, well I never,’ mused Phantasm softly.

‘Do you know
him?’ asked Mistral, keeping her voice deliberately light. 

‘Not
personally,’ replied Phantasm, giving her a strange look.  ‘But I know of
his reputation.  Why?’

Mistral
shrugged disinterestedly and avoided his gaze, ‘I’ve seen him in the Valley
before.’

‘Have you
really?’  Phantasm murmured softly.  ‘Well I wonder what he’s doing
here tonight.’

‘Certainly
seemed in a bit of a hurry didn’t he?’  Phantom commented. 

Mistral opened
her mouth to ask more about the compelling Mage but before she could speak a
gruff voice called out loudly from the other side of the square.