by Martin Scott
I was planning to ration my thazis carefully, but the situation seems to call for it so we light up some more, smoke it, then set off again. We’re heading in the general direction of the Palace. At least I hope we are. I’m trying to navigate by the sun but the sun is rarely visible through the trees. Makri’s mood continues to alternate between anger and depression. I’m fairly furious myself.
“Damned spearmen. If I’d known this was going to happen I’d never have jumped.”
“We should have stayed and fought them. I’ll kill them when I get my hands on them. Hell, I just got stung.”
After what feels like several hours of hacking, chopping, cursing and complaining, we finally find a clearing in which a ladder ascends to a walkway above.
“Thank God for that.”
We climb. When we finally make the top I sit down exhausted. Makri has drawn her swords, eager for another sight of the spear carriers, but the walkway is empty. She sheathes her weapons angrily.
“I’m in a really bad mood,” she says.
I pass her a thazis stick. We smoke them and walk on.
“Where are we?”
“No idea. Look, there’s an Elf sitting in that tree.”
We shout to the Elf, asking which way the Palace is. He points, and we head in that direction.
“I’m in no mood to talk to Lady Yestar,” Makri says. “Better give me another thazis stick, mellow me a little.”
I figure this is a good idea. No point in being flustered when we arrive. We light two more thazis sticks and smoke them as we walk. Wherever we are, it seems to be a sparsely populated part of the island, and we pass no further Elves.
“I hate this stupid forest,” says Makri.
I pass her another thazis stick. We walk on.
“Look. Elf houses. Don’t you think they look sort of funny?”
Makri giggles. “Houses in trees.”
It does seem quite funny, now she mentions it.
“We better have some more thazis before we hit the Palace. Don’t want to arrive there in a bad mood, what with me menstruating and everything.”
“Absolutely,” I agree, and light us up a stick each. I remember my flask.
“Some klee?”
“Thank you,” says Makri.
The walkway brings us into the centre of the island, ending in a long ladder down to the central clearing. The Tree Palace is visible on the other side. Elves stare at us as we pass. We greet them warmly.
Once we reach the clearing Makri halts, looking thoughtful.
“You say thazis isn’t used among the Elves? You think they might not like it? We’d better smoke some behind this tree, before we get to the Palace.”
This sounds like a good idea.
“You are good at having good ideas,” I tell Makri.
“I know. I think about things a lot,” replies Makri, inhaling the thazis smoke. “Important things.”
“I think about important things too.”
“It’s good to think about important things.”
After all the thazis my mouth tastes funny. I take some klee to clear away the taste and pass the flask to Makri. She coughs as it burns her throat. We sit under the tree and gaze at the beautiful blue sky for a while. Butterflies flutter around our heads.
“I never realised how beautiful butterflies are,” says Makri.
“Neither did I. Aren’t they pretty?”
We watch them for a long time. A few clouds drift across the sky.
“Where were we going?” asks Makri, eventually.
I think about this.
“The Palace.”
“Right. What for?”
“You know. Just to see it. Talk to the Elves.”
Makri blinks. “Right.”
We sit under the sun.
“Should we go?” says Makri, after a while.
“Go where?”
“The Palace.”
“If you like.”
Our discussion is interrupted by a furious debate. A large group of white-robed Elves appears out of the forest, all talking heatedly at once.
“We cannot omit the scene where King Vendris butchers his children,” says one of the actors, angrily. “It traditionally appears after the Tree-burning scene…”
“Then it is time for a change,” counters a grey-haired Elf, whom, from the way he seems to be taking the brunt of the anger, I take to be the director.
“And who are you to change the telling of the ancient tale of Queen Leeuven?” demands an actress, possibly Queen Leeuven herself, from the gold tiara in her hair.
“I am the man appointed by Lord Kalith to put on the play,” retorts the grey-haired Elf.
“A terrible mistake!” cry several of the actors, with feeling.
