Thraxas and the Ice Dragon (2 page)

"At least we're not landing in Simnia," I mutter.

"What are the Samsarinans like?" asks Makri.

"Not as bad as the Simnians. Which doesn't mean they're all that great."

As we drift in towards Samsarina, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is pensive. It's weighing heavily on her mind that Turai fell while she was head of the Sorcerers Guild. I'd say she's being hard on herself. There were plenty of worse failures in the city. Our Royal Family, the intelligence services, the army. None of them covered themselves with glory. I did my part, of course, but as for the rest of the degenerate population, they crumbled under the pressure.

"News of Turai's fall will have reached here by now," mutters Lisutaris. "I'm probably assumed to be dead. Lasat Axe of Gold will be rubbing his hands at the prospect of a new election."

It's unfortunate for Lisutaris that we're heading into Samsarina, where Lasat is the Chief Sorcerer. During the recent election for Head of the Sorcerers Guild, the Turanian government blackmailed him to ensure Lisutaris's victory. I doubt he'll give us a friendly reception. Lisutaris lights up a thazis stick. She glances at the pouch in her hand. "I'm running out of thazis."

Lisutaris is a devotee of thazis. Normally a mild narcotic, the Sorcerer has taken its consumption to new levels. She's developed spells to make the plants grow faster, producing a much stronger variety than is commonly available. I doubt she could function without it. I have a notion that thazis might not be so tolerated in Samsarina as it was in Turai, but decide not to mention it. We drift in towards the Orange Cliffs.

"I've been here before," says Lisutaris. "We're not far from the port of Orosis. I know the harbour Sorcerer, Kublinos."

"So what's Samsarina like?" asks Makri. "Is it like Turai?"

I shake my head. "Not at all. It's mostly farmland. Barons and peasants. Though it's quite wealthy. Good farmland."

Lisutaris agrees with me. "It's not like Turai. No Senate, no Consul, no theatres, no university. Just a King and a lot of Barons vying for influence. Old-fashioned compared to our city." Lisutaris purses her lips. "Their Sorcerers didn't like it when a woman was elected Head of the Guild."

"Cheer up," I tell her. "We're war refugees. They're bound to sympathise."

"They won't sympathise if they think we let the Orcs beat us without a fight."

"Without a fight? " I scoff. "No one has ever accused Thraxas of giving up without a fight. Thraxas Dragon Heart, they used to call me."

"No they didn't," says Makri.

"Yes they did. I tell you Makri, you're in for a surprise. Don't forget, I won the sword-fighting championship in Samsarina. I doubt I'll be able to walk down the street without people recognising me. Wouldn't surprise me if they've put up a statue."

Makri looks at me dubiously. The sword-fighting championship in Samsarina is the most renowned contest of arms in the West. Makri never quite believes me when I tell her that I won it, twenty or so years ago. Of course I was in better shape in those days. Not so large around the waist.

"Just concentrate on not outraging the natives Makri, and we'll be fine. Don't act like a mad woman, a mad Orc, or any combination of the two. And keep your pointy ears hidden."

"You'll offend them a lot quicker than me, you fat oaf," retorts Makri. "How long till you're rolling around drunk?"

"That depends on how far we are from the nearest supply of beer."

We drift slowly along the shore till the port of Orosis comes into view, large and grey, its sombre harbour walls protecting ships from the harsh winter conditions.

"I'll be glad to get ashore," says Lisutaris. "I'm sick of eating fish."

Chapter Three

We come to rest on a grey, shingled beach a little way west of the harbour walls. A few seabirds squawk noisily overhead as we arrive. It's a cold morning and the sky is dull. Though we're nearing the end of winter there's no sign of the temperature rising.

"We should find Kublinos," says Lisutaris.

We set off in search of the Harbour Sorcerer. The shingle crunches under our feet as we scramble along the shore. At the end of the beach we're faced with a problem. The harbour walls sweep up towards the cliffs, leaving no gap.

"How do we get in?" asks Makri, and looks towards Lisutaris as if the Sorcerer might levitate us over the walls.

Lisutaris purses her lips. "I'm not sure. Is there a gate?" She takes out her pouch of thazis and frowns as she rolls herself a small stick. "Just as well we reached civilisation. I've almost run out."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," I tell her. "Thazis is illegal in Samsarina."

