Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

by Martin Scott

  "Dubious?" cries Lisutaris. 'You dare to call my election dubious?"

  "What else would I call it? The whole process was a charade. The authorities in Turai used every low, despicable trick imaginable to get you elected. I haven't forgotten your scandalous attempt to blackmail me, using quite untrue allegations."

  "Untrue? You've been cheating your treasury for years!" shouts Lisutaris.

  "I must ask you not to repeat these lies!" roars Lasat.

  I don't like the way his hand is hovering around his waist. It looks like he's tempted to fire a spell. I find my own hand straying towards the spell-protection charm round my neck.

  "If you do," Lasat continues. "There will be serious consequences!"

  "Are you attempting to threaten me!" yells Lisutaris.

  "And what if I am? You're not in Turai now, with your legion of spies, cheats and criminals to help you! Let's see how you fare without them by your side!"

  "You'll see how I'll fare if you dare to challenge me!" shouts Lisutaris. "I'll send you out of Elath as a smoking pile of cinders. And while I'm on the subject of your despicable behaviour, stop trying to cheat in the tournament."

  "Cheat? Me? How dare you!"

  "You've been using sorcery against Makri!" Lisutaris strides right up to Lasat and stands with her face close to his. "It had better not happen again or I'll make you regret it."

  Charius the Wise is surreptitiously raising his hand, unseen by Lisutaris. I swiftly unsheathe my sword and place the tip in his midriff. "Do you think you can utter that spell before I run you through?"

  The garden is now sizzling with barely suppressed sorcery. Venomous looks are exchanged in all directions. Lasat Axe of Gold claps his hands, summoning his workers, then speaks to Charius. "Come, Charius. The King is not going to be pleased to learn our work has been interrupted by a foreign Sorcerer. We'll return under his protection."

  "You'll need a lot of protection if you annoy me again!" yells Lisutaris, at his retreating figure.

  I stare at Lisutaris. "What happened to tact and diplomacy?"

  "That was never a very good plan. You should have given me better advice."

  "I'd advise you to find out if smoking too much magically-enhanced thazis causes mood swings."

  "Thazis," mutters Lisutaris. "Good idea." She starts rolling a thazis stick without bothering to check if anyone is watching. I shepherd her behind a large tree, just in case.

  "I hate the Samsarinan Sorcerers," she says.

  "Don't worry," says Makri. "I'll win the tournament. Then Lasat will have to pay you 10,000 gurans and he'll look like a fool for backing a loser."

  Lisutaris sits down on the grass, quite heavily. "I suppose so. But these arguments aren't helping the war effort. What's the point of winning money if the Orcs march in and conquer everything?"

  "We could still flee to the Far West," I suggest. "They say that right at the end of the world, you can find the Warrior's Rest."

  "What's that? Some sort of monastery?"

  "No, a tavern. Sells excellent beer, apparently. They could probably do with a Sorcerer to look after things. And Makri would fit right in. Just get the chainmail bikini on again and start serving drinks."

  "I'm not ending my days as a tavern wench," declares Makri. "I'm going to kick the Orcs out of Turai then I'm going to university."

  The young dragon appears out of the undergrowth. I tense up, ready to fight, but it seems to have become less aggressive. It waddles up to Makri, stretches its wings, then lies down beside her and goes to sleep. The dragon is now larger than a man, and must be very close to taking flight. Now that it's no longer a baby, its scales are starting to grow properly, and they're pure white. It's an unusual sight. Makri puts her arm over it protectively. She's due to fight again later in the evening, by which time the competitors will be down to sixteen. I'd like to remain here, doing nothing, but I can't. I still have investigating to do.

  "Makri, would you help me at the Records Office? I just can't read through all that stuff on my own."

  "All right. If Lisutaris doesn't need me for a while."

  "It's fine, go with Thraxas," says the Sorcerer. "I've agreed to have dinner with Kublinos. He's persistent, I'll give him that. He even pretended to like my Turanian hairstyle, even though I know the Barons' wives have been criticising it behind my back."

