Thraxas and the Ice Dragon Read online

  "There will be thazis in Elath," I say, reassuringly. "It's just a matter of knowing how to find it. I'll sort it out."

  "Will you?" says Lisutaris, eagerly. "Good. As my Chief Adviser, this is your number one priority."

  "I'm not actually your Chief Adviser."

  "Well now I'm appointing you as a wartime emergency."

  "Is there a salary?"

  "No," snaps Lisutaris. "You just do it as your patriotic duty. And that duty is to find me thazis so I can function." She peers out the small window. "I wonder if this barge can go any faster? Maybe I could work some sort of spell… "

  Makri looks frustrated. "About the war?"

  "Yes I know there's a war," says Lisutaris. "You don't have to go on about it."

  "Don't get angry with me because you're running out of thazis," protests Makri "You're as bad as Thraxas and his continual craving for beer. "

  "What?" roars Lisutaris "Didn't you once collapse in Quintessence Street because you'd taken enough dwa to knock out a dragon?"

  Makri purses her lips. Dwa is a much more powerful drug than thazis. "That was only one time," she says. "It hardly counts."

  "One time?" I scoff. "And the rest. Who was it that vomited over the floor at the Sorcerers Assemblage?"

  "Almost everybody," retorts Makri. "After the Turanians drugged and poisoned them all."

  "The fact is, Makri, you're no more sober than anybody else."

  "I'm much more sober that you. How can you compare the occasional experiment with dwa with your continual heavy drinking?"

  "I prefer to think of it as moderate indulgence. It's not like I'm addicted. Like Lisutaris with thazis, for instance."

  "What?" yells Lisutaris. "You dare to criticise me? You haven't been sober in the last fifteen years."

  "Well," comes a voice from the cabin door. "Perhaps it's no surprise that Turai fell so easily to the Orcs."

  It's Baron Mabados. He brushes away a few strands of his long grey hair, enabling him to fix his glare firmly on me. He's a very large man, tall and brawny. The sort of Baron who's used to leading his men into battle.

  "I see you decided to accompany us," he growls.

  "I did."

  "Take care your manners improve." His eyes flicker towards Makri. If anything, his look of distaste becomes even more intense.

  "Is it customary for your serving girl to carry a sword?" he barks at Lisutaris. Not waiting for an answer, he tells Lisutaris that Kublinos has invited her to share his table.

  "Decent of him," I say, affably, and head for the door. The Baron flings out an arm out to prevent me leaving.

  "The invitation is for the Head of the Sorcerers Guild only." And with that, the Baron leaves.

  "He called me a serving girl!" says Makri.

  "How dare they not invite me to eat with them," I protest.

  "Oh be quiet," says Lisutaris, irritably. "I'll make sure someone sends you food." She departs, leaving Makri and I to reflect that so far, we don't like Samsarina.

  Chapter Five

  We sail upriver past endless tracts of farmland, dotted with the occasional farmhouse and not much else. Since leaving the Port of Orosis we've hardly seen so much as a village. The bare fields stretching off into the distance make for a bleak sight. I try to enlist Lisutaris's support in encouraging Makri to enter the tournament, but the Sorcerer is by turns irritable and depressed, and I can't get her interested. I notice that Kublinos the Harbour Sorcerer does make an effort to cheer her up, joining her at the rails of the barge, making the odd Sorcerer's joke and so on, but it has little effect. Lisutaris is as miserable as a Niojan whore and nothing can shake her gloom. Makri paces the decks, angry about everything. I spend most of my time in my cabin, drinking from my beer keg and trying not to think about all the people I knew in Turai.

  We've been travelling for two days when Makri suddenly yells, and points to the sky. "A dragon!"

  I look up. I can't see any sign of a dragon. The Orcs surprised us by bringing dragons to attack Turai in winter but I wouldn't have thought they could make it this far. Makri seems certain, however, and and rushes off to fetch Lisutaris.

  "I can't see anything," says Lisutaris, peering into the grey sky.

  By this time Baron Mabados and Kublinos, accompanied by an assortment of crewmen, servants and soldiers, are spilling onto the deck.

  "There's nothing there," declares Kublinos.

