Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

Thirsty as I am, I have no money for beer, and that's a bitter thing for a man to admit, particularly a man who's served his country bravely, and worked hard to make his city a better place. Forty-five years old and not enough money for a tankard of ale. At least there's the eating contest to look forward to. I'm heartened by the thought that's it's standard for such events to provide their contestants with a plentiful supply of ale, but my hopes are quickly dashed by the Master of Ceremonies.

"No beer? Are you serious?"

"We supply as much water as required."

"Water? You expect a champion eater to manage with water? What sort of cheap competition is this anyway? There's something far wrong in the nation of Samsarina if you can't give a man beer when he's eating. We'd never have stood for it back in Turai."

"Then maybe you should go back to Turai," says the Master of Ceremonies.

"I would, if you Samsarinans would stop dallying around and get yourself organised. I tell you - "

I'm interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Makri and Lisutaris have arrived.

"What are you doing here?"

"We came to support you," says Makri.

"Just in time to prevent you causing an international incident, it seems," says Lisutaris. "I'd tone down the insults about Samsarina, while we're actually in Samsarina."

"But did you hear that man? No beer! In a pie eating contest! It's ludicrous. I need beer."

"Did you ever consider you might have a problem?" asks Makri.

"What problem?"

"You're addicted to beer."

"Addicted to beer? There's no such thing."

"Yes there is."

"Name me one respected doctor who's ever said that drinking too much beer is a problem."

"They all say that."

"Absolute nonsense. A spot of ale is good for a man. You'd be a lot better off if you took a tankard every now and then. Less skinny, for one thing. Probably better tempered too."

"I have a few quarter-gurans," says Lisutaris, fishing awkwardly in her magic purse. "Here, you'd better hurry."

I rush outside for a beer, arriving back just in time to hear the announcement for the start of the contest. The walls of the tent have been rolled up, allowing a large crowd of spectators to look in, and there are shouts of encouragement to various crowd favourites. The Master of Ceremonies rings a bell and a troupe of serving girls appear, each carry a tray brimming with pies. Beef pies, I'm given to understand. Should be reasonable quality, given the amount of farmland there is here. The serving girls begin to distribute the pies. I suddenly feel achingly hungry. I haven't really made up for all that starvation on the boat.

When everyone has a large pie on the table in front of him, there's a brief, expectant silence. Then, at the command, we fall to eating. I demolish half my pie in one or two bites, take a sip of water, finish the pie, and roar for another. The nearest serving girl slams one onto my plate. Again, I finish it very quickly.

"What's going on here?' I cry, looking at my empty place. "Is there a shortage of pies?"

The servant hurries to put another pie in front of me. By now I've settled into a comfortable eating groove. The pies, while not the absolute finest quality, are quite acceptable - tasty beef, crisp pastry, and a reasonable ratio of gravy. I finish a third and a fourth and keep on going. The servants with trays are running around in all directions, and there's an occasional delay of a few seconds before I get my next pie, which I find annoying. There's still a lot of shouting going on but I ignore it, and keep on eating. I have a vague impression of the person next to me moaning in discomfort but I don't let it distract me.

As I'm yelling for another pie a bell rings. I bang my fist on the table and shout louder, to drown it out. "Where's my next pie? What's the delay? You call this a fair contest?" Suddenly I notice Makri standing in front of me. "Did you bring me a pie?"

"No. The contest is over."

"What?"

"You won."

I notice everyone is looking at me. I feel a tinge of disappointment. "So they're not giving me any more pies?"

The Master of Ceremonies approaches. "Ladies and gentlemen," he cries, lifting up my arm. "We have a winner. "Nine pies completed! Saxarth of Turai!"

There's a lot of cheering. I stand up and take a bow. A few of my fellow competitors are looking unwell. Several are slumped over their tables. The Master of Ceremonies hands me fifty gurans.

"Let's hear it for a mighty eater!" he shouts. To be fair to the Samsarinans, they do give me a decent round of applause. I'm feeling rather pleased with myself as I leave the tent in the company of Makri and Lisutaris.

