Thraxas and the Elvish Isles

Chapter Eleven

Lady Yestar is not at all as I had anticipated. As she is the wife of Lord Kalith and a very aristocratic Elf in her own right, I had expected her to be cool and aloof, distant in that particular way only an Elf with a long lineage can be. Some of the great Elvish families can trace their ancestry back as far as the Great Flood, an event that, though only mythical to the Human nations, is historical to the Elves.

Yestar certainly looks the part; she’s tall, pale-skinned and tending towards the ethereal. At first sight she gives the impression of being an Elf to whom the affairs of a Turanian Investigator will be well below her notice. In this I am mistaken. She turns out to be a friendly, cheerful, intelligent Elf who greets us warmly while laughing at the enthusiastic antics of her daughter. I notice that she wears eye make-up, which is rare among the Avulans.

Isuas herself seems transformed in the presence of her mother. She still trips over rugs but her shyness largely disappears and she no longer seems like the hopelessly inadequate child of a very busy and important family.

Lady Yestar rises further in my estimation when, in reply to my polite question about the availability of beer on Avula, she informs me that, while it is generally not drunk in the Palace and other similarly elegant establishments, it is brewed and enjoyed by many of the common Elves.

“I could ask my attendants where you might meet with other Elves who partake of it.”

By this time I’ve shaken off the effects of the thazis binge but I’m not so sure that Makri has. I’m surprised to see her patting Isuas affably on the head and admiring her floppy green hat.

“Would you like it?” enquires Isuas.

Makri would, and accepts it with glee.

“Bezin hat,” she says, cramming it over her head, where it looks ridiculous.

Bezin is a pidgin Orcish word that Makri uses of things she approves of. It’s utterly unsuitable for use in a place like this but fortunately Lady Yestar has never encountered pidgin Orcish and it passes unnoticed.

“You must have had an interesting life,” says Yestar. “Isuas is full of stories about you.”

“Very interesting,” agrees Makri. “Champion gladiator of the Orcs and now barmaid at the Avenging Axe. Also I’m studying at the Guild College. And I help raise money for the Association of Gentlewomen. They’re trying to raise the status of women in Turai. Do the males on Avula treat the females like lower forms of life? Turanian men are dreadful; you wouldn’t believe some of the things I have to put up with as a barmaid.”

This is all quite inappropriate as an opening speech to Avula’s Queen, but Yestar only laughs. More than that, she conveys the impression that yes, she has met a few dreadful males in her time. I sip some wine, and let them talk. Lady Yestar obviously likes Makri and that is all to the good. I’m hoping Makri’s benevolent mood lasts long enough for her to pretend to be willing to teach Isuas how to fight. Though Yestar will undoubtedly pour cold water on the idea, it will show us in a good light if Makri can at least feign some enthusiasm. It seems like the subject might never come up as Makri and Yestar talk about particularly useless males they have encountered, then move on to the tale of Queen Leeuven, till Isuas, bored with this, interrupts them.

“Tell Mother about you jumping in the ocean. You know Makri wasn’t on board when we sailed? She ran on the quay, fighting all these men. And she killed most of them and then jumped in the sea and Thraxas went out for her in a boat.”

“Really? How extraordinary. Did you miss the embarkation?”

“I wasn’t invited on the voyage,” explains Makri.

Yestar asks why she was not invited. I don’t like what this might be leading to.

“Well, Orcish blood, you understand,” I break in. “Didn’t want to cause any embarrassment—”

“Thraxas was mad at me because I cost him a load of money gambling at cards,” says Makri, interrupting me. “He’s a terrible gambler.”

“What did you do?”

“Opened her mouth when she shouldn’t,” I say, glaring threateningly at Makri.

“Makri can train me for the tournament,” cries Isuas, unable to contain herself any longer. Yestar smiles. She has a beautiful smile. Perfect white teeth.

“Ah yes. The tournament. Isuas is keen to enter. All her older brothers fared well in the junior tournament, as did one of her sisters. Unfortunately. . . .”

Not wishing to say anything demeaning to her daughter, she leaves the sentence unfinished.

“You think she might do badly, not being used to sword play?” suggests Makri. “Well, if that’s the only problem, leave it to me. I’ll bring her up to the required standard.”

