Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

by Martin Scott

  "You don't believe in our Gods. And could you abandon your attempts at humour? You've been sarcastic ever since you found out about me and Baroness Demelzos. I don't think it's that strange we had an affair."

  "Everybody else does."

  "Are you hoping I can look back in time," says Lisutaris. "To catch a glimpse of the crime?"

  "Something like that."

  "The kuriya has been unresponsive. I've already tried to find out who took Arichdamis's plans. I got nowhere. I knew the moons were going into a bad alignment but it's happened much quicker than I expected. I think my Guild's astronomical charts may be flawed."

  "Could you find out who fired this?" I ask, showing Lisutaris the arrow. She studies it for a few moments, then shakes her head.

  "Sorry, it's been touched by too many people. Iron-tipped arrows never retain much information about their past."

  I shake my head in frustration. "Is there anything you could do?"

  "Like what?"

  "Something brilliant, worthy of the Head of the Sorcerers Guild. If I could just find out what Alceten was working on in the Royal Record House everything might fall into place."

  Lisutaris rolls herself another thazis stick and thinks for a few moments. "When she was at the Record House, was she usually in one place?"

  "She was working in one of the upstairs rooms. But it's a large room, and there are so many different documents in there I can't tell what she was doing."

  "I might be able to narrow it down for you. Do you have anything that belonged to her?"

  "Merlione gave me this." I take out a small, lace handkerchief. It looks incongruous in my large hand.

  "Good," says Lisutaris. "This might be a help. Lace does retain a lot of information."

  It's the first I've heard of it. Sometimes I think these Sorcerers just make it up as they go along. "If we leave soon we can visit the Record House before Makri's fight. We need to leave enough time for the bookmaker as well."

  "How is our betting going?" asks the Sorcerer.

  "Well. We had over 2,700 gurans. I had to use some for bribes today. And I'll keep back a little for our expenses. It still leaves us 2,500 for betting on Makri. Feel free to congratulate me on the brilliance of my gambling strategy."

  "Congratulations on your brilliance," says Lisutaris. She doesn't really sound like she means it.

  Outside a group of children are hanging around. They yell when we appear. "There she is!" The children stare at Makri, but when she takes a step forward they scream and run off.

  "That was annoying," says Makri.

  "At least they weren't throwing stones."

  The children aren't the only ones interested in Makri. As we drive slowly through the town, pedestrians, catching sight of her, nudge their companions, and point.

  "I'm starting to feel self-conscious."

  I tell Makri not to worry. "They're not pointing you out as a weird Orcish freak any more. Now they're pointing you out as a successful fighter."

  "Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better."

  At the Royal Record house, Cetenos is just as downcast as before, though he brightens a little on learning that I've asked Lisutaris to help. He takes us to the room where his daughter worked, then leaves us alone. Lisutaris fumbles around inside her magic purse.

  "I can't find the handkerchief. There it is… no, that's one of mine… I'm sure it's here somewhere…"

  "Could you learn how to use your magic purse properly?"

  Lisutaris looks pained. "It's really large inside, I haven't got the hang of it yet. Here it is." She produces the small piece of lace then throws it into the air. It hovers in front of her. She speaks a few words in one of the arcane languages she uses. The handkerchief languidly floats over to one corner of the room where it descends onto a chair.

  "That's where Alceten was working the last time she was here," says Lisutaris. The lace handkerchief has landed at a table beside several cabinets full of documents, and there are shelves nearby, packed with books and scrolls.

  "Mining records," says Makri, examining the papers in the cabinet. "And some family records on the shelves. Some tax records too. This doesn't really belong here, does it?" She picks up a very weighty tome from the table. "Samsarinan Commercial Law. This should be over with the other legal books."

  I study the huge book. It is out of place.

  "Do you think Alceten found some sort of illegal transaction?" asks Makri.

  "Maybe. It would have to be serious if someone killed her because of it. And I don't see how it would involve Merlione." I glance at all the other records strewn around. Lisutaris has narrowed things down but there's still a lot to examine, and I'm not at my best with ancient legal scrolls and documents. I ask the Sorcerer if she could place our bet on Makri. "It'll let me make a start here. I'll meet you later at the fight."

