Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

By

Martin Scott

Book nine in the Thraxas series

Thraxas and the Ice Dragon Copyright © Martin Scott 2013

This edition published 2013 by Martin Millar

The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the copyright holder.

All characters in the publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For more about Thraxas visit

www.martinmillar.com

www.thraxas.com

Cover Model - Madeline Rae Mason

Gambling Consultant - Robin Gibson

My thanks to to Peter Judge for his help.

eISBN: 9781626752719

Table of contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Introduction to Thraxas Book Nine

It's some years since the last Thraxas novel was published. He was last seen at the end of Thraxas Under Siege, leaving Turai in a small boat, in the company of Makri and Lisutaris. Neither of his companions were in the best of health, and it had taken a heroic effort by Thraxas to get them on board.

Since then, I've had many, many requests for another Thraxas book. For various reasons, not all involving laziness on my part, it's taken a while. But here, finally, is Thraxas and the Ice Dragon, in which Thraxas is in good form at the dining table, and Makri is very busy with her swords.

The nine Thraxas books so far are Thraxas, Thraxas and the Warrior Monks, Thraxas at the Races, Thraxas and the Elvish Isles, Thraxas and the Sorcerers, Thraxas and the Dance of Death, Thraxas at War, Thraxas under Siege, and Thraxas and the Ice Dragon. These will all be available soon as ebooks. I'm now planning a tenth novel.

Martin Millar

***********

Chapter One

We've been stuck on this tiny boat for eight days. We haven't seen land since we drifted away from the shores of Turai. It's rained almost continually and the waves keep threatening to overwhelm us. I'm cold, wet, and fed up with everything.

If you have to be stuck on a small boat in the middle of the ocean, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is not a bad companion. Her sorcery has at least kept us supplied with food. When Lisutaris snaps her fingers, fish just surrender. It saves a lot of messing around with fishing lines. She can purify water with another minor spell, so we won't die of thirst. Unfortunately, Lisutaris has no mastery over the ocean currents, and not enough power over the wind to be able to guide us back to the shore. We're drifting along, not knowing where, if anywhere, we're going to land.

The City of Turai was under siege. We'd hoped to hold out till help arrived, but we failed. Turai fell to the Orcs. Their Sorcerers nullified our defences and Lord Rezaz the Butcher smashed through the north wall with his Orcish army. I escaped in the chaos, bringing Lisutaris and Makri with me. Lisutaris has been depressed from the moment she got on board. She's head of the Sorcerers Guild and one of the strongest users of magic in the West. It was her responsibility to protect the city from Orcish sorcery and she failed. In her defence, she was struck down by illness; even so, she blames herself.

Makri, ex-gladiator and part-time barmaid, is an even less equitable companion. She's furious that she left the city without a fight. I think she actually blames me for rescuing her. The fact that Makri was so ill with the winter malady she was unable to walk, let along fight, doesn't prevent her from cursing herself for leaving Turai without striking a blow in its defence.

The boat's tiny cabins give scant protection from the cold winter rain, and we've been lurching alarmingly in the heavy swell. These seas are notoriously bad during the winter months and it's something of a miracle that we haven't been swallowed up by a storm. Our single sail is torn and ragged, making steering almost impossible, something which Makri has found occasion to complain about.

"Couldn't you have found a boat that was properly equipped?"

"You think I had time to hunt around for a better boat? If I hadn't got us out of there quickly we'd have been dead on the beach with a dragon picking our bones."

"Your bones maybe," says Makri. "I'd have gutted any dragon that came near me."

"You couldn't even walk."

"Well I can walk now," Makri retorts, and strides around the deck. "Can't you take us back?" she demands, turning to Lisutaris. "Work a spell or something?"

Lisutaris shrugs. She's already explained that while she can manipulate the weather to some degree, she doesn't have enough power over the wind to carry us back to land. None of us are much good as sailors. I've travelled the oceans in my time, but always as a soldier, never as a crewman. Makri has only ever made one voyage, to the Elvish Islands, and she was constantly sea-sick. As for Lisutaris, she's far more comfortable in the city. None of us have any bright ideas for escaping our predicament.

Chapter Two

The next day arrives, dull, overcast, and windless. I wake up shivering. I brought my magic warm cloak with me, but we've been sharing it. Lisutaris slept in it last night. I stride out onto the deck.

"I've had enough of this," I declare. "I'm as cold as a frozen pixie, not to mention wet as a mermaid's blanket. I'm stuck on a small boat with no beer, a depressed Sorcerer and an angry barbarian woman. I'm sick of it."

I look up at the sky, and offer up a prayer to whichever Gods might be watching in these parts.

"How about taking us back to land?"

Nothing happens. We remain becalmed. I start to feel annoyed, and shake my fist at the sky. "I demand you take this boat back to shore!"

Lisutaris arrives on deck and looks at me questioningly. "What are you doing?"

"I'm demanding that the Gods take us back to land."

"That's going to work," grunts the Sorcerer, and sits down wearily at the side of the boat. "I'll catch us some fish for breakfast."

"I don't want fish. I'm fed up with fish. I want beer and I want to get back ashore."

I start shaking my fist at the sky again. "Saint Quatinius? How about some help? We built statues of you all over Turai. Shouldn't you be doing something in return? I can't keep going on fish much longer. I need meat. And beer. A lot of beer."

We remain becalmed. I feel irritated at Saint Quatinius. As a patron saint he's really not much help. Makri appears from her cabin, shivering.

"Who is Thraxas shouting at?"

"Saint Quatinius."

"Has he gone mad?"

Lisutaris nods. "He seems to have. Too much fish."

"We'd still have some venison left if he'd been able to control himself."

I glare at Makri. When we fled the city, I did have the foresight to bring along a large joint of venison. Properly rationed, it might have lasted for some time. Perhaps unwisely, I ate it all in one night, feeling in need of some proper sustenance.

"So I ate all the venison. A man of my proportions can't keep going on fish. I need meat. And beer."

I shake my fist at the sky again, and complain to Saint Quatinius.

"You couldn't expect Thraxas to go for a week without beer without cracking up," says Makri, sitting down next to Lisutaris to share the warm cloak.

I glare at her. "At least I'm trying to do something."

"Do what? None of us even believe in Saint Quatinius."

I gaze up to the sky. "Please do not abandon me because of this Orcish infidel, great Saint Quatinius. It's not my fault she doesn't believe in you."

"Hey!" yells Makri. "I'm not an Orc. And stop shouting to that imaginary saint."

"Ignore her, Saint Quatinius. Do not punish an honest Turanian citizen because he has the misfortune to be cast adrift with an unbelieving Orc."

Makri storms up and stands in front of me. "Will you stop calling me an Orc!"

Makri has one quarter Orcish blood. It can be a sensitive subject.

"Maybe if you said a prayer as well we might get somewhere."

Makri sneers. "I don't believe in your Western gods."

"Well how about your Orcish ones?"

"I don't believe in them either."

I raise my hands in supplication. "You see what I have to put up with, Saint Quatinius? Send me back to land and I'll donate money to the nearest church."

Makri growls in frustration. She looks up at the grey clouds above. "Saint Quatinius, I'll start believing in you if you just get me ashore so I can escape from this oaf."

At that moment a wind springs up. Lisutaris rises to her feet. "It's coming from the south. If this keeps up it might get us back to land."

"Aha!" says Makri, and looks smug. "Now who's the unbeliever?"

"What do you mean?"

"It was my prayer that brought the wind."

"Stop talking nonsense," I say.

"Nonsense? I didn't see the saints paying any attention to you shaking your fist. Hardly surprising. Then I make a polite request and here we are, on our way." She turns to Lisutaris. "You remember that time I stopped the rain in Turai? Do you think I might have some hidden religious powers?"

I shake my head in disgust, then march to the bow to peer into the distance, hoping for a glimpse of land. There's no telling how far south we've drifted in the past week, but now at least we're heading in the right direction.

"So how much money do you have in mind?" asks Lisutaris.

"Pardon?"

"You promised to donate to the church if Saint Quatinius took us back to land."

"If we make it ashore I'll give it some thought."

Shrouded in mist, we drift northwards for a long time. Such a long time that I start to worry.

"What if we've gone so far west that there isn't any land left? We might just carry on till we – "

I let the sentence hang unfinished. Makri looks at me.

"I keep telling you Thraxas, the world is round. You can't fall off the edge."

"I don't see why you're so sure about that."

"I heard Samanatius prove it with logic and mathematics."

"That old fraud?" I snort with derision at Samanatius. He was Turai's leading philosopher, according to Makri. But he's most probably dead, along with any number of people we used to know. Gurd, Captain Rallee, Tanrose, all my old companions. Who knows what happened to them when the city fell? Lisutaris can't be sure that any of her fellow Sorcerers escaped. The Orcs overwhelmed us so suddenly that even the most powerful might have fallen. I feel the spirit draining from me. Makri is keen to march back to Turai the moment she reaches land, and take up the fight again. Myself, I'm not so sure. I'm wondering about just heading to the furthest West, and looking for somewhere peaceful to live.

"Land ahead," says Makri

As well as her Orcish blood, Makri also has some Elvish in her. Her eyesight is far better than ours. Lisutaris and I peer through the ocean mist, but we can't see anything. We wait anxiously as we drift northwards. Finally a thin line appears on the dim horizon.

"The orange cliffs," says Lisutaris.

The orange cliffs of Samsarina. A well known landmark. We haven't come nearly as far west as I feared. Just two countries along from Turai, in fact. Only Simnia separates us from home.

"At least we're not landing in Simnia," I mutter.

"What are the Samsarinans like?" asks Makri.

"Not as bad as the Simnians. Which doesn't mean they're all that great."

As we drift in towards Samsarina, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is pensive. It's weighing heavily on her mind that Turai fell while she was head of the Sorcerers Guild. I'd say she's being hard on herself. There were plenty of worse failures in the city. Our Royal Family, the intelligence services, the army. None of them covered themselves with glory. I did my part, of course, but as for the rest of the degenerate population, they crumbled under the pressure.

"News of Turai's fall will have reached here by now," mutters Lisutaris. "I'm probably assumed to be dead. Lasat Axe of Gold will be rubbing his hands at the prospect of a new election."

It's unfortunate for Lisutaris that we're heading into Samsarina, where Lasat is the Chief Sorcerer. During the recent election for Head of the Sorcerers Guild, the Turanian government blackmailed him to ensure Lisutaris's victory. I doubt he'll give us a friendly reception. Lisutaris lights up a thazis stick. She glances at the pouch in her hand. "I'm running out of thazis."

Lisutaris is a devotee of thazis. Normally a mild narcotic, the Sorcerer has taken its consumption to new levels. She's developed spells to make the plants grow faster, producing a much stronger variety than is commonly available. I doubt she could function without it. I have a notion that thazis might not be so tolerated in Samsarina as it was in Turai, but decide not to mention it. We drift in towards the Orange Cliffs.

"I've been here before," says Lisutaris. "We're not far from the port of Orosis. I know the harbour Sorcerer, Kublinos."

"So what's Samsarina like?" asks Makri. "Is it like Turai?"

I shake my head. "Not at all. It's mostly farmland. Barons and peasants. Though it's quite wealthy. Good farmland."

Lisutaris agrees with me. "It's not like Turai. No Senate, no Consul, no theatres, no university. Just a King and a lot of Barons vying for influence. Old-fashioned compared to our city." Lisutaris purses her lips. "Their Sorcerers didn't like it when a woman was elected Head of the Guild."

"Cheer up," I tell her. "We're war refugees. They're bound to sympathise."

"They won't sympathise if they think we let the Orcs beat us without a fight."

"Without a fight? " I scoff. "No one has ever accused Thraxas of giving up without a fight. Thraxas Dragon Heart, they used to call me."

"No they didn't," says Makri.

"Yes they did. I tell you Makri, you're in for a surprise. Don't forget, I won the sword-fighting championship in Samsarina. I doubt I'll be able to walk down the street without people recognising me. Wouldn't surprise me if they've put up a statue."

Makri looks at me dubiously. The sword-fighting championship in Samsarina is the most renowned contest of arms in the West. Makri never quite believes me when I tell her that I won it, twenty or so years ago. Of course I was in better shape in those days. Not so large around the waist.

"Just concentrate on not outraging the natives Makri, and we'll be fine. Don't act like a mad woman, a mad Orc, or any combination of the two. And keep your pointy ears hidden."

"You'll offend them a lot quicker than me, you fat oaf," retorts Makri. "How long till you're rolling around drunk?"

"That depends on how far we are from the nearest supply of beer."

We drift slowly along the shore till the port of Orosis comes into view, large and grey, its sombre harbour walls protecting ships from the harsh winter conditions.

"I'll be glad to get ashore," says Lisutaris. "I'm sick of eating fish."

Chapter Three

We come to rest on a grey, shingled beach a little way west of the harbour walls. A few seabirds squawk noisily overhead as we arrive. It's a cold morning and the sky is dull. Though we're nearing the end of winter there's no sign of the temperature rising.

"We should find Kublinos," says Lisutaris.

We set off in search of the Harbour Sorcerer. The shingle crunches under our feet as we scramble along the shore. At the end of the beach we're faced with a problem. The harbour walls sweep up towards the cliffs, leaving no gap.

"How do we get in?" asks Makri, and looks towards Lisutaris as if the Sorcerer might levitate us over the walls.

Lisutaris purses her lips. "I'm not sure. Is there a gate?" She takes out her pouch of thazis and frowns as she rolls herself a small stick. "Just as well we reached civilisation. I've almost run out."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," I tell her. "Thazis is illegal in Samsarina."

Lisutaris looks at me sharply. "I'm sure a supply will be forthcoming for the Head of the Sorcerers Guild."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Anyway, you probably shouldn't be smoking it when we arrive."

Lisutaris ignores me, and smokes her thazis stick as we walk along the foot of the walls. Finally we come to a small, locked door. Makri pounds on it. Nothing happens. Lisutaris frowns.

"I didn't cross the ocean in a leaky boat just to stand around on a cold beach for the rest of my life."

She raises her hand to cast a spell - which, I'm thinking, might not be the wisest thing to do, as no one likes having their harbour defences breached by strangers - when the door abruptly opens and a uniformed man stares at us suspiciously.

"Who are you?" he demands. Behind him I can see a few more guards with their weapons ready.

"Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, Head of the Sorcerers Guild," announces Lisutaris, grandly. "Take us to Harbour Sorcerer Kublinos."

To our surprise, the guard bursts out laughing. "You don't look like a Sorcerer." He turns his eyes on Makri, who, with her reddish skin, vast main of dark hair, pierced nose and man's tunic, does make for an unusual sight.

"What are you supposed to be?"

"Makri. Bodyguard to Lisutaris."

This produces further mirth. I shove my way to the front. "Do you have beer?'

"What?"

"Beer."

Lisutaris turns her head towards me. "Could the beer wait for a moment, Thraxas?" she says, quite frostily. "Guards, take us to Kublinos. Turai has fallen and I must consult with your Sorcerers."

The guards let us through the gate, though they're still suspicious. Lisutaris is famous throughout the West, but I'm not sure that they believe the bedraggled figure at their gates really is her. I keep an eye out for beer as we're led through the walls and into a guard house. There's a long delay while soldiers and lieutenants come and go, asking Lisutaris questions, and sending off messages. Lisutaris comes close to losing her temper, and informs the lieutenant that if he doesn't hurry things along she'll prove who she is by causing his head to explode. As she's now looking angry enough to do it, he gets the message, and rushes off to fetch Kublinos.

Lisutaris grunts in annoyance. "I knew Samsarina would be like this," she mutters to Makri. "If you think women have a hard time in Turai, wait till you've been here a while."

I'm distracted by the sound of clashing swords. Several men are practicing their fighting technique in the courtyard below.

"Officers make you practice a lot?' I ask the guard who's been left with us.

"That's Basinos, sword fighting champion of the southern armies. He's getting ready for the tournament."

Of course, the great sword fighting tournament. I hadn't realised it was so close.

"Is he a favourite?" I'm always keen to pick up tips in case there's an opportunity for gambling.

"One of the best in Samsarina. But there are a lot of good fighters. I'd say Elupus the Simnian will win it again this year."

I've heard of Elupus, of course. He's won tournaments all over the West. Makri comes over to watch. After studying Basinos's combat technique for a few seconds, she makes a small sound of derision.

"His defence is weak," she says. "I'd send him packing soon enough."

The guard grins at me. Makri might be carrying two swords and an axe but he obviously doesn't imagine she knows how to use them. I grin back at him, because it's just struck me that while Makri is one of the most lethal sword-fighters ever to enter an arena, she's completely unknown in Samsarina. If she were to enter the tournament, no one would give her a chance. The bookmakers' odds would be immense. A man could make a fine profit by backing her.

Finally an officer arrives to take us to Kublinos. "Send ahead for beer," I tell him, but I don't think he's really paying attention. He leads us through narrow streets lined with fish vendors and sail-makers' shops. As we turn a corner he indicates a large, rather splendid looking building in the distance.

"Kublinos's official residence."

Lisutaris draws herself up as we approach. Bedraggled or not, she still exudes power and dignity as she strides through the gate of Kublinos's residence, where we're greeted by a uniformed attendant.

"Tell Kublinos that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky is here."

"And we need beer immediately," I add.

"Pardon?" The servant looks confused.

