Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

by Martin Scott

  This produces further mirth. I shove my way to the front. "Do you have beer?'

  "What?"

  "Beer."

  Lisutaris turns her head towards me. "Could the beer wait for a moment, Thraxas?" she says, quite frostily. "Guards, take us to Kublinos. Turai has fallen and I must consult with your Sorcerers."

  The guards let us through the gate, though they're still suspicious. Lisutaris is famous throughout the West, but I'm not sure that they believe the bedraggled figure at their gates really is her. I keep an eye out for beer as we're led through the walls and into a guard house. There's a long delay while soldiers and lieutenants come and go, asking Lisutaris questions, and sending off messages. Lisutaris comes close to losing her temper, and informs the lieutenant that if he doesn't hurry things along she'll prove who she is by causing his head to explode. As she's now looking angry enough to do it, he gets the message, and rushes off to fetch Kublinos.

  Lisutaris grunts in annoyance. "I knew Samsarina would be like this," she mutters to Makri. "If you think women have a hard time in Turai, wait till you've been here a while."

  I'm distracted by the sound of clashing swords. Several men are practicing their fighting technique in the courtyard below.

  "Officers make you practice a lot?' I ask the guard who's been left with us.

  "That's Basinos, sword fighting champion of the southern armies. He's getting ready for the tournament."

  Of course, the great sword fighting tournament. I hadn't realised it was so close.

  "Is he a favourite?" I'm always keen to pick up tips in case there's an opportunity for gambling.

  "One of the best in Samsarina. But there are a lot of good fighters. I'd say Elupus the Simnian will win it again this year."

  I've heard of Elupus, of course. He's won tournaments all over the West. Makri comes over to watch. After studying Basinos's combat technique for a few seconds, she makes a small sound of derision.

  "His defence is weak," she says. "I'd send him packing soon enough."

  The guard grins at me. Makri might be carrying two swords and an axe but he obviously doesn't imagine she knows how to use them. I grin back at him, because it's just struck me that while Makri is one of the most lethal sword-fighters ever to enter an arena, she's completely unknown in Samsarina. If she were to enter the tournament, no one would give her a chance. The bookmakers' odds would be immense. A man could make a fine profit by backing her.

  Finally an officer arrives to take us to Kublinos. "Send ahead for beer," I tell him, but I don't think he's really paying attention. He leads us through narrow streets lined with fish vendors and sail-makers' shops. As we turn a corner he indicates a large, rather splendid looking building in the distance.

  "Kublinos's official residence."

  Lisutaris draws herself up as we approach. Bedraggled or not, she still exudes power and dignity as she strides through the gate of Kublinos's residence, where we're greeted by a uniformed attendant.

  "Tell Kublinos that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky is here."

  "And we need beer immediately," I add.

  "Pardon?" The servant looks confused.

  "We need beer. The head of the Sorcerers Guild has just survived a dangerous voyage across the ocean. I'm shocked that no one yet has offered us beer. Bring flagons."

  Lisutaris purses her lips. "My eh… Chief Adviser Thraxas… is… " She shakes her head. "Just give him some beer. And take me to Kublinos."

  Lisutaris and Makri disappear down the purple carpet that leads to the main staircase while I head downstairs with a kitchen servant.

  "Does the Sorcerer require any particular sort of beer?" he enquires.

  "Hard to say. Just bring them all and I'll sample them. And don't stint on the flagons, keep bringing them till I tell you to stop."

  I will say this for the Samsarinans - they may be a bunch of rural bumpkins who spend most of their time plodding along in fields, but they do produce some fine beer. Dark and full of flavour. With six or seven flagons inside me, and the remnants of four loaves of bread on the table, I start to feel more like myself again. For the first time since I was forced to flee Turai, life seems not quite so hopeless.

  "Of course," I say, quite loudly, to the servant who brings me my eighth flagon. "You can't blame a man for feeling hopeless if he's stuck on a boat with a crazy Orc, a depressed Sorcerer, and no beer. Stronger spirits than mine would have quailed. Do you have any more bread? A few yams maybe?"

  I notice my flagon is empty. "What's the matter? Is there a beer shortage? The Head of the Sorcerers Guild isn't going to be pleased when she hears you've been stingy with the ale."