  "Lisutaris can't go into a bookmaker's shop," says Makri. "It will destroy her status."

  "You could do it." I hand our money over to Makri. "Just make sure you get it right."

  "You make sure you get to the fight on time," says Lisutaris. "You need to lead Makri out. I can't do that either."

  Managing a sword-fighter is regarded as a low-class occupation. Though Barons and their ilk always show an interest in the fighters, none of them would sully their reputation by leading one on to the field.

  Left on my own in the record room, I'm daunted by the prospect of wading through so many official records. Maybe I'll get lucky. Perhaps I'll find something quickly. The first scroll I pick up is entitled Assignment of copper-mining rights in the Southern provinces in the last fourteen years of the reign of King Garasolos. My heart sinks. King Garasolos lived two centuries ago. I put it down and turn to the book on commercial law instead. It's written in the dense hand of a copyist whose writing is clear, but small, and a strain to read. I manage half a page on the rights of Port Authorities to levy taxes on incoming goods before putting it down with a feeling of despair. Perhaps instead of trying to read all these books and scrolls, I should just hang around close to Merlione, and hope someone fires another arrow at her.

  I sigh, shake my head, and get back to work, already feeling that it was a mistake not to bring some ale with me. Sitting on my own at the desk, surrounded by scrolls, makes me remember an uncomfortable occasion, many years ago, when, having failed to complete an assignment at Sorcerer's college, I was sent to study on my own while the rest of the class practiced spells in the grounds. I never did like that tutor.

  After reading for two hours, I have a reasonable knowledge of Samsarinan commercial law relating to imports, some insights into the complexities of copper-mining rights, and no more idea about who might have killed Alceten than I had in the first place. There's a large candle on the main desk, marked off in hours, and it's a relief when I notice it's time to go. I leave the desk neatly arranged, so I'll know what books and scrolls I've looked at.

  By the time I arrive at the tournament, Lisutaris is fretting. "Thraxas! You're late. Have you been in a tavern?"

  "Of course. I had to wash the dust from these books out my mouth. When's Makri fighting?"

  "In about thirty seconds."

  "Did you get the bet on?"

  "Yes, Makri went into Bixo's. But I'm worried. She's been drawn against Basinos."

  I screw up my face. That is a tough draw. The Champion of the Southern Armies is going to be a difficult opponent. "Well, she can beat him anyway."

  "I hope so," says Lisutaris. "Basinos is sponsored by Baron Mabados. Every Samsarinan Sorcerer will be on his side."

  "Can't you sort these Sorcerers out?"

  "I'd rather they didn't know I suspect them of using sorcery. It'll be easier for me to negate their efforts if they don't know I'm onto them."

  "I think we should just confront them. Get their cheating out into the open."

  "I can't take on the whole Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild, Thraxas."

  "Yes you can."

  "No, I don't think I c
an."

  I clap Lisutaris heartily on the shoulder. "I have confidence in you."

  "How may beers did you have?"

  "Three or four. I forget exactly. Here's Makri. Right, it's time to show these villains what three Turanians can do."

  "So I'm a Turanian now?" says Makri.

  "Of course. We welcome anyone. Let's go."

  The red-shirted Marshal is waiting for us in the centre of the field. Basinos approaches slowly from the opposite direction, and he gets the loudest cheer so far. As champion of the Southern Armies he's a well-known fighter, and if not exactly local, he is Samsarinan. It's immediately obvious that Basinos is a cut above most of the fighters we've seen in the preliminary rounds. His equipment is better; he has a nicely burnished helmet, fine chainmail over his chest and midriff, and the armour plating around his shoulders and arms is good quality work. Makri looks shabby in comparison, with her long hair tumbling out of her iron helmet. Her shield is made of plain brown leather, whereas Basinos's is bright blue, with a fancy metal boss in the centre, in the shape of a roaring lion. Basinos's sword is longer and heavier. He's ten inches taller than Makri, and looks about twice as broad. He approaches slowly, milking the applause. Makri stands motionless. The Marshal raises his flag. I retreat quickly to the side of the field, and by the time I look round, Basinos has already mounted a furious attack.