"You see that? Thraxas, number one chariot at eating pies. No problem whatsoever. I could have eaten more."

"You tried to," says Makri.

"I still have a few corners to fill. As pies go, they weren't that big."

"Your nearest competitor only managed six."

"Lightweights. Well, I hope you both take note of this. While you're flailing around, I get the job done."

"What does that mean?" demands Lisutaris.

"It means that while certain members of our party crumble at the first sign of pressure, ending up half-killing themselves with thazis, and others stumble about like a child with a toy sword, losing their first fight and going home in tears, I, Thraxas of Turai, simply approach a difficult task in a determined manner, and complete the deal. Nine pies eaten, competitors snivelling in the dust, and we've earned fifty gurans. Let this be an inspiration to you."

"You're a fantastic inspiration," says Lisutaris, dryly. "I'll certainly never forget the sight of you wolfing down these pies."

"Greetings, Lisutaris," comes a familiar, unwelcome voice. It's Lasat Axe of Gold, who, along with his sidekick Charius, seems to be haunting the place. "Is it true that your Chief Adviser has just taken first place in a pie eating contest?"

"It is," says Lisutaris, stiffly.

"Really? That will make an amusing story for the King…"

Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, draws herself up to her full height. Her cloak, elegant dark blue with the Sorcerer's rainbow motif embroidered around the edge, flutters regally in the breeze.

"Pie-eating is an honourable occupation where I come from. I'm proud of my Chief Adviser's endeavours."

"Really?" Lasat smirks. "I wouldn't allow a member of my staff to participate."

"What you would or would not allow is of no consequence to me. Thraxas's mighty appetite has often been the precursor to some of his most brilliant advice. Come, Thraxas, and Makri. It's time to prepare for the sword-fighting competition." With that, Lisutaris sweeps away, head held high. We follow on.

"Thanks for the support," I say.

"You're welcome. If you do actually meet the king, try not to mention the pie-eating. Makri, are you ready to fight?"

Makri nods. She has an extremely determined glint in her eyes. Her group will finish today, which means she'll have four fights in quick succession. That's a tough schedule. I leave them on their way to the changing room, while I hurry off to the bookmakers to place the fifty gurans I won.

Chapter Eighteen

On my way to the bookmaker's tent I run into my old companion Combius of Juval. He greets me far less jovially than previously.

"Well Thraxas, you really landed me in it."

"What did I do?"

"You convinced me with your idiotic talk of that young girl being able to fight. I put money on her."

"Ah. Sorry about that."

"Why did you say she could fight? Now I'm the laughing-stock of the Armourers Guild."

Combius looks hurt. For a sword-fighter, he always did have a sensitive side.

"Makri can fight. She's due back on the field any time now. I'm here to bet on her again. So should you, to make up your losses."

"Are you joking? My wife tallies up my accounts. It's already going to be hard to explain."

"Your wife isn't a betting woman?"

"Not on hopeless long shots, no."

I lay my arm ion his shoulder. "Combius, there's a time when a man has to make a stand for what he believes in. Only minutes ago I was engaged in some serious competition, and I didn't flinch. Anyway, you can make up your losses on Makri's next fight."

"But what if she loses again?"

"I've got a hard-won fifty gurans here that says she won't."

Big Bixo greets me like an old friend. "Come to try your luck again?"

I'd planned to bet my whole fifty gurans on Makri winning her next fight, but I notice that her odds for winning the tournament have gone out to two hundred to one. Having seen her first fight, the bookmakers give her no chance at all. I place ten gurans on this, and put my remaining forty on her winning her second fight. Bixo gives me six to one. Makri's opponent is a very strong favourite, at one to ten. As an experienced bookmaker, Big Bixo isn't about to mock anyone who's giving him money, but even so, I can tell he thinks I'm wasting mine. So do several others nearby. As Combius steps up after me, there's some barely suppressed derision.

"Now it's not just the Armourers Guild laughing at me," he complains as we leave the tent. "There were leather-workers in there. They're a snide lot at the best of times. I'll never live this down."

