Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Elvish Isles

“Makri can train me for the tournament,” cries Isuas, unable to contain herself any longer. Yestar smiles. She has a beautiful smile. Perfect white teeth.

“Ah yes. The tournament. Isuas is keen to enter. All her older brothers fared well in the junior tournament, as did one of her sisters. Unfortunately. . . .”

Not wishing to say anything demeaning to her daughter, she leaves the sentence unfinished.

“You think she might do badly, not being used to sword play?” suggests Makri. “Well, if that’s the only problem, leave it to me. I’ll bring her up to the required standard.”

I’m amazed. Makri must really be under the influence. Strange, she’s normally no more liable to the effects of thazis than I am. I wonder if the water from the sacred pool might have affected her in some way.

Isuas whoops with glee and starts dancing round her mother. Lady Yestar seems dubious.

“I do not really think I can allow it. Isuas is small for her age, and inexperienced. Surely she could not put up a good showing against boys older and more experienced than her?”

“She’ll do well,” says Makri. “Only way to get experience, just plunge right in. I tell you, I can train that child to put up a fine show. Why, even on the ship she was making excellent progress.”

Isuas beams. Lady Yestar considers it.

“Well, if you are sure. . . . I would not like to risk my daughter being hurt, but I have been encouraging her to sail with my husband, to make her tougher.”

She turns to Isuas. “Are you sure you wish to do this?”

Isuas bounds around, very sure that she wants to do it.

“Excellent,” says Makri, adjusting her hat, which has slipped over her eyes. “We’ll get started as soon as possible.”

“Might Lord Kalith possibly object?” I venture.

“We won’t mention it to him just yet,” says Yestar. “Keep it as a surprise.”

“I have a practice sword,” says Isuas, still unable to control her excitement. “Come and see it.”

Makri allows herself to be dragged away to see the practice sword. I know she’s really going to regret this when she wakes up tomorrow.

“Do many women in Turai have pierced noses?” enquires Yestar politely.

“Only two. One’s a travelling musician who dyes her hair green and the other is Makri. I expect the green hair will follow along in time.”

“Such things can surely not help her in her quest to be thought a suitable candidate for the Imperial University?”

“So I keep telling her. But she’s full of contradictions. All that mixed blood, I expect.”

“Are you hoping to question me about the sad affair of Elith-ir-Methet?”

I’m surprised at the abruptness of this.

“Yes,” I reply. “I am. Do you go along with the popular opinion that she is guilty of everything?”

The Elvish Lady sits in silence for a while.

“Perhaps. I have heard all the reports. And there are witnesses who claim to have seen her stab the Tree Priest. But I have known Elith for most of her life. I find it very difficult to believe that she would kill anyone. Have you any reason for imagining her to be innocent, apart from your desire to upset my husband?”

I assure Lady Yestar that I have no desire to upset her husband.

“Only a few days ago we shared a friendly game of niarit, and . . . eh. . . .”

“You defeated him.”

I apologise. Lady Yestar doesn’t mind. I tell her I have a powerful desire to help Vas-ar-Methet.

“I know he’ll go into exile if his daughter is found guilty and I don’t want to see my old companion-in-arms reduced to hawking his healing services around some third-rate city in the west.”

“Have you learned anything that may assist her?”

I admit that I have made little progress.

“I can see far, in many directions,” says Yestar. “I gazed at the troubles of Elith-ir-Methet, but I was unable to penetrate the mists that surround them. Yet your presence here brings new energy to the affair, Investigator. Perhaps I should look again.”

She lapses into silence. She stares into the distance. The sun streams in through the windows, and the sound of birdsong. It strikes me that of all the rooms in palaces I’ve ever been in, I like this one best. I like Lady Yestar too. I wonder what she is looking at. Who knows what a powerful Elvish Lady might be capable of?

Finally her attention returns. “I see that you might have been a powerful Sorcerer,” she says, “had you been prepared to study when you were young.”

There doesn’t seem to be any answer to this so I remain silent.

“You know we have been plagued by bad dreams? I see that they are connected with Elith in some way. And the Hesuni Tree, though our healers assure us that it is again healthy.”

Yestar stares into space. A smile comes to her face. “The juggling competition? Even here on Avula, you wish to gamble?”

I feel uncomfortable. If Lady Yestar possesses powers of farseeing, I’d prefer her to concentrate on the matter of Elith rather than my bad habits. Any moment now she’ll be advising me to drink less.

She lapses into her semi-trance once more. From another room I can hear the sound of a child’s voice, excited. Isuas is screaming about something or other.

“And Makri may regret her offer of help when her mind clears. Did you drink of one of the pools?”

I nod.

“You’re not supposed to.”

“I’m sorry. Is it calanith?”

“No. We just don’t like it.”

The Elvish Lady frowns, and concentrates some more. “Something was sold next to the Hesuni Tree.”

“Pardon?”

“Something was sold.”

This is interesting, but Yestar can summon up nothing more. She can’t tell me who sold what, or to whom, but she has the distinct impression that a transaction was made. I ask her if in all her farsighted gazing she received any impression as to Elith’s guilt or innocence.

“No. I could not see who killed our Tree Priest. But, as you know, the Hesuni Tree casts a dense cloud over all mystic effects in the area.”

Yestar, now fully back in the real world, fixes me with a stare. “If you are able to clear Elith-ir-Methet I will be pleased. However, if it transpires that she is guilty, neither I nor my husband will stand for any attempt to forge evidence in her favour, or to spirit her off the island.”

I don’t bother to defend myself against this one.

“She will be executed if found guilty,” I point out, and I can see that the prospect of this does not please Lady Yestar.

“I’d like to talk to someone who could tell me about the rival factions for the position of Tree Priest,” I say.

“That would be calanith.”

“But possibly very helpful.”

Yestar studies me for a while longer. Whether she’s influenced by my honest face, or by her abhorrence at the thought of Elith being executed, she finally tells me that Visan, the Keeper of Lore, may be willing to explain it to me, if Yestar gives him permission.

Our conversation is interrupted by Isuas, who erupts into the room with Makri in tow.

“Makri just showed me a new attack,” she yells.

It’s time for us to leave. Makri promises to return tomorrow to start the training. Lady Yestar will direct her to a private clearing where they will be undisturbed. An attendant leads us through the Palace.

“Still happy to be teaching the kid how to fight?”

“Guess so,” says Makri.

Whatever is influencing Makri’s behaviour is lasting a long time. I study her eyes, and I see that they have the same glazed sort of look I saw in Elith-ir-Methet’s.

“Bezin hat,” she says, still pleased.

Makri’s continued intoxication leads to a brief comedy when we are led through a corridor with doors going off on each side. One of the doors opens and Jir-ar-Eth rushes out, plunging headlong into Makri, who stands there looking surprised as the Sorcerer tumbles to the floor.