by Martin Scott
"Thraxas set a gang on children on the Sorcerers."
"I kept getting knocked around," says Makri.
"There was a lot of sorcery coming in your direction," explains Lisutaris. "I couldn't deflect it all."
"I took several mighty blows in your defence," I say. "But you're welcome. You don't have to thank me."
"Did I win the fight fairly?" asks Makri.
"Of course," replies Lisutaris, who, I have noticed, is a very smooth liar, when not addled by thazis. "Once the Sorcerers were out the picture I let things take their course."
"I will report this outrage to the King!" screams a voice in my ear. It's Lasat Axe of Gold. With his face sporting several bruises, and the remains of four or five rotten tomatoes still clinging to his rainbow cloak, he's not looking very impressive.
"What outrage?" I ask.
"These infernal children!"
I laugh, good-naturedly. "I did notice the little scamps running around. Children will have their fun."
"They pelted me with fruit and vegetables!"
"And me!" cries Charius, arriving in an even worse state than Lasat. "It's an intolerable affront!"
"They never came near me," says Lisutaris.
"Of course not," I say. "You're Head of the Guild. They respect you."
"I know you were behind this!" yells Lasat.
"I know nothing about it," says Lisutaris, calmly.
"I intend to give a full report to the King."
"Report what?" I ask. "That the children interfered with your illegal attempt to sabotage Makri?"
Several more fruit-splattered Samsarina Sorcerers arrive, none of them looking happy. Things are threatening to get out of hand when Baron Mabados strides into our midst.
"Silence!" he roars. "As Baron responsible for this tournament, I'm not happy about these events. And neither is the King." The Baron looks at both Lisutaris and Lasat. "The King has called a meeting, to be held before the final."
"I shall be happy to attend," says Lasat. "There is much the King needs to know about our Turanian visitors."
Lasat turns on his heel and walks off with as much dignity as he can muster, given the amount of fruit and vegetables still clinging to his apparel. I leave the field with Makri and Lisutaris.
"Well, this is it," says Lisutaris. "Lasat is going to tell the King we've lost Arichdamis's plans. He's just been waiting for a good opportunity to announce it."
"If he does, just deny it," suggests Makri.
"How can I, if he produces them? I'm going to be completely discredited."
"Cheer up," I say. "We've coped with worse. And we've just won another 10,000 gurans. Didn't I tell you I was the finest gambler in Turai?"
Makri laughs. "It was funny seeing Lasat covered in fruit." Lisutaris laughs too, and so do I. It was funny, and it's generally agreed that as plans go, mine was particularly effective.
"But we won't get away with that again," says Lisutaris. "The final is going to be tough."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Makri and I head towards Big Bixo's. All around, festivities are gathering pace, in readiness for the midnight finale.
"Makri, you see that man walking past the beer tent?"
"The one with the bandage on his arm?"
"That's one of the men who attacked me in the alley. He had a helmet on but I recognise his red hair. And his wound. Are you up for some action?"
"Of course. Are we going to kill him?"
"Not right away. I want to know who sent him after me."
We follow the man at a distance as he walks past a row of tents, slowly making his way from the festival towards the town.
"So you're going to ask him questions?" says Makri.
"Yes."
Makri comes to a halt. "I'm not doing it."
"What do you mean you're not doing it?"
"I know what you have in mind. You want me to play Orc Demon Woman so he'll be frightened."
"Does that bother you?"
"You know it bothers me! It's demeaning."
"Come on Makri, you've done it before. Just make sure your pointy ears are showing, and you have that crazy look in your eyes. Yes, like that, that's good. Now hurry up of we'll lose him."
We catch up with our prey on the dark path between the last tents and the first building of Elath, managing to take him completely by surprise. I grab him and bundle him behind a tree, then draw my sword.
"You tried to kill me," I say. "I want to know why."
"Go to hell."
The man takes a step, as if to flee, but I put my sword at his chest. "Were you working for Big Bixo?"
He looks at me defiantly. "I'm not telling you anything, fat man."