“Just do as I tell you if you want that prize…”
The group carries on across the clearing, finally disappearing back into the forest, still arguing.
We stare at them as they go.
“You know, Makri, I kind of thought that traditional Elvish actors would be more dignified. That Elf with the tiara reminded me of a chorus girl I once knew. I had to help her flee from Turai after she burned down the theatre.”
We lapse back into silence.
“I haven’t had any thazis since we landed on Avula,” says Makri. “Did you bring any?”
“I think so,” I reply, hunting around in my bag.
We saunter towards the Palace, thazis in hand. More Elves walk by. They stare at us, but say nothing. When we’re walking between the two pools by the Hesuni Tree Makri stops to admire the view.
“I’m thirsty,” she says, and kneels down to drink.
“Me too. You know, I think that thazis might have affected me a little.”
Makri says she feels fine. I figure I’ll be fine too after I’ve had some more water. I almost imagine that someone is shouting at us, but it’s only a fleeting impression. Makri bends down to splash water over her face and I do the same. It’s cool and refreshing. I drink some more, and feel the intoxication passing from my body. I realise that someone is indeed shouting at me. It’s an Elf I recognise, looking angry.
“Don’t you know it’s forbidden to drink from the sacred pools that feed the Hesuni Tree?” he cries.
“Sorry,” I say.
“No one mentioned it,” adds Makri.
Our Elvish inquisitor looks at us with disgust. It’s Lasas, brother of the murdered Tree Priest.
“Pray you are pure of body and spirit, both of you. Else be very wary of the effects of the sacred water.”
Sensing that nothing I can say is going to pacify Lasas, I apologise again and make off briskly for the ladders that lead up to the Tree Palace.
“Another social blunder. How were we meant to know they were sacred pools? They should put a sign on them or something.”
I’m expecting difficulty with the guards at the ladders, but they wave us up almost affably.
“Lady Yestar is expecting you.”
We start to climb.
“What do you think that Elf meant by ‘be very wary of the effects of the sacred water’?” says Makri.
“Who knows? Just trying to scare us, I expect. I mean, it can hardly be poisonous as it’s feeding the Hesuni Tree.”
“Hesuni,” says Makri. “That’s a funny name.”
She giggles. I realise that the thazis has not entirely worn off and make a supreme effort to concentrate as we reach the platform on which stand the great wooden doors to the Palace. Again we gain entry without difficulty.
“You have to hand it to Isuas,” I say. “Having her put in a good word for us certainly makes things easier.”
“Absolutely,” agrees Makri. “She’s a fine kid. I always did like her.”
We pass through several well-lit rooms and corridors. The Tree Palace, while larger than the other Elvish dwellings on the island, is far smaller than the sort of palaces built for Human Kings and gives the impression of comfort rather than luxury. A pleasant arom
a permeates the whole building, either from incense or natural fragrances in the wood. We’re shown into a reception room, which again is far smaller than an equivalent room at the Imperial Palace in Turai, but warm and welcoming, with a tapestry on the wall depicting some deer drinking from a pool.
“Lady Yestar will be here presently,” says the attendant.
“Can you get me a beer?” I ask, hopefully.
The attendant looks doubtful. “I don’t think we have any beer in the palace.”
At that moment Lady Yestar enters the room. A small silver tiara is the only mark of rank she wears. Isuas is hanging on to the side of her dress. When she sees Makri the child shouts with glee and tugs at her mother’s dress in her eagerness to introduce her.
“This is Makri,” she cries. “She killed a dragon when she was a gladiator slave and she once fought eight Trolls at once and then she slaughtered everyone and escaped and went to Turai and now when Thraxas is out investigating she kills people as well. And she let me point her sword. She’s got an Orcish sword! She got it when she slaughtered everyone. She’s been teaching me how to fight. She was the champion gladiator!”
At this introduction Lady Yestar surprises me by bursting out laughing. It’s the first time I’ve seen an Elf laugh since the start of this affair. I’d almost forgotten they were capable of it.