I’m amazed. Makri must really be under the influence. Strange, she’s normally no more liable to the effects of thazis than I am. I wonder if the water from the sacred pool might have affected her in some way.

Isuas whoops with glee and starts dancing round her mother. Lady Yestar seems dubious.

“I do not really think I can allow it. Isuas is small for her age, and inexperienced. Surely she could not put up a good showing against boys older and more experienced than her?”

“She’ll do well,” says Makri. “Only way to get experience, just plunge right in. I tell you, I can train that child to put up a fine show. Why, even on the ship she was making excellent progress.”

Isuas beams. Lady Yestar considers it.

“Well, if you are sure. . . . I would not like to risk my daughter being hurt, but I have been encouraging her to sail with my husband, to make her tougher.”

She turns to Isuas. “Are you sure you wish to do this?”

Isuas bounds around, very sure that she wants to do it.

“Excellent,” says Makri, adjusting her hat, which has slipped over her eyes. “We’ll get started as soon as possible.”

“Might Lord Kalith possibly object?” I venture.

“We won’t mention it to him just yet,” says Yestar. “Keep it as a surprise.”

“I have a practice sword,” says Isuas, still unable to control her excitement. “Come and see it.”

Makri allows herself to be dragged away to see the practice sword. I know she’s really going to regret this when she wakes up tomorrow.

“Do many women in Turai have pierced noses?” enquires Yestar politely.

“Only two. One’s a travelling musician who dyes her hair green and the other is Makri. I expect the green hair will follow along in time.”

“Such things can surely not help her in her quest to be thought a suitable candidate for the Imperial University?”

“So I keep telling her. But she’s full of contradictions. All that mixed blood, I expect.”

“Are you hoping to question me about the sad affair of Elith-ir-Methet?”

I’m surprised at the abruptness of this.

“Yes,” I reply. “I am. Do you go along with the popular opinion that she is guilty of everything?”

The Elvish Lady sits in silence for a while.

“Perhaps. I have heard all the reports. And there are witnesses who claim to have seen her stab the Tree Priest. But I have known Elith for most of her life. I find it very difficult to believe that she would kill anyone. Have you any reason for imagining her to be innocent, apart from your desire to upset my husband?”

I assure Lady Yestar that I have no desire to upset her husband.

“Only a few days ago we shared a friendly game of niarit, and . . . eh. . . .”

“You defeated him.”

I apologise. Lady Yestar doesn’t mind. I tell her I have a powerful desire to help Vas-ar-Methet.

“I know he’ll go into exile if his daughter is found guilty and I don’t want to see my old companion-in-arms reduced to hawking his healing services around some third-rate city in the west.”

“Have you learned anything that may assist her?”

I admit that I have made little progress.

“I can see far, in many directions,” says Yestar. “I gazed at the troubles of Elith-ir-Methet, but I was unable to penetrate the mists that surround them. Yet your presence here brings new energy to the affair, Investigator. Perhaps I should look again.”

She lapses into silence. She stares into the distance. The sun streams in through the windows, and the sound of birdsong. It strikes me that of all the rooms in palaces I’ve ever been in, I like this one best. I like Lady Yestar too. I wonder what she is looking at. Who knows what a powerful Elvish Lady might be capable of?

Finally her attention returns. “I see that you might have been a powerful Sorcerer,” she says, “had you been prepared to study when you were young.”

There doesn’t seem to be any answer to this so I remain silent.

“You know we have been plagued by bad dreams? I see that they are connected with Elith in some way. And the Hesuni Tree, though our healers assure us that it is again healthy.”

Yestar stares into space. A smile comes to her face. “The juggling competition? Even here on Avula, you wish to gamble?”

I feel uncomfortable. If Lady Yestar possesses powers of farseeing, I’d prefer her to concentrate on the matter of Elith rather than my bad habits. Any moment now she’ll be advising me to drink less.

She lapses into her semi-trance once more. From another room I can hear the sound of a child’s voice, excited. Isuas is screaming about something or other.

“And Makri may regret her offer of help when her mind clears. Did you drink of one of the pools?”

I nod.

