Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

Chapter Eight

As we approach Arichdamis's house, Baroness Demelzos passes by on the other side of the road, in the company of two other well dressed women, both Baronesses, according to Lisutaris. Demelzos notices us, but barely acknowledges our presence.

"That was quite rude," says Lisutaris. "Only a few hours ago we were sharing the same mineral bath."

"But Thraxas wasn't there then," Makri points out.

"True. You can't expect her to stop for a chat when Thraxas is around. There's no knowing what he might come out with."

I ignore their mockery. It's the first time I've seen the Baroness since our unfortunate encounter in Orosis. Now I'm sober, Demelzos reminds me of someone, but I can't remember who.

Arichdamis's dwelling is far more modest than those of the Barons.

"I thought he'd have a bigger house," says Makri.

"Probably he just sits and thinks most of the time." I suggest. "No real need for a lot of space."

Makri looks at me with contempt. "You have no idea of the extensive scientific interests of Arichdamis, have you?"

"No. And if you're about to tell me about them, don't bother."

By this time Lisutaris is pulling on the chain by the door, ringing a bell inside. An elderly servant appears.

"Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, here to see Arichdamis on important business." She sweeps past without waiting for an answer. The servant, displeased at this breach of etiquette, attempts to block her way. I hold him back, not wanting to see him reduced to a pile of ashes, which is quite likely if he gets in-between Lisutaris and a bag of thazis. The Sorceress disappears rapidly through the door at the end of the hallway. Makri hurries after her, and the servant follows them, leaving me on my own. The hallway is slightly seedy. Not decrepit, just neglected. Arichdamis obviously isn't a stickler for cleanliness and I doubt his servants do more than they have to. I glance into his private temple, in the middle of the house. It's bare, with only a small statue of Saint Quatinius. From the dust on the floor, I'd say that Arichdamis doesn't visit much. The next room is crammed full of books and papers. The desk is cluttered with drawings, plans for strange machines. As I stroll through the house I see nothing that's well-upholstered, colourful or cheerful. Just some functional furniture and a lot of books and papers. It's like a gigantic version of Makri's room back in Turai.

I find Lisutaris sitting on the grass behind the house, smoking thazis. It says something for her powers of persuasion that she managed to obtain the drug from the mathematician so quickly. Presumably, he wouldn't have been that keen to hand it over, but here she is, digging into his supply already. Arichdamis is talking quite intently to Makri.

"Yes, I've calculated pi to a value between three and one-seventh, and three and ten seventy-firsts."

Makri looks excited. "Really? That's so accurate! Can I see your calculations?"

I leave them to it, and take a seat on the grass beside Lisutaris. I hold out my hand. She hands over a small fragment of thazis.

"Nice grounds," I mutter. They are extensive, given that the house itself isn't large. They stretch a long way back, ending in a wooded slope that rises into the mountains. Lisutaris grunts, a sound I interpret to mean she doesn't care if the grounds are nice or not. I roll myself a small thazis stick and light it from hers. It's peaceful here in the garden; probably the first time we've been at peace since our city fell. We sit in silence for a long time. A few rays of sunlight penetrate the clouds overhead. It will soon be spring.

"Plants will start growing," I mutter.

"Yes," says Lisutaris.

"And we'll be marching off to war."

"True."

"I wonder how many times I've marched off to war?"

"There's a small dragon walking down the hill," says Lisutaris.

This seems like an odd reply. "Eh… I'm not much good on symbolism. Does the small dragon represent us or the Orcs?"

"It doesn't represent anything. There really is a small dragon walking down the hill."

I glance round, and immediately leap to my feet in alarm. As accurately reported by Lisutaris, a small dragon is ambling down the hill towards us. It's white, about the size of a very large dog, and it has a lot of teeth and talons. It makes straight for Makri and Arichdamis. I shout a warning. Makri catches sight of it and flies into action. She draws her twin swords, sinks into her fighting crouch and gets ready to defend herself. It takes me only a few seconds to reach her and I draw my own sword, ready to fight off the beast.

The dragon draws near to Makri, rolls on its back, then sort of wriggles towards her and starts licking her ankles. Makri looks down at it suspiciously.