  Makri defends gamely, but it's not the easiest thing to do, defending with a sword and shield if you're not used to it. If mishandled, the shield can easily pass in front of your eyes, restricting your vision. If you try to use it offensively, and get it wrong, you leave an opening for your opponent. If you're too defensive, you constrict your own movements and can't attack effectively. Conversely, it's hard to mount an effective attack against a man who knows how to defend properly with a shield, which Basinos does. Several of Makri's previous opponents left obvious gaps which she could exploit with her speed, but Basinos is of a different calibre. Makri is forced backwards, and her occasional strikes, with which she attempts to go over or under his shield, are all blocked quite easily.

  Lisutaris has her arms by her side, but her palms are facing forwards. She's feeling for sorcery, ready to nullify it if necessary. There's a loud clang as Basinos's sword crashes into Makri's shield. The impact forces her back. By the time she regains her stance, Basinos, in the same offensive movement, has swung his sword beneath her shield where it slams into the chainmail protecting her thigh. The crowd roar and the Marshal raises his flag.

  "Half-point to Basinos!" he cries.

  By now I'm frowning. I don't think that half-point arrived as the result of hostile sorcery. It came because Basinos is a very skilled fighter. The contest recommences. Makri is again forced back. The crowd are screaming, roaring him on. He's strong and fast; one of the fastest tournament fighters I've ever seen. Somewhere nearby I can hear Baron Mabados, adding his voice to the crowd.

  "Come on Makri!" I yell. Basinos attacks, again forcing Makri back. He attempts a cut across the top of Makri's shield which she blocks, but then, with the same movement he used before, he rotates his elbow, bringing his blade down towards Makri's thigh. But this time, instead of connecting with her thigh, it thuds into her shield, which Makri has immediately, and correctly, repositioned. At the same moment she slices her blade across the top of Basinos's shield which, as a result of his attack, is hanging an inch too low. Her blade snaps against his neck guard. That should be enough for a lethal stroke but Makri, not content, or not trusting the Marshal, instantly brings her sword down onto Basinos's wrist, knocking his blade from his hand, before bringing it back up in an arc to rest once more at his throat. That makes two lethal strikes, though technically you can only have one. The crowd falls silent. Basinos stands rigid, as if in shock. The Marshal looks disappointed.

  "Lethal stroke," he says, eventually.

  Lisutaris and I cheer, very conspicuously given the silence around us. I rush onto the field to congratulate Makri. Unusually, she's still facing her opponent.

  "Good fight," she says to him. He acknowledges her, before trudging off.

  "Excellent work, Makri," cries Lisutaris.

  Makri takes off her helmet and shrugs. "It wasn't so great. I'd have a leg wound if this was real. He was a good fighter. " She stares at her shield. "I can't get used to this thing."

  I'm jubilant as we make our way from the field. I ask Lisutaris and Makri what odds they got at the bookmakers.

  "Seven to Four," Makri tells me. "Basinos was favourite, two to five."

  "But we didn't bet everything," says Lisutaris."

  We've used some of our money for expenses, and I've had bribes to pay, but we still had 2,500 gurans left before this fight. I'd expected Lisutaris and Makri to gamble it all.

  "We decided it was too much of a risk," explains Makri. "If I'd lost we'd have had nothing left. I thought it was best to keep 1,000 back. We could have used that to bet on other fighters. Because if I lost then Lisutaris would have needed to come up with 10,000 for Lasat."

  Lisutaris and Makri look at me. "Are you going to disapprove?" asks Lisutaris.

  I shrug. "Not really. It was sensible enough. Although I didn't know we were being sensible. I'd have bet everything."

  Big Bixo isn't exactly radiating happiness as he hands over our winnings, but he's not too downcast either. He's still made a solid profit from all the money that was placed on Basinos. Our 1,500 bet at seven to four wins us 2625. Plus the original stake makes 4125. Plus the 1,000 we held back now gives us 5125 gurans. Our pile of money includes some heavy hundred-guran coins and even a thousand-guran gold bar, which Lisutaris carries in her magic purse.

