Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

by Martin Scott

  "Are you ready?' she asks.

  "No."

  The fight commences. Gabril-ixx adopts a cautious stance, well-protected by his shield. Too well protected perhaps, as he's slow to react to Makri's attack. She gets her sword underneath his defences, dealing him a blow on the leg which is only just short of being called a foul by the Marshal, for too much use of force. He stumbles slightly, by which time Makri is round to one side of him, with the blade of her sword at his neck, a stroke which in a real fight would take off his head. Makri wins, in one of the shortest fights so far. She comes off the field smiling.

  "I didn't give these Sorcerers any time to start firing spells."

  We congratulate Makri.

  "Shall we pick up our winnings?" says Lisutaris.

  We have to force our way through the crowd, many whom are pressing in to look at Makri. I can hear her name being mentioned all around, and the name of Elupus too, wondering what will happen if they're matched together. That's looking more and more likely. Makri is through to the last eight, and I don't see anyone else standing in her way. Apart from the Samsarinan Sorcerers, of course.

  "Next time Makri steps onto the field they'll be at it from the start."

  "Probably," agrees Lisutaris. "We'll have to make sure we're ready."

  I shake my head in disgust. "It's a sorry state of affairs. The Samsarinan sword-fighting tournament was always known for its honesty. When I won, there was no magic involved. Just strong-hearted men battling it out. Lion-hearted might be a better description. A man had to be something special to win the tournament in those days."

  "Like you?" says Makri.

  "Exactly. We were proper warriors. Fighting all day and drinking all night. Of course, Samsarina had a proper King then. He wouldn't have allowed his Sorcerers to run out of control. Everything's gone downhill since then. There's no honour any more. Not like in my day."

  "Weren't you absent without leave from the army?" asks Lisutaris.

  "Yes. But honourably."

  There's no sign of Big Bixo's previous good humour as I pick up our winnings. No sign of his business partner, either, though I have a strong feeling I'm not going to get out of Elath without encountering him again. Our 2,500 guran wager at 11-10 returned 5,250. Added to the 2,625 we held back, we now have 7,875 gurans.

  "Splendid fight, Makri!"

  It's General Hemistos. The General, a well-presented man on most occasions, is looking particularly smart. He's wearing his dress cloak and uniform, the sort of outfit he might wear on a formal parade.

  "Thank you," says Makri.

  "I have the sword I promised you."

  Makri looks vague. The General reminds her that he promised to replace her sword with something better if she made it through the qualifying rounds. It's a good offer, I suppose. Makri's weapons and armour aren't the best.

  "If you'd like to accompany me now, we can pick it up. There's a hostelry just past the armourers which serves a better class of food, if you'd like to try their fare?"

  Makri looks momentarily confused. "I have to stay with Lisutaris. I'm her bodyguard."

  "That's fine," says Lisutaris, immediately. "I'm quite safe for the evening. I have Thraxas to protect me."

  Makri shoots an angry glance at Lisutaris.

  "Pick up the sword," I say. "Lisutaris can cope without you for a while."

  "Excellent," says the General, and sweeps her off.

  "That'll take her mind off me and Kublinos for a while," says Lisutaris, as we walk on. It's a warm evening and the streets of Elath are noisier than ever. I feel a slight tingle as the spell Lisutaris taught me for repelling sorcerous attacks fades from my memory. She'll have to teach it to me again each time I use it. A person with as little magical skill as me can't hold a spell like that in their memory.

  "I wouldn't have thought you'd be so pleased to see Makri go off with the General," says Lisutaris.

  I refuse to respond, feeling it beneath my dignity to react to Lisutaris's ridiculous insinuation that I'd be jealous of anyone making a play for Makri. The pointy-eared barbarian can go off with anyone she likes, I'm not complaining.

  The quickest way to Arichdamis's house takes us through the narrow alley that separates the Jolly Bandit tavern from a blacksmith's forge. I'd like to call in at the Jolly Bandit but it's not the sort of place a woman of Lisutaris's status would want to be seen in. It might be the pang of remorse I feel on missing out on a refreshing beer that makes me careless. Or it might be because I'm not expecting anyone to be foolish enough to attack me while I'm with the Head of the Sorcerers Guild. Nevertheless, I"m taken by surprise when, a few yards along the alleyway, a small wooden door opens up and three men step out. Two of them have scarves hiding their features and the third is wearing a full-face helmet. They'll all carrying swords.