"We need beer. The head of the Sorcerers Guild has just survived a dangerous voyage across the ocean. I'm shocked that no one yet has offered us beer. Bring flagons."

Lisutaris purses her lips. "My eh… Chief Adviser Thraxas… is… " She shakes her head. "Just give him some beer. And take me to Kublinos."

Lisutaris and Makri disappear down the purple carpet that leads to the main staircase while I head downstairs with a kitchen servant.

"Does the Sorcerer require any particular sort of beer?" he enquires.

"Hard to say. Just bring them all and I'll sample them. And don't stint on the flagons, keep bringing them till I tell you to stop."

I will say this for the Samsarinans - they may be a bunch of rural bumpkins who spend most of their time plodding along in fields, but they do produce some fine beer. Dark and full of flavour. With six or seven flagons inside me, and the remnants of four loaves of bread on the table, I start to feel more like myself again. For the first time since I was forced to flee Turai, life seems not quite so hopeless.

"Of course," I say, quite loudly, to the servant who brings me my eighth flagon. "You can't blame a man for feeling hopeless if he's stuck on a boat with a crazy Orc, a depressed Sorcerer, and no beer. Stronger spirits than mine would have quailed. Do you have any more bread? A few yams maybe?"

I notice my flagon is empty. "What's the matter? Is there a beer shortage? The Head of the Sorcerers Guild isn't going to be pleased when she hears you've been stingy with the ale."

It seems to me that the servant is a little tardy in bringing my ninth large flagon, but I don't make a fuss. After all, I'm a guest in this country. To show my appreciation of their hospitality, I rise to my feet, fling my arm round his shoulder and draw him close.

"You Samsarinans are not as bad as everyone says. Fine beer you have. Clears a man's head. You know, when I was on that boat I thought of packing it all in. Just let the Orcs walk over us. But now - " I take out my sword. The servant, possibly misinterpreting this, attempts to wriggle free. " -I'll chase these damned Orcs all the way back to the dirt hills they came from. Right after you've brought me more beer. Try using a decent sized tankard this time. And more food, damn it, don't you know how to treat a guest in this country? Where's Lisutaris? I'm her adviser, I should be advising her."

The servant hands me another flagon of ale, then leads me back upstairs, where he shows me into a reception room and asks me to wait. I'm in no mood for waiting. I march swiftly through the large door in front of me, arriving in a stateroom containing Makri, Lisutaris, Kublinos the Harbour Sorcerer, and a few others.

"We've wasted enough time on these pointless discussions!" I cry, banging my sword on the huge ornate desk in the middle of the room. "It's time for action! We need to organise an army and march back to Turai."

There's a brief silence. One of the men in the room, a beefy individual with blunt features and longish grey hair, looks at me in surprise, then turns to Lisutaris.

"Who is this?"

"My Chief Adviser," says Lisutaris, wearily.

"That's right!" I say. "And I advise you to stop talking and start marching."

Suddenly I feel quite suspicious of the grey-haired man. "Have you been talking about surrendering? Samsarinans never did have the stomach for a fight."

"How dare you talk to Baron Mabados like that!" cries an official with a fancy chain round his neck. I ignore him, having noticed a woman in a red gown standing in the doorway. She looks vaguely familiar. Possibly a servant I met on the way in.

"Could you bring me some beer? A flagon or two will do for now."

"Thraxas!" yells Lisutaris. "That is Baroness Demelzos."

I focus my eyes on the woman. Aquiline features, fancy sort of tiara-like thing stuck in her hair. I suppose she might be a Baroness.

"Is everybody in this room a member of the aristocracy? Isn't there anyone useful who might bring me a beer? They were quiet stingy in the kitchens."

"My kitchens are not stingy!" says Kublinos, offended.

At that moment, weakened perhaps by the rigours of my sea journey, a greet tiredness overwhelms me, and I'm forced to take a seat at the table. It's a fine comfy seat, plushly upholstered in soft brown leather. As I drift off to sleep I'm still feeling some resentment towards the Samsarinans for their frugal hospitality.

Chapter Four

I waken in a surprisingly comfortable bed. Soft mattress, feathered pillow and plenty of blankets. I can't remember how I got there. I'm still straining my memory when the door bursts open and Makri enters. I nod at her genially. Normally I find it annoying when Makri arrives without knocking -growing up in the Orcish Gladiator pits, she never learned any manners - but I let it pass.

"Good morning," I say.

"Thraxas you cusux," she barks, using a foul Orcish obscenity very rarely heard in the West. "Could you possibly be any more of a fool? No, you couldn't. You're number one chariot among fools." She leans over the bed. "Do you have any idea of the trouble you've caused? Lisutaris is trying to organise a war against the Orcs and you almost ruin everything because you couldn't wait five minutes before getting drunk and behaving abominably."

I spread my hands wide. "I was on a boat for eight days. I needed a beer or two. Anyway, I'm sure you're exaggerating.'

"Exaggerating? You accused Baron Mabados of being coward! And mistook his wife for a serving wench! Lisutaris has got enough problems without having to cover for your oafishness."

I attempt to protest but am unable to get a word in.

"Thraxas. Stop talking, stop complaining, stop drinking, and get your obscenely fat carcass out of that bed. We're sailing up-river to Elath with the Baron and Kublinos to see the King. The barge leaves in ten minutes but if you'd rather stay here and roll around drunk in a tavern, no one will miss you."

Makri storms out. I get out of bed with a struggle, cross to the small sink in the adjoining room, and splash water over myself. No one is leaving me behind. I've been in Elath before. It's a small town not far from the capital, known for its hot mineral baths. It's also the place where they hold the sword-fighting contest. I have to rush to get ready before the barge leaves, but an old campaigner like myself is used to moving in a hurry. No more than ten minutes after Makri's appearance, I'm rolling up to the quay with a small keg of beer under one arm and a bag of bread and pastries under the other.

"Thraxas," says Lisutaris, glancing at me frostily as I stroll on board. "You made it."

Lisutaris has made a swift return to her former elegance. I wouldn't say she was ever classed among Turai's greatest beauties, but she's a very attractive woman, always well presented; expensive robes, nicely coiffured hair and so on. Makri has also tidied herself up, though in her case that just means wearing an even more unsuitable man's tunic, brushing her ludicrously huge mane of hair in approximately the same direction, and cleaning her weapons. She now stands on deck with a sword at each hip and an axe at her belt, looking like the savage she is. Her appearance, reckoned as strange even in cosmopolitan Turai, is even more outlandish here among the solid citizens of Samsarina. In Turai, which borders on the wastelands, it's not unknown for a few people with Orcish blood to appear every now and then, but in Samsarina, I'd guess it's virtually unheard of. Crewmen eye her warily, probably wondering if she's the advance guard for the Orcish invasion. I offer her some breakfast out of the bag I'm carrying but she refuses, either because she's still annoyed with me or because she never eats that much anyway. Makri never complained of hunger when we were castaway. It's another odd trait.

Also on-board is the Sorcerer Kublinos. I greet him genially. He doesn't respond. Obviously he hasn't been impressed by his first experience of Thraxas, private investigator and warrior. I brush it off. He'll soon come to appreciate my finer points, as I say to Makri in the cabin below decks.

"You don't have any finer points," replies Makri.

"What's got into you? All right, I got drunk. So what? It's not the end of the world."

Makri's face softens a little. "I suppose not. Though it was crass, even by your standards. I'm on edge anyway. Everyone here keeps staring at me like I'm a freak. And I don't like the way Baron Mabados spoke to Lisutaris. I'm getting the impression the Samsarinans don't think she did enough to keep the Orcs out of Turai. It's ridiculous. Lisutaris was sick when the attack came. Anyway, if it hadn't been for her warnings, the city would have fallen sooner."

That's true enough; Lisutaris was the only one to correctly foresee the Orcish attack. Without her warnings, the city would have fallen earlier. But it looks bad for her that when Turai did eventually fall, it was because Deeziz the Unseen, most powerful of the Orcish Sorcerers, managed to sneak into the city undetected. Her sorcery outwitted everyone, including Lisutaris.

"Have you been to Elath?" asks Makri.

"Yes. It's just a small town in the foothills. No one would go there if it wasn't for the hot baths. Have you thought about entering the sword-fighting tournament?"

Makri shakes her head. "Tournaments are foolish."

Makri was involved in a tournament in the Elvish Isles. She trained a young Elf, very effectively, but had little patience for a fighting competition in which only practice weapons were used.

"This tournament isn't like the junior Elves' tournament," I explain. "They used wooden swords because the Elves didn't want their children getting hacked to pieces. This is more serious."

"With real weapons?"

"Not quite," I admit. "The points are blunted, and contestants generally wear enough armour to prevent them being killed. But it's serious enough. Plenty of injuries, and a few deaths on occasion."

Makri looks disgusted. While she's an enthusiastic fighter, the idea of not doing it for real doesn't appeal to her.

"You can't tell who's the best fighter with blunt swords and a lot of foolish rules. Either you fight properly or you don't. I'm not getting involved in some pointless sham."

I find her attitude annoying. Makri's always got to make out she's the only one who knows anything about fighting. "It's not a sham, it's a tough contest. It takes a special sort of skill to win it."

Makri raises her eyebrows. "Like you did twenty years ago?"

"Exactly."

"It's strange that no one else in Turai knew about this triumph."

"I told you. I had to enter under a false name because I was absent without leave from my unit. Wait till we get to Elath, there will be plenty of people who remember old Thraxas, terror of the fighting arena. Of course, if you're too scared to enter…"

"Your pathetic attempts to make me angry won't work, Thraxas. I'm not entering. I don't want to. Anyway, I'm too busy being Lisutaris's bodyguard."

"But it's a wasted opportunity. You should enter."

"Why do you care?"

"You'll enjoy it."

"No I won't."

"Yes you will. Besides, think of the gambling opportunities."

"Aha!" yells Makri. "I knew you just wanted to gamble!"

"What's wrong with that? Think of the odds we'll get. An unknown woman entering the greatest tournament in the West? We might get something like a hundred to one. Can we, as responsible citizens, refuse odds of a hundred to one?"

Makri looks momentarily interested. When she first arrived in Turai she had no interest in gambling. Since then I've managed to improve her character somewhat. These days she can get excited about a good wager. She sets her mouth firmly against it.

"No. I'm here to help Lisutaris rally the Sorcerers, get the armies organised and march against the Orcs. I'm not getting distracted by anything else." Makri looks angry again. "Lisutaris is worried they might not even acknowledge her as head of the Sorcerers Guild any more. Kublinos heard that Lasat's already suggested he should be the new chief."

This makes me frown, though it's not really a surprise. If the Sorcerers Guild believed that Lisutaris had perished, they'd need a new leader quickly, and there would be no time to organise a proper election. Lasat Axe of Gold would be the obvious choice. The Samsarinan Sorcerer has acted as temporary Head of the Guild before.

I shrug. "Well, now Lisutaris is alive, there's no problem. She's still Head of the Guild."

"She has to be War Leader too," says Makri.

"Now you're getting ahead of yourself. It'll take a lot of discussions and negotiations before they choose a War Leader."

"I won't put up with any nonsense," says Makri. "Lisutaris is going to lead an army straight back to Turai."

I don't disillusion her, but it's unlikely to be that simple. The armies of the western nations have had some time to prepare for the Orcish assault but I doubt if they're ready yet. Then there's the Elves to consider. We don't have much chance of defeating Prince Amrag without them on our side, and it'll take them a while to sail up from the Southern Isles. It could be months before we're in a position to attack. Even then, it's by no means certain that the disparate forces of the West will put the retaking of Turai at the top of their priorities. They might decide just to hold the line at the Simnian border, and wait for Amrag to come to us.

Makri is irate at the thought. "So we just give up the city? Leave Turai in the hands of the Orcs? I can't believe anyone would think of doing that."

"Since when did you love Turai so much?"

"Since I got into the Imperial University," replies Makri. "The Deputy Consul said I could go and I'm going, even if I have to throw the Orcs out myself."

Well, it's a point of view, I suppose. Makri was studying at the Guild Community College. She was the top student there. Academically, she's now qualified to attend the university. In reality, she had no chance of going, because she's female and she has Orcish blood, two things which absolutely disqualify anyone from attending. However, after her considerable service to Turai during the siege, Deputy Consul Cicerius did say he'd use his influence to allow it. But Cicerius is probably dead, and I don't know if there will ever be another class at the university.

The cabin door opens with a bang and Lisutaris strides into the room, her rainbow cloak flapping around her legs. She looks agitated.

"This is more serious than I thought," she says.

"Have the Orcs advanced?"

"No, I can't get any thazis anywhere. Can you believe it's completely outlawed in Samsarina? Damn this new King and his anti-thazis policies." Lisutaris gazes with concern at her almost-empty thazis pouch. "Even Kublinos doesn't have any. Have you ever known a Sorcerer without any thazis? What's the matter with these Samsarinans?"

I nod in sympathy. "They're strange. Have you noticed how they don't seem to have much beer around?"

Lisutaris sits down heavily and looks glumly at her shoes. She seems to have borrowed a nice pair, probably from the Baroness. They aren't cheering her up any, even though she's a woman who does like shoes.

"Is there any war news?" asks Makri.

"I really thought Kublinos would have some thazis somewhere," says Lisutaris. "There had better be some in Elath, or there's going to be trouble." She rises to her feet. "I'm Head of the Sorcerers Guild, damn it! You can't expect me to obey every petty little law in a no-account country like Samsarina."

"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 sights 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."

"She didn't tell me about any meeting. Where are you going?"

"The Queen's Bathing House."

I blink. "What? You get to go to the Queen's Bathing House?"

"Of course. You can't expect the Head of the Sorcerers Guild to walk around without her bodyguard in wartime. What if an Orcish spy tried to assassinate her?"

I don't take the news well. The thought of Makri splashing around with the female aristocracy really irritates me. Damn it, you couldn't get more common than Makri. She was born in an Orcish slave pit. I'm a solid citizen with an exemplary record of public service and war-time heroism. They should be welcoming me into the King's Bathing House with open arms. Now in a poor temper, I decide to fortify myself with a beer or two. It's still early in the morning but there's no harm in checking out the local taverns. I stroll past some of the low grey buildings in the centre of town, reflecting that I might have a hard time making a living in Samsarina. I'm not certain that there's enough crime among the mainly-rural population to keep an investigator in employment.

"Help me!" screams an anguished voice nearby. Maybe I was wrong about the crime. I sprint round the corner where I find an elderly gentlemen having his belongings removed by three armed men. I grab one of the men by his collar and toss him to the ground. His companions round on me.

"Stay out of this." One of them brandishes a knife in my direction.

"Get out of my sight or I'll make you swallow the knife."

I place my hand on the hilt of my sword. With no more threat than this, he hurries off, followed by his companions. A very poor class of street thug, if that's all it takes to scare them. That's not to say my actions aren't appreciated by the grey-haired, grey-bearded man currently brushing down his cloak and looking relieved. He bows, thanks me, then introduces himself.

"Arichdamis. Chief Mathematician at the court of King Gardos."

"Thraxas of Turai," I reply. "Chief Adviser to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky."

"Really?" My companion looks impressed. ""Is Lisutaris here in Elath?'

I look around for any sign of the thugs. They weren't the bravest robbers I've ever met but they might have friends nearby so there's no point in hanging around. I suggest to Arichdamis that we move on. He tells me he was heading for the baths. Reckoning that it's no bad thing to be on good terms with an important figure at the King's court, I offer to accompany him. It's a sacrifice, as I was hunting for a tavern, but one I'm willing to make. We walk back to the northern outskirts of town, then turn left towards the bathing houses.

"Why were these thugs attacking you? And do you want to report it to anyone?"

"Report it to anyone?" Arichdamis doesn't seem to have considered it. Though his eyes are quite alert, he has about him a slightly distracted air, as if he's got part of his mind permanently on some mathematical problem. He might have, I suppose.

"I take it you live in one of the hillside mansions?" I ask.

"I do."

"If you're heading for the baths, weren't you rather out of your way?"

"Just taking a walk," he replies, pleasantly. "Good exercise."

He's tall and thin, and stoops slightly. He looks like he could do with some exercise. I should just let it pass. Often there are things you shouldn't talk about. But not talking about things is something I've often found difficult.

"Well, if you'll take my advice, next time you're out buying an illegal bag of thazis, don't walk down any dark alleyways."

This gets his attention. He stops, and stares at me. I take a package from my pocket.

"You dropped this when you were attacked. I suppose it's what they were after. It would fetch a fair price around here, with it being illegal, and the King so keen to see it stamped out." Arichdamis looks very alarmed. I hand over the bag. "Don't worry. I'm not about to tell anyone. I'm a Private Investigator by trade. I'm not in the habit of giving away secrets."

"It really is vitally important that no one learns of this," he says.

"I've never ratted-out a mathematician yet. Which baths are you going to?"

I'm expecting him to be heading for the King's Bathing House, but apparently the post of Chief Mathematician doesn't carry that much status. He's heading for the common baths, same as me. We stroll up the hill together. I ask him if he's ever encountered Lisutaris. He hasn't, but he's heard favourable reports of her power, and her intelligence.

"Lisutaris would love to meet you," I tell him.

"Would she really?"

"Undoubtedly."