"Maybe you'd like my sword in your heart?"
"You're not going to do that, Turanian dog. Not while you're working for Lisutaris. You can't get her into trouble, can you?"
He has a point. I wasn't expecting him to be so well-informed.
"I might not do it," I tell him. "But she certainly will."
On cue, Makri appears from behind the tree. Her long, thick hair is dishevelled, matted over her face and shoulders, and she has a crazed look in her eyes. She draws her black Orcish sword. It's a dark, ugly weapon. Rather than reflecting light, it seems to suck it in. With one swift movement she grabs the man's hair and places the edge of her sword at his throat. "This sword was forged by demons in an Orcish furnace beneath the cursed mountain of Zarax," she snarls. "It'll drink your soul and send you down to Orcish hell. The legion of the Orcish-damned will torture you forever."
Makri uses her other hand to sweep her hair back. "You see these ears? They grow sharper with each human soul I drink! Die, Human, and meet the Orcish Dead!"
Makri raise her sword. The man cries out in fear. "Don't let her kill me! Magranos sent me after you!"
"Who's Magranos?"
"Chief Steward to Baron Vosanos."
"Why did he send you?"
"I don't know? He just wanted you dead! Get me away from this demon!"
I nod to Makri. She sheathes her sword. The man takes off at a run and disappears without looking back.
"Good job scaring him," I tell Makri. "Messing up your hair was a nice touch."
"It's so humiliating," she says. "I don't even believe in Orcish Hell." We walk on. "So what did you learn?"
"I'm not sure. Magranos, Chief Steward to Baron Vosanos? Why would the Baron want me out the way?"
"His daughter is marrying Demelzos's son, isn't he?"
"He is. And it sounds like he doesn't like me poking around." I notice Makri hasn't sheathed her sword, which is unusual. She normally keeps it covered. The mere sight of the foul Orcish blade can cause anger and revulsion in the West. "Why are you looking at your sword?"
"I'm wondering about its powers. It can't really send anyone to Orcish Hell, but it is strong. It was forged under Mount Zarax. The Orcs say blades from that furnace can cut through anything, even objects protected by sorcery." Makri unsheathes her second sword, a bright silver blade from the Elvish Isles. "Don't Elvish swords have some powers over sorcery too?"
"Where is this conversation going?"
"Nowhere," says Makri, sheathing her swords. "I was just wondering."
I look at her suspiciously. "Are you planning on destroying something sorcerous?"
"No."
"Well make sure you don't. We're already in enough trouble."
Makri sheathes her swords. The Elvish blade was a gift from the Elves on Avula, and as for the Orcish sword, she either won it as a gladiator, or looted it when she slaughtered everyone while making her escape from the East. I'm not sure which. She'll have another fine blade if she wins the tournament, as part of her prize.
Arichdamis's house is empty. All the servants have gone to the festival. I round up some food from the cellars. It's now early evening.
"Look," says Makri. "I found you a beer in the kitchen."
I accept it gratefully.
"You should slee
p," she says.
"I don't think we have time. Lisutaris is meeting the King. We should be there. And we've still got to visit Big Bixo before the final."
"There's enough time," says Makri. "I'll wake you."
I look at Makri, then shrug, and lie down on the couch where I doze peacefully for a while. When Makri shakes me awake it's dark outside. I yawn, stretch, and buckle on my sword before we make the return journey. Though Elath is now dark, there's a glow coming from the tournament fields in the distance, from torches and bonfires. Makri asks me if I've had any more thoughts on the case I'm working on.
"Some. I think I know what's been going on. I'll need to visit the King's Record House again."
"I'll come with you tomorrow," says Makri.
"If you win the tournament you'll still be celebrating."
"I won't be."
"You should celebrate."
We walk on, past the tree where Makri frightened my assailant. "I know you freed the dragon," I say.
"What?"
"I know you freed the dragon."
"No I didn't! And how could you possibly know anyway?"
