Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

Chapter Thirteen

Gloom descends over Arichdamis's house. It's hard to believe that someone stole the plans from right under our noses. Arichdamis is frantic, believing that enemy spies have made off with them. He's already imagining himself being executed for treason. Neither Lisutaris, Makri nor I believe that an enemy spy took the plans. It's far more likely that Lasat Axe of Gold was behind it.

"He'll do anything to discredit me," says Lisutaris.

"If Lasat did take them, what will he do with them?" wonders Makri.

"He'll produce them whenever he thinks it's most damaging," says Lisutaris. "Probably along with some fake story about an Orcish spy stealing them from me, and him heroically recovering them."

"We should have reported the theft when it happened!" says Arichdamis. "Now it looks like we're colluding with the enemy."

"We can't let anyone know. It will look too bad for Lisutaris."

Arichdamis has taken to pulling anxiously on his long grey beard. He goes away muttering about what a black day it was that he allowed Turanians into his house. Relations between us, previously cordial, have plummeted. Makri watches him go. "Now we've offended Arichdamis," she says, and sounds genuinely upset.

"If we're sure Lasat took the plans, shouldn't we be trying to get them back?" I suggest.

"Lasat will have them well hidden by now," says Lisutaris.

"So? You're more powerful than he is. Or you were till recently."

Lisutaris's eyes blaze. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you don't have so much power when you're continually intoxicated by thazis."

"Don't lecture me on intoxication," cries Lisutaris.

"Why not? You haven't been thazis-free since you set foot in this place. No wonder Lasat got the better of you."

"You're being unfair!" says Makri. "After all, Lasat is a secret addict too. He takes dwa, remember? Probably he's even more intoxicated than Lisutaris, some of the time."

"I'm not intoxicated!" cries Lisutaris. "If I was, could I do this?"

The Sorceress whips out a vial of kuriya, a black liquid used for various magical purposes. For most Sorcerers, controlling it is a difficult art. Not so for Lisutaris. She pours the liquid into a saucer and snaps her fingers.

"I'll show you who's intoxicated. Kuriya, where are the plans?"

Makri and I peer at the pool of dark liquid. Lisutaris, using her mighty powers, should be able to produce a picture of the current location of the missing item. We stare for a long time. Nothing happens. The Mistress of the Sky tries again.

"Show me the location of Arichdamis's plans." Nothing happens. "The moons are obviously in the wrong alignment," says Lisutaris. "I must consult my charts."

With that, she strides off briskly, leaving a non-functioning kuriya pool behind her. Makri looks at me with a worried expression. "Are her powers really on the wane?"

I shrug. "It's hard to say. Looking at the kuriya is always difficult, and it hasn't been working well for a lot of Sorcerers lately. The three moons do go through cycles. Maybe we're entering a bad one."

Makri's first fight is scheduled for later in the day. Both she and Lisutaris are planning to visit the Queen's Bathing House before going on to the tournament field. I'm heading off to investigate. I'm still far from certain that there's really anything that needs investigating, but I'll do it anyway. I plan to visit the King's Record House, where Alceten died, to examine the scene and ask questions. There were witnesses who should be worth talking to. Before I leave the house I offer a final word of encouragement to Makri.

"I've bet all our money on you. If you don't win your fight we'll be begging on the streets."

Equipping Makri used up most of the money I borrowed from Baroness Demelzos. I only had sixty gurans left, a frustratingly small sum given the good odds which were available at the bookmaker. Big Bixo was offering six to one on Makri winning her first fight, sixteen to one on her qualifying from her group, and a hundred to one on her winning the tournament. I'd hoped that her odds for winning the tournament might be better, given that she's completely unknown, but the bookmakers here won't offer anything larger, in case an unknown fighter turns up who happens to be a sword-fighting prodigy. That's extremely rare, but it has happened. No one knew me when I gloriously defeated all opposition all those years ago.

After studying the odds for a while, and weighing up my options, I place thirty gurans on Makri to win her first fight, and thirty more on her winning the whole tournament. I still regret only having sixty gurans to gamble with, but at least it's a start.

By now Elath is really starting to come alive. There's hardly a room to be had anywhere. Visitors are camped out in tents in the fields around the town. Everywhere you go, people are discussing the chances of their favourites, or passing on bits of gossip about who's in good form with a sword, who might have an injury, or who might have been spending too much time in taverns. Elupus is still the popular favourite but there's plenty of backing for other famous fighters. Gabril-ixx, from some isle in the far north, won a tournament recently and is getting a lot of attention. So is Uzbister, from Mattesh. He was out of action for a year following a bad shoulder wound, but now he's back, and he's a popular fighter.

The King's Record House, behind the town hall in the main square, is another ugly building. The road in front is narrow. Not much room for dodging if a carriage were heading your way. There are two guards at the door but they hardly bother to look at me as I enter, and don't acknowledge my announcement that I'm Chief Adviser to the Head of the Sorcerers Guild, here on official business. Inside, the building is no more impressive. A few pillars, an old statue of Saint Quatinius, some small stone figures of minor saints, and a badly designed fresco of an ancient Samsarinan King marching off to war. There's only one person in sight, a woman with long, greying hair, sitting behind a very large wooden desk, writing something in a ledger. I greet her politely.

"Thraxas of Turai, Chief Adviser to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky."

I'm expecting this middle-aged record keeper to be hostile but instead she greets me quite warmly. Maybe she's bored at work. Though she's plainly dressed, I notice she has a nice pair of queenstone earrings.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Zinlantol."

"I'm Zinlantol."

"I'm told you were a witness when Alceten was killed."

Zinlantol's lips compress. She puts down her quill. Suddenly, she's not so friendly.

"I was. I'd rather not talk about it."

"I'd just like to ask you a few questions."

Zinlantol is about my age, maybe a little older. She has a surprisingly steely gaze. "Who sent you?" she demands.

"Baroness Demelzos."

Zinlantol looks at me very suspiciously, wondering if I'm telling the truth. "Did you actually see the accident?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I already told Chief Steward Daringos everything I know. He conducted a very thorough investigation."

That seems like an odd answer. I haven't implied that he didn't. I persevere. "Did you see any sign of a driver in the carriage that knocked Alceten over?"

"Of course not. I would have reported it if I had. It was simply an accident. The horses weren't secured properly, and they bolted."

"Why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why did they bolt?"

"Presumably something startled them."

"But you don't know what?"

"No. I'd only just left the building when the accident happened. All I saw was poor Alceten being run down."

"It doesn't sound like you had much time to see what was happening. I hear it was raining too. Heavy rain. Visibility can't have been that good. How can you be sure there was no driver?"

Zinlantol rises to her feet. "If you have no official business at the King's Record House, I think it's time for you to leave."

We stare at each other. I take in her dress, the plain woollen drape that covers her shoulders, and a thin metal band on her ring finger, all of them cheap. But then there's the valuable queenstone earrings.

"Nice earrings," I say. "A present from a friend?"

The record keeper abruptly spins on her heel and walks off, disappearing from view through a door marked 'private.' I walk towards the entrance, past the statue of Saint Quatinius. I think he might be staring at me.

"That's what I do," I tell him. "Bully middle-aged women for a living."

The soldiers outside the door ignore me as I leave. They're discussing the tournament.

"Elupus will win it again," says one "I've got my money down already."