Lisutaris looks at me sharply. "I'm sure a supply will be forthcoming for the Head of the Sorcerers Guild."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, you probably shouldn't be smoking it when we arrive."

Lisutaris ignores me, and smokes her thazis stick as we walk along the foot of the walls. Finally we come to a small, locked door. Makri pounds on it. Nothing happens. Lisutaris frowns.

"I didn't cross the ocean in a leaky boat just to stand around on a cold beach for the rest of my life."

She raises her hand to cast a spell - which, I'm thinking, might not be the wisest thing to do, as no one likes having their harbour defences breached by strangers - when the door abruptly opens and a uniformed man stares at us suspiciously.

"Who are you?" he demands. Behind him I can see a few more guards with their weapons ready.

"Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, Head of the Sorcerers Guild," announces Lisutaris, grandly. "Take us to Harbour Sorcerer Kublinos."

To our surprise, the guard bursts out laughing. "You don't look like a Sorcerer." He turns his eyes on Makri, who, with her reddish skin, vast main of dark hair, pierced nose and man's tunic, does make for an unusual sight.

"What are you supposed to be?"

"Makri. Bodyguard to Lisutaris."

This produces further mirth. I shove my way to the front. "Do you have beer?'

"What?"

"Beer."

Lisutaris turns her head towards me. "Could the beer wait for a moment, Thraxas?" she says, quite frostily. "Guards, take us to Kublinos. Turai has fallen and I must consult with your Sorcerers."

The guards let us through the gate, though they're still suspicious. Lisutaris is famous throughout the West, but I'm not sure that they believe the bedraggled figure at their gates really is her. I keep an eye out for beer as we're led through the walls and into a guard house. There's a long delay while soldiers and lieutenants come and go, asking Lisutaris questions, and sending off messages. Lisutaris comes close to losing her temper, and informs the lieutenant that if he doesn't hurry things along she'll prove who she is by causing his head to explode. As she's now looking angry enough to do it, he gets the message, and rushes off to fetch Kublinos.

Lisutaris grunts in annoyance. "I knew Samsarina would be like this," she mutters to Makri. "If you think women have a hard time in Turai, wait till you've been here a while."

I'm distracted by the sound of clashing swords. Several men are practicing their fighting technique in the courtyard below.

"Officers make you practice a lot?' I ask the guard who's been left with us.

"That's Basinos, sword fighting champion of the southern armies. He's getting ready for the tournament."

Of course, the great sword fighting tournament. I hadn't realised it was so close.

"Is he a favourite?" I'm always keen to pick up tips in case there's an opportunity for gambling.

"One of the best in Samsarina. But there are a lot of good fighters. I'd say Elupus the Simnian will win it again this year."

I've heard of Elupus, of course. He's won tournaments all over the West. Makri comes over to watch. After studying Basinos's combat technique for a few seconds, she makes a small sound of derision.

"His defence is weak," she says. "I'd send him packing soon enough."

The guard grins at me. Makri might be carrying two swords and an axe but he obviously doesn't imagine she knows how to use them. I grin back at him, because it's just struck me that while Makri is one of the most lethal sword-fighters ever to enter an arena, she's completely unknown in Samsarina. If she were to enter the tournament, no one would give her a chance. The bookmakers' odds would be immense. A man could make a fine profit by backing her.

Finally an officer arrives to take us to Kublinos. "Send ahead for beer," I tell him, but I don't think he's really paying attention. He leads us through narrow streets lined with fish vendors and sail-makers' shops. As we turn a corner he indicates a large, rather splendid looking building in the distance.

"Kublinos's official residence."

Lisutaris draws herself up as we approach. Bedraggled or not, she still exudes power and dignity as she strides through the gate of Kublinos's residence, where we're greeted by a uniformed attendant.

"Tell Kublinos that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky is here."

"And we need beer immediately," I add.

"Pardon?" The servant looks confused.

"We need beer. The head of the Sorcerers Guild has just survived a dangerous voyage across the ocean. I'm shocked that no one yet has offered us beer. Bring flagons."

Lisutaris purses her lips. "My eh… Chief Adviser Thraxas… is… " She shakes her head. "Just give him some beer. And take me to Kublinos."

Lisutaris and Makri disappear down the purple carpet that leads to the main staircase while I head downstairs with a kitchen servant.

"Does the Sorcerer require any particular sort of beer?" he enquires.

