Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

«What's going on here?» I cry, looking at my empty place. «Is there a shortage of pies?»

The servant hurries to put another pie in front of me. By now I've settled into a comfortable eating groove. The pies, while not the absolute finest quality, are quite acceptable — tasty beef, crisp pastry, and a reasonable ratio of gravy. I finish a third and a fourth and keep on going. The servants with trays are running around in all directions, and there's an occasional delay of a few seconds before I get my next pie, which I find annoying. There's still a lot of shouting going on but I ignore it, and keep on eating. I have a vague impression of the person next to me moaning in discomfort but I don't let it distract me.

As I'm yelling for another pie a bell rings. I bang my fist on the table and shout louder, to drown it out. «Where's my next pie? What's the delay? You call this a fair contest?» Suddenly I notice Makri standing in front of me. «Did you bring me a pie?»

«No. The contest is over.»

«What?»

«You won.»

I notice everyone is looking at me. I feel a tinge of disappointment. «So they're not giving me any more pies?»

The Master of Ceremonies approaches. «Ladies and gentlemen,» he cries, lifting up my arm. «We have a winner. Nine pies completed! Saxarth of Turai!»

There's a lot of cheering. I stand up and take a bow. A few of my fellow competitors are looking unwell. Several are slumped over their tables. The Master of Ceremonies hands me fifty gurans.

«Let's hear it for a mighty eater!» he shouts. To be fair to the Samsarinans, they do give me a decent round of applause. I'm feeling rather pleased with myself as I leave the tent in the company of Makri and Lisutaris.

«You see that? Thraxas, number one chariot at eating pies. No problem whatsoever. I could have eaten more.»

«You tried to,» says Makri.

«I still have a few corners to fill. As pies go, they weren't that big.»

«Your nearest competitor only managed six.»

«Lightweights. Well, I hope you both take note of this. While you're flailing around, I get the job done.»

«What does that mean?» demands Lisutaris.

«It means that while certain members of our party crumble at the first sign of pressure, ending up half-killing themselves with thazis, and others stumble about like a child with a toy sword, losing their first fight and going home in tears, I, Thraxas of Turai, simply approach a difficult task in a determined manner, and complete the deal. Nine pies eaten, competitors snivelling in the dust, and we've earned fifty gurans. Let this be an inspiration to you.»

«You're a fantastic inspiration,» says Lisutaris, dryly. «I'll certainly never forget the sight of you wolfing down these pies.»

«Greetings, Lisutaris,» comes a familiar, unwelcome voice. It's Lasat Axe of Gold, who, along with his sidekick Charius, seems to be haunting the place. «Is it true that your Chief Adviser has just taken first place in a pie eating contest?»

«It is,» says Lisutaris, stiffly.

«Really? That will make an amusing story for the King…»

Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, draws herself up to her full height. Her cloak, elegant dark blue with the Sorcerer's rainbow motif embroidered around the edge, flutters regally in the breeze.

«Pie-eating is an honourable occupation where I come from. I'm proud of my Chief Adviser's endeavours.»

«Really?» Lasat smirks. «I wouldn't allow a member of my staff to participate.»

«What you would or would not allow is of no consequence to me. Thraxas's mighty appetite has often been the precursor to some of his most brilliant advice. Come, Thraxas, and Makri. It's time to prepare for the sword-fighting competition.» With that, Lisutaris sweeps away, head held high. We follow on.

«Thanks for the support,» I say.

«You're welcome. If you do actually meet the king, try not to mention the pie-eating. Makri, are you ready to fight?»

Makri nods. She has an extremely determined glint in her eyes. Her group will finish today, which means she'll have four fights in quick succession. That's a tough schedule. I leave them on their way to the changing room, while I hurry off to the bookmakers to place the fifty gurans I won.

On my way to the bookmaker's tent I run into my old companion Combius of Juval. He greets me far less jovially than previously.

«Well Thraxas, you really landed me in it.»

«What did I do?»

«You convinced me with your idiotic talk of that young girl being able to fight. I put money on her.»

«Ah. Sorry about that.»

«Why did you say she could fight? Now I'm the laughing-stock of the Armourers Guild.»

Combius looks hurt. For a sword-fighter, he always did have a sensitive side.

«Makri can fight. She's due back on the field any time now. I'm here to bet on her again. So should you, to make up your losses.»

«Are you joking? My wife tallies up my accounts. It's already going to be hard to explain.»

«Your wife isn't a betting woman?»

«Not on hopeless long shots, no.»

I lay my arm ion his shoulder. «Combius, there's a time when a man has to make a stand for what he believes in. Only minutes ago I was engaged in some serious competition, and I didn't flinch. Anyway, you can make up your losses on Makri's next fight.»

«But what if she loses again?»

«I've got a hard-won fifty gurans here that says she won't.»

Big Bixo greets me like an old friend. «Come to try your luck again?»

I'd planned to bet my whole fifty gurans on Makri winning her next fight, but I notice that her odds for winning the tournament have gone out to two hundred to one. Having seen her first fight, the bookmakers give her no chance at all. I place ten gurans on this, and put my remaining forty on her winning her second fight. Bixo gives me six to one. Makri's opponent is a very strong favourite, at one to ten. As an experienced bookmaker, Big Bixo isn't about to mock anyone who's giving him money, but even so, I can tell he thinks I'm wasting mine. So do several others nearby. As Combius steps up after me, there's some barely suppressed derision.

«Now it's not just the Armourers Guild laughing at me,» he complains as we leave the tent. «There were leather-workers in there. They're a snide lot at the best of times. I'll never live this down.»

«Relax. Makri is a shoo-in.»

«I'm sure some silversmiths were laughing as well.»

I turn to my old friend. «Combius, what happened to you? I remember us charging into battle with one broken spear between us, and you weren't as worried then as you are now.»

«I wasn't married then.»

«Put your mind at rest. You're in for a sudden windfall.»

Next to the tournament field I manage to grab a private word with Lisutaris while Makri is preparing.

«Has Makri been taking anything she shouldn't have?»

«No.»

«Are you sure?»

«Reasonably. How did she get that dwa anyway?»

«She claims it was just a fragment she brought from Turai, and that was the last of it.»

«Surely she couldn't find any more in Samsarina?» says Lisutaris. «Look how strict they are about thazis.»

«Dwa's spread just about everywhere. It will be here all right, if you look hard enough.»

Makri emerges from her changing room, clad in her armour. Behind us, someone laughs. It's Charius the Wise.

«At least it covers her ears,» he says. «Mistress of the Sky, if you had to employ an Orc, shouldn't it at least have been a tough one?»

Lisutaris doesn't deign to reply, choosing instead to accompany me to the edge of the arena. I'm the only one allowed to accompany Makri into the fighting area, but Lisutaris has decided to remain as close as possible.