"What is this vile beast?" she demands. "And why is it licking my ankles?"

"It's the King's baby ice dragon," says Arichdamis. "I'm looking after it."

"Why?"

"It's a scientific project. They've hardly ever been raised in captivity."

"All right. But what about the ankle licking?"

"Maybe it thinks you're its mother?" I suggest.

Makri scowls. "I think I'm going to stab it." She raises her sword.

"No!" yells Arichdamis. "This dragon is very important to the King! It mustn't be harmed!"

Although Arichdamis is keen to protect the young dragon, it doesn't actually seem that keen on him. When he puts his hands on its tail, attempting to drag it away from Makri, it turns its head towards him and growls, quite ferociously, before once more returning to Makri's ankles.

Arichdamis looks puzzled. "I've never seen this behaviour before. Tell me, Makri, have you experience in looking after dragons?"

"Certainly not."

"It's odd. He certainly seems to take to you."

Makri is not looking pleased, and keeps trying to back away from the beast, which, however, doesn't want to let her go.

"Could you try this?" asks Arichdamis. He reaches down and attempts to stroke the dragon's head. The dragon lets out a fierce roar and bares its teeth. Makri sheathes one of her swords and reaches down. She gives the baby dragon a brief pat on the head. The dragon lets out a noise which, while not exactly pleasant, might be described as purring. Arichdamis looks delighted.

"This is splendid! You've no idea the trouble we've had keeping him happy. It's been almost impossible to get him to eat. I've been worried he might just die, and I can't tell you how much trouble that would cause me. But now you've come along, everything will be different."

Not liking the way this conversation is going, Makri narrows her eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You must help me care for the dragon. You'll have him eating again in no time."

"Completely out of the question," says Makri, raising her voice. "I've got a sword-fighting competition to win, a Sorcerer to protect and a city to take back from the Orcs. I can't waste time looking after baby dragons." Maki glares down at the beast. "I don't even like baby dragons."

"But you have to help," pleads our host. "I've been at my wit's end. I'm sure the King will be most grateful."

At that moment a procession marches round the side of the house, made up of eighteen soldiers, three Sorcerers, three Barons, several officials and King Gardos. It's the first time I've seen the young King, but he's easily recognisable from the discreet gold circlet on his head. Arichdamis bows low. He doesn't seem surprised at their arrival, so I presume it's not the first time the King has marched into his grounds without knocking at the door. The King pays no attention to Arichdamis, choosing instead to glare at Makri.

"What is happening here?" he demands. "What are you doing with my dragon?"

"Your majesty," exclaims Arichdamis, surfacing from his bow. "A remarkable occurrence. This woman has the power to soothe and comfort the dragon."

The King's scowl slowly fades at the sight of the small dragon playing at Makri's feet. "Astonishing!" he says. "Who is this young woman?"

"Makri, your majesty. Bodyguard to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky."

The King's brow furrows slightly as he further examines Makri. "Is she an Orc?"

"Partially, I believe," says Arichdamis. "But she is very good with the dragon."

"We shall see," says the King. "Bring forth the meat."

At the King's command a member of the royal household removes the lid of a silver platter to reveal a joint of raw meat.

"Feed the dragon," commands the King.

The attendant edges forward nervously. He holds out the meat, trying to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the creature. As soon as he comes near, the small white dragon starts snarling at him. He retreats rapidly. The King looks at Makri.

"Partially Orcish woman. Try feeding my dragon."

I'm concerned that Makri, being uncivilised, unused to monarchs, and never pleased to be described as an Orc, might refuse to co-operate. Fortunately she does seem to grasp that you can't go around being rude to a King when you're a refugee in his country. She shrugs, picks up the meat and thrusts it at the dragon.

"Eat this you beast."

The dragon leaps for the venison and gobbles it down immediately. There's a collective gasp from the procession at the sight of the dragon feasting happily. When it's finished the meat, it again snuggles down around Makri's ankles. King Gardos turns to one of his counsellors, the most important one, I'd guess, from the gilded insignia on his cloak.

"This woman must look after my dragon. Organise matters so that she has whatever she needs."