Thraxas and the Ice Dragon (24 page)

"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 thrusts 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.

"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 sleep," 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.