Thraxas and the Elvish Isles

Chapter Six

Two weeks later we’re close to Avula. We should sight land tomorrow. The weather has improved. Makri’s health has improved. We’re bored. For want of anything better to do, Makri, with encouragement from me, has given in to Isuas’s repeated requests and has given her some lessons in basic sword play. These lessons have all taken place in the cramped privacy of our cabin, partly because Isuas feels her father would not be pleased if he knew, and partly because Makri says she wouldn’t like her reputation as a fighter to suffer from anyone learning that she was trying to teach sword-fighting to such a useless excuse for an Elf as Isuas. The cabin being somewhat cramped at the best of times, I haven’t actually seen any of these sessions, but Makri assures me that Isuas is the most pathetic creature ever to hold a sword, and seeing the child fumbling around gives Makri the strong desire to pick her up and throw her overboard.

“Not warming to the kid, then?”

“I loathe her. She keeps bursting into tears for no reason. Why did you encourage me to teach her?”

“Because it might do us some good on Avula if we have an ally. She’s Kalith’s daughter—she might be able to open a few doors for us.”

“Not if I break her fingers,” mutters Makri.

Nothing of note has happened to me. I haven’t even been threatened recently. I’ve seen Gorith-ar-Del several times but he has not spoken to me since his original menacing approach.

I haven’t learned anything much though I picked up a little gossip while playing niarit with Osath, the ship’s cook. I like Osath. He’s an excellent chef. He’s also one of the very few Elves who carries a little extra weight round his belly. My tremendous enthusiasm for his food overcame his Elvish reticence and we’ve spent a few evenings playing niarit together. Most of what I learn sheds no light on Elith’s case, but it’s interesting background information. Even in a place like Avula, there are political tensions. Lord Kalith has an advisory Council of twelve leading Elvish Elders, and certain of these Elders have been pushing for more influence. It’s even rumoured that some wish to abandon the traditional rule of the Elvish Lord and move on to some representative system, which would be unheard of among the Elves.

Furthermore, there are some tensions around the Hesuni Tree. Gulas-ar-Thetos holds the position of Chief Tree Priest but there is another branch of the family that has claimed for several generations that the Priesthood should belong to them. Some sort of complicated dispute about the rules of succession, which never quite goes away.

Even the festival is not without its attendant controversy. The three staged versions of the tale of Queen Leeuven are each put on by one of the Ossuni Elves’ islands—Avula, Ven and Corinthal—in the form of a competition, with judges giving a prize to the winning play. It is a great honour to produce the play and on each island leading Elves compete for the position. Apparently the person chosen by Lord Kalith to produce and direct Avula’s play this year is not universally popular. There is a feeling on the island that the job has gone to the wrong Elf.

“Myself, I’ve never cared much for the plays,” confides Osath. “Too highbrow for me. I like the juggling competition best. More soup?”

Other than this, I sit in my cabin and smoke thazis with Makri.

“I can’t wait to get off this ship,” she tells me for the twentieth time, idly prodding at the gold ring that pierces her nose, another sartorial outrage guaranteed to inflame public opinion in Turai. She’s just washed her hair and the huge dark mass of it seems to take up a substantial amount of our limited cabin space.

We pass the thazis stick back and forward between us. We have the porthole open to let out the pungent aroma. This gives me the odd feeling that I’m a much younger man, a youth in fact, smoking the mild narcotic in secret. These days in Turai no one bothers to conceal thazis, though it is still technically illegal. Since the much more powerful drug dwa took its hold on the city, the authorities are relieved if thazis is the worst thing you’re up to. But I don’t want to offend the Elves. As far as I know, they disapprove of all narcotics.

Isuas appears, wide-eyed and timorous as usual.

“Can’t you knock?” growls Makri.

I grin at the young Elf. She might be a sickly sort of kid, with straggly hair and watery eyes, but I like her well enough. She has a message for me from Lord Kalith.

“He asks if you would like to spend this last evening playing niarit.”

“Niarit? I must be back in his good books.”

Isuas looks doubtful. “I think he just ran out of opponents. He’s beaten all the other players on the ship.”

I haul myself up. “Then it sounds like a job for Thraxas. Once I’m through with him, your father will regret ever taking up the game.”

Isuas looks pained. “My father is renowned as a fine player.”

“Oh yes? Well, when it comes to niarit I am number one chariot. Ask Makri here.”

“Will you teach me some more fighting?” asks Isuas eagerly.

Makri scowls. “What’s the point? When it comes to sword play you’re about as much use as a eunuch in a brothel.”