  It seems to me that the servant is a little tardy in bringing my ninth large flagon, but I don't make a fuss. After all, I'm a guest in this country. To show my appreciation of their hospitality, I rise to my feet, fling my arm round his shoulder and draw him close.

  "You Samsarinans are not as bad as everyone says. Fine beer you have. Clears a man's head. You know, when I was on that boat I thought of packing it all in. Just let the Orcs walk over us. But now - " I take out my sword. The servant, possibly misinterpreting this, attempts to wriggle free. " -I'll chase these damned Orcs all the way back to the dirt hills they came from. Right after you've brought me more beer. Try using a decent sized tankard this time. And more food, damn it, don't you know how to treat a guest in this country? Where's Lisutaris? I'm her adviser, I should be advising her."

  The servant hands me another flagon of ale, then leads me back upstairs, where he shows me into a reception room and asks me to wait. I'm in no mood for waiting. I march swiftly through the large door in front of me, arriving in a stateroom containing Makri, Lisutaris, Kublinos the Harbour Sorcerer, and a few others.

  "We've wasted enough time on these pointless discussions!" I cry, banging my sword on the huge ornate desk in the middle of the room. "It's time for action! We need to organise an army and march back to Turai."

  There's a brief silence. One of the men in the room, a beefy individual with blunt features and longish grey hair, looks at me in surprise, then turns to Lisutaris.

  "Who is this?"

  "My Chief Adviser," says Lisutaris, wearily.

  "That's right!" I say. "And I advise you to stop talking and start marching."

  Suddenly I feel quite suspicious of the grey-haired man. "Have you been talking about surrendering? Samsarinans never did have the stomach for a fight."

  "How dare you talk to Baron Mabados like that!" cries an official with a fancy chain round his neck. I ignore him, having noticed a woman in a red gown standing in the doorway. She looks vaguely familiar. Possibly a servant I met on the way in.

  "Could you bring me some beer? A flagon or two will do for now."

  "Thraxas!" yells Lisutaris. "That is Baroness Demelzos."

  I focus my eyes on the woman. Aquiline features, fancy sort of tiara-like thing stuck in her hair. I suppose she might be a Baroness.

  "Is everybody in this room a member of the aristocracy? Isn't there anyone useful who might bring me a beer? They were quiet stingy in the kitchens."

  "My kitchens are not stingy!" says Kublinos, offended.

  At that moment, weakened perhaps by the rigours of my sea journey, a greet tiredness overwhelms me, and I'm forced to take a seat at the table. It's a fine comfy seat, plushly upholstered in soft brown leather. As I drift off to sleep I'm still feeling some resentment towards the Samsarinans for their frugal hospitality.

  Chapter Four

  I waken in a surprisingly comfortable bed. Soft mattress, feathered pillow and plenty of blankets. I can't remember how I got there. I'm still straining my memory when the door bursts open and Makri enters. I nod at her genially. Normally I find it annoying when Makri arrives without knocking -growing up in the Orcish Gladiator pits, she never learned any manners - but I let it pass.

  "Good morning," I say.

  "Thraxas you cusux," she barks, using a foul Orcish obscenity very rarely heard in th
e West. "Could you possibly be any more of a fool? No, you couldn't. You're number one chariot among fools." She leans over the bed. "Do you have any idea of the trouble you've caused? Lisutaris is trying to organise a war against the Orcs and you almost ruin everything because you couldn't wait five minutes before getting drunk and behaving abominably."

  I spread my hands wide. "I was on a boat for eight days. I needed a beer or two. Anyway, I'm sure you're exaggerating.'

  "Exaggerating? You accused Baron Mabados of being coward! And mistook his wife for a serving wench! Lisutaris has got enough problems without having to cover for your oafishness."

  I attempt to protest but am unable to get a word in.

  "Thraxas. Stop talking, stop complaining, stop drinking, and get your obscenely fat carcass out of that bed. We're sailing up-river to Elath with the Baron and Kublinos to see the King. The barge leaves in ten minutes but if you'd rather stay here and roll around drunk in a tavern, no one will miss you."