"Relax. Makri is a shoo-in."

"I'm sure some silversmiths were laughing as well."

I turn to my old friend. "Combius, what happened to you? I remember us charging into battle with one broken spear between us, and you weren't as worried then as you are now."

"I wasn't married then."

"Put your mind at rest. You're in for a sudden windfall."

Next to the tournament field I manage to grab a private word with Lisutaris while Makri is preparing.

"Has Makri been taking anything she shouldn't have?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Reasonably. How did she get that dwa anyway?"

"She claims it was just a fragment she brought from Turai, and that was the last of it."

"Surely she couldn't find any more in Samsarina?" says Lisutaris. "Look how strict they are about thazis."

"Dwa's spread just about everywhere. It will be here all right, if you look hard enough."

Makri emerges from her changing room, clad in her armour. Behind us, someone laughs. It's Charius the Wise.

"At least it covers her ears," he says. "Mistress of the Sky, if you had to employ an Orc, shouldn't it at least have been a tough one?"

Lisutaris doesn't deign to reply, choosing instead to accompany me to the edge of the arena. I'm the only one allowed to accompany Makri into the fighting area, but Lisutaris has decided to remain as close as possible.

"All set, Makri?" I ask.

"I'm ready."

"If you need inspiration, just remember the way I tackled these pies."

There are a few catcalls as Makri enters the arena, though I do hear one encouraging voice. General Hemistos, in the front row, apparently hasn't lost faith in her.

Makri's opponent, a Simnian by the name of Zetorex, turns out to be an extremely large man. There's something of a comic mismatch as they square up to each other. Before he drops his helmet over his shaven head there's an expression in his eyes that suggests he's insulted to be faced with such a puny opponent. The Marshal, brightly dressed in red, raises his flag. I walk swiftly back to the edge of the small field. As I turn to watch, the Marshal signals for the fight to begin. Zetorex leaps forward to attack. Makri catches his blade on hers, and uses his momentum to spin him completely round so he ends up facing in the opposite direction. It's the sort of fancy defensive move you might see attempted in practice, but one that would never work that well in real life. Except, that is, when Makri does it. Three seconds into the fight, Zetorex is facing the wrong way and the tip of Makri's sword is touching the back of his neck. That counts as a lethal stroke, and and the Marshal signals she's the winner.

There's some applause from the crowd, and some surprised laughter. So fast was the fight, and so unexpected the ending, that most people assume it was an accident.

"She got lucky," says one spectator beside me, and his neighbour agrees.

Makri sheathes her sword and walks calmly back towards us. Lisutaris and I congratulate her.

"You'll be fighting again soon," I tell her. "Get some rest while I hurry back to Big Bixo's."

"Are we winning now?" asks Lisutaris.

"Things are looking up. We picked up two hundred and forty gurans on that fight. With the original stake, we've got two hundred and eighty. I'm planning to put it all on Makri again."

Leaving Makri in Lisutaris's care, I hurry off to do just that. A bird is singing in a tree at the edge of the fields. It suits my mood, which is better than it's been for a while. Nothing like a successful wager for brightening the spirits. Big Bixo hands over my winnings with a sullen look on his face. I study the odds chalked up on the board. Makri is still an outsider, but not by so much. Bixo is offering five to two on her winning her next fight, and the odds on her qualifying from her group have come down to eight to one. I place two hundred and forty on her to win.

As it's generally a good idea to spread your bets around if you can, I take a walk down the field to the next bookmaker's tent, where the sign says 'Generous Ges, the Gambler's Friend.' Generous Ges is offering the same odds as Big Bixo. I place my remaining forty gurans on Makri to qualify from her group at eight to one, then hurry back to the arena. On the way I meet Combius, who's celebrating with a flagon of ale.

"Happy now?" I ask.

"Yes. Should I bet on her again?"

"Definitely."

I return in time to see Parasas, the swordsman who defeated Makri, fighting again. I have to admire his technique as he puts away his next opponent. Makri glowers at him all the way through.

