Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

by Martin Scott

  "I think you have an idea why."

  "No I don't."

  "I've been down all the usual channels, Merlione. Lovers, rivals, finances, family feuds, blackmail. No one's telling me anything. People don't get murdered for no reason. Well, not Baron's daughters anyway. Someone has a reason for trying to kill you and I'm starting to think you know what it is."

  "I don't."

  "You're lying."

  Merlione's cheeks flush with anger. At least I've discomfited her. "Perhaps you're just not a very good investigator."

  "I'm number one chariot at investigating. Everyone says so. Tell me what you know."

  "I don't know anything."

  ""Do you mind that your brother inherits everything and you get nothing?"

  Merlione looks at me in surprise. "What? Why would I?"

  "Why wouldn't you? It's your mother's Queenstone mines that are keeping the family going. Now she's giving one to Orgodas for his wedding. And when your father dies Orgodas will inherit the rest. Does that make you angry?"

  "What if it did?" Merlione's voice is raised. She's angry all right, though mostly at me. "What does this have to do with anything?"

  "I don't know. Maybe it's a clue. Tell me about it."

  "It seems my father was right about you," says Merlione, regaining her composure. "You have no skills at all. You should leave."

  I stare at her for a long moment, then turn round and walk out the reception room. In the hall outside there's a portrait of her father, in full military uniform. It's a poor painting. Samsarinans have never been any good at art. I'm starting to dislike them as much as Simnians.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  As soon as I arrive back at Arichdamis's house, I sense sorcery. Perhaps Lisutaris is practicing. If she ever practices, that is; I'm not certain. Maybe it all comes easily and she doesn't have to. Arichdamis appears in the corridor, trudging mournfully towards the front door. It's a while since I've seen the old mathematician looking happy. Having house guests doesn't seem to agree with him.

  "Sorcerers," he mutters, as he passes me. "Always arguing."

  "Who's arguing?"

  "Lisutaris and Lasat. And Charius. I don't like any of them."

  "Is Makri around?"

  "She's arguing too." The mathematician regards me wearily. "Have you found my plans for the crossbow?"

  "No."

  "I'm ruined," he groans.

  "I wouldn't put it that strongly. You can draw up another set."

  "The complex mathematics involved makes that a lengthy task," he tells me. "And for what? I'll still be disgraced when it's learned they were stolen from my house."

  "Lisutaris will be disgraced too."

  "As she deserves," says Arichdamis, and sounds cross. "If she'd only been able to control her unnatural appetite for thazis, they wouldn't have disappeared in the first place."

  "Don't worry, we'll find your plans."

  Arichdamis doesn't look convinced, and shakes his head sadly before leaving. As soon as he's gone, a tremendous commotion breaks out at the far end of the house. Voices are raised and doors slam. I recognise Makri's voice and I'm surprised to discover she's shouting at Lisutaris.

  "Why did you drag me away?"

  "Because it's not something we can argue with Lasat about."

  "Why not?"

  "The dragon has to be caged!" says Lisutaris. "What else is the King going do? Let it fly around?"

  "He shouldn't have brought it here in the first place if he was going to put it in a cage," says Makri.

  "I really don't see what your objection is. Lasat has to work these spells to contain it."

  "It's not appropriate." Makri sounds very unhappy.

  "Not appropriate? What is appropriate for a dragon? The only other times I've encountered them I've been trying to kill them. So have you."

  "I don't care," says Makri. "I don't like it."

  Lisutaris finally notices my presence. "Thraxas! Can you make any sense of this?"

  "Of course."

  "You can?"

  "Makri doesn't like to see some noble wild beast thrown in a cage. It reminds her of her own upbringing."

  Lisutaris pauses, and looks surprised at my insight. Makri glowers at me. "I told you never to talk to me again," she mutters.

  I'm ready for this, and whip Demelzos's fancy notebook from the pocket of my tunic. The queenstone jewel in the cover glints in the sunlight that's streaming through the back door. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to lead you into the tournament field. I brought you this."

  I hand the book to Makri, who stares at it, puzzled.

  "Highest-quality vellum," I add. "Excellent for taking notes during your intellectual pursuits."