  "The woman's imagining things, " says a soldier, sneering in Makri's direction.

  I'm not sneering. Makri has Elvish blood, and Elvish eyesight.

  "Are you all blind?" demands Makri. "It's right there."

  She points up at the white sky and finally, to general terror and amazement, we see what she's talking about. A large dragon has just broken cloud cover and is streaking across the sky. It was hard to spot because it's white. I've never seen that before. Dragons come in grey, dark green, and bronze. Occasionally a sort of dull, dark silver. Never white. Apart from this one. The sight causes panic. Soldiers scramble for their longbows and crossbows, while the non-military men take cover.

  "Shall we make for the shore?" the captain asks Kublinos.

  Kublinos doesn't seem sure what to do. I'm guessing he's never been in action against a full-sized war dragon before. The first time you see one, it's a disturbing sight.

  "Get ready to repel an attack," yells Lisutaris, who's faced dragons many times. She strides to an open piece of deck, hands hanging loosely by her sides. "Archers, get ready to fire once I've hit it with a spell."

  Makri strides to Lisutaris's side, a sword in each hand. I join them. I can sense the power already growing in Lisutaris's hands. I was a failure at sorcery but I can still feel its presence. Lisutaris's eyes turn purple, which means she's summoning up something powerful. I saw her bring down two dragons at once on the battlefield outside the walls of Turai not three months ago, and I'll wager she'll do it again if she has to. As it turns out, she doesn't get the chance. The dragon flies overhead, paying us no attention. Its great white wings carry it high across our bows and swiftly on towards the north.

  "It's heading for Elath," says Kublinos. "It must be on its way to attack the King."

  Baron Mabados instructs Kublinos to make all speed to complete the journey. Unlike his soldiers, the Baron showed no sign of fear at the sight of the dragon. Lisutaris remains watchful, as her eyes revert to their normal colour. She turns to Makri. "Did you ever see a white dragon in the East?"

  Makri shakes her head. It's a mystery, and it bodes ill. Dragons can only be controlled by the Orcs. This could be the start of an invasion. The rowers pick up the pace, and we head towards Elath at full speed. Which, on this huge barge, is not that fast. These inland vessels are fine for travelling in comfort, but not much good for getting anywhere in a hurry. Lisutaris frets as she gazes after the dragon. "Is there no way this barge can go any faster?"

  "We could throw Thraxas overboard," suggests Makri. "Probably double our speed."

  I glare at Makri, but can't think of a suitable reply, still being distracted by recent events. We crawl slowly up the broad river, scanning the horizon for signs of destruction, expecting to see far-off plumes of smoke as Elath goes up in flames. Rather a waste of time, really, because we're still a long way from Elath. After a while I abandon scanning the horizon and go below deck to drink beer. Makri joins me.

  "This is frustrating," she says.

  I nod. If the white dragon really is about to attack Elath, we're not going to get there in time to do anything about it.

  "It was only one dragon, though," I point out. "There are a lot of Sorcerers in Samsarina. Lasat Axe of Gold, and Charius the Wise. They should be able to hold it off."

  Makri has no confidence in Lasat or Charius, reasoning that any Sorcerer who hates Lisutaris can't be any good. She glances at the small mirror on the cabin wall, and fiddles with her nose ring. As with almost everything about Makri, her pierced nose, barely acceptable in Turai, is cause for outrage in
Samsarina. I've seen servants shudder when she passes.

  "Kublinos looked paralysed when the dragon appeared," I say. "Probably never seen one before. I don't take to him."

  "Have you noticed how he's playing up to Lisutaris?" asks Makri. "I think he's sweet on her."

  That's an odd thought. I've known Lisutaris for a long time. I don't remember her ever entering into any sort of romance. Makri is probably imagining it. Her views on romance are usually erratic. She had one fling with an Elf in the Southern Isles and when it didn't end well she moped about it for months.

  "Perhaps he's just trying to make sure he's well-placed with the Head of the Guild," I suggest. "Sorcerers are always ambitious."

