Thraxas - The Complete Series (98 page)

I’m shown to the kitchens. There I find Osath the cook, whom I haven’t seen since I disembarked. He’s delighted to see me. He knows how much I appreciate his cooking.

“Thraxas! They let you out? The word in the kitchens was that Lord Kalith was going to throw away the key. What happened? Did your Ambassador stand bail?”

“The Turanian Ambassador is about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. No, I was forced back on my own resources. I beat Kalith at niarit again.”

Osath laughs heartily at this, as do his assistants. Again the Elves are amused at Kalith losing. Which just goes to show that even a well-loved and respected Elf Lord shouldn’t go around bragging about his prowess at the niarit board. It annoys everyone.

Osath begins to pile up food in front of me and I start shovelling it in.

“I have to ask you a few questions, Osath.”

The chef looks doubtful. “We can’t tell you anything about Elith, Thraxas. It would be awkward for us to discuss it…”

“I wasn’t talking about Elith. Are you and your fellow low-lives in the kitchens planning to bet on the juggling competition?”

This brings Osath and his helpers clustering round keenly.

“We are. I was going to bet on young Shuthan-ir-Hemas,” replies Osath. “I’ve seen her put up some sensational performances. But I hear she’s gone off the boil.”

“She has. Yesterday I saw her trip over her own feet. Didn’t look like a woman who was about to win. I did see a young woman called Usath, from Ven, juggling seven balls and looking good for a few more. You know anything about her past form?”

“Junior champion at the competition two years ago in Corinthal,” says a young cook. “She’s still inexperienced, but she might do well. I think she might be worth a gamble, but there’s another juggler from Corinthal called Arith-ar-Tho who’s built up a fine reputation recently. Be best to check him out if you get the chance.”

I thank them for their help.

“What’s this we hear about Makri teaching Isuas how to fight?”

“I thought that was meant to be a secret.”

“There are no secrets in a Palace kitchen,” says Osath. “Lady Yestar might not have told Lord Kalith about it, but we’re the ones that have to make up food for them every day. Is there any chance of Makri teaching the kid well enough to enter the tournament? Would it be worth a bet? Isuas is so weak we’d get a good price on her winning even one fight against the most hopeless opponent. In fact, you’d get a good price on the kid even staying on her feet for thirty seconds.“

I consider this, while mopping up some fragments of venison pie with a hunk of bread.

“I think Isuas will give up before the tournament. Makri’s treating her pretty rough. But if things change, I’ll let you know. Make sure you don’t let on to anyone that Makri’s teaching her though, or the price will drop.”

Having cemented my good relations with the lower Elvish order by some solid gambling talk, I emerge from the Palace well fed and in good shape for investigating, which is just as well as I’ve lost time I couldn’t afford and have a great deal to do.

I find Lasas-ar-Thetos in a small hut in a tree near to the Hesuni. Around his head he has a yellow band denoting his new rank as Chief Tree Priest. He’s heard about recent events and displays a deep sadness.

“To think that such a substance could be polluting the sacred water of the Hesuni Tree. It brings shame to the whole island. I cringe at the thought of what my dear brother would have made of it.”

At least Avula’s new Tree Priest doesn’t blame me.

“When Lord Kalith informed me of the matter I told him that you were not a man who would bring dwa to our island. Indeed, we should be grateful to you for uncovering it. Do you know where it came from?”

I admit that I don’t, but I’m still working on it. It’s something of a relief to find an aristocratic Elf who doesn’t seem to hold me responsible for everything that’s been going on around here. Now that Lasas has got over the immediate shock of his brother’s death, he’s proving to be a calm and responsible Elf. I ask him again if there’s anything he might have forgotten to tell me.

“No strange goings-on? No hint of who might have been in the vicinity with dwa?”

“Nothing, I am afraid. I have been keeping my ear to the ground, but really since my brother was killed I have been too busy with preparations for the funeral and with taking up the reins of the Priesthood.”