Arichdamis looks pleased. As far as I know, Lisutaris doesn't care that much for mathematicians, but she'll certainly be pleased to meet a person with a nice bag of thazis in his pocket.

Chapter Seven

Because of the King's presence, security is tight. Soldiers are stationed on the roads around the town's mansions. They have dark green tunics, polished breastplates and gleaming weapons. On the way back to Kublinos's house I'm halted at a checkpoint, where a Military Sorcerer searches me for hostile spells while the Captain of the Guard verifies my identify.

"Thraxas of Turai, Chief Adviser to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky," I mutter. Already I'm sick of saying this. It's not like anyone believes I'm giving her advice.

"Turai?" the Captain sneers. "Didn't hold out for long, did you?"

I don't bother replying. The Samsarinans may be able to muster a large army, but they don't have a great reputation for warfare, no matter how smart the King's guards look. I make my way to Kublinos's mansion. Servants keep an eye on me as I take the side stairs up to the attic. So far I haven't been invited into Kublinos's state room, or his courtyard shrine, or his main dining room. Nonetheless, after my visit to the mineral baths, I'm feeling more like my old self. I had to do a fair bit of pushing and jostling to get myself a bit of room among the farmers and merchants, but once I'd done that, I had an excellent soak. Arichdamis wasn't a bad companion, for a mathematician. Apparently he designs war machines - siege devices and so on - which explains why he's employed by the King. As an old campaigner myself, I'm sympathetic to anyone who can tell a few good stories about campaigns he's been involved in, which Arichdamis could.

While soaking in the hot water I did my best to pick up information about the sword-fighting tournament. If Makri won't enter, I can still bet on the other fighters. I anticipate a prosperous betting campaign, if I can just raise some money to get started. I'm musing on where exactly I might raise a stake when there's a sharp knock at my door and Lisutaris enters, looking angry. Ignoring all rules of decorum, she plants herself on the bed and starts complaining.

"Life is hell," she begins, and goes on from there. The Sorceress spent the morning in a meeting with King Gardos, his Barons and his Sorcerers. By her account, her reception was frosty. "Lasat looked at me like I was something washed up on the beach. Which I was, I suppose. He'd heard I was missing - some Sorcerer got a message to him, I don't know who - and he'd already started to take control of the Guild. Charius the Wise was there and he hates me just as much as Lasat. Damn these Samsarinan Sorcerers. The Barons are no better. The story has got around that an Orcish Sorcerer sneaked into Turai without me detecting her, and now people are whispering I'm not up to the job."

"What about the King? Is he against you?"

"Gardos is young. He's only been on the throne for a few months. I don't think he's really established himself yet. I can't see him standing up to the Barons and Sorcerers on my behalf. Besides, he's not what you'd call intelligent."

"Isn't he?"

"Of course not. If he had any sense he wouldn't be carrying on with this ludicrous anti-thazis policy."

Lisutaris drums her fingers on the side of the bed. "Damn this place," she mutters. She glares at me crossly. "Weren't you meant to be finding some thazis? You're my Chief Adviser. Is it really beyond you to - "

"I found some."

"What? Where is it? Give me it!"

I admit I don't actually have any on me. "But I do know a user, and I'm certain he'd share with you. A man called Arichdamis. Mathematician to the King."

"Arichdamis? He's here?"

"You've heard of him?"

"Of course," says Lisutaris. "He's one of the most famous scientists and mathematicians in the world. Are you sure he has thazis?"

"Yes. And he was keen to meet you."

"Then let's go." Lisutaris stands up.

"Aren't you meant to be dining with Kublinos?"

"Kublinos can wait."

Nothing will satisfy Lisutaris but that we set off right away. She summons a servant to take a note to Makri - currently practising with her weapons outside - telling her to meet us there, and we depart. Outside the sky is still grey but the temperature has risen a degree or two. Further east, the snows will soon be melting. The storms in the great ocean to the south will be calming down. It's almost the season for war.

"Makri will want to meet Arichdamis," says Lisutaris. "He's written quite a few important scientific treatises."

"No doubt she's read them all," I respond, gloomily. "And will bore me to death with a long lecture abut some interminably dull subject no one in their right mind would care about."

Lisutaris carries herself regally as we pass by the guards and soldiers outside. If she's feeling browbeaten by the local Barons, no one could tell from the way she freezes out a Sorcerer who tries to check me for spells. "The Chief Adviser to the Head of the Sorcerers Guild does not require inspection, thank you."

We sweep past. I thank Lisutaris. "It's time I got a bit of respect around here. Since I arrived in Samsarina it's been one insult after another."

"For instance?"

"For instance it's outrageous that Makri gets to go to the Queen's Bathing House while I have to go to the common place. I almost drowned under the weight of farmers and blacksmiths."

"I'm sorry, Thraxas. They're willing to stretch a point for my bodyguard, but not my Adviser. Was it really so bad?"

"No, not really. Crowded, though. What's the Queen's Bathing House like?"

"Extremely elegant. Marble floors, steam rooms, masseurs, that sort of thing."

"How did the massed ranks of Baronesses react to the not-very-aristocratic-Makri?"

My question makes Lisutaris frown.

"What's wrong? Did she commit some outrage?"

"No, she behaved quite properly. It's just… I don't suppose you've ever seen Makri naked?"

"I have."

Lisutaris looks at me with surprise. "You have?"

"Yes. When she strolled into my room without bothering to get dressed. Until you've lived in the same tavern as Makri, you have no idea how uncivilised she is."

Lisutaris continues to look at me rather dubiously for a few moments, then carries on. "Well, if you've seen her naked, you'll know what I'm talking about. She has a body like… like… " Lisutaris struggles to find a comparison. "Like a female athlete would be, if there were such a thing. Her stomach is completely flat. You can see the outline of her muscles, which I've never seen on a woman before. She doesn't appear to have a single ounce of spare fat anywhere. Apart from her breasts, oddly enough, which seem rather generously-sized. You've no idea the sensation this caused at the bathing house."

"Really?"

"When she walked out of the changing rooms there was a sort of collective gasp. The Baroness beside me probably hadn't thought about her own body for the past twenty years but I swear she was sucking her tummy in when Makri strolled past. There was nothing but rich women looking sick with envy."

It's not something I'd anticipated, but I can understand it. The aristocracy in Samsarina are no doubt just as vain and frivolous as they were in Turai.

"But what about the pointy ears?" I ask. "I'm sure they weren't jealous of her Orcish blood."

"Well no. But even so, she had quite a sensational effect. Makri, while swimming, displays remarkable muscular development. I caught sight of one young princess flexing her arm to see if there was any sign of a bicep. Which sadly, there wasn't."

Lisutaris looks rather thoughtfully down at her own body. "How does she do it?"

"I don't know. She doesn't eat much, and she's always practising with weapons. But I've always thought she was too skinny."

"Really Thraxas? Only moments ago you were revelling in seeing her naked."

"I was not revelling. Merely reporting the facts."

Lisutaris look irritated. "I need to win these Barons' support against Lasat. I'm not going to be popular if their wives are all miserable because Makri's made them feel flabby."

"Maybe they'd be pleased if their wives start taking better care of themselves?"

Lisutaris shakes her head. "I got the impression the King wasn't very impressed with me having Makri as my bodyguard. Probably doesn't believe she can even fight."

"You should encourage her to enter the tournament. If your bodyguard won that, it would be a real boost to your status."

Lisutaris doesn't dismiss the idea out of hand. By now we've reached the northern edge of town where the mansions are laid out in a haphazard manner. Presumably each Baron bought the best piece of land they could find, and started building. The streets between their mansions are narrower than might be expected, and there's an unusually high concentration of nobility in the area. At times there seems to be a Baron round every corner, and manners are probably more relaxed than they would be at court.

I wonder if Lisutaris fully appreciates the risk she's taking in visiting Arichdamis. "You know how the King feels about thazis. If you're caught using it, he'll be down on you like a bad spell."

The Sorceress shrugs. "I'll risk it. Makri was right. It's a flaw in my character and there's nothing to be done about it. Are you sure we're going the right way?"

"I think so."

"I don't want to ruin into Baron Mabados or Lasat again."

"Relax," I say. "We're nowhere near the Baron's house."

I lead us round the corner. There, looking comfortable in his own front yard, is Baron Mabados. Lasat Axe of Gold is next to him. Lisutaris shoots me an angry glance and swears under her breath.

"Baron Mabados," she exclaims. "What a pleasant surprise to meet you again. And Lasat as well. It seems like only minutes since we parted."

If it sounds a little forced, it's a good deal more polite than Lasat Axe of Gold, manages. He barely acknowledges Lisutaris's greeting, though the Baron does manage to make the formal bow due to a woman of Lisutaris's status. We stand there awkwardly for a few moments. I feel sorry for Lisutaris, and her acute lack of thazis. I notice a few beads of perspiration on her brow. The front portal of the mansion opens and some men troop out. Another Baron, I'd guess, and several men with swords, including Basinos. sword-fighting champion of the southern armies.

"My champion, and entrant for the sword-fighting tournament," says Baron Mabados.

"And mine," chimes in Lasat, indicating the other swordsman. "Elupus of Simnia."

Elupus makes a small bow. He's not especially tall for a sword-fighter, but he's powerfully built, and carries himself confidently, as befits a man who's won tournaments all over the West. It's quite a surprise to learn that he's being sponsored by Lasat. The Sorcerer really must want to boost his own status.

"Will you be entering your bodyguard in the tournament?" Baron Mabados asks Lisutaris.

"The thin woman?" says Lasat. "I doubt she'd want to trade blows with Elupus or Basinos."

"My bodyguard is not keen on tournaments," says Lisutaris, evenly.

"Quite wise," replies Lasat. One wouldn't want to see her hurt."

The other Baron in attendance, who's name I don't know, sniggers at this. Lisutaris is discomfited. I'm angry.

"You can count yourselves lucky Makri isn't entering the tournament," I say. "Or she'd show you who was number one chariot with a sword."

My outburst only provokes more mirth.

"Is it really wise," says Lasat to Mabados. "In these dangerous times, to engage the services of such an ineffectual bodyguard?"

Lisutaris is about to respond but she doesn't get the chance.

"I am entering the contest," comes a voice from behind us. Makri has arrived.

"You are?" I say.

"Of course," replies Makri, quite calmly, as if she meant to do so all along. "And when I win, people will see which Sorcerer has the best judgement in bodyguards."

"Well put Makri," says Lisutaris, "Now we really must be off. Good day, Baron, Lasat."

We walk on.

"Thanks for doing that," says Lisutaris. "I know you didn't want to enter the tournament."

"I'm not letting them insult us like that," says Makri.

"Lasat still thinks he can force me out of the Sorcerers Guild, and take over," says Lisutaris. She pauses. I notice her fists are clenched. "Are we far from Arichdamis house? If I don't get some thazis soon I'm going to explode in a fireball which may destroy the entire town. Thraxas? Are you listening?"

"Of course he isn't listening," says Makri. "He's dreaming about his betting campaign now I've entered the tournament."

She's right. I can sense prosperous times ahead. Makri is going to sweep all opposition before her. If I can just raise a stake, I'll show these Samsarinan bookmakers a thing or two.

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."

Chapter Nine

A few hours later, back in Kublinos's mansion to pack up our meagre belongings, Makri is complaining. "I don't want to look after a dragon."

"Look on the bright side," I say. "We all get to move into Arichdamis's house which is a lot better than this servant's attic. You've got plenty of space to practise your sword fighting and Lisutaris can smoke thazis till her heart's content."

"It's certainly fortuitous," agrees Lisutaris. "As long as you can keep that dragon happy I'll be in good standing with the King. And there's the tournament too. If you can win that it'll really boost my status."

Makri frowns. "How is that everything seems to be resting on my shoulders?"

"Just the way things work out," says Lisutaris, amiably.

Makri continues to grumble. I point out that it won't be that hard looking after the dragon. "Just tickle it behind the ear and throw some meat at it. It can't be that hard."

"He tried to bit your hand off."

It's true. The creature did not take kindly to being stroked by me. I was fortunate to escape with my fingers still attached. It doesn't seem to like anyone except Makri. It's a strange phenomenon, though one I have encountered before. When we visited the Fairy Glade together, the centaurs, fairies, and assorted other magical creatures all seemed keen on Makri.

"What if its mother comes back?" says Makri.

We fall silent, thinking about the huge white dragon that flew overhead while we were sailing up the river. While we don't have any proof that it was our dragon's mother, it seems likely. According to Arichdamis, the baby dragon was found, as an egg, by a scientific expedition to the furthest reaches of the mountains in north. They handed it over to the King, who then gave it to Arichdamis with the instructions to rear it. Possibly he has some scheme to be the first western monarch to control dragons. It seems like a foolish endeavour to me. The King of Turai once had a dragon in his zoo, and that ended very badly.

"What's the idea of telling the King you're my manager?" continues Makri.

"I had to say that. I wasn't going to be left behind in this attic. Anyway, it's true enough. If you're entering the tournament you'll need someone to look after your affairs. I can do that. Which brings us to our first problem; money. There's the entrance fee, and you'll need weapons and armour, which aren't cheap. Lisutaris, can you help?"

The Sorceress shakes her head. She's still living on charity from Kublinos. "I can't ask him for any more."

"Why not?"

"It would be demeaning."

"So?"

"It's hardly going to increase my status if people know I've been begging money to buy armour for my bodyguard, is it?"

"I suppose not. Well, I'll have to think of something. There's the gambling to consider as well."

Lisutaris nods sagely. "Of course, we must bet on Makri. If only I could earn something. Would it affect my status if I took on some private work?"

"Yes it would," declares Makri. "You're Head of the Guild. You can't be casting horoscopes to raise cash. Thraxas, if you're betting on me I want a fair share of the winnings. And none of your outlandish, risk-filled gambles either. I want a solid, practical betting strategy."

I smile. As I said, Makri is nowhere near as averse to gambling as she pretends. "Have I ever let you down?"

"Almost continually."

It strikes me that I could probably earn money in Elath. "There has to be some crime going on here, with Barons, sword-fighters and assorted gamblers in town. Perhaps I could find something that needs investigating."

Lisutaris stands up and cranes her neck to examine herself in the tiny mirror on the attic wall. "There's something wrong with this dress," she mutters. "The clasp at the neck isn't fastening properly."

Makri stands behind Lisutaris and attempts to rectify the situation, but quickly becomes frustrated. "I can't close it. How does it work?'"

I raise my eyes to heaven. If you're having problems in the female costuming department, Makri is never going to be any help.

"Step aside and let a civilised Turanian look at it," I say, and brush Makri aside. "The clasp is jammed."

"We know that already," says Lisutaris.

"Let me try again," says Makri.

"What with? Your axe? Not every problem can be solved by violence."

I take hold of the clasp and give it a tug. Nothing happens. I pull it harder. The clasp rips right out of the dress which then flops down around Lisutaris's waist. Makri bursts out laughing. At this moment Kublinos walks into the room. Seeing Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, with her dress around her waist, he looks surprised.

"What is… eh…?"

"Come Makri, let's go to my room and see if we can repair the damage," says Lisutaris. They disappear. Kublinos looks at me very suspiciously.

"What was that all about?"

"Just a little clothing problem."

"Was it you who ripped Lisutaris's dress?"

"Accidentally."

His eyes narrow. "I have to say, Thraxas, your attempts to win the favour of Lisutaris are quite inappropriate. Apart from your unsuitable character, there's the difference in class to be considered."

Before I can protest, he rushes on.

"Just because you rescued Lisutaris - or claim to have - doesn't give you the right to inflict yourself on her. I've seen the way you operate and I don't like it at all."

Faced with an angry and apparently insane Sorcerer, I'm starting to think it's a good thing I'm wearing a powerful spell protection necklace. Kublinos's idea that I'm somehow trying attach myself to Lisutaris is so ridiculous I barely know how to answer.

"You're forever whispering in her ear, trying to worm your way into her affections. No doubt you persuaded her to move with you to Arichdamis's house so you can carry on your deceitful campaign unhindered." He leans towards me. "I'm warning you Thraxas, I've got plenty of spells just waiting to be used on any shameless adventurer with his eyes on Lisutaris's fortune."

There's no telling how this might end, but we're interrupted by the arrival of a servant. Apparently I'm wanted downstairs. I depart immediately, grateful for the interruption. There I find another servant, a young man wearing a fancy tunic with an unnecessary amount of gold braid.

"Thraxas? Baroness Demelzos wishes to see you."

This takes me by surprise. I'd have guessed she'd happily live out her life without ever seeing me again. I shrug, and follow the servant into the narrow streets that separate the Baronial dwellings of Elath. Every few steps we pass by some richly attired group of aristocrats. Rarely can so many lords and Barons have been crammed together in such a small space. The servant stops in front of a smart carriage, with two horses in front and dark curtains on the windows. The servant checks the street to make sure no one's looking at us.

"In there," he says.

The door opens. I step inside. It's a plush carriage, upholstered in purple with silver trimmings. Inside is Baroness Demelzos.

"Please shut the door."

I do as she says, then take a seat opposite her. We sit in silence for a few minutes.

"Nice carriage," I say, eventually.

She looks irritated. "You have no manners, have you?"

"Not many."

"You never did have."

I raise an eyebrow. "Have we met?"

"You mean before you mistook me for a serving wench in Orosis?"

Baroness Demelzos looks more irritated. I'm starting to wonder if she just got me here so she could have someone to be irritated at.

