Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Elvish Isles

“And what exactly are these goings-on?”

“I need to investigate more.”

“Nothing you find will change the fact that Elith-ir-Methet was seen stabbing Gulas-ar-Thetos. You yourself have talked to a witness.”

“I still need to investigate more.”

Lord Kalith is not minded to let me out. There are three days left till the start of the festival and I’m running out of time.

“You cannot execute Vas-ar-Methet’s daughter without the fullest investigation,” I insist.

“Her punishment has not been decided.”

“But her guilt has. You must allow me to continue with my investigation.”

Kalith is offended by my tone and tells me sharply that his patience with me is wearing thin.

“Fine,” I say. “Though I must admit to being very surprised at an Elf Lord being such a poor sport. In Turai, the aristocracy does not stoop to such low tactics when faced with defeat.”

Kalith’s head jerks in surprise.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s pretty clear that this is all down to me beating you heavily at the niarit board. Ever since then it’s been nothing but trouble all the way for me. You’ve hindered my investigation at every turn simply because you can’t stand losing to a Human.”

I move towards the window, raising my voice so the guards outside can hear.

“I guess it was just too embarrassing for the niarit champion of the Ossuni Elves to have his conqueror walking around the island, telling everyone about the bad variation of the Harper’s Game he’d played. The armourers warned me you’d probably throw me in jail rather than risk facing me over the board again. . . .”

From outside my cell comes something that sounds very like muffled laughter. Lord Kalith, an Elf who proved his bravery and honour time and again against the Orcs, can’t take any more of this. And so it is that minutes later I find myself sitting at the table facing an angry Kalith-ar-Yil over a niarit board, hastily brought by a guard in response to his Lord’s furious instructions.

“Don’t bother locking the cell,” I call after the jailer. “I’ll be walking out of here soon enough. So, Lord Kalith, are we—”

“Enough talking,” says Kalith. “Play.”

I start moving my Hoplites forward. Kalith counters warily. But I notice he’s getting his Elephants ready, and his Heavy Cavalry.

The sun shines cheerfully into the cell. Parrots squawk merrily in the trees. Outside it’s another bright day in Avula. Inside, things are not so good, at least for Lord Kalith. Not too long after the start of the game his forces lie in ruins, mere dust under the wheels of the unstoppable Thraxas war chariot. Kalith, after his tentative opening, was unable to resist a wild assault on my forces using his heaviest troops, an assault that I withstood for just long enough to bring his army exactly where I wanted it before falling back with my centre, outflanking him on both sides and carrying out what could only be described as a massacre. His Hero, Plague Carrier, Harper, Wizard and Healer lie dead beneath a sad tangle of dead Elephants and decimated Trolls.

Kalith looks grimly at the miserable remains and concedes defeat. I am now free to go, as per our pre-game agreement.

“Any chance of some food?” I ask, as I sling my cloak over my shoulders.

“You may visit the kitchens,” replies Lord Kalith, summoning up the last reserves of his good breeding. “The guards will show you the way.”

“Thank you. I take it that I will be allowed to speak with my client again?”

Lord Kalith allows that I can, which is a relief. I wasn’t looking forward to trying to break back into prison.

In the short walk between the cell and the main Palace building, I pass two stern-looking Elves marching another prisoner into the lockup. I recognise the captive, though I don’t know his name. It’s the young Elf whom the poet Droo was arguing with in the clearing at the three oaks and river. His eyes are blank and he isn’t walking very steadily. The guards help him along, shepherding him into a cell.

I’m shown to the kitchens. There I find Osath the cook, whom I haven’t seen since I disembarked. He’s delighted to see me. He knows how much I appreciate his cooking.

“Thraxas! They let you out? The word in the kitchens was that Lord Kalith was going to throw away the key. What happened? Did your Ambassador stand bail?”

“The Turanian Ambassador is about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. No, I was forced back on my own resources. I beat Kalith at niarit again.”

Osath laughs heartily at this, as do his assistants. Again the Elves are amused at Kalith losing. Which just goes to show that even a well-loved and respected Elf Lord shouldn’t go around bragging about his prowess at the niarit board. It annoys everyone.

Osath begins to pile up food in front of me and I start shovelling it in.

“I have to ask you a few questions, Osath.”

The chef looks doubtful. “We can’t tell you anything about Elith, Thraxas. It would be awkward for us to discuss it. . . .”

“I wasn’t talking about Elith. Are you and your fellow low-lives in the kitchens planning to bet on the juggling competition?”

This brings Osath and his helpers clustering round keenly.

“We are. I was going to bet on young Shuthan-ir-Hemas,” replies Osath. “I’ve seen her put up some sensational performances. But I hear she’s gone off the boil.”

“She has. Yesterday I saw her trip over her own feet. Didn’t look like a woman who was about to win. I did see a young woman called Usath, from Ven, juggling seven balls and looking good for a few more. You know anything about her past form?”

“Junior champion at the competition two years ago in Corinthal,” says a young cook. “She’s still inexperienced, but she might do well. I think she might be worth a gamble, but there’s another juggler from Corinthal called Arith-ar-Tho who’s built up a fine reputation recently. Be best to check him out if you get the chance.”

I thank them for their help.

“What’s this we hear about Makri teaching Isuas how to fight?”

“I thought that was meant to be a secret.”

“There are no secrets in a Palace kitchen,” says Osath. “Lady Yestar might not have told Lord Kalith about it, but we’re the ones that have to make up food for them every day. Is there any chance of Makri teaching the kid well enough to enter the tournament? Would it be worth a bet? Isuas is so weak we’d get a good price on her winning even one fight against the most hopeless opponent. In fact, you’d get a good price on the kid even staying on her feet for thirty seconds.“

I consider this, while mopping up some fragments of venison pie with a hunk of bread.

“I think Isuas will give up before the tournament. Makri’s treating her pretty rough. But if things change, I’ll let you know. Make sure you don’t let on to anyone that Makri’s teaching her though, or the price will drop.”

Having cemented my good relations with the lower Elvish order by some solid gambling talk, I emerge from the Palace well fed and in good shape for investigating, which is just as well as I’ve lost time I couldn’t afford and have a great deal to do.

I find Lasas-ar-Thetos in a small hut in a tree near to the Hesuni. Around his head he has a yellow band denoting his new rank as Chief Tree Priest. He’s heard about recent events and displays a deep sadness.

“To think that such a substance could be polluting the sacred water of the Hesuni Tree. It brings shame to the whole island. I cringe at the thought of what my dear brother would have made of it.”

At least Avula’s new Tree Priest doesn’t blame me.

“When Lord Kalith informed me of the matter I told him that you were not a man who would bring dwa to our island. Indeed, we should be grateful to you for uncovering it. Do you know where it came from?”