At least we seem to have got to the root of the bad dreams the Avulans have been suffering from. Lasas is firmly of the opinion that a powerful alien drug, contained in the water that feeds the Hesuni Tree, would be more than enough to give the Elves nightmares.

“All Avulans communicate with the Tree. As it was ingesting poison, so it produced nightmares. We must be grateful to you for finding it. I am now attempting to cleanse the area by means of ritual.”

Tramping back across the clearing, I’m frustrated. Everyone knows that something strange has been going on but no one quite knows what. And no one can suggest a motive for Elith killing Gulas. Even Elith, who admits to doing it, can’t think of a motive. Before I leave I ask Lasas if he has encountered Gorith-ar-Del yet.

“Should I have?”

“Probably not. It’s just I keep noticing him hanging round the area. Would you let me know if he contacts you in any way?”

Lasas says that he will, and I depart. I find Harmon Half-Elf and Lanius Suncatcher in the enclave of houses next to the Turanian Ambassador’s residence. I know that Harmon Half-Elf has seen the prisoner and I want his opinion on whether she has been attacked or bemused by sorcery.

“I did not get that impression,” he tells me. “Although with the Hesuni Tree in the vicinity, it is impossible to be certain. However, I think that if she had had her memory wiped or been victim of some spell that overpowered her will, forcing her to kill the priest, there would be some trace of it remaining. I know that Jir- ar-Eth has searched very thoroughly for any sign of this and has been unable to locate anything.”

“And congratulations on getting out of jail,” adds Lanius Suncatcher.

The two Sorcerers are not entirely unsympathetic to my cause.

“If only because you are refusing to give up. Despite the fact that everyone knows Elith is guilty, I think the Avulans are starting to respect you for the way you keep on trying to help Vas-ar-Methet. They value friendship. But really, Thraxas, what can you hope to achieve now? Elith-ir-Methet is guilty. People saw her kill Gulas. She admits it.”

They offer me some wine. I drain the goblet and rise to my feet.

“If I find some reasonable motive, she might not be executed.”

Stuck for inspiration, I seek out Makri. My horse is in the paddock where I left it, so I saddle up and ride round the island. Every clearing is now filled with choirs, actors, jugglers, all practising for the festival. As the path narrows between the encroaching trees I keep a keen eye out for masked Elves with spears who might be about to attack me, but none appear. So far I have not managed to gather the slightest clue as to who they are or who they might be working for. As far as I know, the Elves have nothing that is equivalent to the Assassins in Turai, but someone is certainly out to get me. Someone with powerful sorcerous backing. Once more I’m grateful for my excellent spell protection charm. It will protect me from most magical attacks, though not from invisible Elves suddenly appearing and gutting me with their spears.

I dismount near the private clearing and again advance cautiously. I’m wondering if Isuas has given up. Before long I hear Makri’s voice raised in anger.

“Fight, you cusux! If you trip over your feet one more time I swear I’ll kill you. You want to see my Orcish blade? I’ll let you see it, you useless brat, I’ll pin you to that tree with it.”

This is followed by the sound of a wooden sword cracking over a young Elf’s head, and some wailing.

I peer into the clearing. Isuas has shown some spirit in returning for more lessons, but Makri doesn’t seem to appreciate it. The young Elf is struggling to her feet under a rain of blows, while Makri continues to scream abuse at her.

“Didn’t I show you how to parry? Well, parry this!”

Makri hits Isuas with a stroke that must come close to breaking her shoulder. Isuas yells in pain. This annoys Makri even more.

“I didn’t say cry like a girl, I said parry. Now do it.”

Makri slashes at the young Elf. Isuas makes a reasonable attempt at deflecting the blow, but Makri simply uses her other blade to whack Isuas on the side of the head, sending her once more thumping to the ground.

I’m fairly aghast at this. The sight of Makri using her full fighting skills against the weak little Elf would distress the hardest of hearts. Isuas lies on the ground sobbing, where she is in receipt of a further torrent of abuse.