"Why were you so appallingly rude? And drunk?"

"I'd just come off an eight-day stint in a boat with no sails. Before that I'd been chased out my city by Orcs. I felt I deserved a beer or two."

"You always did drink too much. Even as a young man you had a problem." Baroness Demelzos leans over slightly and fixes me with an unfriendly stare. "I never expected you to treasure my memory, Thraxas, but I didn't think you'd completely forget me."

I look at her blankly. "Who are you?"

"I'm Demmy, the barmaid you had an affair with after you won the tournament." She sits back heavily. "I expect you forgot about me within a week."

This is all quite a shock. I did have a brief liaison with a barmaid while I was in Samsarina. That was more than twenty years ago. "You're Demmy? Well dammit, how was I meant to recognise you?"

"I haven't changed that much," said Demelzos. She eyes my waistline. "Unlike you."

"But you were a barmaid. I wasn't expecting you to become a Baroness. How did that happen?"

"My father left his job in the mine and went up north to prospect for queenstone. He made the richest strike anyone ever saw. Two years after you left Samsarina I was the wealthiest young woman in the country. Soon after that I was a member of aristocracy. The Barons are an exclusive class, but a young woman with enough money is tempting for anyone."

The Baroness is wearing a queenstone necklace, and even inside the carriage, with the curtains drawn, the blue stones sparkle. It's a very precious material, only found in Samsarina as far as I know.

"So what's it like being married to Baron Mabados?"

"Better than being a barmaid. How did life treat you?"

"Twenty years soldiering, then I ended up living in a tavern in the bad part of town."

Demelzos was an attractive barmaid, as I recall, and she hasn't lost much in the way of looks. Her long brown hair hangs freely over her shoulders, in the style of the local noblewomen, with two slender braids looping round to meet at the nape of her neck where they're joined by a silver clasp. Though the weather is becoming milder, she hasn't abandoned her fur cape, which is luxurious, even by the normal standards of fur capes. Her shoes, while neither as extravagant nor as high-heeled as those worn by the fashionable women of Turai, are stitched with gold thread. I'd say she hasn't done too badly for herself.

"I'm guessing you'd didn't ask me here to discuss old times," I say.

"I didn't. Though if I did, I'd have something to say about the way you left without saying goodbye."

"I had to get back to my regiment. I was absent without leave."

"You could have said goodbye."

"Sorry. As a young man, I may have been lacking in manners."

"Have they improved?"

"Not really."

I'm feeling discomfited by the encounter. It's hard to know the right tone to take with a Baroness you knew as a barmaid.

"I'm told you call yourself an investigator," she says. "What do you do exactly?"

"I find out things for people."

"What sort of people?"

"All sorts. Poor people who can't afford a good lawyer. Rich people who don't want a good lawyer knowing the sort of trouble they're in. People who've got on the wrong side of someone powerful." I pause, waiting for her to speak. She remains silent. "Do you fall into one of these categories?"

"How do you find things out? Sorcery?"

"I don't know enough sorcery to tell what day it is."

"Didn't you go to the Sorcerer's college? I remember you used to talk about it."

"It never worked out."

"So how do you find things out?"

"Mostly by trudging around asking questions that other people can't be bothered to ask. It would save time if you told me what the problem is."

Demelzos muses for a while longer. It's a comfortable carriage. I don't mind waiting. It gives me some time to digest the fact that the young barmaid I had a brief affair with went on to become a Baroness. Maybe I should have stuck around till she became rich.

"My daughter thinks someone is trying to kill her," she says, eventually.

"Are they?"

"I don't think so. Why would anyone try to kill a Baron's daughter?"

"Baron have enemies, I suppose."

"Probably," agrees the Baroness. "But I can't see any reason they'd trouble my daughter Merlione. But ever since the accident she's been scared."

I lean forward. "Accident?"

"Her friend Alceten was killed by a runaway carriage. Merlione saw it happen. She'd gone to meet her at the Royal Record House. Alceten's father was the Record Keeper. She came out the building, waved to my daughter, and then she was struck down by a carriage. It was a terrible accident. Alceten's family is distraught. But that's all it was, an accident."

"Merlione doesn't think so?"

Baroness Demelzos shakes her head. "She's convinced it was deliberate. Worse, she thinks she's next."

"Were there any other witnesses?"

"I think so. Daringos, the King's Chief Steward, did carry out an enquiry. If there'd been any hint of foul play I'm sure it would have been discovered." The Baroness sighs. Briefly, she looks older. "My daughter just won't accept it was an accident. She's a quiet girl…" The Baroness's voice tails off.

"You mean quiet and sensible, or quiet and neurotic?"

"My daughter is not neurotic."

"So she's sensible?"

"I'd say so. And she's good-natured, and intelligent. I love her dearly. I'm sure she's in no danger but I hate to see her frightened. Do you think you could talk to her? Just in case there's anything in it?"

I mull things over for a little while. Outside I can hear the civilised tread of passing Barons, and the voices of their children.

"Is it difficult being married to a Baron? After growing up poor?"

"Isn't that rather an impertinent question?"

"Probably."

"My marriage to Mabados has been generally successful."

Generally successful doesn't sound like the warmest description of a marriage I've ever heard. Sensing my doubts, Demelzos takes the opportunity to ask if I ever managed to stay in one place long enough to get married.

"I did."

"And?"

"Complete disaster."

"Any children?"

"No. No property either."

The Baroness smiles. It makes her look younger, more like the barmaid I remember.

"What does the Baron say about all this?"

"He doesn't believe any of it. I can't really blame him, it all sounds so unlikely. It's putting a strain on my family. My daughter's refusing to leave the house. She wouldn't come with us to Orosis. My husband was furious."

"It must be awkward, with the wedding coming up."

"It is. If she's not at her brother's wedding, people will talk. Baronesses can be very vindictive with their gossip. Do you think you can help?"

"Yes. I can."

The Baroness fishes around in her bag. "How much do you charge?"

"Thirty gurans a day. But you don't have to pay me."

"That's gallant. I don't remember you being gallant. Weren't there some questions asked about your tactics in the tournament?"

I grin. "One or two. But I still won. You don't need to pay me."

Demelzos smiles. She's pleased I'm not charging her.

"But you could lend me some money."

Demelzos looks startled, and then laughs. "That's more like the man I remember. What do you need a loan for?"

I explain that I need money for Makri to enter the tournament.

"The Orc woman?"

"Yes. Though she wouldn't like you calling her that."

"Can she fight?"

"Champion of the Orcish gladiator pits."

"But she's just a skinny young girl."

"True. But she's part Orc, part Human, and part Elf. That's meant to be impossible, but she managed it somehow. The mixed blood's done something strange to her. It makes her move faster than anyone else. She likes fighting too, which makes a difference. But we need money for armour and weapons."

"And then there's your betting to consider, I imagine?"

"You don't seem to have forgotten much about me. Yes, I may place a few bets."

"So which one of the women is yours?" she asks, while counting out coins.

"What?"

"The Orc girl or the Sorceress? Who's you lover?"

"Neither. I gave up on women when my marriage fell apart."

Demelzos plainly doesn't believe me, but lets it pass.

"How much do you need?"

"For Makri? About two hundred."

Demelzos hands me three hundred gurans. Twelve heavy gold coins.

"That should keep you going. Make sure the Baron never hears about it."

Chapter Ten

Makri stares at me suspiciously. "I can't believe you had an affair with a Baroness."

"She wasn't a Baroness at the time. She was a barmaid."

"I can't believe you had an affair with a barmaid."

"What's so strange about it? I'd just won the sword-fighting tournament. There were barmaids all over Samsarina keen to have an affair with me. Just because I don't boast about these things doesn't mean I wasn't a man for the ladies in my younger days."

Makri shakes her head. "Are you sure you're not imagining it?"

I tap the purse I'm carrying. "You should be grateful the Baroness liked me so much. Otherwise we wouldn't have money for your armour." I shake the purse, making the coins jangle. "I expect she's remembered me very fondly over the years."

"You're loving this, aren't you?" says Makri, who, for some reason, seems unnecessarily scathing about the whole thing.

"I suppose it does say something about the vigorous love-making of the youthful Thraxas that she still remembers me so kindly. But I'm not bragging."

"If Baron Mabados ever finds out he'll throw you back in the ocean." Makri doesn't sound too displeased at the prospect.

We're walking through Elath, on our way to buy armour and weapons. Makri's preferred method of combat is to use two swords, but tournament rules stipulate that each fighter must enter the arena carrying a sword and a shield.

"A blunted sword," mutters Makri. "What use is that?"

Weapons have to have the edge taken off before they can be used. Makri keeps grumbling about it. We walk eastwards through the town till we reach the outskirts, where tents have been set up selling all sorts of goods. Makri becomes more interested as we approach. She does like weapons, and can't help but be interested in the rows of swords, shields, helmets and so on. We're studying a display of daggers when someone claps me heartily on the back.

"Saxarth? Is that you? You old dog!"

I turn round to find myself confronted by a man a few inches shorter than me, grey haired, but wiry and vigorous.

"Combius?"

"Saxarth!" He claps me on the shoulder again. "Good to see you!"

"Saxarth?" says Makri.

"It's the name I used when I won the tournament. I was absent without leave from the army at the time. Had to disguise my identity. Makri, this is Combius of Juval. Champion the year before me, and as good a fighter as I've met."

"I'd have been champion next year too if I hadn't been injured," roars Combius, cheerfully. A quite untrue statement, but I let it pass.

"Saxarth is just Thraxas backwards," says Makri. "Couldn't you come up with something better?"

"What are you doing here, Combius?"

"Selling weapons. Set myself up as an armourer after I retired from fighting."

"Then you're just the man I've been looking for. This is Makri. She needs weapons for the tournament."

Combius looks at Makri in surprise. "You're entering the tournament?"

"Couldn't you think of anything better than Saxarth?" asks Makri.

I purse my lips. "Could you drop the inquisition about my name? Yes, Combius, Makri is entering the tournament. She's currently bodyguard to the Head of the Sorcerers Guild and I give her every chance of doing well."

Combius doesn't look especially convinced, but he's not going to turn away our business. "I've got the full range here. What do you need?"

"Everything. Sword, shield, mail shirt, gorget, mail gloves, helmet, boots, leggings. At a generous discount for an old companion, I trust."

Combius leads us behind his table and signals to a young assistant to help him find suitable armour for Makri.

"She's a good deal thinner than anyone else I'm outfitting," he muses. "Going to need some adjustments."

Makri has picked up a sword from the table and makes a few practice thrusts. As she walks down the row of merchandise, examining the various pieces of armour, Combius lowers his voice. "What's the idea, Saxarth? She's not really entering the tournament is she?"

"She is."

"Did you lose your mind when Turai fell to the Orcs? People die in this tournament. Why risk the girl's life?"

"She's not risking her life."

"Really? Orc blood isn't too popular around here. It's madness letting her enter."

By now Makri is trying on some of Combius's chainmail shirts, all of which are too large for her. She complains about the weight, comparing them unfavourably to the Orcish armour she left in Turai, something that doesn't go down well with Combius.

"The Orcs can't make armour."

"Yes they can. Good armour."

Neither Combius nor his assistants look pleased. No western armourer will acknowledge that Orcish smiths have any skill.

"How about that small shirt at the back?" I suggest, to move things along.

"Might do," says Combius. "It's a youth's size. Made if for a Baron's son. Killed in a horse riding accident before he could wear it, poor lad. I might be able to adjust it for her."

By the time we leave Combius's weapons tent Makri has purchased a sword, a shield, and chainmail gloves. We have to call back for the rest later, after alterations. Makri scowls at her sword.

"It's blunt."

"Of course it's blunt. Can't you get it through your head that you're not meant to kill anyone?'

"No. And I still think Saxarth was a poor choice of name. I'd have seen through it right away."

"Yes Makri, that's fascinating. Fortunately no one in Elath at the time had your mighty intellect. Now I have to eat. Which I should be able to do at that tent with the flag on top."

"The flag with a meat pie on it?'

"That's the one. Lets go."

By now the fields are crowded, but it takes a good man to prevent Thraxas from advancing towards a meat pie. I clear a path, enter the tent, plant myself on an available bench and beckon a serving girl in our direction.

"Three pies, a tankard of ale and whatever side dishes you have. And quickly, if you can, I haven't eaten for a long time."

The waitress looks towards Makri. Makri shakes her head, not wanting anything.

"You should keep your strength up, Makri. You've got a tournament to win."

Makri's lips twist in a faint sneer. "I could win this tournament in my sleep. What do any of these people know about fighting? I slaughtered the entire honour guard of an Orc Lord on my own so I'm not about to start worrying about any tournament fighter."

"There will be a lot of good swordsmen here."

"None of them are any good."

I don't like Makri's over-confidence. "I'm telling you, there will be good fighters. Elupus, for instance."

Makri scoffs. "Elupus? He can't fight."

"How do you know that? You've never seen him in combat."

Makri shrugs. "I can tell. I wasn't impressed when I met him. I'll beat him. Easy as bribing a Senator. I'm more interested in Arichdamis and his inventions. Do you know he's making a special sort of huge crossbow for bringing down dragons? He showed me the plans."

It's my turn to be sceptical. "It will never work. People have tried before. You can't build anything big enough to fire an arrow tough enough to pierce a dragon's hide. The machine would be too cumbersome."

"Arichdamis doesn't think it's impossible. He's got a new swivel mounting which will allow for fast manoeuvrability. And he's invented this new sort of sight for aiming, it's got this little mirror in it, it was one of the cleverest things I've ever seen."

I'm about to pass an unfavourable opinion on the intellect of anyone foolish enough to think he can bring down a war-dragon with a crossbow when Makri unexpectedly looks sad.

"I really wish Arichdamis could visit Samanatius," she says. "But I expect Samanatius is dead."

There's not much to say to that. Samanatius is almost certainly dead. I doubt very much if the elderly philosopher escaped from the wreckage of Turai. Makri's gloom quickly transfers itself to me and I eat my pies rather quietly, thinking all the while about Gurd, Captain Rallee, Tanrose, and the other people I knew in Turai.

"We should be marching back there right now, not sitting here," declares Makri.

"I know. But it takes time to get these things organised. Once Lisutaris has re-established her control over the Sorcerers Guild, we'll see some action."

Though the food marquee is busy, a small space has cleared around us. No one wants to sit next to Makri. If she notices, she doesn't let it show. I'm expecting some awkwardness when we enter her for the tournament. There's a smaller marquee where entrants put their name down for the competition. It's a bustling scene as contestants call out to each other, and swap friendly insults, while their supporters eye up the opposition and exchange information on the fighters' recent form. Here, even more than elsewhere, the Samsarinan class system has relaxed. Barons and their retinues mingle with their favourite sword fighters, trainers and armourers. As we approach, the banter subsides. The officials don't make any objections as Makri gives her name - the Samsarinan tournament prides itself on being open to anyone - but they're far from welcoming. I register Makri in an atmosphere of hostile silence.

"I'm as welcome as an Orc at an Elvish wedding," mutters Makri, as we emerge from the marquee.

"True."

"Do you think Elves will ever invite me to a wedding?"

"Probably not."

Now that Makri has entered the tournament, I'm keen to place some bets as soon as possible. There are several bookmakers taking bets on the tournament, all of them operating out of tents close to the fighting arena. The largest operation is run by Big Bixo. As far as I can learn, he's honest enough, if only because the whole operation is overseen by Baron Mabados himself, who, as presiding noble in the area, has a hand in most profitable business arising from the tournament. He'll have to hand over a good share of that profit to the King, of course, but it's still a good earner for the Baron.

I ask Makri is she wants to accompany while I place my bets, but she declines. She has to accompany Lisutaris to a meeting. The first of the Elvish ambassadors have arrived, as well as military officials from Hadassa, Kamara, and other countries to the south and west. It's now several weeks since Turai fell, and it was several weeks before that the Orcs marched out of the East. Even so, the forces of the West still aren't ready to face them.

"Lack of leadership," says Makri. "Simnia and Samsarina are the largest states but they can't agree about anything. Nioj doesn't get along with anyone, and the League of City States is a shambles. What it needs is someone to take matters in hand."

"It wouldn't be so bad if the Elves had a decent warlord," I say. "But even they seem to be disorganised at the moment. There's no natural War Leader. General Acarius is probably the only decent soldier we have left."

"But he's Juvalian," says Makri, who has apparently become an expert on world politics. "Juval's a small place and Simnia and Samsarina won't follow a Juvalian. There's only one candidate - Lisutaris."

"Well maybe," I say. "But there are a lot of soldiers who don't like having a Sorcerer as commander."

"The Head of the Sorcerers Guild has led the West to war before."

"That was a long time ago, and the Head of the Guild wasn't a woman then. I'm not sure the Simnians and the Samsarinans will follow Lisutaris. Where is she now?"

Makri looks troubled. "Preparing a spell."

"For what?"

"Making her new thazis plants grow faster. I'd better go. I need to make sure she's in a fit state for the meeting."

