Thraxas and the Elvish Isles

Chapter Fourteen

The prison cell is clean and airy. There’s a pitcher of water on the table and shortly after I arrive a guard brings me a loaf of bread. The sun streams in through the window and from somewhere in the forest below I can hear a choir practising. In terms of comfort it doesn’t compare too badly with my rooms in the Avenging Axe.

The first person to visit me is Ambassador Turius. I have not yet encountered our Ambassador to Avula, so I greet him warmly and thank him for arriving so swiftly.

“It’s reassuring to know that our Ambassadors are resolute in their task of protecting Turanian citizens unjustly incarcerated in foreign lands. Once you get me out of here, I shall speak very highly of you to Deputy Consul Cicerius.”

“I haven’t come to get you out,” says the Ambassador.

“You haven’t?”

“No. As far as I’m concerned you can stay here for the rest of your life. Everyone advised you to keep out of Elvish affairs. You refused to listen to this advice. Now you’re in a cell, which is exactly what was to be expected.”

“Aren’t you bothered about whether I actually committed a crime?”

The ambassador shrugs. “If you did, Lord Kalith-ar-Yil will punish you. If you didn’t, he’ll let you go in due course. He’s a fair-minded Elf.”

“Then why the hell did you bother coming to see me?”

“A Turanian Ambassador always does his duty. I see you have food and water. Excellent. Your needs are being well catered for. Now goodbye.”

Turius departs. I swear he enjoyed that conversation. I sit down and listen to the choir, and wonder who Turius bribed to get his cushy job as Ambassador to Avula.

My next visitor is an Elf of advanced years who informs me that his name is Rekis-ar-Lin and he is a member of the Council of Elders. He’s accompanied by a scribe who takes down our conversation.

“I have been given responsibility for investigating this matter. Why were you found with a package of dwa?”

“I took it out of the pool.”

“How did it get there?”

I tell him I’ve no idea.

“And how did you come to find it?”

“I looked.”

“Why?”

“Investigator’s intuition.”

Councillor Rekis is dubious, but I don’t want to tell him that I used a spell to locate the dwa because I know that will only lead to more trouble. However the Councillor has difficulty believing that, with all the Elves in the area, it just happened to be me who found a packet of dwa in the pool.

“It seems to us more likely that you brought the dwa with you from Turai.”

“Why would I do that? Everyone knows Elves don’t go for dwa. Doesn’t work on them.”

“You would no doubt be aware that there would be many Humans on the island at the time of the festival. Perhaps you wished to sell it to them. Perhaps you yourself are so addicted that you were unable to travel without it. Either way, you are not telling me everything you know. You will provide me with a precise description of your actions since landing on Avula.”

I clam up. Any time I’m in a cell, I just get wary about giving precise descriptions of my actions. We’re interrupted by the arrival of Jir-ar-Eth, Kalith’s Chief Sorcerer. He stares at me for a few seconds.

“He used a spell,” he says. “But I can’t tell which one.”

Councillor Rekis stares at me coldly.

“You used a spell in the vicinity of the Hesuni Tree? On Avula, that is calanith. It is also a crime. What was it?”

“A love spell. I’m looking for romance.”

Jir-ar-Eth speaks a few words and there is a slight cooling of the air in the cell.

“I’ve dampened the area,” he says to Rekis. “The prisoner will not be able to use sorcery to escape. He has very little power anyway.”

The Sorcerer stares at the necklace I’m wearing.

“A spell protection charm? With Red Elvish Cloth? Where did you get that?”

“Just picked it up along the way.”

They leave me alone. I eat bread. I’m feeling hard done by. For the rest of the day my only other visitor is the guard who brings me some food. I demand to see Lord Kalith. The guard, rather politely, informs me that Lord Kalith is busy.

Night falls. I’ve been in so many cells it doesn’t particularly bother me, but I’m annoyed at the waste of my time. Shouldn’t someone have been here to help? Deputy Consul Cicerius for instance. Or Makri. She ought to at least have visited me. Maybe she’s still tormenting the unfortunate Elf child. I go to sleep madder than a mad dragon and I wake slightly madder.