“You’re not supposed to.”

“I’m sorry. Is it calanith?”

“No. We just don’t like it.”

The Elvish Lady frowns, and concentrates some more. “Something was sold next to the Hesuni Tree.”

“Pardon?”

“Something was sold.”

This is interesting, but Yestar can summon up nothing more. She can’t tell me who sold what, or to whom, but she has the distinct impression that a transaction was made. I ask her if in all her farsighted gazing she received any impression as to Elith’s guilt or innocence.

“No. I could not see who killed our Tree Priest. But, as you know, the Hesuni Tree casts a dense cloud over all mystic effects in the area.”

Yestar, now fully back in the real world, fixes me with a stare. “If you are able to clear Elith-ir-Methet I will be pleased. However, if it transpires that she is guilty, neither I nor my husband will stand for any attempt to forge evidence in her favour, or to spirit her off the island.”

I don’t bother to defend myself against this one.

“She will be executed if found guilty,” I point out, and I can see that the prospect of this does not please Lady Yestar.

“I’d like to talk to someone who could tell me about the rival factions for the position of Tree Priest,” I say.

“That would be calanith.”

“But possibly very helpful.”

Yestar studies me for a while longer. Whether she’s influenced by my honest face, or by her abhorrence at the thought of Elith being executed, she finally tells me that Visan, the Keeper of Lore, may be willing to explain it to me, if Yestar gives him permission.

Our conversation is interrupted by Isuas, who erupts into the room with Makri in tow.

“Makri just showed me a new attack,” she yells.

It’s time for us to leave. Makri promises to return tomorrow to start the training. Lady Yestar will direct her to a private clearing where they will be undisturbed. An attendant leads us through the Palace.

“Still happy to be teaching the kid how to fight?”

“Guess so,” says Makri.

Whatever is influencing Makri’s behaviour is lasting a long time. I study her eyes, and I see that they have the same glazed sort of look I saw in Elith-ir-Methet’s.

“Bezin hat,” she says, still pleased.

Makri’s continued intoxication leads to a brief comedy when we are led through a corridor with doors going off on each side. One of the doors opens and Jir-ar-Eth rushes out, plunging headlong into Makri, who stands there looking surprised as the Sorcerer tumbles to the floor.

“Careful,” she says solicitously, helping him up.

Jir-ar-Eth is displeased and rises with the air of an Elf who feels his dignity has been encroached upon.

“Can’t you look where you’re going ?” he demands before hurrying off. I’m disappointed. From Lord Kalith’s Chief Sorcerer, I would have expected a better rejoinder.

Our attendant leads us on. Before I follow him I bend down to quickly scoop up a slip of paper that I purposely covered with my foot when it fluttered from the Sorcerer’s pocket. It’s probably only the Royal Laundry List, but I always like the opportunity to study the private papers of important people. And Elves.

At the end of the final corridor, before the huge outside doors, the attendant leans over to whisper in my ear.

“I believe that if you go to the clearing at the stream and three oaks, you will often find a convivial gathering of those who enjoy beer,” he murmurs.

I thank him profusely, then ask a question.

“We saw some actors in the clearing below. They all seemed to be arguing with a grey-haired Elf. The director of the play, maybe?”

“That would be Sofius-ar-Eth, appointed by Lord Kalith to produce and direct Avula’s entry at the festival.”

“Sofius-ar-Eth? Any relation to Jir-ar-Eth, the Sorcerer?”

“His brother.”

That is interesting.

“Didn’t feel the desire to be a Sorcerer too?”

“He did, sir. Sofius-ar-Eth is one of Avula’s most powerful Sorcerers. It was a surprise to many when he was appointed to take charge of our play.”

The doors are opened and we stroll out, only to meet with Cicerius, Prince Dees-Akan, Lanius Suncatcher and Harmon Half-Elf, a full Turanian delegation here on business. I greet them politely and step aside to let them pass. Both Sorcerers enter the Palace but Prince Dees-Akan halts in front of me with an expression of dislike on his face.

“Have you been bothering our hosts again?”

I regret his unfriendly tone. It’s going to make life in Turai difficult having a Royal Prince down on me like a bad spell.