Makri hurries off, carrying her new armour. I shake my head, and carry on towards Big Bixo's tent. I need to acquaint myself with the odds on offer, and prepare my betting strategy. With limited resources, I have to plan carefully. When the tournament gets going properly, there are thirty-two fighters involved. However, to reach this stage, Makri will have to qualify. Of the thirty-two places, sixteen are available only by invitation. Some of these invitations go out to internationally renowned swordsmen. Others go to local champions, mainly sponsored by the Samsarinan Barons, and a few more to fighters backed by aristocrats from neighbouring countries. The remaining sixteen places are up for grabs, but it takes a good swordsman to win through. I had to qualify myself, and it was tough. Some of the fighters were highly skilled, even if they weren't well known. I'm gripped by a momentary worry that Makri isn't taking it seriously enough. I'm not certain she appreciates the standard of the opposition.

I shake off the worry. Makri is the best fighter I've ever seen, and I've seen plenty. She'll win the competition. I enter Big Bixo's tent with an air of quiet determination. It's time to begin the process of reducing the Samsarinan bookmakers to despair.

Chapter Eleven

After placing my bets I head towards Baroness Demelzos's mansion, where I'm due to talk to her daughter Merlione. In Turai there were carriages for hire but the only carriages in Elath seem to belong to the Barons and their ilk. Commoners walk everywhere. The young servant who admits me is wearing a plain white tunic. I'd have expected Baron Mabados's servants to be wearing something fancier. Embroidered, at least. Maybe the Baron is too cheap to dress his servants well. Or maybe in Samsarina it's a sign of good taste to dress your servants plainly. I can't tell. I don't know the nuances of servants' apparel the way I did back in Turai. I don't know the nuances of any part of society here.

"The Baroness asked me to escort you to our western reception room. Merlione is waiting for you."

For what is effectively a holiday home, it's a large enough place. We walk along plain white corridors hung with pictures of the Baron's ancestors, and past the central shrine, where I catch a glimpse of a rather modest statue of St Quatinius. It's some time since I prayed. In Turai it was standard to pray three times a day. Religious rules in Samsarina are different. There's a period in the evening when everything stops for prayer, but no set time during the day. Probably the Barons don't want their farmers suffering too many interruptions as they work in their fields.

I've formed a picture of Demelzos's daughter as a shy girl, full of imaginary fears and worries. It turns out to be not particularly accurate. For one thing, she's a little older than I expected. Eighteen, perhaps. Old enough to have been married off in some favourable dynastic match. The fact that she hasn't been probably says something about the family, but I don't know what. She greets me in a confident enough manner. She's a reasonably attractive young woman - though I'm finding that harder to judge as I get older - dressed quite simply, with a plain blue robe over a long white dress that looks much the same as those worn by most woman in Elath. They're well-cut garments, but you wouldn't necessarily take her for a Baron's daughter. She isn't wearing any fancy jewellery, which would have been obligatory for a rich young woman in Turai. She does sport a discrete queenstone bracelet.

I take a seat and get down to business. "I understand you think someone is trying to kill you?"

"Someone is," she says. "And no, I'm not imagining it."

"Who thinks you're imagining it?"

"Everyone. But they're wrong. And Alceten's death wasn't an accident either, no matter what anyone says. She was murdered."

Merlione looks me in the eye, defying me not to believe her. She has very dark eyes. She looks a little like her mother did when she was younger. It gives me a faint memory of being a lot younger myself.

"Tell me what happened."

"Only if you're here to help find out who killed her. If you're here to try and persuade me it was an accident, I'd rather not."

"I take it you weren't impressed by the original investigation?"

Merlione laughs, quite bitterly. "Investigation? There was no investigation. Daringos, the King's Steward, asked a few questions and believed whatever was easiest for him to believe. The carriage that killed Alceten was owned by Baron Girimos so he wasn't going to cause any trouble there."

"Who's Baron Girimos?"

Merlione looks at me in a rather less friendly manner. "Shouldn't you know that?"

"I'm new in town."

"That wouldn't seem to qualify you to find out the truth."

"Indulge me. I have hidden talents. Who's Baron Girimos?"

"He owns land all over the west of the country. Very rich and important. He's one of the King's main allies, so no one was going to accuse him of anything."

"Do you think Baron Girimos was behind the death of your friend?"

"I don't know. I can't see why he would be. But someone deliberately drove that carriage into Alceten. They said it was just runaway horses but I saw someone driving them. He was lying on the seat, almost hidden from view by the footboard. He couldn't ride properly like that, but he still whipped the horses into action and they mowed down Alceten. The carriage raced off down the street. When it was recovered there was no sign of a driver."

"And no one else saw him?'

"No. But I did."

"This was in the evening? When it was dark?"

"Quite dark, yes."

"And raining?"

Merlione looks offended. "Yes, it was raining. But I know what I saw. There was someone in the carriage."

"Were there any other witnesses?"

"Only Zinlantol. She works at the Record House. She told the King's Steward that there was no one driving the carriage. But she came out the building after Alceten, she can't have seen it properly."

"Has anyone explained why the horses bolted?"

"Daringos told us they must have been startled by some dogs. There are dogs there, sometimes. But I didn't hear any of them barking."

I take this in. I have known horses to be startled into bolting by dogs. I've known people to be killed by runaway carriages too, in narrow city streets. I ask Merlione what she was doing outside the Royal Record House.

"Alceten asked me to meet her. Her father was the Royal Record Keeper."

"Did you often meet her there?"

"Not often," says Merlione. "But sometimes we'd meet before going to the Queen's Bathing House. That day she sent me a message, saying she wanted to see me."

"What about?'

"I don't know. The message just asked me to meet her in the evening."

"And you arrived just in time to see her killed. Do you have any idea at all what might be behind it? Had she any enemies?"

"Not as far as I know."

"Have you?"

Merlione shakes her head, though for the first time in our interview, she looks troubled. "I didn't think so. But I was very close to Alceten when she was run over. I think the carriage was hoping to run us both down. That's not all that's happened. Two days ago I was walking along King's Royal Way and a slate came off a roof and shattered right beside me."

"You think that wasn't an accident?'

"I"m sure it wasn't."

I'm not immediately convinced. A slate falling from a roof isn't that uncommon. King's Royal Way, despite the fancy name, is a fairly dilapidated row of buildings that leads from the Baron's houses into the centre of Elath. The road is in poor repair, and so are the houses.

Merlione sips water from a silver goblet. "Why did my mother hire you?" she asks, abruptly.

"To find things out."

"But you're a stranger in town. Why you?"

"I'm a professional investigator. You don't have any in Elath."

Merlione looks doubtful. "It seems odd to me. Did someone recommend you to her?"

I'd rather avoid the subject of how I know Baroness Demelzos. It strikes me that I haven't had beer for a while.

"Could you send for some beer?"

"You mean wine?"

"No, beer."

"I don't think we have any."

"Servants usually have some."

Merlione is surprised by my request, but claps her hands, causing a servant to hurry in.

"Do we have any beer for our guest?"

The servant gives me a look of withering contempt. "I believe the chef may have a supply in the kitchen."

Merlione is smiling as the servant leaves. "I don't think anyone has ever asked for beer before. Is it true you have an Orcish wife?"

"No. I have a companion who is part-Orc."

"Is she very savage?"

"At times. She's also a scholar."

"Really?' Merlione, who seems altogether friendlier since I asked for beer, leans forward, interested. "What does she study?"

"Everything. Now we've moved in with Arichdamis she's been talking to him about measuring the volume of cones. Or cylinders. Or parabolas. Something like that, I'm not clear about it."

When the servant returns with my beer, I ask Merlione to tell me more of her circumstances. I'm not really convinced that her friend was murdered, or that her life is in danger, but I owe it to Baroness Demelzos to investigate properly. Partly because she's paying me, and partly because I did skip out without saying goodbye properly. Even if it was over twenty years ago, that bothers me a little.

Most of what Merlione tells me I already had some idea of, from Demelzos - her brother's Orgodas's wedding for instance. The household is in a state of high excitement about his upcoming marriage to the eldest daughter of Baron Vosanos, yet another of Samsarina's wealthy nobles. I get the impression that Merlione isn't that close to her brother, or her father, and may not be as interested in the wedding as she should be. I wonder if that might be influencing her reluctance to leave the house, though insisting your life is in danger just to avoid a wedding does seem like taking things to extremes.

Merlione doesn't seem to have any other close friends, even though Elath has plentiful supply of Baron's daughters, who should be suitable companions. But she's a serious young woman, studious maybe. Not the type to spend her time shopping and gossiping. As I take my leave I'm not sure what to make of the whole affair. I have some sympathy for Merlione, who seems like an isolated figure, but whether or not there's any truth in her suspicions, I can't tell.

Outside it's started to rain. The water flows neatly down the gutters in the paved roads around the Barons' houses, but further into town, where the roads are not so well constructed, the earth is beginning to cut up. Many of the buildings are poorly maintained. It wouldn't surprise me if slates fell off the roofs all the time. I walk past the town hall, another not-very-impressive, grey stone construction, and take a look at the water clock in the main square, beside the statue of St Quatinius. The clock was designed, so Makri informs me, by Arichdamis. Water flows through underground pipes and makes it work. I've no idea how.

By now Elath is filling up with people, many of them exotic by local standards. That's partly because of the tournament, and partly because of the approach of war. There's an odd atmosphere. A mixture of anticipation and fear. I recognise the emotion. I've seen it before. People feel reckless, wanting to have some enjoyment in what might be the last weeks of their lives. One or two Elves have appeared, having either risked an early voyage from the Southern Isles, or come overland from neighbouring lands. Sorcerers, mercenaries, soldiers, generals and ambassadors are all arriving in Elath. The King's Guard has increased their patrols, looking for suspicious characters. It strikes me that I'm here in the company of undoubtedly the most suspicious character in the entire country, namely Makri. If she wasn't employed by Lisutaris she'd have been run out of town already, and probably me as well.

Chapter Twelve

I'm looking forward to a few ales and a pie from the larder when I get back to Arichdamis's house. Unfortunately I find the house in uproar, or as much uproar as can be created by one elderly mathematician, two servants and an agitated part-Orc swordswoman, all of whom are engaged in near-incomprehensible babble as I enter the hallway. I have to shout to make myself heard.

"Makri? Shouldn't you be at a meeting with Lisutaris?"

Makri whirls round. "Lisutaris can't go!"

"Why not?"

"Too much thazis. She can't move."

This isn't a huge surprise. I've seen Lisutaris unable to move after too much thazis. Notably, a couple of years ago when I was trapped in a Sorcerer's mansion in Thamlin with a maddened crowd outside baying for blood. On that occasion it took a hefty slap to bring her round. I expect something similar will produce results now. Makri leads me to where Lisutaris is lying in the gardens, her head resting comfortably on a small hillock, a peaceful smile on her face. Beside her is a pile of ash. I take her by the shoulder and shake her.

"Lisutaris. Important meeting. Barons and Sorcerers. You have to get up."

She doesn't stir. I shake her harder.

"It's no good," cries Makri. "She made a new spell for making Arichdamis's thazis more powerful and she's overdone it. What are we going to do?"

Horses hooves clatter along the road, coming to a halt outside Arichdamis house.

"That must be messengers from Lasat, wondering where Lisutaris is," says Makri.

I notice that Makri's hand has drifted towards her sword. "Killing the messengers won't help. They'd just send more."

It's time for swift action. I drag Lisutaris to her feet and thrust her into the arms of Arichdamis and a servant.

"Walk her round the garden. Makri, come with me." I march back though the house and open the front door to find two messengers on the doorstep.

"Lasat Axe of Gold begs to know when Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, plans to arrive at the meeting."

I regard them coolly. "Lasat Axe of Gold must have made a mistake. Lisutaris reconvened the meeting here."

"What?"

"The meeting is to be held here, in Arichdamis's residence."

"But it's meant to be at Lasat's. He won't be pleased at this."

I draw myself up. "Lisutaris is Head of the Sorcerers Guild. She outranks Lasat. In fact, she outranks everyone. So if Lisutaris wants to hold the meeting here, that's where it will be held. Kindly tell Lasat that Lisutaris regrets the mix up in communications, but looks forward to everyone assembling here at their earliest convenience. And pass on the best regards of Thraxas, Chief Adviser to the Head of the Sorcerers Guild."

The messengers don't like it. Still, it's not their job to argue. They mount up, and ride off. Beside me, Makri is impressed. "You really pulled that off well."

"Thank you."

"Although it does strike me that in around fifteen minutes, a collection of angry Barons and Sorcerers are going to discover that Lisutaris is completely intoxicated by thazis, in a country where thazis is illegal."

"So we've got fifteen minutes to get Lisutaris into a fit state."

We hurry back to the garden where Arichdamis and his servant - both quite elderly, and neither of them strong - are still gamely walking Lisutaris around the garden. So far, it doesn't seem to be helping.

"It was very unwise of Lisutaris to boost the power of her thazis," says Arichdamis, who seems shocked by the occurrence. "Is the Mistress of the Sky prone to this sort of excess?"

"Very rarely," I reply, and send the other servant off to make deat, a herbal brew with some powers of sobering up the intoxicated. Makri and I take over walking Lisutaris around while Arichdamis slumps into a garden chair to rest.

"You might want to tell your servants that Barons, Sorcerers and probably some foreign ambassadors will be arriving soon."

Arichdamis leaps to his feet. "What? I'm not ready to receive Barons. We have no food prepared, or drink, or - "

"Tell them there's a war on. Everyone has to rough it a little. Damn you Lisutaris, will you stop grinning stupidly and open your eyes?"

As soon as Arichdamis disappears inside I fetch Lisutaris a fairly hefty slap on the face. Her eyelids flicker. So desperate is the situation that Makri doesn't object. Lisutaris opens her eyes.

"Thraxas, if you slap me again I'll make your head explode."

We sit Lisutaris down on the garden chair and start pouring deat inside her. The Sorceress shakes her head.

"Spell must have been too powerful. But Arichdamis's thazis is inferior. I was just trying to boost it a little." She yawns. "I'd better lie down for a while."

"You can't lie down!" exclaims Makri. "Have you forgotten the meeting?'

"Meeting?"

Makri brings Lisutaris up to date with recent developments. Lisutaris's eyes open wide.

"I don't want to meet Barons. I'm not ready."

Horses hooves and carriage wheels sound in the street outside. Lisutaris casts a baleful glance in my direction, then rises to her feet. Her legs give way and she slumps back into her chair.

"I can't walk," she says, rather feebly.

"Arichdamis," I say. "Tell the Barons that Lisutaris will receive them in the back garden."

At this moment the junior dragon, until now absent from the proceedings, decides to put in an appearance. It wanders out from a clump of bushes and makes straight for Makri.

"Go away you vile beast," says Makri.

The dragon starts rubbing itself against Makri's legs. Makri tries to shove it away, which only makes it more enthusiastic. It rises on its hind legs and tries to lick her face. Makri winces as it digs its claws into her shoulder. She bats it back to the ground, quite violently. The dragon, thinking this is a splendid game, purrs in pleasure and starts climbing up her again.

"I'm getting fed up with this," says Makri.

Baron Mabados, Baron Marcos, and Lasat Axe of Gold come storming into the garden.

"What is the meaning of this change of location?" demands Lasat. "It shows an outrageous lack of respect for the council."

Elupus, his bodyguard, is next into the garden. Several more Samsarinan Barons follow, along with their entourages. After them come a group of Sorcerers, including Kublinos, and various men in military uniform, Generals from the Samsarinan army. Finally Daringos, the King's Chief Steward, resplendent in his crimson robe, strides in with his nose in the air. There's some confusion, with questions being asked from all sides. The loudest voice comes from a Baron I haven't met before, an extremely large man, at least in girth, who demands to know where the refreshments are.

"Don't tell me we've been invited to a house where's there's nothing to eat?" he says, looking round the empty gardens with some dismay.

"Never mind food, Baron Girimos," says Daringos. "I'm still waiting to hear why Lisutaris has chosen to inconvenience us all."

A full complement of hostile eyes turn towards Lisutaris. Unfortunately she hasn't yet recovered her wits. She looks around her, eyes not quite focused, and mumbles something unintelligible. Lasat studies her very suspiciously. I think he might be sniffing the air for traces of thazis. I hurriedly put my foot over the pile of ash.

"It's quite simple," declares Makri, loudly. "And Thraxas, Chief Adviser to Lisutaris, will now explain everything."

I purse my lips. This was always going to be the difficult part. A flaw in my plan, you might say. But only if you were unacquainted with exactly how resourceful a man like Thraxas can be in a crisis. Sharp as an Elves ear, as my admirers have been know to say. I march over to the table, sweep up Arichdamis's plans for the crossbow sight, and brandish them dramatically.

"Lisutaris realised that Arichdamis - finest inventor, mathematician, and scientist in the West -has hit upon a device so vital, so important to our war effort, that she was unable to leave it unguarded. She decided, quite rightly, that the meeting must be re-convened here, to prevent any risk of it falling into enemy hands, before she's had time to construct a mighty spell of protection.

Lasat Axe of Gold frowns. "Couldn't she just have brought the plans with her?"

"Too important to carry around," I say, though I know right away it's not the most convincing of answers.

"Lisutaris has also been busy helping me look after the young dragon," says Makri. "You know how important that is to the King." At this moment the young dragon decides to give Makri a playful nip on the ankle. "Damn you!" she cries, and deals it a hefty kick in the ribs.

Lasat Axe of Gold is by this time looking completely exasperated, and from the expression on Chief Steward Daringos's face, he won't be reporting that favourably on Lisutaris to the King.