It’s approaching lunchtime and it’s getting to the stage where I’m seriously considering slugging the next person who comes into my cell and risking a jail break when Lord Kalith finally gets round to paying me a visit.

“Dwa is a filthy drug,” he says, getting right down to business. “It is a curse on the Human Lands. It has never been seen on Avula before.”

“Only because you didn’t bother to look. And don’t lecture me about using a spell in the vicinity of the Hesuni Tree. If I hadn’t done that you’d never have known about the dwa.”

“You still claim that you did not bring the substance with you?”

“Of course I didn’t. Do you seriously believe I did?”

“Why would I not?” says the Elf Lord. “You have hardly shown yourself to be a man of sober habits. You brought a barrel of beer on to my ship and when you finished that you resorted to theft to meet your craving. You may have thought you were unobserved when you removed three large wineskins from Osath’s kitchen, but I assure you that you were not. Since arriving on Avula you have mounted an almost continual search for beer, culminating in what I am reliably informed were scenes of unheard-of excess at the haunt of the armourers. And this only the day after you and your female companion ingested so much thazis as to be unable to remember your own identities. The story of you talking to the butterflies has been widely reported all over Avula.”

“I was not talking to the butterflies,” I reply, with some dignity. “And is there any point to all this?”

“The point is that you are a corrupting influence. Thazis is not illegal on Avula, but we discourage its use. Now one of my most respected councillors informs me that not only did he find three thazis sticks in his daughter’s room, but she has informed him that she wishes to travel to Turai to write poetry. His wife is now terrified that their daughter will return home with a pierced nose and an Orcish love-child.”

We seem to be straying from the point here. I tell Lord Kalith-ar-Yil that he can criticise me as much as he likes, but he can’t deny that I’ve dug up evidence of some strange goings-on on his island.

“And what exactly are these goings-on?”

“I need to investigate more.”

“Nothing you find will change the fact that Elith-ir-Methet was seen stabbing Gulas-ar-Thetos. You yourself have talked to a witness.”

“I still need to investigate more.”

Lord Kalith is not minded to let me out. There are three days left till the start of the festival and I’m running out of time.

“You cannot execute Vas-ar-Methet’s daughter without the fullest investigation,” I insist.

“Her punishment has not been decided.”

“But her guilt has. You must allow me to continue with my investigation.”

Kalith is offended by my tone and tells me sharply that his patience with me is wearing thin.

“Fine,” I say. “Though I must admit to being very surprised at an Elf Lord being such a poor sport. In Turai, the aristocracy does not stoop to such low tactics when faced with defeat.”

Kalith’s head jerks in surprise.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, it’s pretty clear that this is all down to me beating you heavily at the niarit board. Ever since then it’s been nothing but trouble all the way for me. You’ve hindered my investigation at every turn simply because you can’t stand losing to a Human.”

I move towards the window, raising my voice so the guards outside can hear.

“I guess it was just too embarrassing for the niarit champion of the Ossuni Elves to have his conqueror walking around the island, telling everyone about the bad variation of the Harper’s Game he’d played. The armourers warned me you’d probably throw me in jail rather than risk facing me over the board again. . . .”

From outside my cell comes something that sounds very like muffled laughter. Lord Kalith, an Elf who proved his bravery and honour time and again against the Orcs, can’t take any more of this. And so it is that minutes later I find myself sitting at the table facing an angry Kalith-ar-Yil over a niarit board, hastily brought by a guard in response to his Lord’s furious instructions.

“Don’t bother locking the cell,” I call after the jailer. “I’ll be walking out of here soon enough. So, Lord Kalith, are we—”

“Enough talking,” says Kalith. “Play.”

I start moving my Hoplites forward. Kalith counters warily. But I notice he’s getting his Elephants ready, and his Heavy Cavalry.

