Martin Scott - Thraxas Under Siege (ARC)

"I didn't really win that much," says Makri, and manages to sound so guilty that all eyes turn towards her.

"Not enough to make a large donation to the Association of Gentlewomen anyway," continues Makri. "Even if I'd wanted to."

She pauses, and looks flustered.

"The Association of Gentlewomen did not cheat at the races. And Melus the Fair is not a secret supporter. It's an outrageous accusation."

"Have I offended you?" says Horm. "I apologise. I regarded your success at the racetrack as merely another example of your excellence in every field. Really, Makri, you are such a remarkable person. The finest sword-fighter in the land, the cleverest student in the city, and the most beautiful woman in the east or west."

He pauses. A slight smile plays across his face.

"Yet here you are, still employed as a barmaid in a cheap tavern, surrounded by imbeciles of the lowest order. Why not admit it? Turai will never recognise your talents."

"Did you bring me here to discuss Makri's talents?" says Cicerius, angrily.

"Yes," says Horm. "I did. And to propose a bargain. Or rather, a sporting venture. Tonight Thraxas will be engaged in a card game, playing some opponents who have the reputation of being the finest gamblers in the city. Thraxas has frustrated me in the past, and I would enjoy the opportunity to best him at one of his favourite pursuits."

It's my turn to sneer. I'm not about to sit down and play cards with an Orc who walks into my office uninvited and insults my intelligence in front of everyone.

"Why would we let you play? It's Humans only. Orcs not welcome."

"You see?" says Horm, once more turning to Makri. "You see how they hate the Orcish blood? You don't belong here."

"Yes she does," says Samanatius, speaking for the first time. "Makri will always be welcome in this city."

"Welcomed by you perhaps, philosopher," replies Horm, in a tone that's a good deal more respectful than the one he used towards me. "But you are a man of uncommon wisdom and civilisation. As for the others . . . Is the Deputy Consul really comfortable being in the same room as a woman with Orcish blood? Did he protest when she was banned from accompanying Lisutaris to the Palace? How about you, Lisutaris? Did you argue on her behalf?"

"We're at war," snaps Lisutaris. "There wasn't time to argue."

"Of course not. You're pleased to have the protection of her fighting skills. But it's a different matter when it comes to mixing in polite society. I imagine that Makri has encountered very little of polite society during her employment with you."

Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky flushes slightly. Whether because of her illness, or because Horm has struck a nerve, I'm not sure.

"Well she's quite welcome here," I growl. "And you still haven't told us why I should let you join in our card game tonight."

Horm holds up the Ocean Storm.

"Because if you can beat me at the card table, Investigator, I'll hand this over to the city."

There's a pause while this sinks in.

"Which will give Turai some chance of survival," he adds.

"And what if he doesn't beat you at the card table?" says Cicerius. "What then?"

"Then Makri returns with me to the kingdom of Yal as my wife."

I doubt if Deputy Consul Cicerius has ever been lost for words before. He is now. He looks from Horm to Makri and back again. Coranius and Lisutaris do the same. I'm attempting to formulate a withering reply, but Samanatius beats me to it.

"Out of the question, Horm," he says. "Makri is not some chattel to be traded at your whim."

That's not quite as withering as I'd have liked, but it gets the conversation going.

"Abandon the notion, Horm," says Lisutaris. "You're not gambling for my bodyguard."

"He's completely insane," I yell. "Lisutaris, Coranius. Work some spell on him so I can throw him down the stairs."

Horm looks round at us.

"I don't believe any of you have the authority to make decisions on behalf of your city. Which is why I asked the Deputy Consul here. Well, Cicerius?"

Cicerius hesitates. To give him his due, he doesn't hesitate for that long.

"I refuse to consider it, Horm. A person cannot be traded as goods in this city. It's against the law."

"I understood that in time of national emergency, the laws could be superseded by the King? And if he was not in a fit state to rule, by the Consul? As your consul is unfortunately not in a fit state either, that power has devolved on to you."

Cicerius looks rather offended.

"I am not in the habit of making up laws to suit my own convenience," he says, sharply. "Not without a discussion and vote in the senate."

Coranius hasn't spoken up till now. He takes a step forward.

"It's not such a bad bargain for the city."

"Really Coranius," protests Lisutaris. She looks at him angrily, but Coranius is too senior a Sorcerer to be quelled by a look, even from the head of the Guild.

"Well it's not. We have here an item that may seriously harm Turai. We seem to have no other way of retrieving it other than Thraxas winning it at cards. So why not agree to the bargain?"

"Because it means gambling away a person's liberty, that's why not."

Coranius shrugs.

"One person is of little account compared to the welfare of the city."

"Coranius, this is outrageous. I refuse to discuss it."

"We have to discuss it."

Cicerius and Samanatius join in. Coranius stands his ground, and there's soon a heated argument raging around the room.

"Who knows?" says Tirini. "Makri might like being Queen of Yal. It has to be better than this tavern. Do you know, they have no servants to clean their rooms?"

"Can't you do something to circumvent this, Lisutaris?" demands Cicerius.

"Like what?"

"Use your sorcery, of course. There are four Turanian Sorcerers in this room. Simply remove the Ocean Storm from Horm's grasp."

Lisutaris shakes her head.

"No. He's telling the truth. It would immediately disappear into the magic space and end up with Prince Amrag."

"Then we have to agree to play cards for it," says Coranius.

Cicerius wavers slightly.

"I believe Thraxas does have a certain skill . . ."

"I refuse to countenance it," roars Lisutaris, then coughs mightily and looks unwell.

There's a pause in the discussion.

"Perhaps," says Horm the Dead, "we should ask Makri what she thinks?"

"Excellent idea," says Makri, quite briskly.

She turns to face the Deputy Consul.

"I'll do it if you let me into the Imperial University."

"What?"

"I'll put myself up for the stake if you allow me to enter the university. I'm qualifying as top student from the Guild College. It's enough to gain admission to the university. But they don't let women in. Or anyone with Orcish blood. If you promise to waive the rules, I'll do it."

"Don't be insane, Makri." says Lisutaris. "If Thraxas loses, you'll have to marry Horm."

"Thraxas is good at rak."

"Not that good, from what I hear."

"I'm number one chariot at rak," I protest. "Not that I agree to the bargain."

"But I do agree," insists Makri. "If I can go to the university."

All eyes turn to Deputy Consul Cicerius.

"It would require a change in the constitution of the Imperial University. Which would require a discussion in the senate."

He pauses, and looks troubled.

"I believe I could see it through the senate . . ."

"Then I accept," says Makri. "Thraxas, go and win the Ocean Storm."

"I don't want to do it," I say.

"Why not?"

"I don't want to play with you as the stake."

"Aren't you Turai's greatest rak player?" says Makri.

"As opposed to Turai's greatest braggart," mutters Coranius.

I draw myself up to my full height, which still leaves me a few inches short of Horm.