  Lisutaris looks round at Makri and me. There's a long pause. "Well?" she says, eventually.

  "Well what?" I ask.

  "You know what I mean."

  Makri looks baffled. "I don't understand."

  "How hopeless are you?" demands Lisutaris. "When I say the Barons' wives have been criticising my hairstyle, you're both meant to say my hair looks wonderful. Wasn't that obvious?"

  "Sorry," says Makri. "I'm not very good at picking up on things like that."

  "Neither am I," I admit.

  Lisutaris sighs. "I dread to think what your life was like in that tavern. Obviously you never learned any proper manners." A maudlin expression settles over her features. "Tirini would be shocked if she saw me now. She'd say I looked a terrible mess."

  "I was thinking of Tirini too, just the other day," I say.

  "She was one of the last people we saw in Turai," says Makri.

  Tirini Snake-Smiter is, or perhaps was, a Turanian Sorcerer. She had powerful magic, but she was much more famous for her glamorous outfits and her continual appearances in the city's scandal-sheets. She was in the Avenging Axe, just before the city fell, looking after Lisutaris when she was ill. Poor Tirini was horrified to find herself in the shabby environs of my rooms above the tavern. I wasn't too pleased to see her there myself, but thinking of her now, I feel nostalgic for my old city, and depressed about its destruction.

  "I wonder how many of my Guild survived?" wonders Lisutaris.

  "I think there's a good chance a lot of the Sorcerers made it out."

  "If they have, none of them have managed to contact me yet."

  Makri and I depart, leaving Lisutaris to make ready for her assignation with Kublinos.

  "Do you think Kublinos and Lisutaris might get married?" asks Makri, as we walk through Elath.

  I notice she's looking uncomfortable. "Why? Does it bother you?"

  "A bit."

  Makri, a recent arrival in the West, had very few friends in Turai, spending her time mostly working or studying. I suppose she's become friendly with Lisutaris, due to recent events, and worries about losing her. That would only leave me, and I'm always liable to get drunk and let her down.

  "I can't see Lisutaris really falling for Kublinos," I tell her. "He wears that fancy cloak. Probably not Lisutaris's type."

  "You have no idea what Lisutaris's type would be, do you?" says Makri.

  "None at all. Here's the Record House. Prepare for some extended studying."

  We have two hours before we're due at the tournament fields. Upstairs in the record house, I drag another chair over to the table in the corner, then carry on reading. Makri starts working her way through the contents of the shelves on the left and I take the cabinets on the right.

  "This is hopeless," I say, after wading through a court report about some merchants who'd been swindled. "I can't take much more."

  "We've only been here ten minutes."

  "It feels like ten hours."

  "I like it. It's interesting."

  I sigh, and get back to work. I struggle through another court case concerning a merchant's complaint that he'd been cheated in a land deal, When he put up the funds for what was supposed to be a valuable Queenstone mine in the mountains, only for it to turn out worthless. I'm mildly surprised to notice that a co-signatory to the law suit is Baron Vosanos, who apparently lost a lot of money too. That will teach him to be greedy. I wonder if Baroness Demelzos knows about it. Perhaps her son isn't marrying into quite as rich a family as she thought. I turn to Makri and tell her that I really can't go on any longer. "My head's swimming with all these documents."

  M
akri shrugs. "If you want justice you need to do the work."

  "Who said anything about justice? I'm earning a fee and helping Demelzos. Justice doesn't come into it."

  "Well it should. Alceten deserves justice."

  "Since when did you care about Alceten?"

  "Since I discovered she was murdered and nobody cared," says Makri.

  I shake my head. Makri does get these odd ideas occasionally. She has a tendency to start going on about rights and justice, particularly where women are concerned. I blame the philosopher Samanatius. He was a bad influence.

  "This is Samsarina. Justice here is in even shorter supply than it was in Turai. If it turns out that Alceten was murdered, and someone influential was responsible, then forget about justice. It'll just be covered up."

  "Then why are you even bothering to investigate?" asks Makri.