"Perhaps the Mistress of the Sky would like to tell us herself why she summoned us here," he says.

Lisutaris rises to her feet, a little shakily. "As my Chief Adviser has explained, I've been engaged in important work. I would not have wished to report to the King that the unwillingness of his Sorcerers to travel a short distance had led to the loss of our new weapon."

Lisutaris hasn't really said anything more convincing that Makri or I, but she has an air of authority, and it sounds better coming from her.

"What is this weapon?" enquires Baron Mabados.

"An advanced crossbow featuring a special sighting device which will enable our troops to bring down an Orcish war-dragon in full flight."

"What?" exclaims Mabados. "That's impossible. No bolt from a crossbow could pierce a dragons hide,"

"I plan to build a device which can fire an eighteen-inch steel shaft with a hardened tip right through its scales," says Arichdamis, in defence of his pet project.

"To fire such a heavy bolt high and fast into the sky would require a crossbow of tremendous power," protests Mabados, who's seen dragons in combat. "Surely such a machine would be too bulky and slow moving? Dragons don't just hang around in the sky, waiting to be shot."

"My crossbow is mounted on a rotating trestle and uses a new type of sighting device. I believe I can hit a dragon in mid-flight."

Arichdamis's claims are met by some cynicism by the assembled visitors, particularly the military men. But by now, everyone's attention is being drawn towards Makri and the dragon. After some tussles back and forth, the creature has settled down comfortably at her feet.

"Is that beast purring?" asks one of the Generals, a dark, weather-beaten man in a green military cloak.

"My bodyguard Makri has a way with wild creatures," says Lisutaris.

It is quite an impressive sight. The baby dragon, previously known for its aggression, now seems almost docile in Makri's presence.

"Have you experience with dragons?" asks the General.

"I fought one in the arena when I was fifteen," replies Makri, and no one scoffs at her reply. Even Elupus looks thoughtful.

With Lisutaris now regaining control of the situation, I take the opportunity to study our visitors. Most of them are still occupied by the sight of Makri and the dragon, but Baron Girimos is looking round him with the attitude of a hungry man. I wouldn't mind talking to Girimos. According to Merlione, he owned the carriage that killed Alceten. I sidle up to him and lower my voice.

"You'll have to excuse Arichdamis for his lack of preparation. He's too eccentric to provide proper refreshments for his guests."

"It's really most unsatisfactory," says the Baron, with feeling.

I nod sympathetically. "Don't worry, his servants keep the cellars and pantries well-stocked. Come with me and I'll put matters in hand."

Baron Girimos follows me eagerly back into the house. Behind us Makri is answering questions from the General about her days as a gladiator, while Chief Steward Daringos is reminding everyone that they still have a meeting to get through. Downstairs in the food cellars, I find the Baron quite a genial companion. Eschewing ceremony, he takes a whole smoked ham from a hook, drags out a crate to use as a chair, and gets to work. I take another whole ham for myself, fetch two bottles of wine and a small barrel of Elath Mountain Beer from the room next door, and join him on the next crate. We eat and drink heartily, and swap a few war stories. Like me, the Baron has fought against the Orcs. Along with his hearty appetite, it's another point in his favour.

"Of course, I was in better shape back then," says the Baron, patting his considerable belly. "Could you hand me down that duck from the shelf?"

While sharing the cooked duck, I manoeuvre the conversation round to the present, and manage to gain quite a lot of background information about affairs among the Barons. On the topic of Demelzos and Mabados's marriage, and the upcoming wedding of their son, he's quite informative.

"Mabados got lucky," he tells me, while starting on a second bottle of fine red Elvish wine. "Married the richest girl in the country. Commoner, of course, which raised a few eyebrows. Not as many as you'd think, mind you, when word got round about how much money she had. Her father found more queenstone than anyone had ever seen. And Mabados's family was broke. Everyone knew that, though they tried to hide it." Baron Girimos laughs. "He'd still be broke if it wasn't for her income."

"But he controls Elath. Isn't that lucrative, with the baths, and the tournament?"

"Should be, if he wasn't such a fool with money. Terrible gambler, you know. And he made some bad investments in shipping that all went down the drain. The yield from his farms hasn't been that great recently, either. Doesn't matter too much though, while they've got the Queenstone mines."

All of Demelzos's property will, of course, have been transferred to the Baron on their marriage, enabling him to waste money as he chooses. I ask Girimos about the upcoming wedding.

"I'll be a fancy affair. Mabados's son and Baron Vosanos's eldest daughter. Vosanos is one of the wealthiest men in the country. Shouldn't be surprised if they bring in some top foreign chefs for the catering." Baron Girimos obviously relishes the idea of a banquet prepared by top foreign chefs. It's not hard to see why he's a man of such impressive girth. I'm liking him more and more. By this time the Baron is so genial it's not difficult to raise the subject of the runaway carriage that killed Alceten.

"Sad affair," says the Baron. "Still no idea who took the carriage."

"It was stolen?"

"Yes. It disappeared from my stables the night before the accident. Thieves up to no good, no doubt. Elath's like that, when the tournament's on. A lot of rascals arrive in town."

When we emerge from the cellars, the meeting is well under way. Given the unpromising start, it goes quite well. Lisutaris talks with authority about her plans for rallying Sorcerers, troops, and governments. Lasat and his detestable minion Charius attempt to undermine her, but I wouldn't say they have the best of it. Lisutaris is still labouring under the disadvantage of having allowed Turai to fall, but she's been in battle on many occasions, and her reputation as a war-time Sorcerer remains high. Several of Samsarina's leading military men have seen her in action, back in the Orc wars when they were junior officers and she was a promising young Sorcerer. The meeting adjourns, and arrangements are made to talk with the King in two days time, along with several more foreign ambassadors who should have arrived in Elath by then.

"I'd say you're still in a strong position," I tell Lisutaris, after the Barons have departed. "Particularly as the Elves will still support you."

Lisutaris is not convinced. "Did you see the way Lasat objected to everything I said? The man hates me." The Sorceress frowns. "Why did you tell everyone I was protecting Arichdamis's new weapon like it was the most important thing in the world?"

"I had to come up with something to cover for you."

"I suppose so. But I'm going to look silly if this weapon doesn't work. Where is Arichdamis, anyway?'

"Examining the ruin of his cellars. Baron Girimos has a very hearty appetite. I tried to restrain him but it was practically impossible. Who was that General who seemed so interested in Makri?"

"General Hemistos. He's in charge of the infantry phalanxes."

"Hemistos? The young centurion who led the expedition over Gazgar Bridge?" I remember him now. He was decorated for his bravery, eighteen or so years ago. I didn't know he'd become a General. "Just goes to show, some countries reward their war heroes properly. If Turai was like that, I'd be a General too."

"Undoubtedly," says Lisutaris, and brushes her long brown hair back from her forehead. She stares at her silver and queenstone bracelet. A present from Kublinos, I believe.

"I apologise for my mistake with the thazis. I won't allow it to happen again."

Makri has finally got rid of the dragon, shooing it back to its nest in the trees. "General Hemistos wants to watch me fighting at the tournament," she says. "Was he really the most decorated centurion in the last war?"

"Maybe," I reply. "But you know these Samsarinans. They give out medals for anything."

"Where are the plans?" says Lisutaris, suddenly.

"What plans?"

"The plans for the crossbow and sighting device. You know, the important military secret I'm meant to be protecting."

"They're on the table."

"No they're not."

We all stare at the table. The plans are gone. I yell for Arichdamis. He pokes his head out of the window. He doesn't have them. The four of us engage on a frantic search of the vicinity. The blueprints are nowhere to be found. Arichdamis moans, and sits down heavily.

"How can they just disappear?" demands Makri.

I ask Lisutaris if she can perform some sort of quick searching spell. Unfortunately Lisutaris is no longer listening. Her bag of thazis is open on her lap. She swiftly rolls a huge stick, snaps her fingers to ignite it, then inhales deeply. I sit down next to her.

"Give me some of that," I say.

"Me too," says Makri. "We're really in trouble now."

Chapter Thirteen

Gloom descends over Arichdamis's house. It's hard to believe that someone stole the plans from right under our noses. Arichdamis is frantic, believing that enemy spies have made off with them. He's already imagining himself being executed for treason. Neither Lisutaris, Makri nor I believe that an enemy spy took the plans. It's far more likely that Lasat Axe of Gold was behind it.

"He'll do anything to discredit me," says Lisutaris.

"If Lasat did take them, what will he do with them?" wonders Makri.

"He'll produce them whenever he thinks it's most damaging," says Lisutaris. "Probably along with some fake story about an Orcish spy stealing them from me, and him heroically recovering them."

"We should have reported the theft when it happened!" says Arichdamis. "Now it looks like we're colluding with the enemy."

"We can't let anyone know. It will look too bad for Lisutaris."

Arichdamis has taken to pulling anxiously on his long grey beard. He goes away muttering about what a black day it was that he allowed Turanians into his house. Relations between us, previously cordial, have plummeted. Makri watches him go. "Now we've offended Arichdamis," she says, and sounds genuinely upset.

"If we're sure Lasat took the plans, shouldn't we be trying to get them back?" I suggest.

"Lasat will have them well hidden by now," says Lisutaris.

"So? You're more powerful than he is. Or you were till recently."

Lisutaris's eyes blaze. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you don't have so much power when you're continually intoxicated by thazis."

"Don't lecture me on intoxication," cries Lisutaris.

"Why not? You haven't been thazis-free since you set foot in this place. No wonder Lasat got the better of you."

"You're being unfair!" says Makri. "After all, Lasat is a secret addict too. He takes dwa, remember? Probably he's even more intoxicated than Lisutaris, some of the time."

"I'm not intoxicated!" cries Lisutaris. "If I was, could I do this?"

The Sorceress whips out a vial of kuriya, a black liquid used for various magical purposes. For most Sorcerers, controlling it is a difficult art. Not so for Lisutaris. She pours the liquid into a saucer and snaps her fingers.

"I'll show you who's intoxicated. Kuriya, where are the plans?"

Makri and I peer at the pool of dark liquid. Lisutaris, using her mighty powers, should be able to produce a picture of the current location of the missing item. We stare for a long time. Nothing happens. The Mistress of the Sky tries again.

"Show me the location of Arichdamis's plans." Nothing happens. "The moons are obviously in the wrong alignment," says Lisutaris. "I must consult my charts."

With that, she strides off briskly, leaving a non-functioning kuriya pool behind her. Makri looks at me with a worried expression. "Are her powers really on the wane?"

I shrug. "It's hard to say. Looking at the kuriya is always difficult, and it hasn't been working well for a lot of Sorcerers lately. The three moons do go through cycles. Maybe we're entering a bad one."

Makri's first fight is scheduled for later in the day. Both she and Lisutaris are planning to visit the Queen's Bathing House before going on to the tournament field. I'm heading off to investigate. I'm still far from certain that there's really anything that needs investigating, but I'll do it anyway. I plan to visit the King's Record House, where Alceten died, to examine the scene and ask questions. There were witnesses who should be worth talking to. Before I leave the house I offer a final word of encouragement to Makri.

"I've bet all our money on you. If you don't win your fight we'll be begging on the streets."

Equipping Makri used up most of the money I borrowed from Baroness Demelzos. I only had sixty gurans left, a frustratingly small sum given the good odds which were available at the bookmaker. Big Bixo was offering six to one on Makri winning her first fight, sixteen to one on her qualifying from her group, and a hundred to one on her winning the tournament. I'd hoped that her odds for winning the tournament might be better, given that she's completely unknown, but the bookmakers here won't offer anything larger, in case an unknown fighter turns up who happens to be a sword-fighting prodigy. That's extremely rare, but it has happened. No one knew me when I gloriously defeated all opposition all those years ago.

After studying the odds for a while, and weighing up my options, I place thirty gurans on Makri to win her first fight, and thirty more on her winning the whole tournament. I still regret only having sixty gurans to gamble with, but at least it's a start.

By now Elath is really starting to come alive. There's hardly a room to be had anywhere. Visitors are camped out in tents in the fields around the town. Everywhere you go, people are discussing the chances of their favourites, or passing on bits of gossip about who's in good form with a sword, who might have an injury, or who might have been spending too much time in taverns. Elupus is still the popular favourite but there's plenty of backing for other famous fighters. Gabril-ixx, from some isle in the far north, won a tournament recently and is getting a lot of attention. So is Uzbister, from Mattesh. He was out of action for a year following a bad shoulder wound, but now he's back, and he's a popular fighter.

The King's Record House, behind the town hall in the main square, is another ugly building. The road in front is narrow. Not much room for dodging if a carriage were heading your way. There are two guards at the door but they hardly bother to look at me as I enter, and don't acknowledge my announcement that I'm Chief Adviser to the Head of the Sorcerers Guild, here on official business. Inside, the building is no more impressive. A few pillars, an old statue of Saint Quatinius, some small stone figures of minor saints, and a badly designed fresco of an ancient Samsarinan King marching off to war. There's only one person in sight, a woman with long, greying hair, sitting behind a very large wooden desk, writing something in a ledger. I greet her politely.

"Thraxas of Turai, Chief Adviser to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky."

I'm expecting this middle-aged record keeper to be hostile but instead she greets me quite warmly. Maybe she's bored at work. Though she's plainly dressed, I notice she has a nice pair of queenstone earrings.

"How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Zinlantol."

"I'm Zinlantol."

"I'm told you were a witness when Alceten was killed."

Zinlantol's lips compress. She puts down her quill. Suddenly, she's not so friendly.

"I was. I'd rather not talk about it."

"I'd just like to ask you a few questions."

Zinlantol is about my age, maybe a little older. She has a surprisingly steely gaze. "Who sent you?" she demands.

"Baroness Demelzos."

Zinlantol looks at me very suspiciously, wondering if I'm telling the truth. "Did you actually see the accident?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I already told Chief Steward Daringos everything I know. He conducted a very thorough investigation."

That seems like an odd answer. I haven't implied that he didn't. I persevere. "Did you see any sign of a driver in the carriage that knocked Alceten over?"

"Of course not. I would have reported it if I had. It was simply an accident. The horses weren't secured properly, and they bolted."

"Why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why did they bolt?"

"Presumably something startled them."

"But you don't know what?"

"No. I'd only just left the building when the accident happened. All I saw was poor Alceten being run down."

"It doesn't sound like you had much time to see what was happening. I hear it was raining too. Heavy rain. Visibility can't have been that good. How can you be sure there was no driver?"

Zinlantol rises to her feet. "If you have no official business at the King's Record House, I think it's time for you to leave."

We stare at each other. I take in her dress, the plain woollen drape that covers her shoulders, and a thin metal band on her ring finger, all of them cheap. But then there's the valuable queenstone earrings.

"Nice earrings," I say. "A present from a friend?"

The record keeper abruptly spins on her heel and walks off, disappearing from view through a door marked 'private.' I walk towards the entrance, past the statue of Saint Quatinius. I think he might be staring at me.

"That's what I do," I tell him. "Bully middle-aged women for a living."

The soldiers outside the door ignore me as I leave. They're discussing the tournament.

"Elupus will win it again," says one "I've got my money down already."

Chapter Fourteen

The weather is improving rapidly. Spring appears quickly in these parts. It's warm, and I'm labouring slightly as I make my way towards the Bathing Houses to meet Lisutaris and Makri. As I pass the King's Bathing House, General Hemistos emerges looking clean, healthy and weather-beaten. To my great surprise, he greets me in very friendly manner.

"Thraxas, wasn't it? Is your companion Makri due to fight today?"

"She should be, unless the other fights run late."

"Excellent," says the General. "I look forward to it. Was she really champion gladiator of the Orcish lands?"

There's an eager tone in Hemistos's voice which makes him sound younger than his years. I recognise the tone. I've heard young men sounding eager about Makri. Usually when they've just seen her walk by in the tavern wearing her chainmail bikini. General Hemistos is full of questions, and even when we encounter Baron Girimos and Harbour Sorcerer Kublinos, he doesn't stop. We meet a few more Barons, all heading to the Queen's Bathing house to pick up their wives before heading to the tournament. Normally I'd be shunned by such a company but such is their interest in Makri that for once I'm a welcome guest.

"She usually favours a twin sword technique, I believe?" says the General. "Will she be able to cope with a sword and a shield?"

"She should," I reply. "Makri can use any sort of weapon."

While it's gratifying not to be shunned, I'm not actually all that pleased about Makri's sudden rise to prominence. I'd rather she remained an outsider. If these Barons start favouring her, her odds will plummet. It was a mistake for her to appear in front of them all yesterday, shoving that young dragon around like it was a puppy. And of course, in her frankly-indecent man's tunic and leggings, she was exhibiting a lot more female shape than they're used to seeing. No wonder she got their attention.

"Vosanos!" calls Baron Girimos. "Just arrived in town?"

I recognise the name. Baron Vosanos, father of the girl that Demelzos's son is marrying. I observe him as he walks across the busy road to join his fellow Barons. He's an elderly man, the oldest Baron in view by some way. Slightly built, long, thinning grey hair, with a polished walking stick in his hand. Despite the warmth in the air, he's wearing a heavy cloak, with a thick fur collar, the sort of cloak that lets you know the owner has plenty of money. His daughter's a good match for Demelzos's son, according to everyone.