"How could I lose to him?" she demands. "Not that I did anyway. I was cheated."

The crowd has grown. It's a noisy scene, with the clash of weapons, the babble of voices, and music from travelling musicians. Makri's second fight of the day lasts only slightly longer than her first. She attacks from the start. Her opponent parries her first blow and doesn't see the second coming. Makri plants her sword tip at his throat, halting it a fraction of an inch away from him, as required by the rules. The Marshal immediately flags her as the winner. Once again, the crowd is not all that impressed. A bout lasting a few seconds is not what they came here to see. Fights are usually much longer; there can be a great deal of hacking a slashing, with mighty blows landing on shields, before the outcome is decided. Not all fights are ended by a lethal strike. Blows deemed by the Marshal to have landed, but not counting as mortal wounds, are given a half point. A fighter needs four of these half points to win a match, and that's not an uncommon way for a fight to end. A lethal strike has to be performed absolutely perfectly, leaving the Marshal in no doubt that it would have led to death in real combat, before he'll call it. Makri has now done this twice, very quickly. As she retires from the field there's some grumbling.

"Was that really a killing blow?"

"I think the Marshal's going easy on her. Damned Orcs."

Taking a moment to check that Makri is undamaged, I hurry as fast as I can down to the bookmaker's tent. Not surprisingly, Big Bixo isn't pleased to see me. My two hundred and forty gurans at five to two wins me six hundred. Along with my stake, that means Bixo has to pay me eight hundred and forty gurans, which is more than he has in his till. He has to send one of his assistants off for more cash. When he returns he's flanked by a man I haven't seen before. Younger than Bixo, with a hard, flat face, and scarring round his mouth.

"Congratulations," says the hard-faced man, in a voice that's cold even by bookmaker's standards.

"Who's this?" I ask Bixo.

"My business partner."

Bixo's business partner has a sword glinting at his hip and a poorly concealed dagger under his shirt. I can guess what part of the business he might take care of.

Naturally, Makri's odds for her next fight, the fourth in her qualifying group, have now fallen drastically, particularly as she's matched against the one fighter whose chances of qualifying were rated worse than hers. Makri is the slight favourite, and Big Bixo is only offering five to six. When I check with Generous Ges, his price is the same. If Ges is actually generous, it doesn't seem to involve giving better odds than the other bookmakers. I keep sixty gurans for expenses and bet the rest, seven hundred and eighty, on Makri to win.

Lisutaris is in a much better mood after Makri's victories. I find her talking to Kublinos. The Harbour Sorcerer has put on quite a fancy cloak to visit the tournament, and is busy inviting Lisutaris to dinner. He glares at me with loathing as I interrupt, and draw Lisutaris off to one side for a private talk. I take twenty gurans from my purse and hand it to her.

"What's this?" she asks.

"Living allowance"

"Twenty gurans? Are you serious? What am I meant to do with that?"

"I'm giving the same to Makri. And myself. I need the rest for betting. You want to win big, don't you?"

The Sorcerer looks at me quite suspiciously. "You have't drunk the rest away, have you?"

"Is that any way to speak to your Chief Adviser? I've put seven hundred and eighty gurans on Makri to win."

Lisutaris gazes at the small pile of coins in her hand. "I was hoping to get my hair done. And my nails. And buy a new dress. And shoes."

"Can't you manage without all that?"

"Certainly, if I don't mind going to meet the King looking like a peasant woman fresh from the fields."

"Can't you use sorcery?" I suggest. "Conjure up a new dress?"

"Possibly," says Lisutaris. "But it's not the same as buying something nice."

"Are you going to accept Kublinos's invitation to dinner?"

"I don't know."

"If you do, try and bring some food home. I don't think Arichdamis is going to be restocking his cellars any time soon."

It's almost time for Makri's next fight, her third of the day. I lead her into the centre of the field, then take a few steps back to watch her demolish her opponent, which she does, quite rapidly. Makri blocks a few attacks then delivers a flurry of attacking blows, any one of which would probably be fatal. Her opponent ends up flat on his back while the Marshal signals her victory. The crowd enjoy this contest more. It was short, but it did at least contain some violence.

