The Assassin's Destiny (Isle of Dreams) Read online

  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.

  The Craft

  ‘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.

  ‘What of the Arcane races? And … half-breeds, how do they age if they are mixed with Mage blood?’

  Mistral tensed. The last thing she wanted was a discussion that involved her having to admit to another member of the Magnate that she had no idea what bloodline she came from. However, considering that Malachi was allegedly half-vampire she doubted that he would want to dwell on the subject for too long either.

  ‘The Arcane races have traits peculiar to their own species. Some age quickly, others more slowly. Centaurs age at the slowest rate, powerful sorcerer next, yet by comparison trolls reach full maturity by the age of four and only live for around fifty years. The aging process is a condition unique to each of the races in turn and I suggest that if you are interested in finding out more then you should study in your own time as I have precious little to spare. However, as to the rather more pertinent question of half-breeds, that again is entirely dependent on what bloodlines met to create the half-breed in question. Who can say for certain what effect Mage blood has when mixed with other breeds?’

  A silence fell when Malachi finished speaking. He resumed his quiet pacing and for a few minutes the room was filled only by the rustling sound of his heavy black robes.

  ‘The Craft,’ he continued in a crisp tone, ‘is magnified in its power when two likenesses cast together – similar to the Gemini gift that you possess,’ Malachi paused and considered the twins thoughtfully.

  ‘By likeness, do you mean that the two sorcerers have to be related?’ Mistral asked with a frown, thinking of the two warlocks that had jointly cast on her.

  ‘By blood,’ qualified Malachi shortly.

  ‘Are all warlocks related by blood then?’

  Malachi eyed her coldly for a moment before replying, ‘You seem strangely interested in that particular breed, why is that I wonder?’

  She shrugged dismissively, ‘I’ve had a bit of run-in with a couple in the past.’

  ‘Yet you still breathe, how unfortunate. But in answer to your impertinent question, warlocks are in essence all related. They are many but they are one which is what gives them their innate strength and power. Truly, they are a breed apart and cannot be explained simply. They are a subject that could be studied for years and still leave the student as much in the dark as when he began.’

  Mistral let Malachi’s insult wash over her and became lost in her own thoughts once again. Warlocks were many but one … she grasped the concept easily because it answered the warlock army’s unnatural ability to move in complete harmony with no spoken of visible command. She thought of the power that two had generated when they had cast on her. What power would an entire army generate? Mistral felt a shiver run down her spine and remembered how tense Fabian had been about leaving her alone with just two of them. He still didn’t know that they had cast on her when she had blatantly ignored his warning and quickly resolved that he should never find out. He was prone to being overprotective as it was without her giving him justification. With a sigh Mistral dragged her attention back to Malachi lecturing them on the subject of the Craft.

  ‘ – spells are cast without words. The power of the Craft literally emanates from within a sorcerer without need of a conductor or tool. It can be directed by the power of intention but is inextricably linked to the state of mind of the sorcerer at the precise moment that they cast. Therefore spells cast in anger or other distressed states are more powerful. Now, to my personal speciality: the brewing of potions.’

  Malachi ceased in his pacing to linger in front of the long wooden table littered with bottles of all different sizes and colours, each one containing a different potion.

  ‘Potion brewing is not limited purely to sorcerers. It is an art in itself. However some potions required the addition of the Craft to achieve the desired result. Perhaps you would care to guess what some of these potions might be?’

  Mistral and the twins gazed silently back at Malachi. None of them had any intention of giving him the satisfaction of sneering at any suggestions they offered.

  ‘As I assumed. Complete ignorance.’ Malachi sighed dramatically and swept around the room again, his long robes swishing against the tall bookcases when he turned to make a repeat circuit.

  ‘Any potion that induces an emotion, or rather, the replica of an emotion, is created using the Craft … as well as several other highly unusual ingredients. For this very reason the production and use of all such potions is banned on the Isle and the crime of creating, using or selling them is punishable by death by order of the Mage Council.’