Isuas gapes, shocked by this crude expression. She hangs her head. “I’ll try to do better,” she mumbles.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, Makri. Have fun.”

“Are you going to go and leave me with this brat for company?”

“I am indeed. A true niarit player never refuses a challenge. If there’s any wine going spare I’ll bring you back a bottle.”

I depart, keen for some action. I wonder if Lord Kalith might wish to place a small wager on the outcome? I have a package with me, just in case.

I enter Kalith’s comfortable cabin for only the second time on the voyage. One might have thought that as a guest of the Elves I would have been invited there more frequently, but no. While Princes, Deputy Consuls and assorted Sorcerers have freely enjoyed the Elf Lord’s hospitality, Thraxas the Investigator has sadly languished in a tiny cabin at the unfashionable end of the ship, fruitlessly awaiting an occasional invitation to socialise with the upper classes.

Stifling my resentment, I greet Kalith politely enough.

“You wished to see me?”

“I wondered if you might care for a game?”

Lord Kalith gestures with his hand towards the niarit board set out in front of him. The two opposing armies are lined up against each other, the front rank comprising, from left to right, Foot Soldiers, or Hoplites, then Archers, then Trolls. The rear rank is made up of Elephants, Heavy Mounted Knights and Light Mounted Lancers. Each player also has in their army a Siege Tower, a Healer, a Harper, a Wizard, a Hero and a Plague Carrier. A the very back of the board is the Castle, the object of the game being to defend your own Castle and storm your opponent’s. Lord Kalith’s board is the same as that used all over the Human Lands, except that one of the armies is green instead of white, and the Castles at each end of the board are instead represented by large fortified trees.

“I generally take green,” says Lord Kalith.

“Fine. They call me Thraxas the Black. And I generally take wine.”

No servant is in attendance. Faced with the possibility of actually standing up and pouring me some wine himself—which would be asking rather a lot of an Elf Lord—Kalith looks suddenly puzzled and asks me if I know where his daughter is. I tell him she’s hanging around with Makri, which doesn’t please him.

“All I hear from my daughter these days is Makri this or Makri that. I do not approve.”

“Yeah, as a role model Makri is the woman from hell. Don’t worry, she hates your daughter anyway.”

Somehow that didn’t come out quite as I intended. Kalith is not pacified. To save him any embarrassment I get my own wine, filling a goblet from the decanter nearby. And once again I have to say that, as Elvish wine goes, it is not of the finest. Makes me again suspect that Kalith is not liberal with his hospitality, and probably doesn’t have a spare barrel of beer waiting in the storeroom for anyone who might wish to partake of it.

“Care for a small wager?”

Kalith raises his eyebrows a fraction. “I have no wish to take money from you, Investigator.”

“You won’t.”

“I will assuredly defeat you.”

“That’s what your cook said before I sent his army down to Elvish hell.”

Kalith smiles. “I have heard that you outplayed Osath. I, however, am a rather better player. But I repeat, I have no wish to take money from you.”

I unwrap my package.

“A stick?”

“An illuminated staff. One of the finest. Given to me by the renowned Turanian Sorcerer Kemlath Orc Slayer.”

I speak a word of power and the staff lights up with a brilliant golden hue. It really is a fine illuminated staff, the best I’ve ever had. Even to an Elf Lord, it can’t be an unattractive bet.

Lord Kalith picks it up and holds it, watching as the golden light streams out of it, lighting all corners of the cabin.

“A fine staff. Though I seem to remember hearing that Kemlath Orc Slayer was obliged to leave Turai in disgrace.”

“He had the misfortune to have me investigate some crimes he’d committed.”

“Very well, I accept your bet. What shall I wager in return? A golden goblet?”

Elves always think that humans are slaves to gold. Fair enough. I’ve done plenty of questionable things for gold. But that’s not what I’m looking for right now.

“Would you rather I staked some mystical item? My chief Sorcerer Jir-ar-Eth has many fine articles.”

“No, I’m not needing any fine articles. I was thinking more about Makri.”

Kalith frowns.

“I want her on Avula with me. She helps me investigate. If I win, I want you to let her land, no questions asked. And guarantee that the Avulans will be hospitable to her.”

“There is no possibility of my people being hospitable to her.”

“Well at least not openly hostile. Do you accept my bet?”

The Elf Lord shakes his head. “I cannot allow her on my island.”

I stand up.