  Makri storms out. I get out of bed with a struggle, cross to the small sink in the adjoining room, and splash water over myself. No one is leaving me behind. I've been in Elath before. It's a small town not far from the capital, known for its hot mineral baths. It's also the place where they hold the sword-fighting contest. I have to rush to get ready before the barge leaves, but an old campaigner like myself is used to moving in a hurry. No more than ten minutes after Makri's appearance, I'm rolling up to the quay with a small keg of beer under one arm and a bag of bread and pastries under the other.

  "Thraxas," says Lisutaris, glancing at me frostily as I stroll on board. "You made it."

  Lisutaris has made a swift return to her former elegance. I wouldn't say she was ever classed among Turai's greatest beauties, but she's a very attractive woman, always well presented; expensive robes, nicely coiffured hair and so on. Makri has also tidied herself up, though in her case that just means wearing an even more unsuitable man's tunic, brushing her ludicrously huge mane of hair in approximately the same direction, and cleaning her weapons. She now stands on deck with a sword at each hip and an axe at her belt, looking like the savage she is. Her appearance, reckoned as strange even in cosmopolitan Turai, is even more outlandish here among the solid citizens of Samsarina. In Turai, which borders on the wastelands, it's not unknown for a few people with Orcish blood to appear every now and then, but in Samsarina, I'd guess it's virtually unheard of. Crewmen eye her warily, probably wondering if she's the advance guard for the Orcish invasion. I offer her some breakfast out of the bag I'm carrying but she refuses, either because she's still annoyed with me or because she never eats that much anyway. Makri never complained of hunger when we were castaway. It's another odd trait.

  Also on-board is the Sorcerer Kublinos. I greet him genially. He doesn't respond. Obviously he hasn't been impressed by his first experience of Thraxas, private investigator and warrior. I brush it off. He'll soon come to appreciate my finer points, as I say to Makri in the cabin below decks.

  "You don't have any finer points," replies Makri.

  "What's got into you? All right, I got drunk. So what? It's not the end of the world."

  Makri's face softens a little. "I suppose not. Though it was crass, even by your standards. I'm on edge anyway. Everyone here keeps staring at me like I'm a freak. And I don't like the way Baron Mabados spoke to Lisutaris. I'm getting the impression the Samsarinans don't think she did enough to keep the Orcs out of Turai. It's ridiculous. Lisutaris was sick when the attack came. Anyway, if it hadn't been for her warnings, the city would have fallen sooner."

  That's true enough; Lisutaris was the only one to correctly foresee the Orcish attack. Without her warnings, the city would have fallen earlier. But it looks bad for her that when Turai did eventually fall, it was because Deeziz the Unseen, most powerful of the Orcish Sorcerers, managed to sneak into the city undetected. Her sorcery outwitted everyone, including Lisutaris.

  "Have you been to Elath?" asks Makri.

  "Yes. It's just a small town in the foothills. No one would go there if it wasn't for the hot baths. Have you thought about entering the sword-fighting tournament?"

  Makri shakes her head. "Tournaments are foolish."

  Makri was involved in a tournament in the Elvish Isles. She trained a young Elf, very effectively, but had little patience for a fighting competition in which only practice weapons were used.

  "This tournament isn't like the junior Elves' tournament," I explain. "They used wooden swords because the Elves didn't want their children getting hacked to pieces. This is more serious."

  "With real weapons?"

  "Not quite," I admit. "The points are blunted, and contestants generally wear enough armour to prevent them being killed. But it's serious enough. Plenty of injuries, and a few deaths on occasion."

  Makri looks disgusted. While she's an enthusiastic fighter, the idea of not doing it for real doesn't appeal to her.

  "You can't tell who's the best fighter with blunt swords and a lot of foolish rules. Either you fight properly or you don't. I'm not getting involved in some pointless sham."

  I find her attitude annoying. Makri's always got to make out she's the only one who knows anything about fighting. "It's not a sham, it's a tough contest. It takes a special sort of skill to win it."

  Makri raises her eyebrows. "Like you did twenty years ago?"

  "Exactly."

  "It's strange that no one else in Turai knew about this triumph."

  "I told you. I had to enter under a false name because I was absent without leave from my unit. Wait till we get to Elath, there will be plenty of people who remember old Thraxas, terror of the fighting arena. Of course, if you're too scared to enter…"

  "Your pathetic attempts to make me angry won't work, Thraxas. I'm not entering. I don't want to. Anyway, I'm too busy being Lisutaris's bodyguard."

