Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

«She was wearing a tiara!» exclaims Lisutaris. «When we get to Elath, try not to get drunk when there are important people around.»

«I'll consider it. Are you planning on watching the tournament?»

Lisutaris shrugs. «I doubt I'll have time. I'll need to meet with the other Sorcerers and start planning the war effort.»

«I've been trying to persuade Makri to enter.»

«Why?»

«To gamble on her, of course. She'll be a shoo-in, no one will beat her.»

«I hear there are a lot of professional swordsmen on their way.»

I brush this aside. «Makri will destroy them.»

Lisutaris pours herself a goblet of red wine and empties it in one large gulp. Her hand is trembling. You can't smoke a whole thazis bush every day for twenty years and then not notice it when it's gone.

«Can't you persuade her?» I ask Lisutaris. «You like a good wager yourself.»

«I do. But Makri is my bodyguard. I need her around. Anyway, none of us have any money for gambling.»

This makes me pause. I haven't a coin to my name, but with Lisutaris being so rich, I expected she'd be able to come up with something.

«Don't you have any money invested in Samsarina?»

She shakes her head. «I lost everything in Turai. Gold, property, antiques, banking interests, all gone. I still have my land I suppose, if we ever get the city back, but here I'm broke. I'm relying on charity from Kublinos.»

«Well this is very unsatisfactory,» I exclaim. «Here we are approaching the biggest sword-fighting tournament in the West, and we can't put a bet on.»

Lisutaris is no longer listening. She's staring at the floor. Or maybe not staring at anything. I don't think her eyes are focusing properly. She really needs thazis.

In the light of Makri's suggestion that Kublinos is sweet on Lisutaris, I take a closer look at him. He's about Lisutaris's age, maybe a year or two younger. Though there's little to distinguish him from the general population of dark-haired, medium-built Samsarinans, he does wear quite an elaborate rainbow cloak, and a blue queenstone necklace. The cloak and necklace are a little fancy, but not particularly extravagant by Sorcerers' standards. He's old enough to have fought in the last Orc War, but didn't, being injured at the time. Apparently he was laid up with a broken leg after a horse-riding accident. This doesn't endear him to me. I'm suspicious of anyone who didn't fight the Orcs. I don't know how powerful his sorcery is. Reasonably powerful, I suppose, as he's Harbour Sorcerer of Samsarina's major port. The King wouldn't give that position to anyone weak.

Makri is leaning on the rail at the side of the barge, staring at some ruins in the distance. An ancient city by the looks of it. She asks me if I know anything about it. I shake my head.

«Just some dead city.»

«Aren't you curious?»

I'm not. Makri, with her weird lust for knowledge, is dissatisfied. Eventually the landscape changes as we approach the southern edge of the great mountain range that splits the northern part of Samsarina. The river narrows, and the main road, visible from our barge, is busier. The miles of unbroken farmland give way to small clusters of houses, hamlets, and the occasional village.

«What are the baths like?» asks Makri.

«Large. Warm. Quite pleasant to lie around in. Meant to be good for your health.»

«Can anyone go in?»

«Yes, but they keep the best ones for the Barons.»

«So I'll be in an inferior pool?»

«Definitely. Along with me. Well, not actually along with me. Men and women bathe separately. But we're not going to get into the Royal Bathing Houses, that's for sure.»

The river veers east as we approach the mountains. It's possible to sail all the way to Samsara, capital of Samsarina, but to get to Elath we have to disembark and hire horses at a way station, then ride west into the foothills. Baron Mabados rides beside Lisutaris, deep in conversation. I'd like to hear what they're saying but the Baron has made it quite plain he doesn't welcome my company.

«You'd think he'd have got over it by now,» I say to Makri, riding beside me at the rear of the party.

«Lucky for you his wife isn't here.»

That's probably true. Fortunately she's travelling separately. As we near Elath, the road becomes much busier. Tents and stalls have been erected on the outskirts of the town, where armourers, leather-workers and food vendors are plying their trade. We pick our way through carefully. Elath is a town which appears to have grown in a haphazard fashion. There are large, well-built mansions to the north, used as summer homes by the Barons, but the rest of the settlement is a dull collection of low, grey stone and timber buildings. Many of these show signs of cheap construction and poor maintenance. Narrow streets run in apparently random directions, clustered around a town hall which is anything but grand. Even the statue of St Quatinius looks second-rate.

Makri look around her with distaste. «They don't believe in spending a lot of time on architecture, do they?»

«Probably not. The place is mostly empty for ten months every year.»

Kublinos's residence turns out to be one of the largest mansions on the north side of town. While he personally escorts Lisutaris to some luxurious guest suite, a junior servant leads me and Makri to two tiny rooms at the very top of the building. I'm not complaining. I've lived in worse. If I'm not exactly as happy as an Elf in a tree, I'm fairly satisfied. At least I'm warm, with a roof over my head. I shudder at the memory of the boat. I lie down on the small bed and drift off to sleep, thinking about the sword-fighting tournament, and the fine opportunities it affords for gambling.

When I waken next day, I feel like a bath, which is convenient, as I'm in a town famous for its hot baths. Perhaps I'm setting my sights too low by allowing myself to be shuffled off to the common bathing house. After all, I'm Chief Adviser to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. That ought to worth something in terms of status. I tackle Kublinos about it over breakfast, which we eat in an oak-panelled room with heavy leather chairs and a nicely flickering fire in the grate. It's the sort of decor you'd expect to find among wealthy citizens of Samsarina. Comfortable, but nothing modern; furniture that was passed down to them by their grandparents, and silverware that's even older. Kublinos quickly squashes any hopes of me being admitted to the King's Bathing House.

«The building is reserved for the aristocracy. Only the King, his Barons and certain members of the court are allowed entry.»

«Does that include you?»

«Senior Sorcerers are admitted, yes.»

«But Lisutaris is going to the Queen's Bathing House. Don't I have some status as her Adviser?»

Apparently I don't. Makri doesn't appear for breakfast. I find her outside in the grounds, practising with her swords. She never likes to go for long without a weapon in her hands. It makes it all the more ridiculous that's she's refusing to enter the tournament.

«What are you looking unhappy about?» she asks.

«This class-ridden society! It's not right that the Barons get all the best hot water and I have to squeeze into some grubby pool with a bunch of farmers.»

«It was much the same in Turai, wasn't it?»

«I suppose so. But I thought that being Lisutaris's Chief Adviser might have boosted my status.»

«You said goodbye to your status when you mistook Baroness Demelzos for a serving wench,» says Makri. «Anyway, your status isn't as low as mine.»

«You should take revenge,» I say.

«What do you mean?»

«Show them you're as good as everyone else. Enter the sword-fighting tournament and win it.»