The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) (23 page)

Mistral’s
heart faltered.  She stopped walking and stared fixedly at the twins as
they too paused and turned to face her.

‘No!  I
can’t go in there,’ she shook her head.

Phantom raised
his eyebrows, ‘So, let me get this right.  You will happily run at a troll
armed with just a sword but you can’t face walking into a tavern full of
people?’

‘Yes!  I
mean no!  They’ll all ask questions about today and I’m no good at
explaining things.  I can’t talk like you can!’ she said in a panicky
voice.

‘You’re doing
fine right now,’ muttered Phantom sarcastically. 

‘You know what
I mean!  I can’t be calm about it like you are – what happened today – I
can’t even get it clear in my own head!’ she wailed.

The twins
gazed steadily at her, almost instantly she felt a sense of calm flood through
her, washing away the panic.  Mistral knew they were using their gift to
influence her and for once, she was grateful for their interference in her
mind. 

‘I know what
you’re doing,’ she said quietly, watching the tight fists of her hands slowly
relax and uncurl as the tension in her body slipped away.

‘Glad to be of
service,’ Phantasm murmured with a small smile.  ‘Now, I will do all the
talking so all you have to do is have a drink.  Do you think you can
manage that?’

‘One drink …
no talking.  I can do that,’ she nodded grimly. 

They had
reached the door to The Cloak and Dagger.  The unlit entrance was shadowed
and the door closed but the amber glow of torchlight spilled out from the
windows, pooling on the cobbles either side of them, inviting them in. 

Mistral’s eyes
were drawn to the brightly lit windows and she felt her heart stall again when
she glimpsed the interior of the tavern.  It was packed with people;
villagers, apprentices, warriors – everybody that called the Valley home was
stood or sat in The Cloak and Dagger.  She was suddenly struck by how
quiet it was.  That amount of people should be making a considerable
amount of noise. 

Before she
could start panicking again Phantasm unlatched the heavy door and pushed it
open.  He paused on the threshold then stepped confidently into the tavern
with his brother half a pace behind him.  Mistral followed more
hesitantly, keeping her eyes down to avoid the curious glances and expectant
looks of the assembled crowd.  The room was strangely hushed, even the
sound of tankards striking table tops was missing.  Mistral kept her eyes
glued to the stained wooden floor and followed the twins.  They moved
unhurriedly to the bar then turned to face the silent mass of people.

Mistral
hovered uncertainly by their side, lifting her eyes briefly she took in the sea
of faces before her.  Every table, ever chair, ever stool was
occupied.  People were stood at the bar and also around the walls. 
Mistral was taken aback by the sheer number of people who had come to mark the
passing of a warrior but there was no sense of mourning, if anything, there was
a tangible air of anticipation in the room.  She was slightly puzzled to
note that each person had an empty tankard either in their hand or resting on
the table in front of them yet no-one was getting up to buy another drink.

Mistral
glanced at Phantasm, expecting him to begin speaking, but he was oddly
silent.  A horrible thought crossed her mind.  Had he lost his
nerve?  Suddenly anxious, she looked at him again but was reassured to see
that he was perfectly collected, leaning against the bar in a relaxed
pose.  She realised that he also looked like he was waiting for something
– or someone.  Mistral looked around the room again, wondering who he was
waiting for when the door opened, bringing with it a gust of cool evening
air.  The torches around the tavern guttered and flared, sending wild
shadows fleeing across the walls and casting into darkness the imposing figure
of Leo Sphinx standing in the doorway.  Straight-backed and
square-shouldered he surveyed the gathering of people coolly before speaking.

‘Thank you all
for coming,’ he began in a strong, clear voice then turned his head to look
across to the bar, seeking out the barman.  ‘Floris, if you would please
begin.’

Mistral and
the whole tavern turned to watch Floris lift the hatch in the bar and walk over
to where a huge wooden barrel had been placed in the centre of the
tavern.  Grunting from the effort, Floris wrenched the wooden top from the
barrel and raised it above his head then brought it down forcefully over his bent
knee, smashing it into two.  This barrel would be drunk tonight.

‘Thank you,’
said Leo quietly, then, more loudly to the rest of the room.  ‘Fill your
tankards and drink!  We do not mourn the passing of a warrior tonight but
honour his life.’