  "But it's a wasted opportunity. You should enter."

  "Why do you care?"

  "You'll enjoy it."

  "No I won't."

  "Yes you will. Besides, think of the gambling opportunities."

  "Aha!" yells Makri. "I knew you just wanted to gamble!"

  "What's wrong with that? Think of the odds we'll get. An unknown woman entering the greatest tournament in the West? We might get something like a hundred to one. Can we, as responsible citizens, refuse odds of a hundred to one?"

  Makri looks momentarily interested. When she first arrived in Turai she had no interest in gambling. Since then I've managed to improve her character somewhat. These days she can get excited about a good wager. She sets her mouth firmly against it.

  "No. I'm here to help Lisutaris rally the Sorcerers, get the armies organised and march against the Orcs. I'm not getting distracted by anything else." Makri looks angry again. "Lisutaris is worried they might not even acknowledge her as head of the Sorcerers Guild any more. Kublinos heard that Lasat's already suggested he should be the new chief."

  This makes me frown, though it's not really a surprise. If the Sorcerers Guild believed that Lisutaris had perished, they'd need a new leader quickly, and there would be no time to organise a proper election. Lasat Axe of Gold would be the obvious choice. The Samsarinan Sorcerer has acted as temporary Head of the Guild before.

  I shrug. "Well, now Lisutaris is alive, there's no problem. She's still Head of the Guild."

  "She has to be War Leader too," says Makri.

  "Now you're getting ahead of yourself. It'll take a lot of discussions and negotiations before they choose a War Leader."

  "I won't put up with any nonsense," says Makri. "Lisutaris is going to lead an army straight back to Turai."

  I don't disillusion her, but it's unlikely to be that simple. The armies of the western nations have had some time to prepare for the Orcish assault but I doubt if they're ready yet. Then there's the Elves to consider. We don't have much chance of defeating Prince Amrag without them on our side, and it'll take them a while to sail up from the Southern Isles. It could be months bef
ore we're in a position to attack. Even then, it's by no means certain that the disparate forces of the West will put the retaking of Turai at the top of their priorities. They might decide just to hold the line at the Simnian border, and wait for Amrag to come to us.

  Makri is irate at the thought. "So we just give up the city? Leave Turai in the hands of the Orcs? I can't believe anyone would think of doing that."

  "Since when did you love Turai so much?"

  "Since I got into the Imperial University," replies Makri. "The Deputy Consul said I could go and I'm going, even if I have to throw the Orcs out myself."

  Well, it's a point of view, I suppose. Makri was studying at the Guild Community College. She was the top student there. Academically, she's now qualified to attend the university. In reality, she had no chance of going, because she's female and she has Orcish blood, two things which absolutely disqualify anyone from attending. However, after her considerable service to Turai during the siege, Deputy Consul Cicerius did say he'd use his influence to allow it. But Cicerius is probably dead, and I don't know if there will ever be another class at the university.

  The cabin door opens with a bang and Lisutaris strides into the room, her rainbow cloak flapping around her legs. She looks agitated.

  "This is more serious than I thought," she says.

  "Have the Orcs advanced?"

  "No, I can't get any thazis anywhere. Can you believe it's completely outlawed in Samsarina? Damn this new King and his anti-thazis policies." Lisutaris gazes with concern at her almost-empty thazis pouch. "Even Kublinos doesn't have any. Have you ever known a Sorcerer without any thazis? What's the matter with these Samsarinans?"

  I nod in sympathy. "They're strange. Have you noticed how they don't seem to have much beer around?"

  Lisutaris sits down heavily and looks glumly at her shoes. She seems to have borrowed a nice pair, probably from the Baroness. They aren't cheering her up any, even though she's a woman who does like shoes.

  "Is there any war news?" asks Makri.

  "I really thought Kublinos would have some thazis somewhere," says Lisutaris. "There had better be some in Elath, or there's going to be trouble." She rises to her feet. "I'm Head of the Sorcerers Guild, damn it! You can't expect me to obey every petty little law in a no-account country like Samsarina."