The sun shines cheerfully into the cell. Parrots squawk merrily in the trees. Outside it’s another bright day in Avula. Inside, things are not so good, at least for Lord Kalith. Not too long after the start of the game his forces lie in ruins, mere dust under the wheels of the unstoppable Thraxas war chariot. Kalith, after his tentative opening, was unable to resist a wild assault on my forces using his heaviest troops, an assault that I withstood for just long enough to bring his army exactly where I wanted it before falling back with my centre, outflanking him on both sides and carrying out what could only be described as a massacre. His Hero, Plague Carrier, Harper, Wizard and Healer lie dead beneath a sad tangle of dead Elephants and decimated Trolls.

Kalith looks grimly at the miserable remains and concedes defeat. I am now free to go, as per our pre-game agreement.

“Any chance of some food?” I ask, as I sling my cloak over my shoulders.

“You may visit the kitchens,” replies Lord Kalith, summoning up the last reserves of his good breeding. “The guards will show you the way.”

“Thank you. I take it that I will be allowed to speak with my client again?”

Lord Kalith allows that I can, which is a relief. I wasn’t looking forward to trying to break back into prison.

In the short walk between the cell and the main Palace building, I pass two stern-looking Elves marching another prisoner into the lockup. I recognise the captive, though I don’t know his name. It’s the young Elf whom the poet Droo was arguing with in the clearing at the three oaks and river. His eyes are blank and he isn’t walking very steadily. The guards help him along, shepherding him into a cell.

I’m shown to the kitchens. There I find Osath the cook, whom I haven’t seen since I disembarked. He’s delighted to see me. He knows how much I appreciate his cooking.

“Thraxas! They let you out? The word in the kitchens was that Lord Kalith was going to throw away the key. What happened? Did your Ambassador stand bail?”

“The Turanian Ambassador is about as much use as a one-legged gladiator. No, I was forced back on my own resources. I beat Kalith at niarit again.”

Osath laughs heartily at this, as do his assistants. Again the Elves are amused at Kalith losing. Which just goes to show that even a well-loved and respected Elf Lord shouldn’t go around bragging about his prowess at the niarit board. It annoys everyone.

Osath begins to pile up food in front of me and I start shovelling it in.

“I have to ask you a few questions, Osath.”

The chef looks doubtful. “We can’t tell you anything about Elith, Thraxas. It would be awkward for us to discuss it. . . .”

“I wasn’t talking about Elith. Are you and your fellow low-lives in the kitchens planning to bet on the juggling competition?”

This brings Osath and his helpers clustering round keenly.

“We are. I was going to bet on young Shuthan-ir-Hemas,” replies Osath. “I’ve seen her put up some sensational performances. But I hear she’s gone off the boil.”

“She has. Yesterday I saw her trip over her own feet. Didn’t look like a woman who was about to win. I did see a young woman called Usath, from Ven, juggling seven balls and looking good for a few more. You know anything about her past form?”

“Junior champion at the competition two years ago in Corinthal,” says a young cook. “She’s still inexperienced, but she might do well. I think she might be worth a gamble, but there’s another juggler from Corinthal called Arith-ar-Tho who’s built up a fine reputation recently. Be best to check him out if you get the chance.”

I thank them for their help.

“What’s this we hear about Makri teaching Isuas how to fight?”

“I thought that was meant to be a secret.”

“There are no secrets in a Palace kitchen,” says Osath. “Lady Yestar might not have told Lord Kalith about it, but we’re the ones that have to make up food for them every day. Is there any chance of Makri teaching the kid well enough to enter the tournament? Would it be worth a bet? Isuas is so weak we’d get a good price on her winning even one fight against the most hopeless opponent. In fact, you’d get a good price on the kid even staying on her feet for thirty seconds.“

I consider this, while mopping up some fragments of venison pie with a hunk of bread.

“I think Isuas will give up before the tournament. Makri’s treating her pretty rough. But if things change, I’ll let you know. Make sure you don’t let on to anyone that Makri’s teaching her though, or the price will drop.”