When I give Makri her twenty gurans she accepts it without complaint, but she does tell me she's not happy with her gorget, which isn't sitting comfortably around her neck. There's no time to do anything about it now, but we can have it altered after she qualifies, which she will do if she wins her next fight.

"We've got over 1,400 gurans now."

"Really?" Makri is impressed, which pleases me.

"Yes, I'm tormenting the bookmakers. Too much for their liking. There may be trouble if we keep taking their money."

Makri touches the pommel of her sword, and smiles. "We can cope with a little trouble from a bookmaker."

I smile back at her. We certainly can. I race down to Big Bixo's tent. After three comprehensive victories, Makri's favourite to win her next bout, even though her opponent, Muxilos, is a local man with a lot of support. Bixo is only offering six to four on, or to put it another way, four to six. I keep twenty gurans for beer, and place 1410 on Makri. That will win me nine hundred and forty, which is not too bad. By now, I'm not the only one betting on Makri, and as I leave Bixo's tent, his assistant is busy changing her odds, bringing them down to one to two, which just shows how her reputation has grown over the course of the day. I pick up another beer and drink it while walking back to the arena. While recent events have made it difficult for any loyal Turanian to actually feel as happy as an Elf in a tree, there's a definite spring in my step.

Chapter Nineteen

By late afternoon, almost every noble in Elath has gathered in the vicinity of the tournament field. Word of Makri's impressive performances has spread. The Barons, either keen on sword-fighting, or keen on gambling, want to see her in action. I notice Mabados in the crowd. I should talk to him as part of my investigation but I've been putting it off. He's not going to be an easy man to interview. Lisutaris, having shaken off Kublinos, is waiting with Makri by the changing rooms.

"I brought you each a pie," I say.

Lisutaris looks with some disdain at the Samsarinan pastry. "Is it safe to eat?"

"Of course. I've had ten of them."

"I thought you ate nine in the contest?"

"I was still hungry afterwards."

Makri nibbles tentatively at the pastry, a sight I always find frustrating.

"Just eat the damned thing, you've got to keep up your strength."

Considering I have 1,410 gurans staked on her, I'm fairly calm as I lead Makri into the field for her last contest. I'm confident she'll win, although her opponent, Muxilos, has shown some good form. Both fighters need to win to qualify so there's a lot riding on the fight. As the match begins, he keeps himself well covered, evading Makri's initial attack, and then catching her out with a thrust of his shield, knocking her backwards.

"Makri still isn't good with that shield," I mutter to Lisutaris. "She's not used to it."

Makri rallies quickly, nimbly deflecting Muxilos's blade. She feints to attack and then, demonstrating her unnatural speed, she thrusts her sword towards her opponents throat. I'm on the point of cheering her victory when something odd happens. Makri is visibly jolted, as if by some unseen force. Her blade sails past Muxilos's throat. Makri is now out of position and Muxilos deals her a heavy blow on the shoulder.

"Half point to Muxilos!" cries the Marshal. The crowd roar.

"What's going on?" I yell. "They're cheating! Someone's using magic!"

Lisutaris has risen to her feet, knowing as well as I do that something untoward just happened. She scans the crowd, then looks towards the Tournament Sorcerer on his tower. The fight re-commences. Makri, for no visible reason, loses her footing. She's forced to defend desperately, down on one knee, while Muxilos presses his advantage. She's on the point of regaining her stance when the Marshal stops the fight again.

"Blow to the ribs!" he cries. "Half point to Muxilos!"

The crowd erupt. So do I. "There was no blow to the ribs! Cheats! They've bribed the Marshal!"

Makri is now really up against it. She has two half-points against her, a Marshal who's apparently biased, and a mysterious attack of sorcery to deal with.

