by Martin Scott
Shuthan starts confidently, juggling three balls and performing some standard tricks while making faces at the crowd. I’ve seen this sort of thing often enough in Turai, but she quickly ups the tempo, adding fourth and fifth balls, still juggling easily while hopping back and forward along the branch. The crowd cheers and shouts encouragement. Obviously Shuthan-ir-Hemas is a popular favourite.
Unfortunately things go badly wrong when she tries to add a sixth ball to the routine. She fails to catch it, the sequence goes wrong, and the balls tumble from her hands. In an effort to retrieve the situation Shuthan trips clumsily over her feet and plunges to the ground, landing heavily on the heads of the onlookers. There are groans of disappointment from the audience.
“She’s not at her best,” they say with disappointment.
“Just hasn’t got the same skill she used to have.”
Others mutter that this is going to be a bad festival for Avula. Their play is being directed by an incompetent Sorcerer, their choir is nowhere near the standard of that of the Venians, and now even their top juggler is about to let them down.
“If Firees-ar-Key doesn’t win the junior tournament we’ll be the laughing stock of the Ossuni Islands,” mutters one disconsolate Elf to his companion.
I walk on. I feel sorry for the Avulans, but that’s one juggler I won’t be placing a bet on.
It’s late in the afternoon. The weather is mild and a light breeze blows small ripples over the pools of water at the Hesuni Tree. The clearing is busier than usual, with Elves from other islands paying their respects to the Tree. They ignore me as I stroll over the grass. I’m not the only Human in view. Over by the smaller of the pools some Elves are pointing out features of the local scenery to a delegation of visitors from Mattesh.
I’ve been suspicious of the large pool ever since Makri found herself so powerfully affected by drinking the water. I’m here to work a spell. I know the Elves won’t like it. I considered coming here in the early hours of the morning when it might be quieter, but I suspect that Kalith will have set his attendants to watch over it and I’d be easily spotted. Here in the crowd I’m hoping I might just work some sorcery unnoticed.
I sit down next to the pool. I casually dip my finger into the water then sprinkle a few drops on to a small scrap of parchment. I look round. No one is paying any attention to me. Just another large detective taking a rest from his exertions.
I drift slowly into a state of concentration. I utter the arcane words of the Spell of Not Belonging. I’ve used this spell in the past and found it simple and effective, though it’s possible that the mystic field projected by the Hesuni Tree will render it useless. I watch the pool, and wait. After a minute or so I notice something bobbing to the surface, quite close to me. I get up, stretch and saunter round the edge, a man without a care in the world. Floating on the surface is a small package. I reach down to adjust my boot, quickly scoop up the package, then walk on.
I’m well pleased with myself. I might not be much of a Sorcerer, but it takes a cool head to successfully work a spell like that in public without a soul noticing anything.
“Easy as bribing a Senator,” I mutter, strolling over the grass.
I duck behind a tree and take out the package. I unwrap the waterproof oilskin. Inside is some white powder. I dip my finger in, taking a tiny pinch to my lips to taste it.
It’s dwa. The most powerfully addictive drug on the market. The scourge of the Human Lands, and now available at the most exclusive locations in Elfland. I’m just congratulating myself on finally making some progress when a hand falls heavily on my shoulder.
“I arrest you in the name of Lord Kalith-ar-Yil.”
I’m surrounded by nine Elves in Kalith’s regalia, swords at the ready.
“Try to say a spell and we’ll run you through before you utter a word.”
Their leader snatches the packet from me.
“Do you have an explanation for this?” he demands.
I do, but I’m not going to waste it on him. They’re going to take me to Kalith-ar-Yil anyway, so I might as well save my breath till I get there. I’m led through the clearing and up the long ladders to the Tree Palace, where they put me in a small cell with one chair and a nice view of the tree tops through the barred window.
“There are guards outside the window with bows. If you try to escape they have instructions to shoot. We do not take kindly to peddlers of drugs on Avula.”