  Before Makri's fight with Basinos, she was fourteen to one to win the tournament. That will come down now. Elupus remains the overall favourite, at three to one. As we leave Big Bixo's I'm mulling over our next bet.

  "I think we should just bet it all."

  Makri disagrees. "It's too much of a risk."

  "Why? You'll win. If it was me suggesting it was too much of a risk to bet everything on you, you'd get upset. You'd say I lacked confidence in you."

  "Maybe," says Makri. "But I just think we should be cautious. Something might go wrong."

  "What can go wrong?"

  "Hostile sorcery."

  "Lisutaris can deal with that."

  "So you keep saying," says Lisutaris. "Mainly because you don't know what it's like trying to fend off Lasat, Charius and a dozen others at the same time."

  "I have complete confidence in you. And Makri."

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  On the way home we stop off at a tavern where Lisutaris eats a moderate lunch, I order three venison pies and a portion of stew with yams, and Makri nibbles at some bread. We arrive back at Arichdamis's house in probably our most genial mood since we washed up on these shores.

  "Lasat Axe of Gold and Charius the Wise are in the garden," Arichdamis tells us. Our genial mood evaporates.

  "This is it," mutters Lisutaris. "He's come to blackmail me about the missing plans. It was bound to happen. Makri, put your sword away, we can't just kill them."

  "We could make it look like an accident."

  "That might work," I say.

  Lisutaris stares at us. "What's the matter with you? We're not murdering anyone. Have you lost your senses?"

  Slightly abashed, we follow Lisutaris out into the garden.

  "I think we could get away with it," whispers Makri.

  It's not immediately apparent what Lasat and Charius are up to. They've arrived with a company of workmen who are busy some distance away, at the point where Arichdamis's grounds slope upwards towards the hills. As we watch, the workmen stretch rope between some of the larger trees.

  "What's going on?" I ask Arichdamis.

  "They're making a cage for the dragon before it can fly away."

  "They're building a dragon cage out of a few ropes?"

  "That's just the framework. Once they've cordoned off the area,
Lasat and Charius are going to cast spells over it."

  "I don't like this," says Makri. "It's not really very nice to keep a dragon in a cage."

  "You hate the dragon."

  "We've been getting on better."

  Protocol demands that Lisutaris greet her fellow Sorcerers. Before approaching them, she instructs Makri and me to be tactful. "Don't start any arguments. I don't want them to suspect that we know they've been using sorcery against Makri. Be diplomatic."

  "I'm always diplomatic," says Makri. "It's Thraxas you have to worry about."

  "Makri is much less tactful than I am!"

  "Also, try not to argue like a pair of schoolchildren," says Lisutaris, and sets off towards the edge of the garden. The encounter with the Samsarinan Sorcerers is tense, as always. The frozen politeness displayed on each side doesn't do anything to hide the mutual dislike. Lasat is as self-important as ever, talking grandly to Charius about the brilliance of his new magic which will, apparently, keep the dragon permanently in place, allowing them to learn the secrets of dragon control.

  "That will be a great step forward for Samsarina," he says. "Imagine having our own dragons to combat the Orcs."

  Makri looks highly sceptical, though she keeps her silence. I'm sceptical too, not really believing that any human will ever fly on a dragon. Lasat is so pleased with himself that he magnanimously thanks Makri for feeding the creature. "The King himself is grateful. You should be honoured."

  "I am," says Makri, attempting to be diplomatic.

  "Congratulations on defeating Basinos," continues Lasat. "Even Elupus praised your technique. Perhaps some people did under-estimate your prowess."

  "Perhaps they did," says Lisutaris. "Perhaps they underestimate mine, too."

  "I don't follow your meaning, Mistress of the Sky."

  "I mean those people who are questioning my role as Head of the Sorcerers Guild, and position as War Leader."

  Lasat Axe of Gold draws himself up and looks, for a moment at least, quite grand, with his rainbow cloak and his long grey hair fluttering in the breeze.

  "No personal insult was intended," he declares. "But War Leader is too important a role to be given to someone who's claim to the position of Head of the Guild is dubious at best."