"Do something!" I yell at Lisutaris. She doesn't reply. Her lips are compressed as she scans the crowd. Suddenly there's another great roar. Makri suffers another jolt, freezes for a fraction of a second, and Muxilos's sword comes down on her shoulder again. The Marshal waves his flag, signalling a third-half point. One more and Makri will lose the fight. I yell at Lisutaris again. "Do something!"

"Stop shouting," says Lisutaris. "You're not helping." She turns her left hand palm upwards, clenches her fist, then murmurs something I can't make out. I turn back to the fight, hoping that whatever Lisutaris did, it will end the attacks on Makri. Muxilos, now very confident, moves in quickly. Makri's sword and shield seem to be hanging too low. It's difficult to see exactly what happens next, but Makri, with some combination of sword and leg, sweeps his feet from under him. He crashes to the ground and his helmet flies off. Makri stands over him, her foot pinning down his sword-arm and her own sword at his throat. There's a huge cheer from the crowd. The Marshal looks surprised. It seems to take him forever to make a decision, but really he has no choice.

"Lethal stroke," he calls. "Victory to Makri."

Immediately the fight ends I sprint towards the Marshal. "What was that about?" I scream. "None of these hits made contact! And there was sorcery! What sort of crooked operation are you running here?"

The Marshal turns on his heel and walks off without replying. I'm about to pursue him when Lisutaris grabs my collar.

"We have to go."

"Go? We have to sort this out."

"We don't have time. We're due at the meeting. I'll have words with the Tournament Sorcerer later. Makri, are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Makri winces as she takes off her helmet. She rubs her injured shoulder. "But the sorcery made it difficult. Didn't everyone see it?"

"It was subtly done," says Lisutaris. "And it came from a powerful source. It took me a while to deflect it."

As always, Makri is wearing a spell-protection necklace, made from Red Elvish Cloth. I wear one exactly the same. They protect us from the worst excesses of sorcery, which probably helped Makri resist the attack as well as she did. General Hemistos is waiting for us at the edge of the field.

"Fantastic performance Makri!" he enthuses. "Touch and go for a while, but you did it." The General falls into step with her. "Going to the Ambassadors' meeting? Splendid."

Kublinos appears, and sidles his way up to Lisutaris. I find myself walking on my own, while the General and Kublinos do their best to fascinate Makri and Lisutaris. I don't mind. I'm not in the mood for casual conversation. I'm troubled by what just happened. Now that's she's qualified, Makri has a lot of fights ahead of her. She can't afford to lose a single one. The main tournament is a straight knockout competition. The winner goes through to the next round, the loser goes home.

We pass the Bathing Houses on our way to the Royal Samsarinan Assembly Hall. By this time I'm in the midst of a long, loose straggle of Barons, Sorcerers, Generals and Ambassadors, all making their way to the meeting. It's not officially a War Council, as representatives from all nations aren't here yet, but it might as well be. Important matters of strategy have to be decided. The Orcs have stolen a march on us by taking Turai during the middle of winter. As soon as the roads in the East are passable, more Orcish hordes will be heading out from the Orcish lands to meet up with their leader, Prince Amrag. We've been talking about re-taking Turai, but a more realistic scenario might be the Orcs sweeping their way west before we've even had time to get ourselves organised.

The Assembly Hall is full of men in dark cloaks. Dignitaries here don't wear togas as they did in Turai. I find that odd. Not fully civilised. There are very few women, the only others apart from Lisutaris and Makri being two senior Sorcerers. There's a lot of milling around, and I notice the Simnian Ambassador deep in conversation with several Niojan diplomats. A delegation from the small nation of Juval has just arrived in Elath, and they've come straight to the Assembly Hall, still dressed in their riding clothes. Lisutaris and Kublinos are engaged in conversation with Barons Vosanos and Girimos. Makri, taking her duties as bodyguard seriously, stays close, silently watchful. I attempt to look like a Special Adviser, though I'm hoping no one asks me for advice, particularly as I'm distracted by the aroma of roasting venison.

"Is there going to be food?" I ask.

Lisutaris ignores me but Baron Girimos breaks off the conversation to sniff the air. "Yes! Venison! Excellent. You know, Thraxas, I've been to meetings here where there's been no food at all."