Having cemented my good relations with the lower Elvish order by some solid gambling talk, I emerge from the Palace well fed and in good shape for investigating, which is just as well as I’ve lost time I couldn’t afford and have a great deal to do.

I find Lasas-ar-Thetos in a small hut in a tree near to the Hesuni. Around his head he has a yellow band denoting his new rank as Chief Tree Priest. He’s heard about recent events and displays a deep sadness.

“To think that such a substance could be polluting the sacred water of the Hesuni Tree. It brings shame to the whole island. I cringe at the thought of what my dear brother would have made of it.”

At least Avula’s new Tree Priest doesn’t blame me.

“When Lord Kalith informed me of the matter I told him that you were not a man who would bring dwa to our island. Indeed, we should be grateful to you for uncovering it. Do you know where it came from?”

I admit that I don’t, but I’m still working on it. It’s something of a relief to find an aristocratic Elf who doesn’t seem to hold me responsible for everything that’s been going on around here. Now that Lasas has got over the immediate shock of his brother’s death, he’s proving to be a calm and responsible Elf. I ask him again if there’s anything he might have forgotten to tell me.

“No strange goings-on? No hint of who might have been in the vicinity with dwa?”

“Nothing, I am afraid. I have been keeping my ear to the ground, but really since my brother was killed I have been too busy with preparations for the funeral and with taking up the reins of the Priesthood.”

At least we seem to have got to the root of the bad dreams the Avulans have been suffering from. Lasas is firmly of the opinion that a powerful alien drug, contained in the water that feeds the Hesuni Tree, would be more than enough to give the Elves nightmares.

“All Avulans communicate with the Tree. As it was ingesting poison, so it produced nightmares. We must be grateful to you for finding it. I am now attempting to cleanse the area by means of ritual.”

Tramping back across the clearing, I’m frustrated. Everyone knows that something strange has been going on but no one quite knows what. And no one can suggest a motive for Elith killing Gulas. Even Elith, who admits to doing it, can’t think of a motive. Before I leave I ask Lasas if he has encountered Gorith-ar-Del yet.

“Should I have?”

“Probably not. It’s just I keep noticing him hanging round the area. Would you let me know if he contacts you in any way?”

Lasas says that he will, and I depart. I find Harmon Half-Elf and Lanius Suncatcher in the enclave of houses next to the Turanian Ambassador’s residence. I know that Harmon Half-Elf has seen the prisoner and I want his opinion on whether she has been attacked or bemused by sorcery.

“I did not get that impression,” he tells me. “Although with the Hesuni Tree in the vicinity, it is impossible to be certain. However, I think that if she had had her memory wiped or been victim of some spell that overpowered her will, forcing her to kill the priest, there would be some trace of it remaining. I know that Jir- ar-Eth has searched very thoroughly for any sign of this and has been unable to locate anything.”

“And congratulations on getting out of jail,” adds Lanius Suncatcher.

The two Sorcerers are not entirely unsympathetic to my cause.

“If only because you are refusing to give up. Despite the fact that everyone knows Elith is guilty, I think the Avulans are starting to respect you for the way you keep on trying to help Vas-ar-Methet. They value friendship. But really, Thraxas, what can you hope to achieve now? Elith-ir-Methet is guilty. People saw her kill Gulas. She admits it.”

They offer me some wine. I drain the goblet and rise to my feet.

“If I find some reasonable motive, she might not be executed.”

Stuck for inspiration, I seek out Makri. My horse is in the paddock where I left it, so I saddle up and ride round the island. Every clearing is now filled with choirs, actors, jugglers, all practising for the festival. As the path narrows between the encroaching trees I keep a keen eye out for masked Elves with spears who might be about to attack me, but none appear. So far I have not managed to gather the slightest clue as to who they are or who they might be working for. As far as I know, the Elves have nothing that is equivalent to the Assassins in Turai, but someone is certainly out to get me. Someone with powerful sorcerous backing. Once more I’m grateful for my excellent spell protection charm. It will protect me from most magical attacks, though not from invisible Elves suddenly appearing and gutting me with their spears.