"I say!" says General Hemistos, loudly. All eyes follow his in the direction of the Queen's Bathing house. The marble steps leading down to the road are busy with women going in and out. All of them wealthy, and all of them perfectly attired. As is Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, who walks down the steps with her normal straight-backed elegance, robe and rainbow cloak perfectly arranged, not a hair out of place. Beside her is Makri who has not bothered to get fully dressed before leaving the building, and strolls down the stairs still pulling her tunic over her head. With a lot of flesh on display, two swords at her hip and a her still-wet hair flopping all over the place, she makes for an unusual sight.

"Good Lord!" says the elderly Baron Vosanos. "Who is that?"

"Makri,' says the Simnian Ambassador, who joined the party a little while ago. "Lisutaris's bodyguard. She's fighting in the tournament."

"Splendid figure," barks the Baron. "Haven't seen anything like that since I was out in the East."

Lisutaris seems gratified to find a large collection of Barons outside the Bathing House. She greets them politely, exchanging pleasantries.

"I think they're starting to take to me," she says, as we head towards the tournament fields.

"Where's your amour and shield?" I ask Makri.

"Right here," says Lisutaris, dangling a tiny yellow purse by it's drawstring.

"A magic pocket? Where did you get that?" Magic pockets are valuable items. You can carry around any amount of heavy items safely inside, all apparently weightless and without volume, until you take them out again.

"Kublinos lent it to me. He's lending me a carriage as well."

The qualifying round starts later this afternoon, but until the draw is made, we won't know exactly when Makri is fighting. Reaching the tournament fields with time to spare, we take a stroll through the busy tents and stalls.

"Look at that sign - Pie eating contest. Prize - fifty gurans." I come to a swift halt. "I could win that. Easy as bribing a senator."

"You'd be a clear favourite," agrees Makri. "Are you going to enter?"

"No, he's not," says Lisutaris.

"Why am I not?"

"How is it going to reflect on the status of the Head of the Sorcerers Guild if her Chief Adviser is found wallowing around in a pie eating contest?"

I admit she has a point, though it galls me to pass up the opportunity.

"Maybe he could enter under a false name?" suggests Makri. "Saxarth perhaps?"

Lisutaris dismisses this. "That wouldn't fool anyone."

"We could do with the fifty gurans," I point out. "We have no funds left."

"But you've bet on me, haven't you?" says Makri. "So that's guaranteed winnings."

I hope so. I still don't like Makri's over-confidence. We press on through the crowd, heading for the large marquee where the draw will be made. It takes a while to force our way through. Even Lisutaris's rainbow cloak, easily recognisable, isn't enough to make the crowd part without a struggle. I'm obliged to use my bodyweight to clear the local peasantry out the way.

"You'd think they would pay more respect to the Head of the Sorcerers Guild," I say, as I clear a path. "Not to mention me. I'm a past-champion. These stalls should be selling figurines of me."

"Maybe there should be a large statue," says Makri.

"I don't see why not. There's not been many warriors like Saxarth the Invincible, I can tell you."

Makri laughs. "Never mind. At least Demelzos remembers you fondly."

This brings Lisutaris to an abrupt halt. "Baroness Demelzos? What does she remember fondly?"

"Thraxas."

"Why?"

"They had a passionate affair, a long time ago."

The Sorceress gapes. "Thraxas had an affair with Baroness Demelzos? Is this true?"

"She wasn't Baroness Demelzos then," I say. "She was Demmy the barmaid."

"I can't believe it," says Lisutaris. "Thraxas and Demelzos? The mind reels."

I'm not feeling very pleased by any of this. For one thing, Makri shouldn't have blabbed about it, and for another, Lisutaris doesn't have to react as if it's the strangest occurrence in the history of the world.

"Why were you so rude to her in Orosis?" asks Lisutaris.

"I didn't recognise her. It was more than twenty years since I'd seen her. And I'd had one or two beers."

"It must have been a shock for the Baroness," says Makri. "Seeing her past return to haunt her in the shape of Thraxas. No woman could be prepared for that."

"You should have told me this earlier!" cries Lisutaris. "Have you had affairs with any other members of the Samsarinan aristocracy?"

"Is it any of your business?"

"Of course. You're my Chief Adviser. I don't want to be discomfited by shocking revelations from the past. Does Baron Mabados know about this?"

"No."

"That's just as well."

"I knew Demelzos before she ever met the Baron," I point out. "It's not like she cheated on him."

"He'd still be furious. How would he feel if the other Barons learned his wife was once rolling around with a sword-fighter?"

"I don't care what Baron Mabados feels about anything. Here's the Marquee we're looking for."

I head inside to make enquiries, leaving Lisutaris and Makri beside the area sectioned off for fighters to warm up. The organisers have just completed the draw for the qualifying rounds and are busy pinning up lists of fighters. There are forty-eight hopefuls, of whom sixteen will qualify for the tournament proper. The organisers have divided these forty-eight fighters into eight groups of six. I already know the rules but I scan them again, just to be certain. All the fighters in each group fight each other once. The winner is awarded one point. The top two from each group qualify for the real competition. Makri will have five fights. She shouldn't have any difficulty finishing in the top two. The only bad thing is that Makri's group is the last to be scheduled, which means a long wait.

I head back to the warm-up area where Makri is now in conversation with General Hemistos. Kublinos has also put in appearance and is standing close to Lisutaris. I tell Makri what's expected of her.

"I'll win the group," she says, matter-of-factly.

"You should warm up," I suggest.

Makri shrugs. "I won't be fighting for a while. I'll do it later."

"Ah, Mistress of the Sky," comes a voice. It's Lasat Axe of Gold, in the company of Chief Steward Daringos. He glances towards the Marquee. "Qualifying round? Best of luck. My fighter, Elupus, doesn't have to qualify, of course."

I'm surprised at the pettiness of this. For the nation's top Sorcerer, Lasat never misses an opportunity to make some footling criticism.

"Elupus is a strong favourite," continues Lasat. "What do the bookmakers have to say about your young lady?"

"Nothing," I say, muscling my way into the conversation. "Which is unfortunate for them, because we're cleaning up when Makri wins the tournament."

"Really? What say you, Lisutaris, to a small bet on whose fighter progresses furthest?"

"I say that's a good idea," replies Lisutaris, rising to the bait. With so many Barons looking on, it would be difficult not to.

"Say five thousand gurans?"

I blink. That's a lot of money when you don't have any.

Lisutaris doesn't blink. "Only five thousand? I thought you were confident. Let's make it ten."

Lasat is taken aback, though he does his best not to show it. "Ten thousand? Very well. To whoever goes furthest in the tournament."

Lasat bids us farewell, and departs with a smile on his face. Throughout all this Makri has shown no sign of emotion. Kublinos, however, is very concerned.

"Ten thousand gurans? I don't mean to be rude… " He casts a glance towards Makri. "But are you certain about this?'

"Quite certain," declares Lisutaris. "Lasat Axe of Gold is not going to intimidate me. Makri will be victorious. Thraxas, I have a small matter I need to discuss with you."

Lisutaris draws me aside, out of earshot. "Thraxas, find me a quiet space where I can inhale some thazis."

"Here? It's risky."

"Not as risky as me lighting up a stick in full view of everyone. Which I will do in about fifteen seconds if you don't find me somewhere private. Do you realise I just bet ten thousand gurans?"

"I thought you carried it off well, in the circumstances."

"I don't have any money! What if Makri loses?"

"We could flee. Fleeing from gambling debts isn't so bad, I've done it a few times."

"Really?"

"Yes, it's quite an established tradition."

By now I've led us to a quiet spot beside one of the small huts used as changing rooms. We slip inside. Lisutaris takes out a thazis stick and snaps her fingers. Her magical power really is considerable. I doubt if any other Sorcerer in the world could simultaneously cast spells to lock the door, light a thazis stick and erase the smell of smoke with one hand, while rolling another stick with the other. "If Makri loses I'll probably have to marry Kublinos. He's got a lot of money. I didn't really notice he was attracted to me till Makri pointed it out." She pauses. "Strange really. Men aren't often attracted to me."

The hairs on the back of my neck tingle. I have an uncanny sense of when a woman is about to say something concerning romance, emotion and affairs of the heart, none of which I want to talk about.

"Why do you think that is?" says Lisutaris.

"Probably just put off by your position. You know, Head of the Sorcerers Guild. It can be intimidating."

Lisutaris isn't convinced. "I don't think it's that intimidating."

"Well there's probably some other simple explanation," I hazard.

"I'm not attractive? Is that what you're saying?"

"I didn't say that at all."

"There's no real need to say it, is there? I mean, face facts. Men simply regard me as unattractive."

Lisutaris looks so unhappy I'm worried she might burst into tears, something I'm completely unable to cope with.

"Could we stop having this conversation?" I say, desperately. "We have to get back to Makri."

"Of course, you can't last five minutes without Makri," says Lisutaris. "It's obviously tedious spending any time in my company. You're wasting your time you know, Thraxas. A beautiful young woman like Makri is never going to go for you, no matter how much you keep trying to seduce her."

"I've never tried to seduce Makri," I protest.

"I suppose seduce is the wrong word. More like skulking around the Queen's Bathing House, hoping to see her naked again. I tell you Thraxas, it looks bad for a man of your age. People are starting to notice."

"What people?"

"Many people. Your relentless pursuit of Makri is the talk of the Baroness's swimming group."

"I refuse to continue this conversation."

"Hah." Lisutaris smokes the rest of her thazis in gloomy silence. I think her moods are becoming worse. I've no idea why. I suppose the prospect of abject humiliation in front of her peers might have something to do with it.

"I need to speak to the King's Chief Steward, Daringos," I say. "Could you arrange that for me?"

"I suppose so," says Lisutaris. Why?"

"He carried out the original investigation into the death I'm looking into for the Baroness."

"I should be able to arrange it. I'll talk to him."

When Lisutaris has finished her thazis, I open the door. Somehow it's no surprise to find Kublinos outside, glaring at me suspiciously. Lisutaris walks by him without a word. I try to do likewise but the Sorcerer grabs me by the arm.

"I'm warning you, Turanian," he hisses. "I'm not going to stand idly by while you try to take advantage of a fine woman like Lisutaris."

I glare back at him. "Let go of my arm or I'll kill you."

Kublinos, surprised, lets go. I turn round and walk off, angry at the foolishness of everyone. By now, tournament officials are pinning hastily-prepared signs to the public noticeboards, laying out the schedule for the remainder of the day. Makri, being in the final qualifying group, will only have one fight this evening, and will have to complete her group tomorrow. It's a minor inconvenience, nothing more. Makri appears completely relaxed as she departs with Lisutaris to change into her armour. General Hemistos, Baron Girimos and several others are still around. When I see Baron Mabados approaching I withdraw into the crowd, not feeling like dealing with another unfriendly Samsarinan at this moment.

Chapter Fifteen

Makri's visor covers her face. Tournament rules state that all entrants must be fully armoured. As well as the helmet, Makri is wearing a metal gorget to protect her neck, and a thick steel breastplate. Her leggings are covered in chainmail, with steel plates hanging over her thighs, and there are more metal plates on her upper arms and forearms. It's all much heavier than the armour Makri would normally wear. I hope she's adapted to it. I'm not sure how often she's worn it for practice.

I make my way to her side and escort her into the tournament field. The field is roughly circular, with banks of wooden seats set up for spectators, making it into a temporary arena. There's a good crowd. While excitement during the early rounds is not exactly fevered, everyone is eager to see if there might be any new talents coming through. In the centre of the field, the presiding Marshal, in his distinctive red costume, checks her equipment. He studies the edge of her sword, making sure it's properly blunted, then examines her shield, checking that the rim hasn't been illegally sharpened. He glances at her armour. The Marshal is meant to ensure that no one's armour is deficient in any way, but in truth his examination is quite perfunctory. While the organisers do make a public display of protecting fighters' safety, the general feeling is that you enter at your own peril. If your helmet is so poorly made that it shatters under the impact of a sword, that's your problem.

The Marshal checks Makri's opponent. I couldn't find out much about him, other than his name is Parasas, and he's from Nioj, which is unusual. Niojans don't go in for tournament fighting, as a rule. He stares at Makri. Makri stares back at him. His manager stares at me. I stare back at his manager. The Marshal waves us back and we retreat, leaving our fighters behind us. Lisutaris is waiting for me at the edge of the field. Behind her are several Barons, two ambassadors, some Sorcerers, and General Hemistos, all here to see how Makri performs.

On the northern edge of the field there's a small wooden tower, another temporary construction. Sitting at the top is Markinos Moonstone, tournament Sorcerer. It's his responsibility to ensure that no one cheats by using magic. It's not unknown for Sorcerers to influence fights by boosting a combatant's abilities, particularly if there's a lot of gambling involved. A competent tournament Sorcerer should be able to detect and prevent this. I've no idea how competent Markinos is. Lisutaris thinks he's probably honest, though she has little regard for his abilities.

There are few formalities. The Marshal has a staff with a small yellow pennant. He raises it, then brings it down, starting the fight. Makri and Parasas approach each other. Each has their sword in their right hand and a small, round shield in their left. I don't like the way Makri carries her shield. It looks too casual. Parasas lunges in first. Makri easily blocks his blow, and counters immediately. I'm half-expecting her to land a lethal stoke, such is her speed, but Parasas blocks in turn. He's fast. Quite talented as well I'd say, from the way he next attacks. Makri blocks his sword but he hits her with his shield. Makri is knocked backwards. She thrusts with her sword but it passes over Parasas shoulder. He advances very quickly. To my surprise, Makri loses her footing, something she would never normally do. Parasas swings a blow at her neck, which connects, making a loud clanging noise. Fighters are not meant to deal mortal blows, but no one holds back much, and it's a powerful strike. The crowd roars. Makri stumbles backwards. The Marshal leaps in-between the fighters, raising his staff.

"Lethal Stroke!" he cries. The fight is over. Makri has lost.

I set off at a run, worried in case the blow has wounded Makri. By the time I reach the centre of the field, Makri is on her feet, shouting at the Marshal.

"What do you mean I lost? I didn't lose! You didn't count my blow to his neck!"

"You didn't hit his neck," says the Marshal.

"I did! You're just too slow to see it."

"You missed!"

"I didn't miss! And something made me lose my footing! I've been cheated!"

Makri is furious. I know there's no point arguing. The Marshal isn't going to change his mind. Even if she did get in a strike which the Marshal didn't see, she still suffered a knockdown, and a very obvious hit to the neck. It was a poor performance. As I escort Makri from the field, she's still complaining furiously.

"Something grabbed my ankle! Someone must have used a spell against me."

I didn't feel any sorcery in the arena. Neither did Markinos Moonstone, or he'd have called it. We come to a halt beside Lisutaris. The Sorceress is very pale, probably imagining the financial catastrophe that threatens to engulf her.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Yes. I'm sorry I lost."

"Bad luck," says General Hemistos. Behind the General, Baron Mabados, Lasat, Charius and several others are making no attempt to hide their amusement. Lisutaris's much-vaunted bodyguard, claimed by the Sorceress to be a champion gladiator, has lost her first fight to an unknown outsider. Makri is seething with fury and humiliation. "The next fight will be different," she says.

Makri walks off. Lisutaris and I follow her. We walk as quickly as we can back to Lisutaris's carriage. I ask Lisutaris if she sensed any sorcery in the arena. She shakes her head. The three of us clamber into the two-person carriage. I take the reins. As we ride off, I can feel my own anger rising. I've lost my bet on Makri winning her fight, and we have no money in reserve. I knew she didn't prepare properly. I decide to give her a piece of my mind.

"Well that was a waste of time," I say, by way of getting started. "You - "

I don't make it any further. Makri bursts into tears. It's a shocking sight, both for myself and Lisutaris. We ride home in silence, save for Makri's sobs, which go on for a long time. I try and think of something comforting to say, but nothing comes. Makri, champion gladiator of the Orcish lands, undefeated in combat since she appeared in the West, has just lost her first fight in a tournament, and nothing I say is going to make that better.

Chapter Sixteen

I don't have much time to dwell on our misfortune because I've arranged to visit Baroness Demelzos's residence to give her an update. That's not to say I'm not thinking some depressing thoughts as I walk through the town. Makri's unexpected defeat has destroyed my betting strategy. I still have my wager on her winning the tournament, but I've no money to bet on each individual match. Makri has to fight four more times. I'm still confident she can beat her next opponents, but it's going to leave a sour taste in my mouth if I can't get a bet down.

As for Arichdamis's missing plans, that's another problem we haven't even begun to deal with. Lisutaris firmly believes that Lasat took them and intends to use them to embarrass her. She's probably right, but we can't decide what to do about it. We can't openly accuse him of theft. I'd consider burgling his mansion and searching for them, but a powerful Sorcerer like Lasat has plenty of defensive spells to deter burglars.

A female servant opens the door and leads me to the Baroness. Demelzos is suitably attired for receiving visitors, which means she's wearing a robe and jewellery that cost more than my yearly income. She rises to greet me.

"You're late."

"I was busy at the tournament."

She doesn't ask me how it went, which is a relief.

"My family has an invitation to dine with Baron Vosanos tomorrow," she tells me.

I look at her blankly.

"My daughter refuses to attend. It's a serious embarrassment. Have you cleared things up?"

"That depends on what you mean by cleared things up."

"Can you convince Merlione that her friend wasn't murdered? And that she has no reason to worry?"