"When you bring me beer and encourage me to sleep, I'd say it's a good sign you want me out the way for a while. And when you're wondering if your swords can cut through sorcery…" I halt, and turn to my companion. "So, what happened?"
"It took a while. But I managed to cut the ropes and branches. I made a big enough gap for the dragon to get through."
"What happened then?"
"He licked my face, and flew off."
I nod.
"Don't tell Lisutaris," says Makri. "She might not like it."
"That you've gone directly against the King's orders, and freed the creature that was his pride and joy? Yes, I'd say she might not like it."
"Do you think it would affect her status?"
"I think it would get her thrown out of the country. And you executed, if the King finds out you're responsible. If we're lucky, he'll think that Lasat's sorcery wasn't strong enough to hold it."
I regard Makri's actions as extremely foolish, and almost bound to have dire consequences, but I can't raise that much emotion about it. So much has happened over the past few weeks that one small dragon flying around freely doesn't seem to matter that much. With war approaching, it won't be that long till I'm standing in the middle of a phalanx with a spear in my hand, holding my shield over my head, as a much larger and deadlier dragon swoops down to attack. Probably with an Orcish Sorcerer on its back, firing spells.
"The Orcs will march soon," I say. "If we don't get our War Leader sorted out we'll be in trouble."
"Maybe it will be decided at the meeting," suggests Makri.
It takes us a while to force our way through the crowds at the edge of the tournament, on our way to the King's Meeting House. There are soldiers guarding the approach but they let us through with only a brief search. A few of the soldiers even congratulate Makri on her performances in the tournament, and wish her well. Maybe she'll have a few supporters. Elupus is a Simnian, after all, and Samsarina has never got along all that well with Simnia.
"You're late," hisses Lisutaris as we enter the building through the marble gateway.
"My fault," I say. "I was drinking beer and sleeping. What's happening?"
"Baron Mabados is complaining to the King that the integrity of his tournament has been compromised by sorcery."
"There's no arguing with that. Have you told him it was Lasat who started it?"
"The Samsarinan Sorcerers are blaming me."
At that moment the raised voices of the Barons are quietened as Daringos, the King's Steward, rises to speak. "This is all very unsatisfactory. The sword-fighting tournament is known far and wide. Samsarina's reputation will be damaged if people believe it's no longer honest. The King is deeply shocked that sorcery has been allowed to intrude." Behind him, on his throne, the King nods, letting us know he is indeed shocked.
"What happened to the Tournament Sorcerer?" asks the Simnian Ambassador. "Isn't he responsible for preventing this sort of thing?"
"I've done my best," says Markinos Moonstone. "But remarkably powerful sorcery has been employed." He glares at Lisutaris, as if it's all her fault.
"What do you have to say to this, Mistress of the Sky?" demands Daringos.
Rather than denying everything, Lisutaris decides to go on the offensive. "I had no choice. The Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild have been trying to interfere with my fighter. I was obliged to defend her."
"Nonsense!" cries Charius. "We are completely innocent. It's my belief that Lisutaris's malign spells have been entirely responsible for carrying her protégé this far."
"Makri wouldn't have needed my help if you hadn't attacked her."
"So you admit you've been helping her?" says Charius.
"There should be no sorcery used at all," says Baron Mabados. "I insist it stops."
"I shall certainly not become involved,' says Lasat, grandly.
"Oh, nonsense," I say, addressing the King's Steward. "As Lisutaris's Chief Adviser, I can confirm that Lasat started this whole business. And he's going to keep on doing it. He'll be firing spells all the way through the final, no matter what he says."
"This is outrageous!" says Lasat. "How dare these Turanian refugees cast aspersions on me. I demand satisfaction!"
"I demand you stop using sorcery."
"There must me no more interference!" insists Daringos. "The contest must be fair."
To the discomfiture of the Samsarinans, the Simnians and Niojans take the opportunity to voice some criticisms of Samsarinan incompetence, which annoys everyone, and threatens to derail the meeting. Charius the Wise - who, I should mention, I have never heard utter anything particularly wise - bangs his staff on the ground to get people's attention.