  Makri looks at the jewel set in the cover, then undoes the silver clasp to examine the notebook. It really is a fine item. The wealthiest student at the best university in the West wouldn't have anything better. Makri abruptly bursts into tears and runs out the room, something which does not entirely surprise me. Lisutaris, on the other hand, is baffled.

  "What just happened?" she asks.

  "I just made things up with Makri. I told you it would be all right."

  "How did you make things up?"

  "With a well-chosen gift. Makri is very susceptible to gifts. Because of her background, you see." I'm pleased with myself, and let it show. "Of course, not any old gift will do. It has to be right. I spent a long time hunting round Elath, looking for something special. Must have been in twenty shops before I found that notebook."

  Lisutaris shakes her head. "There's something not quite right about this."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  "I mean that you upsetting Makri with your appalling behaviour and then getting away with it just by handing her a present doesn't seem fair, somehow. I'm sure you don't deserve to be in the clear."

  "Well," I say, reaching into the small bag I'm carrying. "I may make the occasional blunder. "But Thraxas of Turai is always willing to admit his mistakes, and rectify them. Back in Twelve Seas, I was well-known for my tact. Here, I brought you these." I hand a bunch of flowers to Lisutaris.

  "Flowers?"

  "To apologise for your inconvenience in having to visit Big Bixo's betting shop."

  "I hope you're not expecting me to start crying."

  "Of course not. The flowers are merely a small token of apology, and a sign of the tremendous esteem in which I hold you."

  "Oh." Lisutaris seems quite taken aback. "Well thank you. I'll put them in water."

  "You're welcome." I make a swift retreat, while I'm on top. All in all, it's been a successful morning. One moment the house is full of women who are angry at Thraxas. Next moment, everything is rosy. Who would have guessed, back in Turai, when Tanrose first told me that buying Makri flowers would have positive results, that the same tactic would prove so useful in the future? I'd never have stumbled on the idea myself.

  After my busy morning, I could do with some rest. I retire to my room, remove my boots, lie down, drag the cover over me, and sink into a refreshing sleep.

  Later in the day, as we make ready to leave, harmony has almost returned to the household. Lisutaris has her hand on Makri's shoulder, casting a minor healing spell on one of the many bruises she's picked up during the tournament. Lisutaris doesn't specialise in healing but she's quite capable of dealing with most injuries. Treating Makri's wounds with sorcery is allowed under tournament rules, providing any spell used has worn off by the time the fighters enter the ring.

  "Not that anyone seems to be caring much about the rules any more," says Lisutaris. "I'm expecting Lasat and his cohorts to go all out to stop Makri today."

  I agree. Lasat won't want to risk Makri reaching the final, and facing Elupus. Lisutaris again gives me the spell of deflection, to help her hold off enemy sorcery.

  "If the Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild really makes a mass attack, it's going to be difficult to hold them off," I say.

  "I know. But Makri's got a good spell prot
ection necklace, it's not that easy to hit her. We might be able to protect her."

  I'm still not looking forward to the Sorcerous barrage I'm letting myself in for. I have another plan of action already ticking over in my head, though I'm not going to mention it to Lisutaris. Makri's opponent in the semi-final is Bhuralin, a swordsman from Kamara, north west of Samsarina. I've seen him fight and I was impressed by his technique. Makri picks up her sword and shield.

  "Thanks for the notebook."

  "You're welcome."

  "But I wasn't crying because of that," says Makri. "I was just upset about the dragon."

  Lisutaris's carriage is outside. As always, there's a gang of children and a few older youths hanging around, gawking at Makri. I hang back for a few moments, talking to them. Then we ride towards the edge of town, where the crowd is already dense as the tournament nears its climax. Both semi-finals will be held in the late afternoon and the final will take place at midnight, by torchlight. After that there's drinking, dancing and feasting round bonfires. I'm looking forward to the drinking and feasting. I haven't felt the urge to dance for a while.

  "Makri, do you know how queenstone got its name?"

  "It's said it was named after Queen Eferinis."

  "Wasn't she just a legend?"