He swept from the
open doorway and strode across the room to take the tankard Floris held out for
him.  Leo dipped it into the ruby liquid then held it aloft, brimming full
of rich wine.

‘To Bali,’ he
called in a ringing voice.  Raising the tankard to his lips he drained the
contents in one long swallow.

At once the
room was full of movement and the sound of chairs scraping against the floor as
their occupants rose to take their drink from the barrel.  Mistral watched
each person fill a tankard and solemnly raise it in a silent toast before
draining the contents in one draught. 

The door to
the tavern suddenly opened again and Mistral glanced over to see Leo’s three
hatchet-faced Lieutenants entering bearing a stretcher between them. 
Mistral watched them walk slowly towards the bar and gently lay Bali across the
top.  Her eyes were morbidly drawn to the mask-like face.  It was
utterly devoid of any expression, leaving no hint behind of the man that had
led them out of the Valley that morning.

‘Mistral.’

She looked
around a little wildly to see Phantom holding a tankard of wine out to her.

‘Drink this,’
he said softly.

Mistral took
the tankard and raised it briefly in the direction of Bali’s body, ‘Farewell
brother,’ she murmured and drained the tankard. 

An expectant
hush had fallen across the room once more.  All eyes were fixed on
Phantasm.  He placed his empty tankard on the bar and faced the room full
of people, far from nervous, his expression was composed, almost serene. 
After a brief pause he began to recount their tale for the second time that
evening.  Mistral stared unseeingly at the dregs of wine inside her
tankard and let his words wash over her, listening only to the soothing sound
of his voice.  Everyone in the tavern listened in rapt silence until
Phantasm described the actions of the three boys then an angry murmur rippled
through the crowd.  Phantasm paused and waited calmly until the room was
completely still again before continuing.  He did not linger on the moment
of Bali’s death, mentioning only briefly that Mistral had severed the troll’s
head and brought it back with them to the Valley.  While Phantasm retold
the non-events of their journey home Mistral looked up from her empty tankard
to realise that Grendel was staring straight at her.

Mistral’s blood
froze in her veins as Grendel’s eyes bored into hers.  He had just heard
Phantasm tell a room full of people that she had helped hunt and kill a troll
that was quite possibly his father.  With a burst of dread she realised
that Grendel was surely going to seek some sort of revenge.  Forcing her
reeling mind to work, Mistral tried to remember Phantasm’s recently spoken
words; had he mentioned Bali’s suspicions about the troll’s relationship to
Grendel? 

Voices broke
out around her.  Phantasm had finished speaking and the room was suddenly
filled with the sounds of several conversations all happening at the same
time. 

She spun round
to face Phantom, putting her back to the room so that Grendel wouldn’t be able
to see her speak.

‘Did Phantasm
mention anything about the troll possibly being Grendel’s father?’ she hissed
urgently.

‘No, he left
that bit out,’ he murmured back.  ‘Why?’

‘Because
Grendel is looking at me like he wants to kill me!’

Phantom lifted
his gaze and looked over her shoulder across the room, instantly spotting the
glowering features of Grendel.

‘I see what
you mean,’ he said with a frown.  ‘Looks a bit angry doesn’t he?  I
wonder if he knows –’

‘Oh great,’
Mistral muttered darkly.  ‘Grendel with a grudge.  Just what I need.’

‘Just don’t go
anywhere tonight without us coming with you,’ said Phantom, his face creasing
into a concerned look.

‘Do you want
to come to the toilet with me as well?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘Yes,’ said
Phantom looking at her seriously. 

Mistral rolled
her eyes and turned back to face the room.  People were beginning to
leave, making their way in groups of threes and fours out into the village
square.

‘What’s
happening now?’ she asked.

‘Now it’s time
for Bali’s funeral,’ said Phantasm joining in their conversation.

They joined
the throng of people pouring into the night.  A massive wooden structure
had been erected in the centre of the village square.  In the light that
spilled out from the open door of the tavern Mistral could see that it was a
funeral pyre.