"I have a suggestion," he says.
"Speak, Charius," says the Chief Steward. "Your council is always worth hearing."
"Perhaps the best course of action would be simply to allow Lasat and Lisutaris to do as they please."
"I don't follow you."
"Give them permission to support their fighters in any way they can. Use whatever sorcery they want. Lisutaris can support Makri and Lasat can support Elupus. Let the best sorcerer and fighter win. After all, we've been wondering how to choose a War Leader. Why not let them fight it out?"
Baron Mabados starts to object, but the young King chooses this moment to speak. "I like this! That's what we should do. Lasat and Lisutaris can use their sorcery to support their fighters, and whoever wins I'll support as War Leader."
The King is smiling, obviously taken with the idea. That's enough to convince his Barons. Even the Ambassadors don't seem to object. But from the way Lasat and Charius are looking pleased with themselves, I can tell we're being outmanoeuvred.
"One moment," I say. "Lisutaris will have no problem facing Lasat, but what about the rest of the Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild? It's hardly fair if they all join in against her."
"I'm sure that won't happen," says the King. "Lasat, will that happen?"
"Certainly not, Sire. You have my word that none but I shall use my power."
"Are we meant to believe that?" I look round for support. None is forthcoming. Apparently the King and his Barons actually believe the Samsarinan Sorcerers will play fair. Or they're pretending to believe it, more likely.
"How do you feel about this, Mistress of the Sky?" asks the King.
Lisutaris knows as well as I do that there's no chance of a fair contest, but she's in a difficult position. The King trusts his sorcerers, so it will look bad for her to accuse them of being a bunch of cheats. It will look worse if she refuses the challenge. "That is acceptable to me," she says.
"Splendid," says King Gardos. "It should be an entertaining contest."
The meeting breaks up into a great gaggle of excited talk.
"So it's us against the whole Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild," says Lisutaris, as we head for the exit.
"This isn't fair," I say. "We shouldn't have accepted."
"We didn't seem to have a choice. Charius backed us into a corner. Maybe he's not as stupid as I've always thought."
"Makri," I say. "Try and win the fight before too many spells hit me. They're really painful."
"The Samsarinans will target all of us," says Lisutaris. "It's going to be difficult."
We leave the King's Meeting House, following a stream of Barons, Sorcerers, Ambassadors, Generals, servants and officials, all heading for the tournament fields. The cloudy sky above is dark red, reflecting the glowing bonfires. The air is thick with the aroma of roasting oxen, and noisy with minstrel music and drinking songs. When we reach the edge of the tournament field Lisutaris once again supplies me with the deflecting spell.
"Try actually deflecting some this time," she suggests. "Instead of just letting them bounce off you." She checks my spell-protection charm, and Makri's too. At this moment Lasat will be doing the same for Elupus.
"I wish I could just fight him fairly," says Makri. "I'd beat him."
She would. Makri's recent performances in the arena have been superb. I'd tell her that if she wasn't already big-headed enough about her fighting technique.
"Thraxas, can I have a word?"
I look round. It's Baroness Demelzos, accompanied by a servant, who hangs back, out of earshot.
"Baroness. I don't have much time."
"I know. But the wedding is meant to be tomorrow and Merlione is still refusing to leave the house."
"I think that's quite sensible."
"You can't imagine the trouble it's causing. My husband says he's lost patience. And my son just can't understand why she won't come to the wedding. Are you any nearer to finding out what's been going on?"
"Yes."
"You are?" The Baroness looks surprised.
"I have a good idea of what's behind it all. I don't have any proof yet. If I can, I'll visit you tomorrow, in the morning. Maybe I'll have something for you then."
Demelzos looks momentarily hopeful. "Well at least that's something." She frowns. "Thraxas, from the way your female companions are staring at me, I'm guessing they know about our past."
"I mentioned it to them."
"That was hardly gallant."
"I've never been accused of gallantry."