Chapter Eleven
Lady Yestar is not at all as I had anticipated. As she is the wife of Lord Kalith and a very aristocratic Elf in her own right, I had expected her to be cool and aloof, distant in that particular way only an Elf with a long lineage can be. Some of the great Elvish families can trace their ancestry back as far as the Great Flood, an event that, though only mythical to the Human nations, is historical to the Elves.
Yestar certainly looks the part; she’s tall, pale-skinned and tending towards the ethereal. At first sight she gives the impression of being an Elf to whom the affairs of a Turanian Investigator will be well below her notice. In this I am mistaken. She turns out to be a friendly, cheerful, intelligent Elf who greets us warmly while laughing at the enthusiastic antics of her daughter. I notice that she wears eye make-up, which is rare among the Avulans.
Isuas herself seems transformed in the presence of her mother. She still trips over rugs but her shyness largely disappears and she no longer seems like the hopelessly inadequate child of a very busy and important family.
Lady Yestar rises further in my estimation when, in reply to my polite question about the availability of beer on Avula, she informs me that, while it is generally not drunk in the Palace and other similarly elegant establishments, it is brewed and enjoyed by many of the common Elves.
“I could ask my attendants where you might meet with other Elves who partake of it.”
By this time I’ve shaken off the effects of the thazis binge but I’m not so sure that Makri has. I’m surprised to see her patting Isuas affably on the head and admiring her floppy green hat.
“Would you like it?” enquires Isuas.
Makri would, and accepts it with glee.
“Bezin hat,” she says, cramming it over her head, where it looks ridiculous.
Bezin is a pidgin Orcish word that Makri uses of things she approves of. It’s utterly unsuitable for use in a place like this but fortunately Lady Yestar has never encountered pidgin Orcish and it passes unnoticed.
“You must have had an interesting life,” says Yestar. “Isuas is full of stories about you.”
“Very interesting,” agrees Makri. “Champion gladiator of the Orcs and now barmaid at the Avenging Axe. Also I’m studying at the Guild College. And I help raise money for the Association of Gentlewomen. They’re trying to raise the status of women in Turai. Do the males on Avula treat the females like lower forms of life? Turanian men are dreadful; you wouldn’t believe some of the things I have to put up with as a barmaid.”
This is all quite inappropriate as an opening speech to Avula’s Queen, but Yestar only laughs. More than that, she conveys the impression that yes, she has met a few dreadful males in her time. I sip some wine, and let them talk. Lady Yestar obviously likes Makri and that is all to the good. I’m hoping Makri’s benevolent mood lasts long enough for her to pretend to be willing to teach Isuas how to fight. Though Yestar will undoubtedly pour cold water on the idea, it will show us in a good light if Makri can at least feign some enthusiasm. It seems like the subject might never come up as Makri and Yestar talk about particularly useless males they have encountered, then move on to the tale of Queen Leeuven, till Isuas, bored with this, interrupts them.
“Tell Mother about you jumping in the ocean. You know Makri wasn’t on board when we sailed? She ran on the quay, fighting all these men. And she killed most of them and then jumped in the sea and Thraxas went out for her in a boat.”
“Really? How extraordinary. Did you miss the embarkation?”
“I wasn’t invited on the voyage,” explains Makri.
Yestar asks why she was not invited. I don’t like what this might be leading to.
“Well, Orcish blood, you understand,” I break in. “Didn’t want to cause any embarrassment—”
“Thraxas was mad at me because I cost him a load of money gambling at cards,” says Makri, interrupting me. “He’s a terrible gambler.”
“What did you do?”
“Opened her mouth when she shouldn’t,” I say, glaring threateningly at Makri.
“Makri can train me for the tournament,” cries Isuas, unable to contain herself any longer. Yestar smiles. She has a beautiful smile. Perfect white teeth.