"That's just not acceptable. You can't do important business on an empty stomach."

"That's what I always say!" cries the Baron.

I like Baron Girimos. He's a man who cares about the important things in life. I can't say the same for Baron Vosanos, who's irritated at the interruption. Vosanos is a tall, lean man, who has a fancy fur collar on his cloak and a jewelled clasp at the neck, neither of which are quite in keeping with the seriousness of the occasion. I don't know that much about Vosanos, though he did fight in the Orc wars, so he can't be all bad. Baron Mabados approaches with his son Orgodas, who's due to marry Vosanos's daughter. They share a friendly greeting before Mabados turns to me, glares angrily, then asks me if it's true I've been interfering with his household by asking questions and making trouble. Not wanting to reflect badly on Lisutaris, I do my best to answer tactfully.

"I did have a few minor questions, Baron. Nothing of real importance."

"There will be no more questions, minor or otherwise," announces the Baron. "I'm not having an unwelcome outsider disturbing my family."

I remain silent. That doesn't satisfy Mabados.

"Well?" he demands.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to give up this annoying investigation?"

"No."

The Baron moves closer. "You Turanians amaze me. Here you are, a bedraggled refugee, a guest in our country, and what do you do? Start bothering important people with your impertinent questions. Really, Lisutaris, have you no control over this man?"

If it's an uncomfortable moment for Lisutaris, she doesn't let it show. "My Chief Adviser is experienced in investigation. If someone engages him for that reason, I see nothing wrong with it."

"What does the death of a woman at the Record House have to do with him? The matter was already investigated."

"It's possible that King's Steward Daringos may have overlooked a few details," I say, still trying to be tactful.

"What details? It was an accident. And if there were any doubts, it would be for me to pursue the matter, not you. I'm presiding Baron in Elath and I'm ordering you to end this investigation."

Baron Vosanos chooses this moment to get involved. "What sort of investigation? Sorcerous? I don't like the idea of foreign Sorcerers poking about, I must say."

"I don't use sorcery," I tell him. Which is almost true. These days magic is mostly beyond me. "I just ask questions."

"Then how are your investigations ever successful? Surely criminals don't volunteer information?"

"I'm dogged. I keep asking."

Baron Vosanos laughs. "I can't see you making much progress. Who thinks this girl's death was suspicious anyway? First I've heard of it."

"Really? I thought it was well-know there were some suspicions. That's why Daringos was asked to investigate."

"There were no suspicions," says Baron Mabados.

"That's not what your daughter thinks," I reply.

The atmosphere, already cold, drops to somewhere around frozen. Mentioning the Baron's daughter in public, in connection with an investigation, could be construed as a huge social blunder. But I'm fed up being tactful, and maybe it's time to shake things up.

"If you so much as talk to my daughter I'll run you out of town," says Mabados.

"I already talked to her. And you're not running me out of anywhere."

"Why, I'll - " explodes Mabados, but he's unable to continue as the young King arrives at that moment, heralded by a fanfare of trumpets. Everyone bows respectfully. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Baron Mabados glaring at me with loathing. Perhaps he knows more than he's letting on.

Chapter Twenty

King Gardos looks anything but confident as he surveys the assembly of senior figures in front of him. We're expecting him to bring us up to date on recent developments, but after a brief greeting, he hands over to General Hemistos to do it for him.

"Simnia's almost ready with their full army," reports the General. "But I don't have such good news from elsewhere. Kamara has promised very little. The Niojan ambassadors tell us they're facing delays. Jon, Amara and Bandid have promised to send what they can but none of them have large armies. As for the League of City States, they've been cut off by Prince Amrag taking Turai and they're terrified to leave their borders.

"What about the Far West?"

"Kastlin promises some archers but who knows how long it will take them to arrive? As for the Elves in the Southern Isles," The General raises his hands. "A messenger eagle arrived today and the news wasn't good. They hope to be able to sail soon, but we can't count on them bringing anything like the number of warriors they did last time."