“Guests of Lady Yestar,” I explain.

“You are not to disturb Lady Yestar with your pointless questions,” commands the Prince.

Makri wanders up to us, obviously still under the influence of thazis.

“The second in line to the Turanian throne,” she says, benignly, “doesn’t have any power to issue orders to Turanian citizens while in another country. No legal basis for it. I studied the law at the Guild College. Passed the exam only last month. Do you like my new hat? I think it’s bezin.”

The Prince is outraged. “How dare you instruct me on the law!” he says, loudly.

“Well, you need instructing. Cicerius will tell you. He’s a lawyer.”

All eyes fall on Cicerius. He looks uncomfortable as he grapples with the difficult notion of trying to grant that Makri is correct without infuriating the Prince. Prince Dees-Akan shoots him a furious glance, turns on his heel, and marches into the Palace.

“Thank you for that,” says Cicerius, icily.

I apologise. “Sorry, Deputy Consul. Didn’t mean to put you on the spot. But we were invited here by Lady Yestar. We could hardly refuse to come, could we?”

The Deputy Consul draws me away from the gates and lowers his voice. “Have you discovered anything?”

“Nothing startling. But I’m still suspicious of everything.”

“This really is awkward for Lord Kalith you know. It’s most unfortunate that all this has happened at festival time. He has many important guests to welcome and even before the murder of the Tree Priest he was in an embarrassing situation. I understand that certain members of his Council of Elders are saying in private that the disgrace of having their Hesuni Tree damaged reflects so badly on the Avulans that Lord Kalith should abdicate. Since Gulas-ar-Thetos was killed that disgrace has grown considerably worse, though Kalith is putting a brave face on it. I repeat, Thraxas, I understand your desire to help your friend and wartime companion, but one can hardly blame the Elf Lord for wishing to bring things to a swift conclusion.”

“I suppose I can’t, Cicerius. And I don’t blame you for supporting him either. I know that Lord Kalith is an important ally of Turai. But doesn’t it strike you that I may be doing him a favour? His prestige won’t be helped if the wrong Elf suffers for the crimes.”

“That,” says Cicerius,“ would depend on whether anyone found out.”

“Meaning a swift conviction of Elith would be best all round, whether she did it or not.”

“Exactly.”

I study Cicerius’s face for a few moments. Over in the trees behind us colourful parrots are squawking cheerfully at each other.

“Cicerius, if we were in Turai, you wouldn’t want an innocent person to be punished for a crime they didn’t commit, no matter how convenient it was for the state. Even though you’re a strong supporter of the Royal Family you’ve defended people in the law courts that the King would much rather have seen quickly hanged. Hell, you’re far more honest than me.”

Cicerius doesn’t contradict me. He gazes over at the parrots for a minute or so.

“You would be far better leaving matters as they are,” he says, finally. “Were it not for the fact that Lord Kalith knows it would only look worse for him to have a Human guest of his own favoured healer languishing in prison during the festival, you would have been locked up for putting a spell on his guards. You would be unwise to push him any further.”

He pauses. The parrots keep squawking. “But you might be interested to know that Palace gossip says that Elith-ir-Methet was having an affair with Gulas- ar-Thetos. That, of course, would be a taboo affair that neither of their families would have allowed to continue. Tree Priests cannot marry outside of their clan.”

“Does Palace gossip say that’s why she killed him?”

Cicerius shrugs.

“I never repeat gossip,” he says, then walks swiftly away through the gates of the Palace. Makri is quiet as we walk back to Camith’s tree dwelling. Even the inquisitive monkeys don’t attract her attention. We’re almost there when she suddenly comes to a halt.

“What the hell was in that thazis stick?” she demands, shaking her head.

“Just thazis.”

“I feel like I’ve been journeying through the magic space.”

“I noticed you weren’t your usual self.”

Makri shakes her head again and a breeze catches her hair, displaying her pointed ears.

“Did I really agree to teach that horrible child how to fight?”

“I’m afraid so.”

She sits down and dangles her legs over the edge of the walkway. “Now I’m really depressed.”

“You should be. You’ve only got six days to get her ready.”

“Give me some thazis,” says Makri.

[Contents]