Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

«Enormous human!»

«Did someone just shout enormous human ?» asks Makri.

«I think so.»

«They must be referring to you.» Makri halts the carriage and we look around. Running towards us with a great grin on her face is a slender young Elf with spiky yellow hair and a broad grin. I recognise her. It's Sendroo, from the Elvish Isle of Avula.

«Hello Thraxas! Hello Makri!»

«Droo? What are you doing here?»

«I sailed up with the advance party. I'm a messenger in the Elvish Reconnoissance Regiment!»

«You are?» Last time I saw Droo, who's around eighteen I think, she was a poet, and quite an intoxicated one at that. I wasn't expecting her to pop up in Samsarina, dressed in the dull-green tunic and leggings of an Elvish Scout. You meet all sorts of unexpected people in wartime.

«Yes! Isn't it fun? What are you doing here?»

«We're refugees from Turai,» I tell her.

«But we're going back,» says Makri.

«It's so good to see you again! I can't really talk now, my platoon is marching up to see the King. Tell me where you live and I'll come and visit!»

Makri smiles at Droo. «It will be good to see you.»

We give Droo our address. She runs off up the street after her platoon, still grinning. She's carrying a bow on her back, and a sheaf full of arrows. I shake my head. I'm not sure that having Droo in the Elvish advance party fills me with confidence. At least it means the Elvish troops are on their way.

When we arrive back at Arichdamis's house, Lisutaris is stepping out of an unfamiliar carriage. As soon as she sees us she scowls and yells at us. «What's the idea of stealing my carriage?»

«We needed it,» I say. «I had to see Baroness Demelzos in a hurry.»

«Does this have anything to do with the wedding being cancelled?»

«It was cancelled?»

«Yes. I and about four hundred of the Samsarinan aristocracy were left waiting in church like a bunch of idiots, till Baron Mabados finally arrived and announced the wedding couldn't go ahead due to family illness. A very sudden attack, apparently. I presume that's not the real reason?»

«No. I'll tell you about it inside.»

A little later, while relating the string of brilliant deductions and unrelenting hard work that led to me solving the case, I can't help noticing that Lisutaris seems distracted. I ask her what's the matter.

«Kublinos. He's arriving soon to take me to dinner. I don't want to go.»

«You're not relying on him for money any more,» I point out. I take out Lisutaris's magic purse, ignore her protests about me borrowing it without asking, and pour 31,500 gurans onto the table. It's a hefty pile of cash, even though some of it is made up of 1,000 guran gold bars.

«We actually ended up with 34,582,» I tell them. «But I paid back the Baroness the three hundred she staked us. I offered her a bigger cut, but she wouldn't take it. I'm giving Arichdamis 282 gurans to make up for the damage to his cellars. And I gave 2,500 gurans to the local Saint Quatinius's hospital for the poor. When we were on that boat, I did promise I'd donate something if we made it back to shore.»

I'm expecting some complaints about this, particularly from the heathen Makri, but none are forthcoming. Makri and Lisutaris seem content that I've made the donation. We have had a lot of luck recently; perhaps some saint has been looking after us.

«So that gives us 10,500 gurans each. No need to thank me for my brilliant betting campaign. Though it does strike me you won't be collecting your winnings from Lasat, which is unfortunate.»

«That's the only unfortunate thing about his death,» says Lisutaris. «Anyway, thanks for the brilliant betting campaign. It's good to have money and not be relying on Kublinos. But I can hardly just tell him to go away, can I? Not after he's been so generous.»

«Of course you can,» says Makri. «Just tell him you're not interested.»

«That's easy for you to say,» says Lisutaris. «I don't see you telling General Hemistos to go away, even though you want to.»

«I'm not very good at these things. Is he coming here with Kublinos?»

Lisutaris nods. Makri looks worried. «Thraxas, could you tell Kublinos and Hemistos we're not really interested?»

«Absolutely no chance,» I say. «If you can't deal with unwanted attention that's your problem. And if Kublinos and Hemistos are headed here, I'm off to the Jolly Bandit for a civilised drop of ale.»

I leave the house but haven't travelled very far when I hear the clatter of Lisutaris's fancy shoes on the cobblestones. Both she and Makri have apparently decided to flee the scene rather than face their prospective suitors.

«This is really pathetic,» I tell them, as they catch up. «Two grown women who can't cope with a little personal problem.»

«Shut up and get inside the tavern before they get here,» says Lisutaris, hurrying into the Jolly Bandit. Not a place which will do much for her status, I'd say, though perhaps it doesn't matter so much any more, now she's been chosen as War Leader. As soon as we're inside, a waitress hurries over, recognising me as a valuable customer. I order beer for myself, and wine for Lisutaris and Makri.

«Incidentally, Lisutaris. Are you still wondering about Arichdamis's plans?»

«The ones that were stolen? Of course.»

«Well check in you magic purse. In the seventh compartment.»

The Sorceress frowns, and fishes around inside her purse. Finally she emerged with the plans in her hand.

«How did these get here?»

«They've been there all the time,» I tell her. «No one stole them. You just put them in there when you'd been smoking thazis and forgot all about it.»

Makri laughs. Lisutaris looks embarrassed.

«You really should cut down on your intake,» I tell her. «You're War Leader now. You can hardly expect the combined armies of the West to march off to war behind a woman who doesn't know what she's got in her purse. It's hardly re-assuring.»

«Be quiet,» says Lisutaris. «Sorceresses never know what they have in their purses. We're famous for it.»

«What will happen with the Baroness and her daughter now?» asks Makri.

«Nothing, I imagine. Baron Mabados will keep pretending his son is sick till eventually everyone forgets about the wedding. It's a tactful way of getting out of it. Vosanos and his family won't be pleased, but they won't say anything in public.»

«So it will just be hushed up?»

«Yes. Barons aren't going to start accusing each other of trying to murder family members. It would make them all look bad in front of the peasants. The King wouldn't like it.»

Makri thinks about this for a few moments. «But what about Alceten?»

«What about her?»

«She was murdered. Is no one going to be put on trial for that?»

«No. It will never even be acknowledged as a murder.»

«Who was responsible?»

«That's hard to say. Zinlantol was keeping Magranos informed about Alceten. So I suppose she started it all off.»

«But who actually killed her?»

I shrug. «Someone small enough to hide themselves in the front of the carriage that ran her over. I doubt I'd ever be able to find out who that was. They're probably not in Elath any more. Magranos will have hired some thug and then made sure he disappeared quickly.»

«So this Magranos,» says Makri. «He's the person who gave the order to kill her?»

«Most probably. But there's no way of getting evidence. Even if there was, the King would suppress it.»

Makri isn't satisfied. She doesn't like it that a young woman was murdered and no one will be brought to justice.

«Will Baron Vosanos be going to war?»

«Yes.»

«Will his steward Magranos be going with him?»