  "Hand over your money," says the man in the helmet.

  By now my own sword is in my hand but I'm not expecting to fight. The alleyway is just wide enough for three people, which gives me room to step a little to the side, allowing Lisutaris to blast them with a spell. I half turn my head. Lisutaris is standing there, though she doesn't seem to producing any sorcery.

  "Would you - " I begin, but I don't get any further. The helmeted man lunges at me with his sword. I parry with the dagger in my left hand and thrust towards him but my strike is a little slow and he avoids it. Immediately the man on his left pushes forward with his blade and I have to deflect it and take a step back with my guard raised.

  "Now would be a good time for a spell!" I yell, but nothing happens. Instead the third man attempts to outflank me and and there's a loud clang of metal as I block his blade. Not far away the blacksmith is working at his forge and the clash of our weapons mingles with the sounds from his anvil. The thug with the helmet is now pressing me hard, I step inside his strike and allow our bodies almost to touch, then thrust my dagger into his arm. He gasps in pain and I push his body against the assailant on my left. Simultaneously I raise my sword, blocking the attacker on my right. As his blade is diverted towards the ground I raise mine and plant it firmly through his shoulder. He cries out, and drops his sword. I have time to kick him firmly in the legs for good measure, and he falls to the ground. The attacker on my left, undaunted, mounts a furious attack. I black his blade easily enough and when he draws it back to strike again, he leaves himself wide open. I plant my blade in his chest and it slices easily thought his leather jerkin and into his heart. He falls down dead at my feet. I turn, with my sword and dagger at the ready, but by now the man with the helmet has fled, still clutching the wound in his arm. The other thug picks himself up and runs after him along the alleyway.

  I turn angrily to Lisutaris. "What was that?" I demand.

  "What do you mean?" says Lisutaris.

  "Why didn't you help me?"

  "I wanted to see how well you fought these days," says Lisutaris.

  "What?"

  "You're always going on about sword-fighting, and Makri's technique, and how good you were. I just wanted to see if you still had it."

  "I could have been killed!"

  "I'd have stepped in if you needed me."

  I'm not finding this entirely satisfactory. "You can't just leave someone to fight three people because you're curious about their fighting technique! That's not what comrades do!"

  "Are we comrades?" says Lisutaris.

  "I thought we were."

  "Really Thraxas, I think you're making too much of a fuss. Particularly as you did fight so well. I was impressed. Should we move on? Probably it wouldn't be good for my reputation to be discovered in this alleyway with a dead man at my feet."

  I glare at her, exasperated. Before leaving I removed the assailant's scarf. It's no one I recognise, and there's nothing in his pockets to identify him. Even so, I'm fairly sure he was working for Big Bixo's business partner. That might even have been the man in the helmet, he looked of similar build. We hurry along, emerging from the alley into a broad thoroughfare that le
ads up to Arichdamis house. I'm still angry at Lisutaris for not helping me. This woman can bring down war dragons from the sky. She could have dealt with three armed thugs easily enough.

  "Are you still in a bad mood?" asks Lisutaris, airily.

  "Yes."

  "I really don't see why. I was there if you needed me."

  "What's the idea of saying you wanted to see what my sword-fighting technique was like? It makes it sound like I might have been lying about it."

  "I wouldn't put it quite like that. Exaggerating, maybe. You are prone to that. Anyway, weren't you pleased to get some practice?"

  "Practice? I had to kill a man!"

  "Does that bother you?"

  "No," I admit. "Not when he was trying to kill me."

  We walk on in silence. We're almost at Arichdamis's house when Lisutaris next speaks. "I like the idea of being a comrade."

  "What?"

  "Comrade. We don't use that word in the Sorcerers Guild. I rather like it. All in the struggle together. Would Makri count as a comrade as well?'

  "I suppose so."

  "Good. I must tell her what splendid technique you displayed. Really, none of your attackers came close to harming you." Lisutaris reaches inside her magic purse and, to my surprise, brings out a large bottle of ale.

  "Where did you get that?"

  "I used a spell to whisk it out of the Jolly Bandit."

  I open the bottle immediately and take a drink. "I'm still not pleased with you."