“Ah yes. The tournament. Isuas is keen to enter. All her older brothers fared well in the junior tournament, as did one of her sisters. Unfortunately…”
Not wishing to say anything demeaning to her daughter, she leaves the sentence unfinished.
“You think she might do badly, not being used to sword play?” suggests Makri. “Well, if that’s the only problem, leave it to me. I’ll bring her up to the required standard.”
I’m amazed. Makri must really be under the influence. Strange, she’s normally no more liable to the effects of thazis than I am. I wonder if the water from the sacred pool might have affected her in some way.
Isuas whoops with glee and starts dancing round her mother. Lady Yestar seems dubious.
“I do not really think I can allow it. Isuas is small for her age, and inexperienced. Surely she could not put up a good showing against boys older and more experienced than her?”
“She’ll do well,” says Makri. “Only way to get experience, just plunge right in. I tell you, I can train that child to put up a fine show. Why, even on the ship she was making excellent progress.”
Isuas beams. Lady Yestar considers it.
“Well, if you are sure… I would not like to risk my daughter being hurt, but I have been encouraging her to sail with my husband, to make her tougher.”
She turns to Isuas. “Are you sure you wish to do this?”
Isuas bounds around, very sure that she wants to do it.
“Excellent,” says Makri, adjusting her hat, which has slipped over her eyes. “We’ll get started as soon as possible.”
“Might Lord Kalith possibly object?” I venture.
“We won’t mention it to him just yet,” says Yestar. “Keep it as a surprise.”
“I have a practice sword,” says Isuas, still unable to control her excitement. “Come and see it.”
Makri allows herself to be dragged away to see the practice sword. I know she’s really going to regret this when she wakes up tomorrow.
“Do many women in Turai have pierced noses?” enquires Yestar politely.
“Only two. One’s a travelling musician who dyes her hair green and the other is Makri. I expect the green hair will follow along in time.”
“Such things can surely not help her in her quest to be thought a suitable candidate for the Imperial University?”
“So I keep telling her. But she’s full of contradictions. A
ll that mixed blood, I expect.”
“Are you hoping to question me about the sad affair of Elith-ir-Methet?”
I’m surprised at the abruptness of this.
“Yes,” I reply. “I am. Do you go along with the popular opinion that she is guilty of everything?”
The Elvish Lady sits in silence for a while.
“Perhaps. I have heard all the reports. And there are witnesses who claim to have seen her stab the Tree Priest. But I have known Elith for most of her life. I find it very difficult to believe that she would kill anyone. Have you any reason for imagining her to be innocent, apart from your desire to upset my husband?”
I assure Lady Yestar that I have no desire to upset her husband.
“Only a few days ago we shared a friendly game of niarit, and … eh…”
“You defeated him.”
I apologise. Lady Yestar doesn’t mind. I tell her I have a powerful desire to help Vas-ar-Methet.
“I know he’ll go into exile if his daughter is found guilty and I don’t want to see my old companion-in-arms reduced to hawking his healing services around some third-rate city in the west.”
“Have you learned anything that may assist her?”
I admit that I have made little progress.
“I can see far, in many directions,” says Yestar. “I gazed at the troubles of Elith-ir-Methet, but I was unable to penetrate the mists that surround them. Yet your presence here brings new energy to the affair, Investigator. Perhaps I should look again.”
She lapses into silence. She stares into the distance. The sun streams in through the windows, and the sound of birdsong. It strikes me that of all the rooms in palaces I’ve ever been in, I like this one best. I like Lady Yestar too. I wonder what she is looking at. Who knows what a powerful Elvish Lady might be capable of?
Finally her attention returns. “I see that you might have been a powerful Sorcerer,” she says, “had you been prepared to study when you were young.”
There doesn’t seem to be any answer to this so I remain silent.
“You know we have been plagued by bad dreams? I see that they are connected with Elith in some way. And the Hesuni Tree, though our healers assure us that it is again healthy.”