Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

«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.»

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?»