Thraxas - The Complete Series (89 page)

Elith is taken aback. Since the ministrations of her father she’s looking healthier but, not surprisingly, she’s extremely distracted. I look her straight in the eyes and tell her to snap out of it.

“There’s no time for rambling, so get to the point. Lord Kalith is on his way here; three of his guards are outside sleeping off a spell, thanks to me, and he’s not going to be very pleased about it. So in the brief time we’ve got I need to know everything. Don’t sigh, don’t cry and don’t stray from the point. Just tell it like it happened.”

At this, Elith-ir-Methet manages a weak smile.

“I remember Father speaking of you now,” she says. “You appear in many of his war stories. It was good of you to come. But really, you can do nothing to help me.”

“I can. Tell me about the Tree. Did you damage it?”

She shakes her head slowly. “I don’t think so. But I might have. I really can’t remember. They said I did it.”

“Who said?”

“Gulas, the Tree Priest. And his brother Lasas.”

“Why can’t you remember?”

She looks blank and tells me she just can’t. Already I’m starting to dislike her as a client.

“What were you doing near the Tree?”

“Just walking. We live nearby.”

I’d like to question her plenty more about this, but time is short and there’s the murder to consider.

“How did you get out of your cell tonight?”

“I wasn’t in a cell. Kalith had merely confined me to a room in the Palace and I gave my word I would not try to leave.”

“So why did you change your mind?”

She shrugs. I grow impatient.

“Is this hopeless-Elf-maiden routine the best you can do? You realise how much trouble you’re in?”

Elith just sits there: tall, slender, golden-haired and apparently suffering from a severe attack of amnesia. I ask her what happened after she left the Palace.

“I descended to the forest and went to the Hesuni Tree.”

“What for?”

“I wanted to see Gulas-ar-Thetos. It was he who was my main accuser in the matter of damaging the Tree.”

She stops. Tears start to trickle down her pale face.

“What happened then?”

There’s no reply. I change tack. “Your cousin Eos-ar-Methet died on the voyage from Turai to Avula. Were you friendly with him?”

Elith is startled. “No,” she says. “Well, yes, I knew him. Why?”

“Because I’m wondering about his death. You know any reason he might have been acting strangely?”

Elith goes quiet, and I’m fairly certain she’s hiding something. I ask her again what happened when she left the Palace earlier this evening.

“She killed Gulas, that’s what happened,” roars a voice as the door flies open and Lord Kalith marches in, flanked by four Elves with swords.

“How dare you interrupt an Investigator in private conference with his client?” I roar back. “Have you no idea of the due process of law on Avula?”

Kalith strides up to me and puts his face near mine, which involves some bending over on his part. His men meanwhile surround me and point their swords in my direction.

“Are you responsible for putting my guards to sleep?” he demands.

“Guards? I didn’t see any guards. Just wide open space and a comfy cell at the end. Now would you mind giving me a little time alone with my client? I really must insist—”

The attendants make to grab me. Not wishing to be grabbed, I step back quickly and prepare to defend myself. Elith prevents an ugly scene by laying her hand on my arm.

“Stop,” she says, quite softly. “I appreciate your trying to help me, Thraxas, but you can do nothing for me. Lord Kalith is right. I did kill Gulas-ar-Thetos.”

“Disregard that statement,” I say quickly. “The woman is under stress and doesn’t know what’s she’s saying.”

“She knows very well what she is saying,” retorts Kalith. “She murdered our Priest. Three Elves witnessed the event. At this moment they are giving sworn statements to my scribes.”

It’s a bad turn of events but, as people have been known to say in Twelve Seas, Thraxas never abandons a client.

“Witnesses have been known to make mistakes,” I point out.

Kalith smiles, which surprises me. He’s regained his composure.

“Thraxas, I could almost like you, were you not such a buffoon. One certainly has to admire your persistence. You enter my Palace without an invitation, you sneak over to this cell and you put three of my guards to sleep with a spell. You question Elith-ir-Methet against my express wishes. Then, despite the fact that she admits the crime, and that there are independent witnesses to testify that she is guilty, you persist in standing here blustering about client-Investigator privileges. You have never thought me sympathetic to your case, but believe me, if my trusted healer Vas-ar-Methet had not spoken so highly of the character you showed during the Orc Wars, I would never have even allowed you on board my ship. And he was right, in some ways at least. He told me that you were disinclined to give up on anything you started. An admirable trait in time of war, but not so now. Elith is guilty. Nothing you can do will change that fact. And you must now leave it to me to dispense justice, as is my right and duty.”

I protest, but he holds up his hand, forbidding further speech, and gestures to his guards. “Enough, Thraxas. These Elves will escort you from the Palace. No doubt we will meet again at the festival.”

And that, for the moment, is that. The four armed Elves escort me out of the cell, along the courtyard, back up to the high walkways, and out of the Palace.

Once back on the ground, I turn towards the Hesuni Tree, having no intention of going home just yet. The large clearing is now empty of life. Light from the moons reflects from the still water of the twin pools and the Hesuni Tree stands majestically at the far end of the water. I decide to take a look at the Tree, and march over.

To me it looks like any other large tree. I can’t pick up any traces of its spiritual power, but that’s only to be expected, me being Human rather than Elf, and not very spiritual. I can’t sense any sign of sorcery in the air either. I can’t learn anything, in fact. Studying the grass in the area where Gulas lay dying reveals nothing except that a lot of Elves have since walked all over it.

“Are you looking for something that will save Elith?”

It can be annoying the way these Elves approach without making a sound. I whirl round and lift my staff, illuminating an Elf by the Tree.

“Lasas-ar-Thetos?”

