Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Elvish Isles

Isuas appears, wide-eyed and timorous as usual.

“Can’t you knock?” growls Makri.

I grin at the young Elf. She might be a sickly sort of kid, with straggly hair and watery eyes, but I like her well enough. She has a message for me from Lord Kalith.

“He asks if you would like to spend this last evening playing niarit.”

“Niarit? I must be back in his good books.”

Isuas looks doubtful. “I think he just ran out of opponents. He’s beaten all the other players on the ship.”

I haul myself up. “Then it sounds like a job for Thraxas. Once I’m through with him, your father will regret ever taking up the game.”

Isuas looks pained. “My father is renowned as a fine player.”

“Oh yes? Well, when it comes to niarit I am number one chariot. Ask Makri here.”

“Will you teach me some more fighting?” asks Isuas eagerly.

Makri scowls. “What’s the point? When it comes to sword play you’re about as much use as a eunuch in a brothel.”

Isuas gapes, shocked by this crude expression. She hangs her head. “I’ll try to do better,” she mumbles.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, Makri. Have fun.”

“Are you going to go and leave me with this brat for company?”

“I am indeed. A true niarit player never refuses a challenge. If there’s any wine going spare I’ll bring you back a bottle.”

I depart, keen for some action. I wonder if Lord Kalith might wish to place a small wager on the outcome? I have a package with me, just in case.

I enter Kalith’s comfortable cabin for only the second time on the voyage. One might have thought that as a guest of the Elves I would have been invited there more frequently, but no. While Princes, Deputy Consuls and assorted Sorcerers have freely enjoyed the Elf Lord’s hospitality, Thraxas the Investigator has sadly languished in a tiny cabin at the unfashionable end of the ship, fruitlessly awaiting an occasional invitation to socialise with the upper classes.

Stifling my resentment, I greet Kalith politely enough.

“You wished to see me?”

“I wondered if you might care for a game?”

Lord Kalith gestures with his hand towards the niarit board set out in front of him. The two opposing armies are lined up against each other, the front rank comprising, from left to right, Foot Soldiers, or Hoplites, then Archers, then Trolls. The rear rank is made up of Elephants, Heavy Mounted Knights and Light Mounted Lancers. Each player also has in their army a Siege Tower, a Healer, a Harper, a Wizard, a Hero and a Plague Carrier. A the very back of the board is the Castle, the object of the game being to defend your own Castle and storm your opponent’s. Lord Kalith’s board is the same as that used all over the Human Lands, except that one of the armies is green instead of white, and the Castles at each end of the board are instead represented by large fortified trees.

“I generally take green,” says Lord Kalith.

“Fine. They call me Thraxas the Black. And I generally take wine.”

No servant is in attendance. Faced with the possibility of actually standing up and pouring me some wine himself—which would be asking rather a lot of an Elf Lord—Kalith looks suddenly puzzled and asks me if I know where his daughter is. I tell him she’s hanging around with Makri, which doesn’t please him.

“All I hear from my daughter these days is Makri this or Makri that. I do not approve.”

“Yeah, as a role model Makri is the woman from hell. Don’t worry, she hates your daughter anyway.”

Somehow that didn’t come out quite as I intended. Kalith is not pacified. To save him any embarrassment I get my own wine, filling a goblet from the decanter nearby. And once again I have to say that, as Elvish wine goes, it is not of the finest. Makes me again suspect that Kalith is not liberal with his hospitality, and probably doesn’t have a spare barrel of beer waiting in the storeroom for anyone who might wish to partake of it.

“Care for a small wager?”

Kalith raises his eyebrows a fraction. “I have no wish to take money from you, Investigator.”

“You won’t.”

“I will assuredly defeat you.”

“That’s what your cook said before I sent his army down to Elvish hell.”

Kalith smiles. “I have heard that you outplayed Osath. I, however, am a rather better player. But I repeat, I have no wish to take money from you.”

I unwrap my package.

“A stick?”

“An illuminated staff. One of the finest. Given to me by the renowned Turanian Sorcerer Kemlath Orc Slayer.”

I speak a word of power and the staff lights up with a brilliant golden hue. It really is a fine illuminated staff, the best I’ve ever had. Even to an Elf Lord, it can’t be an unattractive bet.

Lord Kalith picks it up and holds it, watching as the golden light streams out of it, lighting all corners of the cabin.

“A fine staff. Though I seem to remember hearing that Kemlath Orc Slayer was obliged to leave Turai in disgrace.”

“He had the misfortune to have me investigate some crimes he’d committed.”

“Very well, I accept your bet. What shall I wager in return? A golden goblet?”

Elves always think that humans are slaves to gold. Fair enough. I’ve done plenty of questionable things for gold. But that’s not what I’m looking for right now.

“Would you rather I staked some mystical item? My chief Sorcerer Jir-ar-Eth has many fine articles.”

“No, I’m not needing any fine articles. I was thinking more about Makri.”

Kalith frowns.

“I want her on Avula with me. She helps me investigate. If I win, I want you to let her land, no questions asked. And guarantee that the Avulans will be hospitable to her.”

“There is no possibility of my people being hospitable to her.”

“Well at least not openly hostile. Do you accept my bet?”

The Elf Lord shakes his head. “I cannot allow her on my island.”

I stand up.

“A pity. I was looking forward to playing. It’s not often you get the chance to show an Elf Lord that no matter how many excellent variations he works out for the Harper’s Game, he’s got about as much chance against Thraxas as a rat against a dragon. And I mean a small rat and a big dragon.”

A pained look comes into the Elf Lord’s face. I doubt that he has ever before been compared to a rat.

“Sit down,” he says coldly. “And prepare to lose your staff.”

We start to play. Lord Kalith apparently does not fully trust his new variation because he starts off with the Hoplite advance, a solid if unexciting strategy. I respond in a conventional manner by harrying them with my Light Cavalry, meanwhile forming up my own Hoplites to resist and bringing up my Trolls for some heavy support. It has all the makings of a stiff battle on the centre of the field, which will suit me fine, when Lord Kalith surprises me by sending his Hero striding out in front of his army, straight into my Light Cavalry.

This seems foolish. The Hero carries a lot of weight on the board and can deal with most things, but not an entire division of Cavalry backed up with Hoplites and Trolls. I surround him and get ready for the kill but I’m keeping a watchful eye out for whatever else Kalith might have planned.

When I’m about to slay Kalith’s Hero he suddenly advances his Archers up towards my right flank, backed by his Elephants. Coming alongside them are his Harper and his Plague Carrier. I’m momentarily puzzled. Apparently Lord Kalith now wishes to rescue his Hero, but I can’t see how even this strong force can reach him in time. His Harper sings to my troops, which has the power of paralysing them, and his Plague Carrier starts to do some damage, but I form up my Trolls in a strong defensive line and send over some of my Heavy Cavalry for support, with my Healer and my Wizard in attendance. Lord Kalith’s relief force fails to penetrate and I kill his Hero, which, I think, puts me at a strong advantage.