Thraxas and the Ice Dragon (19 page)

"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."

"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."

Makri 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.