  "The stories about her are semi-legendary, but my old history professor thought she probably did exist. She was meant to have discovered queenstone in the Samsarinan mountains with her sorcery. She gave it to her daughters so they were splendidly arrayed when the Star-God's sons came to visit. That part's probably legendary."

  There are so many people converging on the tournament that we're unable to drive the whole way, and have to get out of the carriage and walk. We pass an impressive bonfire, beside a line of spits for roasting beef.

  "Best bit of the whole event," I say. "Free food."

  Minstrels wander through the crowd. It's a cheerful scene, though once again I can sense the air of abandonment that takes hold when war is just around the corner. Young couples dance, holding onto each other as if it's the last chance they'll ever get. As well as the revellers, there are a lot of Sorcerers present. Lasat Axe of Gold has brought his Guild out in force. Lisutaris accompanies Makri to her changing room. Someone taps me on the shoulder. It's Kublinos.

  "I hear you've been sneaking round Lisutaris again," he says.

  "I don't need to sneak around her. I'm her adviser and we live in the same house."

  "Her adviser? Does that normally include bringing her flowers?"

  I sigh. I should have known he'd soon learn about that. Arichdamis's servants are no doubt as keen on gossiping as everyone else. "Kublinos, I'm fed up with this. I have no romantic interest in Lisutaris. Not that it makes the slightest difference, because she'd never go for a fop like you anyway, with your fancy cloak and that ridiculous necklace. Do you think Lisutaris would be interested in some overdressed puppy who's never even been to war?"

  Kublinos glares at me with loathing. "How dare you speak to me like that! I am a senior Sorcerer!"

  "Turai had a better Sorcerer than you in every tavern."

  Kublinos expression becomes even grimmer. "You will regret this," he says. "You are now my enemy for life." With that, he disappears into the crowd. A bit over-dramatic, I'd say, but probably what you'd expect from a Samsarinan Sorcerer who prances round in a fancy cloak.

  Lisutaris and Makri appear. Makri has a new breastplate, courtesy of General Hemistos, along with her new sword, both of superior quality. Good quality equipment or not, she still looks small in comparison to Bhuralin of Kamara, another very large swordsman. It's going to be a tough fight, particularly if the Samsarinan Sorcerers get involved. Even if she gets past Bhuralin, she still has to fight Elupus. I'm suddenly gripped by the feeling that this whole enterprise might not have been fair on Makri.

  "Do you want to do this?" I ask her.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You've had too many fights already. Maybe you should just stop now."

  "I can't stop," protests Makri. "Lisutaris needs me to win."

  "Lasat needs you to lose. The semi-final's going to be tough. The Marshals aren't so picky about illegal blows. More or less anything goes. If some Samsarinan Sorcerer manages to get a good spell onto your opponents sword, he's liable to take your head off."

  "No one's taking my head off," declares Makri. "Lisutaris, tell Thraxas he's talking nonsense."

  "I think Thraxas may be right," says Lisutaris, surprising us. "You're had a lot of fights. When I encouraged you to enter the competition, I didn't realise it was so dangerous. Maybe we should just call it a day."

  "But you'd lose 10,000 gurans to Lasat."

  "We can afford it. We've got more than 12,000 already."

  "But Lasat will be War Leader!"

  "Perhaps. Perhaps not. We can come up with another way of boosting my status."

  Makri looks from Lisutaris to me, and back to Lisutaris. "I need to fight," she says. "I can't give in. I'd never feel right again."

  "Very well," says Lisutaris. She looks around her. "Has anyone seen Kublinos? He was meant to meet me here."

  "I may have scared him off," I admit. "Also, he's declared me his enemy for life."

  "How did that happen? We were only gone five minutes."

  "I have a talent for offending people."

  "Couldn't you have waited?" says Lisutaris. "I was hoping he'd give me information on Lasat's plans."

  "That probably won't happen now. I'm off to place our bet. Bixo's going to regret he ever met me."

  "He already does," says Lisutaris. "Didn't he send these men to kill you?"

  "Possibly. Though I don't have any proof he was behind it."