  "I told you. To help the Baroness. If I can solve this, and find out who's responsible, Demelzos will be able to protect her daughter. But that's as far as it will go. I've got no great hopes of sending anyone to court for murder. Samsarina doesn't work like that. The Barons have too much power to be held to account."

  "Do you think one of them was responsible?"

  "Directly responsible? I doubt it. But it would need money and influence to organise the murder, and more to make sure people didn't talk afterwards. So someone well-connected was behind it. Anyone who's well-connected here ultimately has some Baron or other looking after him."

  Makri isn't satisfied. "Are you saying that even if you find out who did it, nothing will happen?"

  "Probably. If the killer is being protected by a Baron, only the King could do anything about it. You've seen what the King is like. He's so young and inexperienced, he won't want to alienate anyone powerful."

  "So someone can just kill a young woman and get away with it?"

  "Yes."

  "Maybe I could make sure they don't."

  I stare at Makri. "Abandon any thoughts of vigilante activity. It will reflect badly on Lisutaris."

  "I'll bear that in mind," says Makri, and gets back to her scroll. We read in silence for a while. I glance over my shoulder a few times at the marked candle, wishing that time would pass more quickly.

  "I haven't felt like this since I was at school," I mutter.

  "You actually went to school?"

  "St Alembiun's Institute for the Children of Disadvantaged Turanian Citizens. One of the worst educational hell-holes in the city. I still dislike St Alembiun, whoever he was."

  "A minor saint from Mattesh, before the True Church revised their canon," Makri informs me.

  "Have you ever thought you might have learned too many things?"

  "I thought you said Baron Vosanos was rich," says Makri.

  "He is."

  "Then why's he being sued for non-payment of taxes?"

  "Let me see that." Makri has been studying a large tome of court documents, lists of upcoming cases. Baron Vosanos is indeed named in one of these case, accused by the King's Exchequer of not paying the required taxes on his estates.

  "That's odd. He's one of the most important men in the country. Why would he let that happen?"

  "Maybe he's broke,' says Makri. "Didn't you mention he was involved in some merchant deals that went wrong?"

  "Yes, but it didn't seem that serious. I can't believe he'd let things slide to the extent that he'd face being taken to court by the King."

  I sit and think for a few moments. Vosanos's financial difficulties are interesting. Baron Mabados is reputed to have financial problems too. Mabados's son is marrying Vosanos's daughter. It's odd that both Barons are struggling. The marriage won't affect that one way or the other, as far as I know. I'll have to ask Baroness Demelzos for more information.

  "Dos this have some bearing on your case?" asks Makri.

  "I don't know. I can't see how it would involve Merlione. Whether she's alive or dead doesn't make any difference to how rich these Barons are. Still, I'd like to know more. Are there any other documents?"

  There's nothing else in the book, but it does provide a case number. I find a young assistant on the floor below and ask her if Cetenos is anywhere in the building, but apparently he's busy conveying records to the King's officials. I ask the assistant if she can show me any more documents relating to Baron Vosanos's case, and quote her the number. She leads me over to a huge filing cabinet, about the size of a small tree, then opens the top drawer and rummages around for a while.

  "Here you are,' she says, pulling out a brown leather folder with a number on it. "Everything will be in here."

  I open the folder. It's empty. The assistant looks surprised.

  "Normally there'd be more papers on anything that had a case number. I don't know why there isn't."

  I return upstairs to Makri. "The rest of the documents are missing." I glance at the candle. "We have to go, you're fighting soon."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Heading back towards the arena, Makri is relaxed. I don't think she's given much thought to her next fight. It's quite a contrast to my own experience of the tournament. Then it was all I thought about for weeks. I'd practice during the day, and at night I'd go drinking with sword-fighting friends, swapping tales about fighters we'd seen, and lying about all the contests we'd won. It became my whole life. Makri does want to win, because she takes pride in her fighting technique, but she doesn't care about the competition. I find that annoying. She should respect it more.