“A pity. I was looking forward to playing. It’s not often you get the chance to show an Elf Lord that no matter how many excellent variations he works out for the Harper’s Game, he’s got about as much chance against Thraxas as a rat against a dragon. And I mean a small rat and a big dragon.”

A pained look comes into the Elf Lord’s face. I doubt that he has ever before been compared to a rat.

“Sit down,” he says coldly. “And prepare to lose your staff.”

We start to play. Lord Kalith apparently does not fully trust his new variation because he starts off with the Hoplite advance, a solid if unexciting strategy. I respond in a conventional manner by harrying them with my Light Cavalry, meanwhile forming up my own Hoplites to resist and bringing up my Trolls for some heavy support. It has all the makings of a stiff battle on the centre of the field, which will suit me fine, when Lord Kalith surprises me by sending his Hero striding out in front of his army, straight into my Light Cavalry.

This seems foolish. The Hero carries a lot of weight on the board and can deal with most things, but not an entire division of Cavalry backed up with Hoplites and Trolls. I surround him and get ready for the kill but I’m keeping a watchful eye out for whatever else Kalith might have planned.

When I’m about to slay Kalith’s Hero he suddenly advances his Archers up towards my right flank, backed by his Elephants. Coming alongside them are his Harper and his Plague Carrier. I’m momentarily puzzled. Apparently Lord Kalith now wishes to rescue his Hero, but I can’t see how even this strong force can reach him in time. His Harper sings to my troops, which has the power of paralysing them, and his Plague Carrier starts to do some damage, but I form up my Trolls in a strong defensive line and send over some of my Heavy Cavalry for support, with my Healer and my Wizard in attendance. Lord Kalith’s relief force fails to penetrate and I kill his Hero, which, I think, puts me at a strong advantage.

All of a sudden I notice that for some reason his Harper seems to be continuing to advance and far too many of my troops on my left flank are succumbing to his singing. In an unexpected move, Lord Kalith sends his Light Cavalry streaming through the gap. I remain impassive at the board, but inside I’m uttering a few curses. Kalith has indeed worked out a new variation on the Harper’s Game, sacrificing his Hero. He apparently had no intention of rescuing him, but merely used the gambit as a distraction.

There are a tense few minutes as I struggle to reinforce my left flank. Even here I’m still a little doubtful, fearing that I may be missing something. I don’t want to overcommit and find Kalith suddenly breaking through somewhere else. It takes some fine swift calculations on my part to reorganise my defences and in the process I lose the services of my Harper when he is trampled by a rampaging Elephant.

Finally, however, I hold the line, and start pushing Kalith back up the board. With his Hero gone, his Wizard nearly out of spells and his Trolls hemmed in by my Heavy Cavalry, he has no option but to retreat. As play crosses back into his side of the board I start to inflict heavy losses on his army and manage to isolate and kill his Wizard. I’ve got him beat. No one comes back from this position, not against me anyway.

Makri chooses this moment to burst into the cabin, followed firstly by a frightened-looking Isuas and secondly by two irate Elvish attendants. She strides over to us and plants herself right beside Lord Kalith’s chair.

“What’s this your daughter tells me about you issuing orders that I can’t leave the ship?” she demands.

I quickly glance at Makri’s hips and am relieved to see she has not actually brought a sword with her. Not that this is any real guarantee that she is unarmed. Makri is always liable to produce a dagger or a throwing star from some unexpected place. I never met anyone so keen on walking round with a knife in each boot.

“I did indeed issue such an order,” says Lord Kalith, regally. If he’s at all concerned about the sight of a furious Makri towering over him he’s not showing it, and when his attendants hurry forward he holds up his hand to show that everything is under control.

I rise to my feet. “Don’t worry about it, Makri, I’ve arranged things.”

I wave at the niarit board, then give Kalith a look.

“I presume you do not wish to carry on with the game.”

Again, I have to say that Lord Kalith takes it well. Good breeding. He can’t be at all happy that’s he’s just lost to me at niarit, and he has made it perfectly plain that he is utterly opposed to Makri landing on Avula, but from all the emotion he shows you might imagine he was having another excellent day at the Tree Palace.

“I concede. Well played, Investigator. I see that my variation needs further work.”

He turns his head toward Makri. “You may land on Avula. Do nothing that may disturb my Elves. And stay away from my daughter.”

“What’s going on?” asks Makri. I tell her I’ll explain later and usher her out before she causes any further offence.

Back on the deck we run into Cicerius.

“Have you—?” he says.

“Yes. Thoroughly offended Lord Kalith. Major diplomatic incident. Better go and sort it out. See you on Avula.”

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