  Despite Makri's impressive performances, she isn't favourite for the fight. She's quoted at evens. Her opponent, Bhuralin of Kamara, is eight to eleven. That might be because Bhuralin has already won a few smaller tournaments, and people have been talking about him as a potential challenger to Elupus. But I wonder if word has leaked out to the public that the Samsarinan Sorcerers are going to sabotage Makri. That would certainly make her a less attractive proposition to bet on.

  As before, Bixo won't take a bet of more than 5000 gurans. I place this on Makri, then travel the short distance to Generous Ges's shop, and do the same again. I hurry back to the tournament, just in time to lead Makri out onto the field. Her reception is noisy, but still mostly hostile. Bhuralin gets a far better ovation. He's tall and broad, with some very noticeable scarring down one side of his face. He strides out confidently, looking like a young fighter on the way up, which he is.

  As the Marshal prepares to start the fight I leave the field quickly. Already my senses are tingling. Now that I'm carrying Lisutaris's spell, I can feel sorcery everywhere. I take up position next to her. Lasat is not too far away, standing with Charius and two more of their Guild. Other rainbow cloaks can be seen all round the arena. The Marshal drops his flag. Bhuralin and Makri advance slowly toward each other. A great roar goes up from the crowd. Immediately I sense a spell heading towards Makri and try to deflect it. This causes the spell to hit me in the face and knock me over. I get to my feet, yelling angrily, to find Bhuralin retreating, having lost his footing. Lisutaris seems to have got a spell of her own in, perhaps as a result of me having taken the brunt of the attack. Makri closes with Bhuralin but as her blade flickers over the top of his shield she herself loses her footing, and stumbles backwards.

  "Damn," mutters Lisutaris. Her fingers are twitching, as she tries to locate and deflect the huge amount of Samsarinan sorcery now flying around the arena. I sense another attack and manage to bring Lisutaris's spell into action, deflecting the bolt of sorcery away from Makri, but the effort sends me reeling backwards into the man behind me, who curses me for my clumsiness. So far I've taken two mighty blows, which is more than either of the combatants have, as they struggle to come grips with the other. People in the crowd are starting to wonder out loud just what is happening. Makri t
hrusts her sword at Bhuralin but the blade stops in mid-air, impossibly, and Makri is jarred backwards.

  Suddenly a tomato flies over the crowd and hits Lasat in the face. To my great satisfaction, the tomato is immediately followed by several heavy yams. Charius the Wise finds himself assailed by a barrage of apples. The scene is repeated all around the arena, as every Samsarinan Sorcerer comes under attack from a hail of fruit and vegetables. There's some laughter from the crowd, even as Makri and Bhuralin continue their struggle

  "What's going on?" says Lisutaris.

  "My back-up plan," I explain. "I bribed the children."

  It cost me forty gurans, which was more than I expected, but the youth in charge drove quite a hard bargain. Having said that, there's no denying he's organised things well. Children dart in and out of the huge crowd, armed with an assortment of yams, apples, cabbages and tomatoes, continually pelting the Samsarinan Sorcerers. The Sorcerers find themselves in an awkward position. They can't blast Samsarinan children with lethal spells. Even warding them off is difficult, given that there are people everywhere, and any spell directed at the children is bound to hit members of the crowd too.

  "Now the fight will be fair," I say.

  "To hell with that," mutters Lisutaris. She opens her palm, whispers a word, and discretely sends a spell into the arena. Bhuralin's shield drops out of position. Makri is on him in a flash. As her sword connects with his neck he crashes to the ground and his helmet flies off. Makri stands over him with her sword point at his throat.

  "Lethal Stroke," says the Marshal.

  "Never tell Makri I did that," says Lisutaris.

  By now there is a scene of incredible chaos all around. Children are screaming and laughing as they run through the crowd, still throwing fruit. Sorcerers are yelling and running after them. Stewards pursue them all, with little success, as the children dart through tiny gaps where they can't be followed. Seeing their ragged little bodies go, and examining the mayhem they've wrought, I'm satisfied that my forty guran bribe was money well-spent. Lisutaris and I stroll into the arena to escort Makri from the field.

  "What's going on?" demands Makri.