  Makri's next opponent is Gabril-ixx, from the far north. He won a tournament recently, so he must be skilful, and in good form. Big Bixo has him as slight favourite at four to six, while Makri is eleven to ten. I'd like to bet everything we have but, heeding Makri and Lisutaris's desire to be more cautious, I put 2,500 gurans on Makri to win. Makri has a lot more backers now. She's still not popular with the crowd, but serious gamblers don't care about that. They've seen what she can do.

  Lisutaris meets us at the edge of the field. There's something strange about her manner.

  "You look odd," I say.

  "Thanks, Thraxas. That's always good to hear."

  "Why are you holding your head like that?" Lisutaris has her chin pushed down, almost resting on her chest. "What's that you're wearing?"

  "Nothing."

  "Yes it is. I can see it sparkling."

  "Oh this?" Lisutaris glances down at the heavy row of jewels currently dangling round her neck. It's a queenstone necklace, a very fine example.

  "It's just a… little gift," she says, and blushes faintly. "From Kublinos."

  "Did you agree to marry him?" asks Makri.

  "Of course not! Why would you ask that?"

  "Because he's just given you the most expensive necklace this side of the King's treasury?" I suggest.

  "I had to accept it," says Lisutaris, huffily. "It would have been rude not to. That doesn't mean I'm about to get married. The subject was never discussed. Makri, are you ready to fight?"

  "What are you going to say when he does ask?" says Makri.

  "Could we not discuss it right this moment? Thraxas, listen carefully. I'm convinced Lasat is going to make a serious attempt to sabotage Makri in this fight. I can deal with him and Charius, but the rest of their guild is here too, so there might be spells flying in from all directions. I'll need your to help to deflect them."

  "Me? How am I meant to do that?"

  "You've had Sorcerous training, I believe?"

  "I got thrown out of Sorcerer's College as an apprentice. I only ever knew a few minor spells."

  "That's not true," says Lisutaris. "You used to know more than that, before you dedicated your life to drinking. You can help if you put your mind to it. I'll give you a spell for detecting incoming attacks."

  "Thraxas is going to help you with your sorcery?" asks Makri.

  "Yes."

  "I'm doomed."

  "She may be right," I say. "I really don't think I'm up to it."

  "Fine," says Lisutaris. "If you'
d like to see me humiliated, Turai disgraced, Makri defeated, and Lasat elected as War Leader, why don't you just go and drink beer instead?"

  "All right I'll do it!" I glare at Makri. "Now I'm going to get killed from a heart attack spell, protecting your skinny hide."

  "I'm sure no one will be firing heart attack spells," says Lisutaris, calmly. "More likely they'll simply be trying to jolt Makri, to make her lose her balance. Anyway, you have your spell-protection necklace."

  I can't say I'm feeling happy about this development. A good spell-protection necklace does go a long way towards nullifying hostile sorcery, but it won't keep out everything. Thraxas of Turai fears no man in combat, but I'm not that keen on being used as target practice by the Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild. Lisutaris takes a scrap of parchment from her purse and speaks to it. A sentence appears, though not in any language I know.

  "Read this," she says.

  "I cant understand it."

  "Just read it."

  I do as instructed. Lisutaris then says the sentence out loud, and makes a peculiar motion with her hand in front of my eyes.

  "Now you'll be able to detect, attract and repel incoming spells," she says.

  "What do you mean attract? No one said anything about attract."

  "It's part of the process," explains the Sorcerer, blithely. "Once you detect spells, they'll come towards you. You'll have plenty of time to deflect them. A good half-second or so."

  "What if I don't?"

  "You may suffer some minor damage. Are you ready Makri? It's time for you to put on your armour."

  Makri goes off to change. I scan the dense crowd, looking for hostile Sorcerers. There seems to be a rainbow cloak everywhere I look. The Samsarinan Guild has turned up in force. I find myself touching my spell protection necklace again, and wondering what exactly Lisutaris means by minor damage. As I lead Makri out onto the field I catch a glimpse of Lasat Axe of Gold, right next to the tower occupied by the Tournament Sorcerer. No doubt they're plotting something together. This time, when the Marshal raises his flag, I sprint back to Lisutaris.