Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Elvish Isles

“Have them brought to me—” commands Kalith, but that’s as far as he gets. No one has noticed the appearance of Yulis-ar-Key on the balcony. We soon notice that, while we are all without weapons, Yulis has somehow managed to procure two fine swords, which he brandishes menacingly.

“I will not be subjected to sorcerous examination like a common criminal,” he snarls.

“Why not?” I retort. “It would be entirely fitting.”

Yulis rushes at us. Things look bad till Makri steps into his path. Yulis brings each sword down at her. Almost quicker than the eye can see, Makri raises her arms, deflecting each blade with her metal wristbands. She then steps in and butts Yulis with her head. Yulis howls and drops his swords. As he goes down he grabs Makri by the leg and they crash through the thin fence at the edge of the balcony. They plunge over the edge into the pool, far below.

We stare over the edge. Elves are already running from all directions towards the water.

“She can’t swim,” I yell. There are some tense moments before Makri is hauled out by her rescuers. Moments later, Yulis struggles out of the pool and is immediately apprehended.

Lord Kalith looks down at the scene below. He frowns, and utters an Elvish oath.

“Did she have to fall right into the sacred pool?” he says. “I just had it ritually cleansed.”

Two days later I’m lounging on the grass in the large clearing, feeling satisfied. The plays have commenced. As I expected, I’m finding them a little highbrow for my tastes but I’ve a plentiful supply of beer and a fine reputation as an Investigator. Number one chariot, and no one can deny it. Elith is out of jail. It couldn’t be said that her name is exactly cleared. After all, she did go wild under the influence of dwa, and she did make an attempt on the life of an Elf she believed to be Gulas. But there are plenty of mitigating circumstances. Besides, whatever she might have meant to do, she didn’t actually kill anyone, and is innocent in the eyes of the law. Vas-ar-Methet has taken her home and has high hopes of rehabilitating her with his healing powers and the love of his family.

Yulis and Lasas are in prison. Both branches of the priestly family are now in disgrace. Lord Kalith will have some serious thinking to do before he makes a new appointment, but it can wait till after the festival, when the island is empty of visitors. Cicerius has expressed his satisfaction at the services I’ve performed on the island, and Kalith is too fair-minded not to be grateful.

Makri is now something of an Avulan hero, and not only for her amazing results with Isuas. The story of how she defeated the finest swordsman on the island without the aid of a weapon has been the talk of the festival. Isuas wishes to learn how to head-butt her opponents, and Droo has already composed several poems about the affair. She has also composed one about my investigating triumph, which she brought to my house.

“Droo likes you,” says Makri. “Strange, I never saw you as a father figure to disaffected young Elves.”

“Very funny. Is anything ever going to happen in this play?”

I’m bored with the drama. The Avulan version of the tale of Queen Leeuven is not stirring. Makri tells me that I’m missing the finer artistic points, but I long for something exciting to happen. I’m starting to agree with the Elves who regarded Sofius-ar-Eth as a poor choice of director.

“I’m puzzled about something,” says Makri, sipping beer. “Who were those masked Elves who kept chasing us round?”

“I don’t know. I’m puzzled myself. Part of the gang, I suppose, though they don’t seem to fit in.”

In front of us, Queen Leeuven is rallying her army. Suddenly, from nowhere, a huge crowd of spear-wielding villains appear on stage, march around for a few seconds, then disappear again. The crowd gasps. The masked Elves appear again and there is some frantic dramatic fighting as Queen Leeuven’s supporters battle with the spearmen, who magically vanish, only to reappear at the other side of the stage.

The crowd go wild, clapping and cheering at this new dramatic innovation.

“Right,” says Makri.

“Indeed. They were part of the play.”

“That must be why Kalith appointed a Sorcerer as his director.”

“He was trying to beef up the production.”

We stare at proceedings. I’m feeling a little foolish. All the time I thought they were after us they were just rehearsing for the festival.

“It’s low culture,” objects Makri. “Cheap stage effects detract from the drama.”

“I like it. But when I get back to Turai, I’m leaving this bit out of the story.”