"Is that what you're expecting?"

"It's what I'm hoping for," says the Baroness.

I notice a tempting bottle of wine on the table. The Baroness hasn't offered me any. Perhaps that's beneath her.

"I think it's quite possible that Alceten was murdered. That might mean your daughter does have reason to worry."

Demelzos looks aghast. "Surely you're not serious?"

"I talked to people at the Royal Record House and I'm not convinced they're telling the truth. I think they've been got at, to keep quiet. Persuaded, or bribed."

"Do you have proof of that?"

"No."

"Any sort of evidence?"

"No."

"So I'm to allow my family to descend into chaos because you have some vague suspicion?"

I shrug. "You don't have to allow anything. It's up to you. But you asked me to find out if there was any truth in Merlione's suspicions, and I think there might be."

Demelzos sits down, very troubled. "What can I possibly tell my husband?"

"I take it he doesn't know you hired me?"

"No. And he's not going to be pleased to learn." The Baroness shakes her head. "Thraxas, are you really sure about this? If Merlione's in danger, then I have to protect her, but it's going to cause an awful lot of trouble."

"I think there was something suspicious about Alceten's death. Whether that means Merlione's in danger too, I can't say for sure. It might have nothing to do with your daughter. She might just have arrived there at the wrong time. But your daughter did think the carriage was trying to run her down as well, so I'd say you should take the threat seriously."

Demelzos reaches out, picks up the bottle, and fills two silver goblets with wine. She passes one to me. "What do I do now?"

"Keep Merlione safe and out of sight while I do some more investigating."

"What if you can't find out anything?"

"I will," I say, and finish my wine quickly. "I'll need to talk to Alceten's father. I understand he's an important official."

"Cetenos? He is fairly important, I suppose."

"Would you give me a letter of introduction? It will make my life easier."

The Baroness hesitates. "If I do that, everyone will soon know I've hired you to investigate."

"Is that a problem?"

"The King's Chief Steward already made enquiries. Me hiring you is like telling everyone I don't trust him."

"He's going to know that soon enough anyway, because I'll be talking to him too."

The Baroness's brow creases with worry.

"I could get by without the letter of introduction."

Baroness Demelzos thinks for a moment. "I'm not having my daughter's life put in danger for fear of a scandal." She claps her hands and a servant hurries into the room. "Bring writing materials," she says. "And my official seal."

Returning to Arichdamis's house with Demelzos's letter of introduction in my pocket, I pass the Jolly Bandit, an attractive-looking tavern with light and music spilling from the shutters. Minstrels are playing a lusty drinking song. I can hear the crowd banging their tankards as they join in with the chorus. I sigh. There's nothing I'd like better than to join in with a drinking song, and get a few ales inside me. Unfortunately, I don't have a guran to my name. I shake my head at the injustice of it, and carry on slowly up the road. I'm in no hurry to get home. Arichdamis has been miserable since his plans went missing, and Lisutaris is no better. I hope Makri has stopped crying.

"Damn it," I say out loud. "Not crying was one of her only good points. What am I meant to say to her now?"

Makri knows I can't cope with women crying. We've discussed it. It wouldn't surprise me if Lisutaris has joined in. She's been as miserable as a Niojan whore all day. I'm slightly heartened by the thought of Arichdamis's cellars. They've been severely depleted since I moved in, but I can probably find a pie or two down there, and a bottle of Elvish wine. With luck, I can sneak them off to my room without encountering anyone.

"Maybe it won't be so bad,' I mutter, fumbling with my key in the unfamiliar lock. "Maybe they've pulled themselves together."

I enter the house and practically trip over Lisutaris, who's lying on the floor. Obviously she hasn't pulled herself together. At least she doesn't seem to be crying. The hallway is enveloped in the sort of thick haze that can only be produced by the most determined of thazis smokers.

"Ah, Thraxas. My Chief Adviser. A Chief Adviser who's full of good advice. Whatever Thraxas advises, you'd best do it. He is my Chief Adviser, after all."

"Is something wrong?"

Lisutaris drags herself into a sitting position. "I'm being mocked on all sides and I'm about to become the poorest woman in the West. Apart from that, everything's fine."

"Makri can recover. She's not out of the tournament yet."

Lisutaris shakes her head. "Help me up."

I take hold of Lisutaris by her shoulders and drag her to her feet, then help her along to the main guest room where she collapses on a couch.

"You know, smoking all this thazis isn't helping," I say.

"I'm the Head of the Sorcerers Guild. I'll smoke whatever I want."

"Where's Makri?"

"In the gardens, breaking things with her axe."

Lisutaris yawns, then closes her eyes. I gaze at her, wondering if it's really such a great idea to have this woman lead our armies against the Orcs. Lasat might be a fool but at least he’s conscious most of the time. Actually, he probably isn’t, not with his dwa habit. Damn these Sorcerers. Can’t they stay sober for five minutes?

I take my illuminated staff out into the gardens. A familiar smells fills my nostrils. I frown, and follow the aroma till I find Makri, prostrate on the grass. The dragon is curled up beside her, sleeping. On the ground beside Makri there's a cheap tin box with a hole on top, blackened by flames. It's the sort of device you use to burn and inhale dwa. I'm appalled at the discovery. I've no idea where she might have procured the drug. It's unbelievably foolish behaviour. Apart from the inherent dangers, it would probably mean execution if the authorities learned of it. If the King doesn't like thazis, that's nothing to what he thinks about the much more powerful dwa.

I bend down and pick Makri up. The dragon stirs, but doesn't waken. I take her indoors and along to the guest room where I lay her on another couch, next to Lisutaris.

"This is all going to end badly," I mutter.

The nights aren't yet warm. I take the thick, embroidered cloth that hangs on the back of each couch and cover both of the slumbering figures. Still carrying my illuminated staff, I head down to the cellars. A brief examination reveals a side of roast beef, a half-round of goat's cheese, and a cask of ale.

"I'm surrounded by fools," I say, as I open the cask. "Dragging me down, as always." I get busy on the beef, the cheese, and the ale, meanwhile cursing my misfortune at being saddled with such useless companions.

Chapter Seventeen

I wake with a neck-ache from sleeping on the hard stone floor. I soon discover I have a headache too. As I drag myself upright to negotiate my way out of the gloomy cellar, I clatter into some empty wine bottles. I don't remember drinking wine. Must have seemed like a good idea after the beer. My head is pounding. Even a champion drinker such as myself can suffer the occasional mild hangover from mixing ale and Elvish wine, and I seem to have made a reasonable attempt at emptying Arichdamis's cellars. I need a Lesada leaf. The Elvish plant is highly effective against hangovers. I realise I have a raging thirst. I stumble my way up the rest of the stairs and barge into the kitchen. There's a young cook, busy at the range. Ignoring his protests, I commandeer the bucket of fresh water by his side, drinking freely then ducking my head in the remainder.

I remember last night's events and realise I'm still angry at Lisutaris and Makri. What a pair. Completely incapable of coping with problems without resorting to intoxication. I find them both still lying on their couches in the guest room.

"There you are!" I cry. "What have you got to say for yourselves?"

Lisutaris yawns as she wakens. "What are you talking about?"

"You're completely out of control, Lisutaris. The slightest setback and you immediately - " I pause. Suddenly my headache seems a lot worse. I feel nauseous. I sit down very heavily on a vacant couch.

"Having problems?" says Lisutaris.

"Do you have any lesada leaves?"

Lisutaris starts to laugh, but it turns into a fit of coughing.

"Hypocrite," she gasps, when the coughing subsides. "You've been emptying the cellars again."

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of ale. Have you got a lesada leaf or not? My head is killing me."

"At least thazis doesn't give you hangovers,' says Lisutaris, smugly. She raises herself on one elbow. Her face takes on a greenish-tinge, and she lies back down. "I don't feel very well."

Makri chooses this moment to wake up. As soon as she does she vomits over the side of the couch.

"Now I'm feeling worse," moans Lisutaris. "What's wrong with Makri?"

"She's been taking dwa."

"What?" Lisutaris looks horrified. "Is that true?"

Makri is sick again. I hope the carpet wasn't too expensive.

"As soon as I feel better I'm going to be really angry," says Lisutaris.

"Do you have any lesada leaves?"

"I can't remember. I put all my supplies in my magic purse. There might be some in there."

Lisutaris starts fumbling around in her purse.

"Dammit my head is sore," I moan.

"You drink too much," says Makri.

I'm about to direct some cutting remarks in her direction when Arichdamis appears. He takes in the sight of Lisutaris, Makri and me sprawled on his fine couches, and the mess on the floor.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demands. "I did not invite you into my house to turn it into a den of hopeless intoxication!"

Makri is sick again, then falls off the couch. Lisutaris erupts in a terrible outbreak of coughing, ending with her moaning and gasping for breath. Arichdamis gazes at them, appalled.

"Do you have any lesada leaves?" I ask.

"No!" barks Arichdamis. "And from what I've seen, I don't have anything left in my cellars either."

"I did take a small jug of ale. I'll replace it, of course."

The elderly mathematician glares angrily round the room. "I'm very disappointed in all of you. You in particular, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, ought to know better." With that, he departs.

"I don't see why he's blaming me," mutters Lisutaris. "Thraxas is much worse. Everyone knows that."

The Sorceress sticks her hand so far into her purse that her arm disappears. "I can't get used to this new magic pocket, I can never find anything." She produces a sword, then a spell-book, before finally finding what she's looking for.

"Lesada leaves. I've had these a long time. I"m not sure if they're still potent."

I take two of the leaves, eating one and giving the other to Makri. Lisutaris puts one in her mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste. We lie in silence for a while. The leaves, being old, take a while to work, but I slowly start to feel better.

"Who'd have thought Arichdamis would be so bad-tempered?" says Lisutaris.

"He'll get over it. Makri can smooth things out by talking about mathematics or something. Do you have a spell for cleaning the carpet?"

As we recover, I fill Lisutaris and Makri in on my investigation. There was a time when I'd never share details of my work, but these days I'm used to letting Makri know about my cases. As for Lisutaris, we're all in such a tricky situation together I figure it's as well she knows what I'm doing.

"You're dealing with important people," says Lisutaris. "Baron Mabados, Baron Girimos, Vosanos, Chief Steward Daringos."

"I know. I'll try not to give them any reason to blame you for anything."

Lisutaris makes a face. She stands up unsteadily, and crosses to the large mirror which hangs in a plain bronze frame above the fireplace.

"Don't worry about it," she says. "I'm fed up being discrete. I'm fed up with this Samsarinan hairstyle too." She unpins her hair, letting it flow untidily around her shoulders. "I'm fed up trying to appease Samsarinans in general. They can like me or not like me. It's time I took control."

I share the Sorceress's sentiments. All this worrying about status is getting us nowhere. If I was in Turai, I'd have already been a lot more forceful in my investigation.

"At the next meeting I'm going to tell the King it's time we elected a War Leader," says Lisutaris. "And I'm the obvious candidate."

"That's probably when Lasat will produce the missing plans," says Makri.

Lisutaris loses a little of her newly regained colour, but rallies. "We'll sort that out."

"How?"

"I don't know. Thraxas? Any thoughts?"

"Not at the moment. But I do have something else in mind. The pie eating competition."

"Pardon?"

"You didn't want me to enter because it might be bad for your status. If you're no longer worried about that, I'm entering. We need the money."

"Fine," says Lisutaris. "Enter the competition. We might even be able to turn it into a heroic achievement"

"I doubt that," says Makri. "Have you seen Thraxas eat?"

Makri is due to fight later on in the day. She's determined not to put up such a poor showing again. "I know someone used a spell against me," she mutters.

Lisutaris didn't detect any sorcery, but admits she wasn't concentrating fully, as Markinos Moonstone was there. If any hostile magic was used, he should have sensed it.

"I'll make sure no sorcery is used against you from now on," promises Lisutaris.

Makri still insists that she won the fight anyway. "I cut his neck. In a real fight he'd have been dead. Useless judges."

She heads out to the gardens, still complaining. Lisutaris has another meeting this evening. She asks me if I want to attend with her. Ambassadors from Nioj have finally arrived. Nioj, Samsarina and Simnia will be providing the bulk of the armies in the upcoming war. Many smaller states will lend support, but the only other really large ally is the Elves. Their ambassadors should be here soon.

"I thought the Barons didn't want me at their meetings?"

"They don't," says Lisutaris. "But I'm taking control. You're my adviser so you should be there. If they don't like it that's their problem. Is there any chance you won't be drunk and unpleasant?"

"There's always a chance."

"If Daringos is there I'll try and arrange for you to speak with him," says Lisutaris.

After breakfasting on a loaf of bread and the last smoked ham in the cellar, I make my way back to the King's Record House to speak to Cetenos, father of the unfortunate Alceten. I'm carrying Baroness Demelzos's letter of introduction. The same two soldiers are on guard, and this time they don't ignore me. They're inquisitive about my business, and not friendly. Obviously someone's been talking about me. I tell them I'm here to talk to Cetenos.

"The King's Record Keeper doesn't talk to visitors."

"He'll talk to me," I reply. "Not that you have any reason to prevent me from entering."

One of the soldiers laughs. "Let him in. Zinlantol will throw him out anyway."

Zinlantol is sitting behind her desk. She starts her hostile glare while I'm still some distance away, and keeps it up.

"I'm here to talk to Cetenos."

"He's not available."

"My letter of introduction from Baroness Demelzos says otherwise." I waste no time brandishing it. Zinlantol takes it as quite a blow. After studying the official seal she reluctantly admits to herself that it's genuine. She rises from her chair, and speaks to a young assistant.

"Tell Cetenos there's someone here to see him. An investigator from Turai, with an introduction from Baroness Demelzos, if you can believe it."

I wait a long time while Zinlantol pointedly ignores me. Behind her are rows and rows of shelving, full of books and scrolls. Next to the shelves are cabinets, wood darkened with age. As I watch, an assistants arrives with a box and starts loading papers into one of the cabinets.

"What are they?" I ask.

"Mining records," mutters Zinlantol. "Please don't interrupt, I'm busy."

Eventually the first assistant arrives back and beckons for me to follow him. He leads me through several dimly-lit rooms full of dusty books and scrolls, up a winding staircase, though more rooms, and finally into something which might pass as a private reception room, were it not also full of boxes of papers, some of them obviously still waiting to be organised. I take a seat, and wait. For something to do I try reading a few of the documents on the table beside me, but they're all about productivity levels at a silver mine, and my eyes glaze over.

Cetenos turns out to be older than I was expecting. He must have married late. He's using a walking stick as he shuffles slowly into the room. His hair is thin and grey, but longer than I'd expect for a Samsarinan government official. His cuffs are frayed, and his boots, once smart, are scuffed and worn. He looks like a man who's not much interested in his appearance any more. As I rise to greet him he stands motionless, staring at me, weighing me up in silence. I take out Demelzos's letter.

"The Baroness requests that you talk to me."

He glances at the letter. "You're asking questions about Alceten?"

"That's right."

The elderly man's arm starts to tremble, and so does his cane. It's a relief when he makes it to a chair safely.

"Her death was a terrible shock," he says. "The pain of it has almost…" His voice tails off.

"When did you last see her?"

"Minutes before it happened. She was here, in this room. But why are you asking about this?"

"I'm just trying to clear up a few details."

Cetenos, while distressed, hasn't lost his wits. "Is there some suggestion that my daughter's death wasn't an accident?"

"Yes. But if you repeat that to anyone it will make it harder for me to investigate."

"How could it not have been an accident? No one would have wanted to harm Alceten."

"Could you tell me what she was doing that day, just before she left the building?"

"She was in here, sorting out records."

"What records?"

"I'm not certain. Alceten had taken over a lot of my work." He waves his hand, indicating the jumble of shelves and boxes. "We have so much here…"

"What sort of records do you keep in this building?"

"Everything. Crop yields, taxation, mining rights, import duties, family records, births, amendments to laws - it's the main repository for all official business."

"But you can't say what she was doing?"

Cetenos puts his hand to his forehead, and sighs, as if even thinking of his daughter is too much to bear.

"I'm really not sure. Mining rights, probably. There are always a lot of claims being filed. They have to be checked with existing claims, and double checked with with our records of statutes and inheritances, to make sure the rights don't already belong to someone else."

"Was you daughter the only one working here?"

"In this room, yes."

"Did she indicate to you that she'd found anything strange? Some financial transaction someone didn't want made public, for instance?"

"No, she never said anything like that. Really, this all sounds unlikely. Didn't Chief Steward Daringos investigate the accident?"

"He did. I'm not sure how thorough he was."

I talk to Cetenos for a while longer, without discovering anything that seems significant.

"When she met Merlione, was it always outside this building?"

"I'm not sure. I think they used to exchange messages, making their arrangements."

"So someone might have learned when they were due to meet?"

"Yes. But why are you asking about Merlione?"

"Just filling in some details."

Being surrounded by so many dusty books and scrolls is making me thirsty. I rise from my chair. As I leave the building, I'm no less inclined to believe that Alceten may have been murdered. Wills, financial transactions and trading agreements have led to plenty of deaths in the past. It's unfortunate her father couldn't tell me what she was working on. I make a few more enquires downstairs, with several young assistants, but they lead nowhere. None of them know what Alceten might have been working on before she died. Whether they're telling the truth, or have clammed up like Zinlantol, I'm not certain.