  "You will be when you've finished it," says Lisutaris.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Inside Arichdamis's house, I finish my beer, and I think. Mainly, I think I'd like another beer, but I give some consideration to Demelzos's daughter. Why is she in danger? She's been sitting around at home, being a dutiful daughter as far as anyone knows, without an enemy in the world. Suddenly her best friend is killed, and she's in danger. There's no reason for it. My enquiries have failed to come up with so much as a hint that she's involved in anything unusual. No disreputable lover. No secret business interest. No secrets at all, as far as I can learn.

  My thoughts turn to her family. I've only briefly encountered her brother. From all accounts he's a decent young man. He's about to marry well. Though perhaps not as well as he imagines, I reflect, remembering the financial difficulties Baron Vosanos finds himself in. This makes me frown. I don't like it that Vosanos is in financial difficulties. Financial difficulties lead to crime. But again, why pick on Merlione? It doesn't make any sense.

  I hunt in the cellar for more beer. There's none. Arichdamis is apparently refusing to restock his cellars while I'm still in residence. It's a poor way to treat a guest. I traipse back upstairs, suddenly afflicted by a great wave of melancholy. I should be sitting in the Avenging Axe, drinking beer and swapping war stories with Gurd. I miss Gurd, the old barbarian. I meet Lisutaris in the corridor.

  "Thraxas. Why the gloomy face?"

  "I miss Gurd. And the Avenging Axe. And drinking beer with my friends."

  Lisutaris manages to look more sympathetic than I'd have expected. "Share some wine with me," she suggests.

  So acute is the melancholy that I'm unable even to pretend to be enthusiastic.

  "Am I that bad a substitute?" asks the Sorcerer.

  "You're not a bad substitute, Lisutaris. But I need beer in a tavern. And men to swap war stories with."

  The Sorceress laughs, not unkindly. "I miss my old friends too," she says. "You'd be surprised how many hours Tirini and I spent gossiping. But I've been in plenty of battles. So has Makri, come to that. Perhaps we could try swapping some reminiscences?"

  A key sounds in the front door. It's Makri. "Lisutaris! General Hemistos tried to kiss me! And he invited me back to his mansion for the night!"

  "What? Really? Tell me everything." The Sorceress looks at me apologetically. "It looks like the war stories will have to wait."

  "That's all right. It probably wouldn't have been the same anyway."

  Lisutaris and Makri go off to talk about the men in their lives. I retire to my room and lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I try to think about my investigation, but I keep losing concentration and thinking about Turai instead, and the Avenging Axe, and drinking with Gurd, and playing cards with Captain Rallee. It leads to me sleeping badly and waking early. I dress quickly and head out to the public baths for a long soak to set me up for the day. I have a busy schedule planned. First I intend to visit Baroness Demelzos for more information about her family's finances. After that I'll return to the King's Record House to carry on reading. I'll need to speak to Cetenos too, about the documents for Baron Vosanos's court case that seem to be missing. Later in the afternoon I have to be at the tournament field for Makri's next fight. Makri has been drawn against Parasas the Niojan, who beat her in the qualifying group. For once, she's eager to engage, determined to erase the memory of her humiliating defeat.

  On my way to the baths I run into Baron Girimos. He greets me genially. "Thraxas of Turai! You're a man with a decent appetite. Join me for breakfast?"

  I'm not going to refuse an offer of breakfast from a Baron, though I'm puzzled as to why the Baron would be wandering around Elath, apparently intending to eat in a tavern. Presumably, as a wealthy Baron, he has his own kitchens. The Baron soon lets me know his reasons. "You wouldn't believe the state of my house at this moment. Relatives everywhere. Wife's relations, mostly. Spongers to a man. Can't stand them myself, but you know what wives are like. Do you know what wives are like?"

  I tell the Baron that mine left me a long time ago.

  "Splendid news!" he exclaims. "Wish mine would take off, and take her relatives with her. I can't eat properly with these vultures at the table, it puts me off my food. Can't drink properly either, with my daughters tut-tutting every time I reach for a flagon." The Baron comes to a halt, eyeing the establishment ahead of us. "The Jolly Bandit? What's this place like?"

  "Serves a good ale," I tell him. "And not a bad beef pie."