I’m left alone. I sit on the chair. Somehow none of this has come as a surprise. I’ve been thrown in jail so many times in Turai and elsewhere in the west that it was probably only a matter of time before I ended up in an Elvish prison.
Chapter Fourteen
The prison cell is clean and airy. There’s a pitcher of water on the table and shortly after I arrive a guard brings me a loaf of bread. The sun streams in through the window and from somewhere in the forest below I can hear a choir practising. In terms of comfort it doesn’t compare too badly with my rooms in the Avenging Axe.
The first person to visit me is Ambassador Turius. I have not yet encountered our Ambassador to Avula, so I greet him warmly and thank him for arriving so swiftly.
“It’s reassuring to know that our Ambassadors are resolute in their task of protecting Turanian citizens unjustly incarcerated in foreign lands. Once you get me out of here, I shall speak very highly of you to Deputy Consul Cicerius.”
“I haven’t come to get you out,” says the Ambassador.
“You haven’t?”
“No. As far as I’m concerned you can stay here for the rest of your life. Everyone advised you to keep out of Elvish affairs. You refused to listen to this advice. Now you’re in a cell, which is exactly what was to be expected.”
“Aren’t you bothered about whether I actually committed a crime?”
The ambassador shrugs. “If you did, Lord Kalith-ar-Yil will punish you. If you didn’t, he’ll let you go in due course. He’s a fair-minded Elf.”
“Then why the hell did you bother coming to see me?”
“A Turanian Ambassador always does his duty. I see you have food and water. Excellent. Your needs are being well catered for. Now goodbye.”
Turius departs. I swear he enjoyed that conversation. I sit down and listen to the choir, and wonder who Turius bribed to get his cushy job as Ambassador to Avula.
My next visitor is an Elf of advanced years who informs me that his name is Rekis-ar-Lin and he is a member of the Council of Elders. He’s accompanied by a scribe who takes down our conversation.
“I have been given responsibility for investigating this matter. Why were you found with a package of dwa?”
“I took it out of the pool.”
“How did it get there?”
I tell him I’ve no idea.
“And how did you come to find it?”
“I looked.”
“Why?”
“Investigator’s intuition.”
Councillor Rekis is dubious, but I don’t want to tell him that I used a spell to locate the dwa because I know that will only lead to more trouble. However the Councillor has difficulty believing that, with all the Elves in the area, it just happened to be me who found a packet of dwa in the pool.
“It seems to us more likely that you brought the dwa with you from Turai.”
“Why would I do that? Everyone knows Elves don’t go for dwa. Doesn’t work on them.”
“You would no doubt be aware that there would be many Humans on the island at the time of the festival. Perhaps you wished to sell it to them. Perhaps you yourself are so addicted that you were unable to travel without it. Either way, you are not telling me everything you know. You will provide me with a precise description of your actions since landing on Avula.”
I clam up. Any time I’m in a cell, I just get wary about giving precise descriptions of my actions. We’re interrupted by the arrival of Jir-ar-Eth, Kalith’s Chief Sorcerer. He stares at me for a few seconds.
“He use
d a spell,” he says. “But I can’t tell which one.”
Councillor Rekis stares at me coldly.
“You used a spell in the vicinity of the Hesuni Tree? On Avula, that is calanith. It is also a crime. What was it?”
“A love spell. I’m looking for romance.”
Jir-ar-Eth speaks a few words and there is a slight cooling of the air in the cell.
“I’ve dampened the area,” he says to Rekis. “The prisoner will not be able to use sorcery to escape. He has very little power anyway.”
The Sorcerer stares at the necklace I’m wearing.
“A spell protection charm? With Red Elvish Cloth? Where did you get that?”
“Just picked it up along the way.”
They leave me alone. I eat bread. I’m feeling hard done by. For the rest of the day my only other visitor is the guard who brings me some food. I demand to see Lord Kalith. The guard, rather politely, informs me that Lord Kalith is busy.