  There was no disguising the derision in Malachi’s voice as he spoke the last few words. Mistral kept her face impassive but felt Phantom stir slightly beside her. He too had noted Malachi’s contempt for the Isle’s ruling Council, no doubt a grievance he had inherited from his vampire father.

  Malachi dismissed them curtly at the end of the afternoon and had barely closed the door behind them before Phantom and his brother were sharing a conspiratorial look.

  ‘Well now, that answered a few questions didn’t it brother?’

  ‘Definitely – did you see his face when he talked about the Mage Council?’

  Mistral rolled her eyes and walked on ahead of them. The twins loved nothing more than intrigue and conspiracy and would no doubt talk for hours about the afternoon’s lesson; analysing Malachi’s every word and facial expression down to the merest twitch. Leaving them to it Mistral ran down the stairs and made her way hastily along the corridor to her room. She opened the door to find Prospero stretched out on her narrow bed, sound asleep. He rolled over as she came in and opened one pale blue eye to gaze reproachfully at her.

  ‘Sorry I had to leave you boy but Malachi won’t have you in his tower room in case you chew the books or something. But I’m here now. Come on, let’s go find Fabian.’

  Prospero leapt from the bed and stretched before padding obediently after his mistress. Filled with a sudden urgency Mistral hurried down the stairs and out through the Entrance Hall. Once on the path leading down to the village she began to run, fuelled by the burst of excitement she always felt at the prospect of seeing Fabian. Butterflies began to dance in her stomach only to be instantly quelled by the sad truth that he was leaving her to travel north to the Mage Council. His duties as Training Lieutenant had now finished and he had already been summoned by Mage Grapple. Mistral knew he had put off his departure until her training had finished for the day and suddenly wished that he hadn’t. Knowing that he had gone might be easier to bear than actually saying goodbye to him.

  Mistral reached the village square and her heart sank when she saw Fabian dressed for travel and holding tightly on to his restless horse. Running the last few paces between them she threw herself against him, savouring the brief contact before he left her.

  The twins sauntered down the path and paused to lean against the Training Arena fence and watch the first years drilling swords under their new Lieutenant. Phantasm nudged his brother in the ribs and they both turned to watch Mistral and Fabian embrace before he swung himself up into the saddle, his pale face a taut mask. Wordlessly he pulled Spirit around kicked her into a gallop along the track leading to the North Gate out of the Valley.

  ‘And there goes Mage De Winter,’ said Phantom softly as the sound of hoof beats faded into the distance.

  ‘And there goes Mistral,’ commented Phantasm as Mistr
al stalked past them and into the Training Area, her body radiating tension. She was twirling one of her swords menacingly by her side.

  ‘Feels the need to pulverise someone by the looks of things,’ Phantom said with a sympathetic sigh.

  ‘You know, if you could harness the tension between those two I’m sure it would create a whole new energy source,’ said Phantasm thoughtfully.

  ‘Interesting thought. However I just hope she gets the Sight soon or she might explode.’

  ‘Or we’ll run out of first years with limbs still attached,’ Phantasm said darkly as the sound of clashing swords rang out from the Arena broken by the panicked shouts of the new Training Lieutenant.

  Cyclops

  Training had finished for the weekend and the first year apprentices were quickly leaving the Arena to head straight for The Cloak and Dagger. Mistral and the twins began to stroll slowly after them. The endless rain of the last month had finally given away to blue skies and the sun overhead held the first touch of spring warmth.

  ‘Keen aren’t they?’ said Phantom, smiling lazily.

  ‘Hmm.’ Mistral agreed distractedly.

  ‘What’s wrong Mistral? You’re usually overjoyed by the prospect of a weekend with your Mage!’

  ‘He’s at the Council.’ Mistral muttered moodily.

  ‘Again? Oh dear,’ said Phantom, giving his brother a meaningful look. ‘How long for this time?’

  Mistral sighed heavily, ‘All weekend and most of next week.’

  Phantom pulled a face over her head at his brother. It was going to be a long weekend if Mistral was going to spend it moping.