  "Excellent!" cries the Baron, and heads straight in. The Jolly Bandit might not be frequented by the highest class of customer, but Baron Girimos isn't going to let that stand in his way. At this time in the morning, the tavern is empty save for a woman wiping tables, and a man rolling a barrel of beer into position behind the bar.

  "We need food and drink immediately!" cries the Baron.

  "I'm sorry, we haven't opened - "

  The Baron takes out a purse and slams some gold coins onto the counter. "Two tankards of your famous ale, and as many beef pies as you can fit onto a plate," says the Baron. "And I mean a large plate. Just pile them on a tray if you don't have one big enough."

  The man behind the bar, scoops up the gold. "Right away," he says, and begins shouting orders to some unseen figures in the kitchens beyond. I like this Baron a lot more than anyone else I've met in Samsarina. We take a table by a window, a solid piece of furniture designed to carry food and drink for the hungry man, and when the pies start arriving, we get to work. Baron Girimos downs his flagon of ale in one long gulp.

  "I hope you're not one of these people who thinks you shouldn't drink in the morning?" he says.

  "I've never seen any reason not to."

  "That's what I told my daughter only yesterday!" cries the Baron. "But she wouldn't listen. Waiter, more ale. Have you any cold pheasant in the larder? No? Duck? That'll do fine. Send it along."

  By this time, several waitresses are scurrying around, pressed into action by the unexpected arrival of a wealthy Baron. Bowls of steaming vegetables appear, along with bread, cheese and cold duck, Girimos having issued instructions to just bring everything as soon as it's ready.

  "Haven't eaten properly for a week," he exclaims, tucking into a hefty portion. "Damned relatives all over the place."

  I finish a second tankard of ale, take a temporary diversion through a bowl of buttered yams, and then get back to the beef pies.

  "That's not a bad pie," says the Baron. "Plenty of bee
f. Satisfying. Not like these silly little things my wife gets from her fancy chef. Reminds me of the pies the quartermaster used to have when we were campaigning in Grykur. Man needs a good bit of food when there's dragons pouring out of the sky. Ever been in Grykur?"

  "I was there in the war," I say. "Led my phalanx all the way over the Dragon-bone hills."

  "I was in the Dragon-bone hills too!" says the Baron, enthusiastically. "I was a young officer. Not many Orcs could stand up to my cavalry battalion, I can tell you. But it was tough. I remember we were outnumbered four to one going up Blackwing Rise, and the order came in to retreat. 'What's that?' I said. 'Retreat? The Ninth Battalion of the Samsarinan Cavalry does not retreat!' I told the bugler to blow the advance - waitress, where's our ale? We're thirsty over here!"

  A waitress rushes over with two more large tankards. She departs smiling, thanks to the Baron's generous tip. "Keep the ale coming," he calls after her. "Where was I? Ah yes, the bugler. I told him to sound the advance, and right that moment he took an arrow in the throat. Fell off his horse stone dead. So I picked up the bugle myself and sounded the charge. You should have seen us going up that hill! The Orcs fled when they saw us coming."

  "I was on Blackwing Rise too!" I say. "On the south side, with the infantry." I pick up the salt and pepper pots, and start manoeuvring them round the table, to illustrate our troop positions. "As I was leading the phalanx up the slope, the Fourth Orcish Regiment suddenly came over the hill, with a dragon behind them!" I pick up a small tumbler, to represent the Orcish forces, and start advancing the pepper pot.

  "I was here, with the cavalry," says the Baron, picking up a spoon and placing it beside a fork which represents a group of Western Sorcerers.

  "Not that the Sorcerers were much help," says the Baron.

  "They never are! All the hard work gets left to the soldiers." I notice my tankard is empty and there seems to be a lack of pies on the table. I open my mouth to roar for more but the kitchen is now fully operational and waitresses are already heading our way. As the morning progresses, the table submerges under a mass of condiments and cutlery, as the Baron and I re-create the campaign in the Dragon-Bone Hills in Grykur, of which the battle of Blackwing Rise was but one of many stirring events, albeit one in which the heroic performance of my phalanx was noted far and wide. At some point in the proceedings the Baron is on his feet with a long loaf of bread in his hands, illustrating the best way to cut down an opponent on horseback, while I pick up a tray and use it as a shield, demonstrating the way I led my men against the elite troops of the Fourth Orcish Regiment. By now it's approaching lunchtime and the tavern has a few more customers, though we're not paying much attention to them.