I dismount near the private clearing and again advance cautiously. I’m wondering if Isuas has given up. Before long I hear Makri’s voice raised in anger.

“Fight, you cusux! If you trip over your feet one more time I swear I’ll kill you. You want to see my Orcish blade? I’ll let you see it, you useless brat, I’ll pin you to that tree with it.”

This is followed by the sound of a wooden sword cracking over a young Elf’s head, and some wailing.

I peer into the clearing. Isuas has shown some spirit in returning for more lessons, but Makri doesn’t seem to appreciate it. The young Elf is struggling to her feet under a rain of blows, while Makri continues to scream abuse at her.

“Didn’t I show you how to parry? Well, parry this!”

Makri hits Isuas with a stroke that must come close to breaking her shoulder. Isuas yells in pain. This annoys Makri even more.

“I didn’t say cry like a girl, I said parry. Now do it.”

Makri slashes at the young Elf. Isuas makes a reasonable attempt at deflecting the blow, but Makri simply uses her other blade to whack Isuas on the side of the head, sending her once more thumping to the ground.

I’m fairly aghast at this. The sight of Makri using her full fighting skills against the weak little Elf would distress the hardest of hearts. Isuas lies on the ground sobbing, where she is in receipt of a further torrent of abuse.

“You useless exin miserable zutha pathetic cusux,” screams Makri, using a string of vile Orcish epithets, some of them unintelligible to me and some quite possibly never heard in the western world before.

Makri drops her swords and yanks Isuas to her feet.

“Are all Elves as pitiful as you? God help you if the Orcs ever sail down to Avula. Pah! You’re so pathetic I don’t even need a weapon.”

Isuas suddenly looks angry. The insults are getting to her. She leaps to attack Makri, showing a surprising turn of speed. Makri stands her ground, merely twisting her body to avoid the blades before stepping lightly to one side. Isuas tries to turn and face her, but Makri, displaying new heights of savagery, actually kicks her in the head. Isuas crumples, which doesn’t prevent Makri from getting in another two kicks before she hits the ground. This time the young Elf lies still. I hurry forward, alarmed.

“Goddammit, Makri, you’ve killed her.”

Makri looks round, unconcerned.

“No I haven’t. She’s just dazed. What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you. If you can spare a moment in between tormenting that unfortunate youth.”

“Unfortunate?” says Makri, puzzled. “She’s being taught to fight by the undefeated champion gladiator of all the Orc Lands. I’d call that a privilege.”

Isuas groans. Makri, who possesses surprising strength despite her slender frame, hoists her into the air and tosses her in the direction of a water bottle under a tree.

“Take a drink,” she says. “And stop crying.”

“Is it really necessary to be this brutal?”

Makri shrugs. “I’m trying to teach her a lot in a hurry. Anyway, we’re using wooden swords. How brutal can you be with a wooden sword?”

“Pretty brutal, from what I saw. When Lady Yestar gave her permission for this I doubt very much if she quite foresaw that you would be kicking her daughter in the head. Shouldn’t you be doing something about the bleeding?”

“The island is full of healers. They’ll sort her out later. What are you here for?”

“To talk. I’m still baffled by this case and I’m running out of time. I figured I might get some inspiration if we talked it out.”

“I can’t spare the time right now. I’ll be back at Camith’s after dark—can it wait till then?”

I suppose it can.

“Try not to kill Isuas.”

“Death in training isn’t so bad,” states Makri, firmly. “Better than disgracing yourself in the arena. Which,” she adds, turning menacingly back to the young Elf, “no pupil of mine is going to do. So get up and fight.”

I leave them to it.

I call back to Makri from the edge of the clearing.

“What does zutha mean?”

Makri gives me a translation. I wince. It’s even worse than cusux.

[Contents]