"Hard to say. Just bring them all and I'll sample them. And don't stint on the flagons, keep bringing them till I tell you to stop."

I will say this for the Samsarinans - they may be a bunch of rural bumpkins who spend most of their time plodding along in fields, but they do produce some fine beer. Dark and full of flavour. With six or seven flagons inside me, and the remnants of four loaves of bread on the table, I start to feel more like myself again. For the first time since I was forced to flee Turai, life seems not quite so hopeless.

"Of course," I say, quite loudly, to the servant who brings me my eighth flagon. "You can't blame a man for feeling hopeless if he's stuck on a boat with a crazy Orc, a depressed Sorcerer, and no beer. Stronger spirits than mine would have quailed. Do you have any more bread? A few yams maybe?"

I notice my flagon is empty. "What's the matter? Is there a beer shortage? The Head of the Sorcerers Guild isn't going to be pleased when she hears you've been stingy with the ale."

It seems to me that the servant is a little tardy in bringing my ninth large flagon, but I don't make a fuss. After all, I'm a guest in this country. To show my appreciation of their hospitality, I rise to my feet, fling my arm round his shoulder and draw him close.

"You Samsarinans are not as bad as everyone says. Fine beer you have. Clears a man's head. You know, when I was on that boat I thought of packing it all in. Just let the Orcs walk over us. But now - " I take out my sword. The servant, possibly misinterpreting this, attempts to wriggle free. " -I'll chase these damned Orcs all the way back to the dirt hills they came from. Right after you've brought me more beer. Try using a decent sized tankard this time. And more food, damn it, don't you know how to treat a guest in this country? Where's Lisutaris? I'm her adviser, I should be advising her."

The servant hands me another flagon of ale, then leads me back upstairs, where he shows me into a reception room and asks me to wait. I'm in no mood for waiting. I march swiftly through the large door in front of me, arriving in a stateroom containing Makri, Lisutaris, Kublinos the Harbour Sorcerer, and a few others.

"We've wasted enough time on these pointless discussions!" I cry, banging my sword on the huge ornate desk in the middle of the room. "It's time for action! We need to organise an army and march back to Turai."

There's a brief silence. One of the men in the room, a beefy individual with blunt features and longish grey hair, looks at me in surprise, then turns to Lisutaris.

"Who is this?"

"My Chief Adviser," says Lisutaris, wearily.

"That's right!" I say. "And I advise you to stop talking and start marching."

Suddenly I feel quite suspicious of the grey-haired man. "Have you been talking about surrendering? Samsarinans never did have the stomach for a fight."

"How dare you talk to Baron Mabados like that!" cries an official with a fancy chain round his neck. I ignore him, having noticed a woman in a red gown standing in the doorway. She looks vaguely familiar. Possibly a servant I met on the way in.

"Could you bring me some beer? A flagon or two will do for now."

"Thraxas!" yells Lisutaris. "That is Baroness Demelzos."

I focus my eyes on the woman. Aquiline features, fancy sort of tiara-like thing stuck in her hair. I suppose she might be a Baroness.

"Is everybody in this room a member of the aristocracy? Isn't there anyone useful who might bring me a beer? They were quiet stingy in the kitchens."

"My kitchens are not stingy!" says Kublinos, offended.

At that moment, weakened perhaps by the rigours of my sea journey, a greet tiredness overwhelms me, and I'm forced to take a seat at the table. It's a fine comfy seat, plushly upholstered in soft brown leather. As I drift off to sleep I'm still feeling some resentment towards the Samsarinans for their frugal hospitality.

Chapter Four

I waken in a surprisingly comfortable bed. Soft mattress, feathered pillow and plenty of blankets. I can't remember how I got there. I'm still straining my memory when the door bursts open and Makri enters. I nod at her genially. Normally I find it annoying when Makri arrives without knocking -growing up in the Orcish Gladiator pits, she never learned any manners - but I let it pass.

"Good morning," I say.

"Thraxas you cusux," she barks, using a foul Orcish obscenity very rarely heard in the West. "Could you possibly be any more of a fool? No, you couldn't. You're number one chariot among fools." She leans over the bed. "Do you have any idea of the trouble you've caused? Lisutaris is trying to organise a war against the Orcs and you almost ruin everything because you couldn't wait five minutes before getting drunk and behaving abominably."