Night falls. I’ve been in so many cells it doesn’t particularly bother me, but I’m annoyed at the waste of my time. Shouldn’t someone have been here to help? Deputy Consul Cicerius for instance. Or Makri. She ought to at least have visited me. Maybe she’s still tormenting the unfortunate Elf child. I go to sleep madder than a mad dragon and I wake slightly madder.
It’s approaching lunchtime and it’s getting to the stage where I’m seriously considering slugging the next person who comes into my cell and risking a jail break when Lord Kalith finally gets round to paying me a visit.
“Dwa is a filthy drug,” he says, getting right down to business. “It is a curse on the Human Lands. It has never been seen on Avula before.”
“Only because you didn’t bother to look. And don’t lecture me about using a spell in the vicinity of the Hesuni Tree. If I hadn’t done that you’d never have known about the dwa.”
“You still claim that you did not bring the substance with you?”
“Of course I didn’t. Do you seriously believe I did?”
“Why would I not?” says the Elf Lord. “You have hardly shown yourself to be a man of sober habits. You brought a barrel of beer on to my ship and when you finished that you resorted to theft to meet your craving. You may have thought you were unobserved when you removed three large wineskins from Osath’s kitchen, but I assure you that you were not. Since arriving on Avula you have mounted an almost continual search for beer, culminating in what I am reliably informed were scenes of unheard-of excess at the haunt of the armourers. And this only the day after you and your female companion ingested so much thazis as to be unable to remember your own identities. The story of you talking to the butterflies has been widely reported all over Avula.”
“I was not talking to the butterflies,” I reply, with some dignity. “And is there any point to all this?”
“The point is that you are a corrupting influence. Thazis is not illegal on Avula, but we discourage its use. Now one of my most respected councillors informs me that not only did he find three thazis sticks in his daughter’s room, but she has informed him that she wishes to travel to Turai to write poetry. His wife is now terrified that their daughter will return home with a pierced nose and an Orcish love-child.”
We seem to be straying from the point here. I tell Lord Kalith-ar-Yil that he can criticise me as much as he likes, but he can’t deny that I’ve dug up evidence of some strange goings-on on his island.
“And what exactly are these goings-on?”
“I need to investigate more.”
“Nothing you find will change the fact that Elith-ir-Methet was seen stabbing Gulas-ar-Thetos. You yourself have talked to a witness.”
“I still need to investigate more.”
Lord Kalith is not minded to let me out. There are three days left till the start of the festival and I’m running out of time.
“You cannot execute Vas-ar-Methet’s daughter without the fullest investigation,” I insist.
“Her punishment has not been decided.”
“But her guilt has. You must allow me to continue with my investigation.”
Kalith is offended by my tone and tells me sharply that his patience with me is wearing thin.
“Fine,” I say. “Though I must admit to being very surprised at an Elf Lord being such a poor sport. In Turai, the aristocracy does not stoop to such low tactics when faced with defeat.”
Kalith’s head jerks in surprise.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, it’s pretty clear that this is all down to me beating you heavily at the niarit board. Ever since then it’s been nothing but trouble all the way for me. You’ve hindered my investigation at every turn simply because you can’t stand losing to a Human.”
I move towards the window, raising my voice so the guards outside can hear.
“I guess it was just too embarrassing for the niarit champion of the Ossuni Elves to have his conqueror walking around the island, telling everyone about the bad variation of the Harper’s Game he’d played. The armourers warned me you’d probably throw me in jail rather than risk facing me over the board again…”
From outside my cell comes something that sounds very like muffled laughter. Lord Kalith, an Elf who proved his bravery and honour time and again against the Orcs, can’t take any more of this. And so it is that minutes later I find myself sitting at the table facing an angry Kalith-ar-Yil over a niarit board, hastily brought by a guard in response to his Lord’s furious instructions.
“Don’t bother locking the cell,” I call after the jailer. “I’ll be walking out of here soon enough. So, Lord Kalith, are we—”
“Enough talking,” says Kalith. “Play.”
