Thraxas and the Ice Dragon (12 page)

"I don't see why not. There's not been many warriors like Saxarth the Invincible, I can tell you."

Makri laughs. "Never mind. At least Demelzos remembers you fondly."

This brings Lisutaris to an abrupt halt. "Baroness Demelzos? What does she remember fondly?"

"Thraxas."

"Why?"

"They had a passionate affair, a long time ago."

The Sorceress gapes. "Thraxas had an affair with Baroness Demelzos? Is this true?"

"She wasn't Baroness Demelzos then," I say. "She was Demmy the barmaid."

"I can't believe it," says Lisutaris. "Thraxas and Demelzos? The mind reels."

I'm not feeling very pleased by any of this. For one thing, Makri shouldn't have blabbed about it, and for another, Lisutaris doesn't have to react as if it's the strangest occurrence in the history of the world.

"Why were you so rude to her in Orosis?" asks Lisutaris.

"I didn't recognise her. It was more than twenty years since I'd seen her. And I'd had one or two beers."

"It must have been a shock for the Baroness," says Makri. "Seeing her past return to haunt her in the shape of Thraxas. No woman could be prepared for that."

"You should have told me this earlier!" cries Lisutaris. "Have you had affairs with any other members of the Samsarinan aristocracy?"

"Is it any of your business?"

"Of course. You're my Chief Adviser. I don't want to be discomfited by shocking revelations from the past. Does Baron Mabados know about this?"

"No."

"That's just as well."

"I knew Demelzos before she ever met the Baron," I point out. "It's not like she cheated on him."

"He'd still be furious. How would he feel if the other Barons learned his wife was once rolling around with a sword-fighter?"

"I don't care what Baron Mabados feels about anything. Here's the Marquee we're looking for."

I head inside to make enquiries, leaving Lisutaris and Makri beside the area sectioned off for fighters to warm up. The organisers have just completed the draw for the qualifying rounds and are busy pinning up lists of fighters. There are forty-eight hopefuls, of whom sixteen will qualify for the tournament proper. The organisers have divided these forty-eight fighters into eight groups of six. I already know the rules but I scan them again, just to be certain. All the fighters in each group fight each other once. The winner is awarded one point. The top two from each group qualify for the real competition. Makri will have five fights. She shouldn't have any difficulty finishing in the top two. The only bad thing is that Makri's group is the last to be scheduled, which means a long wait.

I head back to the warm-up area where Makri is now in conversation with General Hemistos. Kublinos has also put in appearance and is standing close to Lisutaris. I tell Makri what's expected of her.

"I'll win the group," she says, matter-of-factly.

"You should warm up," I suggest.

Makri shrugs. "I won't be fighting for a while. I'll do it later."

"Ah, Mistress of the Sky," comes a voice. It's Lasat Axe of Gold, in the company of Chief Steward Daringos. He glances towards the Marquee. "Qualifying round? Best of luck. My fighter, Elupus, doesn't have to qualify, of course."

I'm surprised at the pettiness of this. For the nation's top Sorcerer, Lasat never misses an opportunity to make some footling criticism.

"Elupus is a strong favourite," continues Lasat. "What do the bookmakers have to say about your young lady?"

"Nothing," I say, muscling my way into the conversation. "Which is unfortunate for them, because we're cleaning up when Makri wins the tournament."

"Really? What say you, Lisutaris, to a small bet on whose fighter progresses furthest?"

"I say that's a good idea," replies Lisutaris, rising to the bait. With so many Barons looking on, it would be difficult not to.

"Say five thousand gurans?"

I blink. That's a lot of money when you don't have any.

Lisutaris doesn't blink. "Only five thousand? I thought you were confident. Let's make it ten."

Lasat is taken aback, though he does his best not to show it. "Ten thousand? Very well. To whoever goes furthest in the tournament."

Lasat bids us farewell, and departs with a smile on his face. Throughout all this Makri has shown no sign of emotion. Kublinos, however, is very concerned.

"Ten thousand gurans? I don't mean to be rude… " He casts a glance towards Makri. "But are you certain about this?'

"Quite certain," declares Lisutaris. "Lasat Axe of Gold is not going to intimidate me. Makri will be victorious. Thraxas, I have a small matter I need to discuss with you."

