The Assassin's Tale (Isle of Dreams) Read Free Page B

walk,’ she said stubbornly.
    ‘You’d leave
me and Elnora a thief would you?’  Brothertoft asked angrily.
    Mistral glared
at him.  She didn’t give a fig about what people in Nevelte thought of
her, but something in the old man’s expression made her think that this was
important to him. 
    ‘Fine, I’ll
walk,’ she conceded reluctantly. 
    Mistral
finished the last rabbit and swept the skins and viscera into a wooden bucket
then scraped the jointed meat into a large cooking pot.
    ‘When will you
leave?’  Brothertoft asked quietly. 
    ‘First light.’
 Mistral said, rising to her feet and carrying the cooking pot over to the
stove.  ‘I’ll leave this to cook – I think I’ll get an early night.’
    ‘You’ll say goodbye
to Elnora before you leave, won’t you?’
    Mistral gave
him a strange look before nodding and walking across to the door that lead to
the bedrooms.  She stooped to collect the packed saddlebag then unlatched
the door and walked through.
    Brothertoft watched
the door close behind her, realising sadly that the strange look on her face
had been surprise.  Mistral had already forgotten about Elnora.

The Valley Of The Ri

     
    Mistral left
in the cold starless light that precedes the dawn.  Stepping quietly out
of the cottage and striding purposefully down the narrow street with her head
full of thoughts of the Valley of the Ri.  She was half-way across the
meadow outside of the village before she realised that she’d left without
saying goodbye to Elnora or Brothertoft.
    By the time
she had climbed the short ridge that formed a natural boundary between the
bowl-like valley that Nevelte rested in and The Velvet Forests, Mistral was
beginning to regret her promise not to take a horse for the journey.  It
was going to be a long walk.
    After three
days of monotonous walking, broken only by the brief interlude of hunting down
another sabre-toothed boar, Mistral was finally nearing the western side of the
Isle.  The vast mountains of the Western Range loomed before her. 
Distant snow-capped peaks wreathed in cloud sloped down to undulating green and
brown lowlands.  Mistral gazed at them with hands on hips.  Somewhere
in amongst them lay the Valley of the Ri.
    Mistral had
passed through a couple of small villages on her journey.  Her tentative
enquiries as to the Valley’s whereabouts had been met with blank looks. 
Whether the ignorance had been feigned or not, Mistral didn’t get the chance to
find out as she was invariably given the cold shoulder and left shortly
after.  Left to trust her instincts, Mistral walked towards the Western
Range, looking closely for any signs of a well-trodden trail to suggest others
travelling this way.  At midday on her fourth day of walking Mistral
struck lucky.  The hard ground had so far revealed little in the way of
tracks to follow, but a brief fall of snow during the night had left a soft
powdery covering and Mistral could see a clear set of hoof prints heading
west.  With a renewed burst of enthusiasm she followed them and was soon
rewarded by the appearance of a definite trail.  She walked on, ignoring
the pain of her blistered feet until a pair of massive stone gateposts loomed
into view.  She paused to study them.  There were two vast wooden
gates hung from each post, but they were open.  Knowing without a shadow
of a doubt that this was the entrance to the Valley of the Ri, Mistral strode
purposely towards them.  Glancing up as she walked between the towering
gateposts, she was surprised to see a face staring intently back at her from a
small lookout platform.  Beside the guard, for that was obviously what he
was, hung a large brass bell, but he made no move to either acknowledge her or
ring the bell.  Mistral dropped her gaze and walked on.  She supposed
it must be plain to him what she had come to the Valley for.
    As Mistral
strode through the gates she was abruptly presented with a sloping stony path
that wound down