I start moving my Hoplites forward. Kalith counters warily. But I notice he’s getting his Elephants ready, and his Heavy Cavalry.
The sun shines cheerfully into the cell. Parrots squawk merrily in the trees. Outside it’s another bright day in Avula. Inside, things are not so good, at least for Lord Kalith. Not too long after the start of the game his forces lie in ruins, mere dust under the wheels of the unstoppable Thraxas war chariot. Kalith, after his tentative opening, was unable to resist a wild assault on my forces using his heaviest troops, an assault that I withstood for just long enough to bring his army exactly where I wanted it before falling back with my centre, outflanking him on both sides and carrying out what could only be described as a massacre. His Hero, Plague Carrier, Harper, Wizard and Healer lie dead beneath a sad tangle of dead Elephants and decimated Trolls.
Kalith looks grimly at the miserable remains and concedes defeat. I am now free to go, as per our pre-game agreement.
“Any chance of some food?” I ask, as I sling my cloak over my shoulders.
“You may visit the kitchens,” replies Lord Kalith, summoning up the last reserves of his good breeding. “The guards will show you the way.”
“Thank you. I take it that I will be allowed to speak with my client again?”
Lord Kalith allows that I can, which is a relief. I wasn’t looking forward to trying to break back into prison.
In the short walk between the cell and the main Palace building, I pass two stern-looking Elves marching another prisoner into the lockup. I recognise the captive, though I don’t know his name. It’s the young Elf whom the poet Droo was arguing with in the clearing at the three oaks and river. His eyes are blank and he isn’t walking very steadily. The guards help him along, shepherding him into a cell.
I’m shown to the kitchens. There I find Osath the cook, whom I haven’t seen since I disembarked. He’s delighted to see me. He knows how much I appreciate his cooking.
“Thraxas! They let you out? The word in the kitchens was that Lord Kalith was going to throw away the key. What happened? Did your Ambassador stand bail?”
“The Turanian Ambassador is about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. No, I was forced back on my own resources. I beat Kalith at niarit again.”
Osath laughs heartily at this, as do his assistan
ts. Again the Elves are amused at Kalith losing. Which just goes to show that even a well-loved and respected Elf Lord shouldn’t go around bragging about his prowess at the niarit board. It annoys everyone.
Osath begins to pile up food in front of me and I start shovelling it in.
“I have to ask you a few questions, Osath.”
The chef looks doubtful. “We can’t tell you anything about Elith, Thraxas. It would be awkward for us to discuss it…”
“I wasn’t talking about Elith. Are you and your fellow low-lives in the kitchens planning to bet on the juggling competition?”
This brings Osath and his helpers clustering round keenly.
“We are. I was going to bet on young Shuthan-ir-Hemas,” replies Osath. “I’ve seen her put up some sensational performances. But I hear she’s gone off the boil.”
“She has. Yesterday I saw her trip over her own feet. Didn’t look like a woman who was about to win. I did see a young woman called Usath, from Ven, juggling seven balls and looking good for a few more. You know anything about her past form?”
“Junior champion at the competition two years ago in Corinthal,” says a young cook. “She’s still inexperienced, but she might do well. I think she might be worth a gamble, but there’s another juggler from Corinthal called Arith-ar-Tho who’s built up a fine reputation recently. Be best to check him out if you get the chance.”
I thank them for their help.
“What’s this we hear about Makri teaching Isuas how to fight?”
“I thought that was meant to be a secret.”
“There are no secrets in a Palace kitchen,” says Osath. “Lady Yestar might not have told Lord Kalith about it, but we’re the ones that have to make up food for them every day. Is there any chance of Makri teaching the kid well enough to enter the tournament? Would it be worth a bet? Isuas is so weak we’d get a good price on her winning even one fight against the most hopeless opponent. In fact, you’d get a good price on the kid even staying on her feet for thirty seconds.“
I consider this, while mopping up some fragments of venison pie with a hunk of bread.