Lisutaris draws me aside, out of earshot. "Thraxas, find me a quiet space where I can inhale some thazis."

"Here? It's risky."

"Not as risky as me lighting up a stick in full view of everyone. Which I will do in about fifteen seconds if you don't find me somewhere private. Do you realise I just bet ten thousand gurans?"

"I thought you carried it off well, in the circumstances."

"I don't have any money! What if Makri loses?"

"We could flee. Fleeing from gambling debts isn't so bad, I've done it a few times."

"Really?"

"Yes, it's quite an established tradition."

By now I've led us to a quiet spot beside one of the small huts used as changing rooms. We slip inside. Lisutaris takes out a thazis stick and snaps her fingers. Her magical power really is considerable. I doubt if any other Sorcerer in the world could simultaneously cast spells to lock the door, light a thazis stick and erase the smell of smoke with one hand, while rolling another stick with the other. "If Makri loses I'll probably have to marry Kublinos. He's got a lot of money. I didn't really notice he was attracted to me till Makri pointed it out." She pauses. "Strange really. Men aren't often attracted to me."

The hairs on the back of my neck tingle. I have an uncanny sense of when a woman is about to say something concerning romance, emotion and affairs of the heart, none of which I want to talk about.

"Why do you think that is?" says Lisutaris.

"Probably just put off by your position. You know, Head of the Sorcerers Guild. It can be intimidating."

Lisutaris isn't convinced. "I don't think it's that intimidating."

"Well there's probably some other simple explanation," I hazard.

"I'm not attractive? Is that what you're saying?"

"I didn't say that at all."

"There's no real need to say it, is there? I mean, face facts. Men simply regard me as unattractive."

Lisutaris looks so unhappy I'm worried she might burst into tears, something I'm completely unable to cope with.

"Could we stop having this conversation?" I say, desperately. "We have to get back to Makri."

"Of course, you can't last five minutes without Makri," says Lisutaris. "It's obviously tedious spending any time in my company. You're wasting your time you know, Thraxas. A beautiful young woman like Makri is never going to go for you, no matter how much you keep trying to seduce her."

"I've never tried to seduce Makri," I protest.

"I suppose
seduce
is the wrong word. More like skulking around the Queen's Bathing House, hoping to see her naked again. I tell you Thraxas, it looks bad for a man of your age. People are starting to notice."

"What people?"

"Many people. Your relentless pursuit of Makri is the talk of the Baroness's swimming group."

"I refuse to continue this conversation."

"Hah." Lisutaris smokes the rest of her thazis in gloomy silence. I think her moods are becoming worse. I've no idea why. I suppose the prospect of abject humiliation in front of her peers might have something to do with it.

"I need to speak to the King's Chief Steward, Daringos," I say. "Could you arrange that for me?"

"I suppose so," says Lisutaris. Why?"

"He carried out the original investigation into the death I'm looking into for the Baroness."

"I should be able to arrange it. I'll talk to him."

When Lisutaris has finished her thazis, I open the door. Somehow it's no surprise to find Kublinos outside, glaring at me suspiciously. Lisutaris walks by him without a word. I try to do likewise but the Sorcerer grabs me by the arm.

"I'm warning you, Turanian," he hisses. "I'm not going to stand idly by while you try to take advantage of a fine woman like Lisutaris."

I glare back at him. "Let go of my arm or I'll kill you."

Kublinos, surprised, lets go. I turn round and walk off, angry at the foolishness of everyone. By now, tournament officials are pinning hastily-prepared signs to the public noticeboards, laying out the schedule for the remainder of the day. Makri, being in the final qualifying group, will only have one fight this evening, and will have to complete her group tomorrow. It's a minor inconvenience, nothing more. Makri appears completely relaxed as she departs with Lisutaris to change into her armour. General Hemistos, Baron Girimos and several others are still around. When I see Baron Mabados approaching I withdraw into the crowd, not feeling like dealing with another unfriendly Samsarinan at this moment.

Chapter Fifteen

Makri's visor covers her face. Tournament rules state that all entrants must be fully armoured. As well as the helmet, Makri is wearing a metal gorget to protect her neck, and a thick steel breastplate. Her leggings are covered in chainmail, with steel plates hanging over her thighs, and there are more metal plates on her upper arms and forearms. It's all much heavier than the armour Makri would normally wear. I hope she's adapted to it. I'm not sure how often she's worn it for practice.