People were
gathering in a circle a short distance away from the base of the pyre. 
Mistral stuck close to the twins, feeling suddenly vulnerable in the dimly lit
square.  She looked around cautiously, trying to spot the hulking form of
Grendel.  A flash of something moving drew her eye, but it was only Golden
flinging her long pale hair around while she talked animatedly to Leo
Sphinx. 

‘Look at
that,’ Phantasm whispered, nudging his brother in the ribs and tilting his head
in Golden’s direction.

‘Princess
Perfect is in action again I see.  She has absolutely no sense of
occasion,’ Phantom muttered with a disgusted shake of his head.

‘Shh,’
muttered Mistral.  ‘They’re bringing him out – ’

A respectful
silence had descended.  The crowd parted to allow the three Training
Lieutenants through to place Bali’s body in the centre of the pyre. 

‘Discipline,
courage and strength; the qualities of a warrior –’

The silence
was broken by a sighing, reedy voice.  Mistral looked up sharply. 
She had heard that voice only once before in her life but it was unforgettable.

The frail
figure of the Divinus was stood directly next to the base of the pyre.  He
held a burning torch tightly in one claw-like hand and the light flickered
eerily over his milky eyes and papery skin.  He was not alone.  On
his right stood the sharp featured Malachi Nox and on his left the unmistakable
bulk of Mycroft Casterton. 

The Divinus
spoke again, his ethereal voice sighing like the wind through trees.

‘The services
of warrior may be bought but the title cannot; it can only be earned.  I
ask you all to remember your brother with respect.’

As he spoke
the last word he touched the blazing torch to the pyre.  Bright flames of
red and gold instantly flared, leaping hungrily at the dry wood until Bali’s
body was completely engulfed by fire.  Thick black smoke spiralled up into
the night sky, bringing with it the unpleasant reek of burning flesh. 

Leo stepped
forward out of the ring of people and tossed a round object into the
flames.  Mistral heard Grendel roar and realised that it must have been
the troll’s head.  She was definitely not looking forward to facing him in
training tomorrow.  Phantasm heard her sigh and slipped an arm around her
shoulders.

Mistral let
her head rest on his shoulder and stared at the burning pyre, her wearied mind
mesmerised by the twisting shapes in the flames.  Would she end up on a
warrior’s pyre one day?  Probably, and it might even be sooner than she
expected if the look on Grendel’s face was anything to go by. 

‘Ah boys, I’ve
been hoping to have a word with you.’

A plummy voice
broke Mistral out of her reverie.  She turned to see the corpulent
features of Mycroft Casterton looking keenly at the twins.

‘I understand
you have quite a thirst for politics?’ he asked eagerly.

The twins
nodded mutely.  She could see by their expressions that they were
torn.  Mycroft Casterton was a member of the Magnate respected for his
knowledge on Council affairs and politics.  If he took an interest in them
they would be guaranteed to stay for a second year’s training, something they
desperately wanted.  Here was a perfect opportunity to speak with the
reclusive Master.

‘Don’t worry,
I’ll be fine,’ she whispered quickly to Phantasm and slipped out from beneath
his arm.  ‘I’ll go hang around Leo; even Grendel’ll think twice before
trying to bump me off in front of him.’

‘Are you
sure?’  Phantasm frowned.

Mistral nodded
and moved away from his side before he could argue.  She was quite glad to
get away from the unctuous sounding tones of Mycroft Casterton; he had the kind
of voice that would make watching paint dry seem interesting.

The crowd was
starting to thin, people were making their way back to The Cloak or to their
homes.  Mistral pushed her way through the small groups still scattered
around, looking for the familiar figure of their Training Captain, but she
couldn’t see him anywhere.  The funeral pyre had died to a smouldering
glow that shed less light on the surrounding square.  Shadowed faces
loomed out of the half-light; she peered hopefully at each one, only to be
disappointed when it was no-one she recognised. 

‘Mistral.’

A voice
grunted in her ear and a heavy hand clamped onto her shoulder.  She smelt
the distinct aroma of troll.

‘Hello
Grendel,’ she said quietly and turned to face him. 

He kept one
huge hand pinned onto her shoulder, holding her in front of him.  His ugly
features were inches from hers.  Mistral instinctively balled her hands
into fists and tensed, ready to fight.