  "But wouldn't being friendly with Lisutaris put him in a bad position with Lasat? And maybe Baron Mabados as well." Makri looks thoughtful. "Of course, Baron Mabados has rivals at court. Maybe Mabados and Kublinos want Lisutaris as an ally. Apparently everyone's struggling for influence with the new King."

  "Since when did you become an expert on affairs at the Samsarinan court?"

  "I just kept my ears open," replies Makri, rather smugly. "The Barons are always trying to strengthen their positions. That's why this wedding is important."

  "What wedding?"

  "The wedding everyone's been talking about."

  "I haven't been paying attention."

  "Baron Mabados's son is marrying Baron Vosanos's daughter. It'll make a strong alliance. Some of the other Barons aren't pleased at the prospect."

  I've no wish to think about a power struggle between Barons. I'm still thinking about my old companions in Turai. And my favourite haunts - the bookmaker's shop, the pastry shop, the Avenging Axe. All burned to the ground, or infested with Orcs. I shake my head, and pour myself a beer. Lisutaris does little to cheer me up when she re-appears. She's irritable from lack of thazis, and pessimistic about her reception in Elath.

  "I hate these aristocratic power struggles. You can never do anything without offending someone." She looks at me rather pointedly. "Something you're already expert in, of course. It's lucky for us the Baroness isn't travelling on this barge."

  "Would everyone stop going on about the Baroness? So I mistook her for a servant. Could have happened to anyone."

  "She was wearing a tiara!" exclaims Lisutaris. "When we get to Elath, try not to get drunk when there are important people around."

  "I'll consider it. Are you planning on watching the tournament?'

  Lisutaris shrugs. "I doubt I'll have time. I'll need to meet with the other Sorcerers and start planning the war effort."

  "I've been trying to persuade Makri to enter."

  "Why?"

  "To gamble on her, of course. She'll be a shoo-in, no one will beat her."

  "I hear there are a lot of professional swordsmen on their way."

  I brush this aside. "Makri will destroy them."

  Lisutaris pours herself a goblet of red wine and empties it in one large gulp. Her hand is trembling. You can't smoke a whole thazis bush every day for twenty years and then not notice it when it's gone.

  "Can't you persuade her?" I ask Lisutaris. "You like a good wager yourself."

  "I do. But Makri is my bodyguard. I need her around. Anyway, none of us have any money for gambling."

  This makes me pause. I haven't a coin to my name, but with Lisutaris being so rich, I expected she'd be able to come up with something.

  "Don't you have any money invested in Samsarina?"

  She shakes her head. "I lost everything in Turai. Gold, property, antiques, banking interests, all gone. I still have my land I suppose, if we ever get the city back, but here I'm broke. I'm relying on charity from Kublinos."

  "Well this is very unsatisfactory," I exclaim. "Here we are approaching the biggest sword-fighting tournament in the West, and we can't put a bet on."

  Lisutaris is no longer listening. She's staring at the floor. Or maybe not staring at anything. I don't think her eyes are focusing properly. She really needs thazis.

  Chapter Six

  In the light of Makri's suggestion that Kublinos is sweet on Lisutaris, I take a closer look at him. He's about Lisutaris's age, maybe a year or two younger. Though there's little to distinguish him from the general population of dark-haired, medium-built Samsarinans, he does wear quite an elaborate rainbow cloak, and a blue queenstone necklace. The cloak and necklace are a little fancy, but not particularly extravagant by Sorcerers' standards. He's old enough to have fought in the last Orc War, but didn't, being injured at the time. Apparently he was laid up with a broken leg after a horse-riding accident. This doesn't endear him to me. I'm suspicious of anyone who didn't fight the Orcs. I don't know how powerful his sorcery is. Reasonably powerful, I suppose, as he's Harbour Sorcerer of Samsarina's major port. The King wouldn't give that position to anyone weak.

  Makri is leaning on the rail at the side of the barge, staring at some ruins in the distance. An ancient city by the looks of it. She asks me if I know anything about it. I shake my head.

  "Just some dead city."

  "Aren't you curious?"

  I'm not. Makri, with her weird lust for knowledge, is dissatisfied. Eventually the landscape changes as we approach the southern edge of the great mountain range that splits the northern part of Samsarina. The river narrows, and the main road, visible from our barge, is busier. The miles of unbroken farmland give way to small clusters of houses, hamlets, and the occasional village.