I make my way to her side and escort her into the tournament field. The field is roughly circular, with banks of wooden seats set up for spectators, making it into a temporary arena. There's a good crowd. While excitement during the early rounds is not exactly fevered, everyone is eager to see if there might be any new talents coming through. In the centre of the field, the presiding Marshal, in his distinctive red costume, checks her equipment. He studies the edge of her sword, making sure it's properly blunted, then examines her shield, checking that the rim hasn't been illegally sharpened. He glances at her armour. The Marshal is meant to ensure that no one's armour is deficient in any way, but in truth his examination is quite perfunctory. While the organisers do make a public display of protecting fighters' safety, the general feeling is that you enter at your own peril. If your helmet is so poorly made that it shatters under the impact of a sword, that's your problem.

The Marshal checks Makri's opponent. I couldn't find out much about him, other than his name is Parasas, and he's from Nioj, which is unusual. Niojans don't go in for tournament fighting, as a rule. He stares at Makri. Makri stares back at him. His manager stares at me. I stare back at his manager. The Marshal waves us back and we retreat, leaving our fighters behind us. Lisutaris is waiting for me at the edge of the field. Behind her are several Barons, two ambassadors, some Sorcerers, and General Hemistos, all here to see how Makri performs.

On the northern edge of the field there's a small wooden tower, another temporary construction. Sitting at the top is Markinos Moonstone, tournament Sorcerer. It's his responsibility to ensure that no one cheats by using magic. It's not unknown for Sorcerers to influence fights by boosting a combatant's abilities, particularly if there's a lot of gambling involved. A competent tournament Sorcerer should be able to detect and prevent this. I've no idea how competent Markinos is. Lisutaris thinks he's probably honest, though she has little regard for his abilities.

There are few formalities. The Marshal has a staff with a small yellow pennant. He raises it, then brings it down, starting the fight. Makri and Parasas approach each other. Each has their sword in their right hand and a small, round shield in their left. I don't like the way Makri carries her shield. It looks too casual. Parasas lunges in first. Makri easily blocks his blow, and counters immediately. I'm half-expecting her to land a lethal stoke, such is her speed, but Parasas blocks in turn. He's fast. Quite talented as well I'd say, from the way he next attacks. Makri blocks his sword but he hits her with his shield. Makri is knocked backwards. She thrusts with her sword but it passes over Parasas shoulder. He advances very quickly. To my surprise, Makri loses her footing, something she would never normally do. Parasas swings a blow at her neck, which connects, making a loud clanging noise. Fighters are not meant to deal mortal blows, but no one holds back much, and it's a powerful strike. The crowd roars. Makri stumbles backwards. The Marshal leaps in-between the fighters, raising his staff.

"Lethal Stroke!" he cries. The fight is over. Makri has lost.

I set off at a run, worried in case the blow has wounded Makri. By the time I reach the centre of the field, Makri is on her feet, shouting at the Marshal.

"What do you mean I lost? I didn't lose! You didn't count my blow to his neck!"

"You didn't hit his neck," says the Marshal.

"I did! You're just too slow to see it."

"You missed!"

"I didn't miss! And something made me lose my footing! I've been cheated!"

Makri is furious. I know there's no point arguing. The Marshal isn't going to change his mind. Even if she did get in a strike which the Marshal didn't see, she still suffered a knockdown, and a very obvious hit to the neck. It was a poor performance. As I escort Makri from the field, she's still complaining furiously.

"Something grabbed my ankle! Someone must have used a spell against me."

I didn't feel any sorcery in the arena. Neither did Markinos Moonstone, or he'd have called it. We come to a halt beside Lisutaris. The Sorceress is very pale, probably imagining the financial catastrophe that threatens to engulf her.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Yes. I'm sorry I lost."

"Bad luck," says General Hemistos. Behind the General, Baron Mabados, Lasat, Charius and several others are making no attempt to hide their amusement. Lisutaris's much-vaunted bodyguard, claimed by the Sorceress to be a champion gladiator, has lost her first fight to an unknown outsider. Makri is seething with fury and humiliation. "The next fight will be different," she says.