He bows slightly. I wonder at him being here on his own. As his brother has just been murdered, I might have expected him to be comforting the family, or mourning, or something.

“I must assume my new position and minister to the tree,” he says, as if in answer to my thoughts.

“Why did Elith kill your brother?”

“She is insane. We knew it from the moment she damaged the Tree.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“I believe so. Now, please, leave me. I must communicate with the Tree.”

“Yeah, I guess the Tree must be pretty upset, with all this going on. Do you know Gorith-ar-Del?”

Lasas scowls at me, frustrated by my persistence.

“No,” he replies. “I do not.”

It seems to me that Lasas is lying. I’m about to question him further when he starts chanting softly, his eyes closed, his head swaying gently from side to side. Torchlight and voices from the other side of the clearing announce the arrival of some Elves from the Palace. I depart. It feels like a long walk back to Camith’s house. I climb wearily up to my temporary dwelling and find Makri sitting in my room, studying a scroll.

“How’s the case going?” she asks.

“Getting difficult,” I confess. “Elith-ir-Methet has just been accused of murdering the Tree Priest.”

I haul my boots off. “And I still can’t find any beer. I think the Elves are hiding it from me out of spite.”

V
as-ar-Methet’s brother has treated Makri and me hospitably from the moment we arrived and we’re grateful for this. We can eat our meals with Camith’s family or on our own if we prefer, and they make no attempts to hinder us in our coming and leaving. If they think it is strange or disreputable to have someone with Orc blood under their roof, they don’t show it. Makri tells me that her faith in Elfkind is partially revived.

“After that voyage, I thought I was going to hate them all. But Vas-ar-Methet’s relatives are nice. When you were out they asked if there was anything they could bring me and then Camith invited me up to the top of the tree to look at the stars.”

Elves are partial to the night, rising late in the day and staying up to enjoy the pleasures of the midnight sky. Well, most of them. Perhaps farming Elves have to rise early to plant crops. I ask Makri about this, but she doesn’t know.

“At the Guild College we only learn Elvish myths, stories, histories of their wars and things like that. The subject of Elves having to get up early to plant crops or milk cows never came up. Strange really, because only last term Professor Azulius was stressing how important the average citizen was in the history of the city-state. ‘History is not all Kings, Queens and battles,’ as he likes to say. Do you think there are low-class Elves who clean the sewers at the Tree Palace?”

“I expect so. They can’t all be composing epic poems and gazing at the stars. You know, I’ve been close to losing my faith in Elfkind as well. I appreciate that I’m causing them difficulties, but right from the first day of the voyage they’ve been about as friendly as a two-fingered troll. Much less welcoming than my hosts on my last visit to the islands.”

“That was a long time ago,” Makri points out. “Maybe they became more suspicious of strangers after the last War. Do you know the whole island is suffering from bad dreams?”

“Really? Everyone?”

“Apparently,” says Makri. “Camith certainly is. I don’t think the Elves like to talk about it though. Discussing illness with strangers is calanith.”

“Is it only the Avulans or are their guests from the other islands suffering as well?”

Makri doesn’t know. She’s hoping the other Elves are in good health because she’s looking forward to the theatrical performances. I remain unimpressed at the prospect.

“Three versions of the tale of Queen Leeuven. Couldn’t they come up with something else?”

“Of course not. The plays at the festival are always about Queen Leeuven. That’s the point.”

“It sounds dull to me.”

“Well, they do choose different episodes from the saga. But it’s all quite formal, you know. The stories are already well known to the audience; it’s the way they are told that makes all the difference. At the last festival the Venian Elves presented such a tragic account of Queen Leeuven accidentally killing her brother that the entire audience was moved to bitter tears. They won the prize. The Avulans are keen to take it this time.”

I see that Makri has wasted no time in learning more about the culture of the island. I ask her if she knows anything about the juggling competition. She informs me that it’s part of the light entertainment put on before the plays, to get the crowd in a festive mood.

“Is there a favourite to win? I might be able to get a bet down.”

“Do you have to bet on everything?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think they have bookmakers on Avula,” says Makri.

“Don’t you believe it. Just because the festival features high-class tragedy doesn’t mean there isn’t someone running a low-class gambling operation somewhere. If you can get a hot tip for the juggling competition, I’ve no doubt I can place some money on it.”

With her mind occupied by the theatre, Makri has little enthusiasm for juggling, but she does express an interest in the tournament. She’s sorry that it is only for the under-fifteens and would have preferred to see the true Elvish warriors battling it out, but considers that any fighting is better than none.

“I’ve never seen a tournament,” she says.

She is disappointed when I inform her of the probable nature of the event.

“It’s only practice really. Nothing too vicious. They use wooden swords and there are restrictions on what you can do. No stamping on your opponent’s groin for instance, and no attacks to the eyes.”

“No groin-stamping? No attacks to the eyes? What’s the point of that?”

“They’re all under fifteen, Makri. The Elves don’t want to maim their kids, just give them a little practice in sword play. And don’t tell me that when you were fifteen you were already killing dragons. You mentioned that already. But being a gladiator is not the same thing as entering a civilised tournament.”

Makri is still dissatisfied. “Sounds like a waste of time to me.”

I’m eating my dinner from a tray. Obviously realising that I am a man of healthy appetites, my hosts have sent me a great amount of food. It’s not quite the gargantuan meal I’d take in back at the Avenging Axe after a hard day’s investigating, but it comes close. As I drink the last of the bottle of wine they sent along with it I feel a little more in tune with the world.

“Did Camith have any idea why everyone was having bad dreams?”

“Not exactly. He thought it might have something to do with the damage to the Hesuni Tree. The Avulans are all connected to it in some way.”