  "What are the baths like?" asks Makri.

  "Large. Warm. Quite pleasant to lie around in. Meant to be good for your health."

  "Can anyone go in?"

  "Yes, but they keep the best ones for the Barons."

  "So I'll be in an inferior pool?"

  "Definitely. Along with me. Well, not actually along with me. Men and women bathe separately. But we're not going to get into the Royal Bathing Houses, that's for sure."

  The river veers east as we approach the mountains. It's possible to sail all the way to Samsara, capital of Samsarina, but to get to Elath we have to disembark and hire horses at a way station, then ride west into the foothills. Baron Mabados rides beside Lisutaris, deep in conversation. I'd like to hear what they're saying but the Baron has made it quite plain he doesn't welcome my company.

  "You'd think he'd have got over it by now," I say to Makri, riding beside me at the rear of the party.

  "Lucky for you his wife isn't here."

  That's probably true. Fortunately she's travelling separately. As we near Elath, the road becomes much busier. Tents and stalls have been erected on the outskirts of the town, where armourers, leather-workers and food vendors are plying their trade. We pick our way through carefully. Elath is a town which appears to have grown in a haphazard fashion. There are large, well-built mansions to the north, used as summer homes by the Barons, but the rest of the settlement is a dull collection of low, grey stone and timber buildings. Many of these show signs of cheap construction and poor maintenance. Narrow streets run in apparently random directions, clustered around a town hall which is anything but grand. Even the statue of St Quatinius looks second-rate.

  Makri look around her with distaste. "They don't believe in spending a lot of time on architecture, do they?"

  "Probably not. The place is mostly empty for ten months every year."

  Kublinos's residence turns out to be one of the largest mansions on the north side of town. While he personally escorts Lisutaris to some luxurious guest suite, a junior servant leads me and Makri to two tiny rooms at the very top of the building. I'm not complaining. I've lived in worse. If I'm not exactly as happy as an Elf in a tree, I'm fairly satisfied. At least I'm warm, with a roof over my head. I shudder at the memory of the boat. I lie down on the small bed and drift off to sleep, thinking about the sword-fighting tournament, and the fine opportunities it affords for gambling.

  When I waken next day, I feel like a bath, which is convenient, as I'm in a town famous for its hot baths. Perhaps I'm setting my sig
hts too low by allowing myself to be shuffled off to the common bathing house. After all, I'm Chief Adviser to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. That ought to worth something in terms of status. I tackle Kublinos about it over breakfast, which we eat in an oak-panelled room with heavy leather chairs and a nicely flickering fire in the grate. It's the sort of decor you'd expect to find among wealthy citizens of Samsarina. Comfortable, but nothing modern; furniture that was passed down to them by their grandparents, and silverware that's even older. Kublinos quickly squashes any hopes of me being admitted to the King's Bathing House.

  "The building is reserved for the aristocracy. Only the King, his Barons and certain members of the court are allowed entry."

  "Does that include you?"

  "Senior Sorcerers are admitted, yes."

  "But Lisutaris is going to the Queen's Bathing House. Don't I have some status as her Adviser?"

  Apparently I don't. Makri doesn't appear for breakfast. I find her outside in the grounds, practising with her swords. She never likes to go for long without a weapon in her hands. It makes it all the more ridiculous that's she's refusing to enter the tournament.

  "What are you looking unhappy about?" she asks.

  "This class-ridden society! It's not right that the Barons get all the best hot water and I have to squeeze into some grubby pool with a bunch of farmers."

  "It was much the same in Turai, wasn't it?"

  "I suppose so. But I thought that being Lisutaris's Chief Adviser might have boosted my status."

  "You said goodbye to your status when you mistook Baroness Demelzos for a serving wench," says Makri. "Anyway, your status isn't as low as mine."

  "You should take revenge," I say.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Show them you're as good as everyone else. Enter the sword-fighting tournament and win it."

  Makri laughs. "Forget it. I'm not entering some ridiculous tournament. I'm busy. Lisutaris is meeting the Samsarinan Sorcerers and I'm going along as her bodyguard."