“You useless exin miserable zutha pathetic cusux,” screams Makri, using a string of vile Orcish epithets, some of them unintelligible to me and some quite possibly never heard in the western world before.

Makri drops her swords and yanks Isuas to her feet.

“Are all Elves as pitiful as you? God help you if the Orcs ever sail down to Avula. Pah! You’re so pathetic I don’t even need a weapon.”

Isuas suddenly looks angry. The insults are getting to her. She leaps to attack Makri, showing a surprising turn of speed. Makri stands her ground, merely twisting her body to avoid the blades before stepping lightly to one side. Isuas tries to turn and face her, but Makri, displaying new heights of savagery, actually kicks her in the head. Isuas crumples, which doesn’t prevent Makri from getting in another two kicks before she hits the ground. This time the young Elf lies still. I hurry forward, alarmed.

“Goddammit, Makri, you’ve killed her.”

Makri looks round, unconcerned.

“No I haven’t. She’s just dazed. What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you. If you can spare a moment in between tormenting that unfortunate youth.”

“Unfortunate?” says Makri, puzzled. “She’s being taught to fight by the undefeated champion gladiator of all the Orc Lands. I’d call that a privilege.”

Isuas groans. Makri, who possesses surprising strength despite her slender frame, hoists her into the air and tosses her in the direction of a water bottle under a tree.

“Take a drink,” she says. “And stop crying.”

“Is it really necessary to be this brutal?”

Makri shrugs. “I’m trying to teach her a lot in a hurry. Anyway, we’re using wooden swords. How brutal can you be with a wooden sword?”

“Pretty brutal, from what I saw. When Lady Yestar gave her permission for this I doubt very much if she quite foresaw that you would be kicking her daughter in the head. Shouldn’t you be doing something about the bleeding?”

“The island is full of healers. They’ll sort her out later. What are you here for?”

“To talk. I’m still baffled by this case and I’m running out of time. I figured I might get some inspiration if we talked it out.”

“I can’t spare the time right now. I’ll be back at Camith’s after dark—can it wait till then?”

I suppose it can.

“Try not to kill Isuas.”

“Death in training isn’t so bad,” states Makri, firmly. “Better than disgracing yourself in the arena. Which,” she adds, turning menacingly back to the young Elf, “no pupil of mine is going to do. So get up and fight.”

I leave them to it.

I call back to Makri from the edge of the clearing.

“What does zutha mean?”

Makri gives me a translation. I wince. It’s even worse than cusux.

I
return to Camith’s peaceful home, where I wash, eat and stare out of the window. I’m in need of some inspiration. None is forthcoming. Somewhere outside, an Elvish choir is singing, a long slow tribute to one of Lord Kalith’s ancestors. It’s meant to be soothing, but I’m too pressurised to appreciate it.

It’s late into the night when Makri returns. She brings a tray of food into my room and tells me with a disgruntled air that she again encountered masked Elves with spears.

“On that quiet bit of walkway where you never see anyone. I turned the corner and there they were, marching towards me, spears at the ready.”

Makri, unwilling to flee again, had drawn her swords and made ready to repel her attackers.

“But then they disappeared. Just vanished into the air.”

I nod. A similar experience to mine.

“So what’s going on with them?” demands Makri. “Do they want to attack us or not? I wish they’d just get on with it. I can’t be doing with all this appearing and disappearing. It’s no way to fight.”

“Speaking of fighting, how is Isuas?”

“Bruised and bloody,” replies Makri. “I told her to visit Vas-ar-Methet for some healing before she saw her father. Lady Yestar is still keeping it all a secret.”

I again express my doubts about the ferocity of Makri’s training and Makri is again unrepentant. With so little time to prepare she is of the opinion that there is no alternative.

“And that’s not the only reason. I’m strengthening her spirit. If she ever gets in a fight for real, she’ll be glad I showed her the Gaxeen.”