This causes some disquiet. Everyone knows we need the Elves. We can't defeat the full forces of the East without them. The General turns to Lisutaris. "Mistress of the Sky, what's the situation with your Guild?"

"Every Sorcerer in the West will be here if I have to summon them with a transportation spell. If our army isn't going to be as strong as last time, we'll still have the most powerful Sorcerous force ever assembled."

The dignitaries are temporarily heartened. Lasat Axe of Gold punctures the mood by reminding everyone that Orcish sorcery is also stronger than it used to be. "They still control dragons, and their means of countermanding our sorcery have grown stronger. Only last month, Mistress of the Sky, you found yourself bested by their leader, Deeziz the Unseen."

"I was not bested," says Lisutaris, cooly.

"Turai fell."

"And I'm about to take it back. Which brings us to the next issue. It's time we selected a War Leader."

Hemistos frowns. "Not everyone is here yet."

"There are enough of us. We need a War Leader now and I put myself forward, as Head of the Sorcerers Guild."

General Hemistos looks rather dubiously towards King Gardos, probably wondering if it's going to be awkward for a Samsarinan to support Lisutaris. It will be if Gardos wants the position himself. The first person to speak out is the leader of the Niojan delegation.

"We were on the point of proposing Bishop-General Ritari."

Ritari is commander of the Niojan Eastern armies. I've no idea what sort of man he is, but it hardly matters. There's no chance of the West following a Niojan leader. No one much likes them, even if they do have a very high opinion of themselves.

"Shouldn't the position go to General Acarius?" asks a delegate from Juval. "He's our most experienced soldier."

"He's also past sixty," mutters one of the Niojans.

"I support Lisutaris," says the leader of the ambassadors from Abelesi, a small state on the South Coast. "She has the most experience in warfare."

Voices are raised and the meeting quickly loses all sense of order. I was expecting as much. Choosing a War Leader has never been an easy process. There's no formally recognised way of doing it. No laws or treaties between the nations specify how it should be carried out. It's simply a matter of finding a person that most people will follow, and that's often proved difficult. It's sometimes happened that the soldier or politician most qualified for the task hasn't been chosen, because neighbouring countries didn't trust him, or were envious. Nations are always jealous and suspicious of each other. That's one reason the post has sometimes been filled by a Sorcerer. With their guild being international, they're not quite so strongly identified with a single country.

The Niojans press their case for Bishop-General Ritari but the feeling in the Assembly Hall is that no military man can command enough support. Despite this, people hang back from agreeing on Lisutaris. Their doubts are given voice by Charius the Wise, who suggests that if the War Leader is going to be a Sorcerer, it should be Lasat Axe of Gold.

"Would that not be rather irregular?" asks the Ambassador from Abelesi. "Lisutaris is head of the Guild, after all."

"Not everyone agreed with that decision," says Charius. "There were doubts about the veracity of the voting."

"There were no doubts!" thunders Lisutaris. "I was the clear winner." That's true, as far as it goes. She did win the election, but only after some cynical manoeuvring involving theft, bribery and blackmail, carried out by the most shameless citizens in Turai. Me and Makri, mostly. I remain proud of our efforts. The King, who's been silent for a while, directs a question at Lasat. "Do you seek the post?"

"I would accept it, if necessary," replies Lasat.

"We'd favour Lasat Axe of Gold over Lisutaris," says the ambassador from Simnia. That's not a great surprise. Simnia has never liked Turai.

"As would my Samsarinan troops," adds Baron Mabados.

"But the Elves wouldn't," I say, raising my voice. "Every Elvish Island trusts Lisutaris." That shuts everyone up for a moment. We need the Elves.

"Perhaps it's not quite time to, eh…" the King looks hopelessly at General Hemistos. The General himself seems unsure of how to proceed.

"I suggest waiting a day or two," says Lasat. "To give us time to reflect."

That probably means to give hime time to bribe people. It's not satisfactory, but the meeting breaks up without agreement. Lisutaris has taken it all fairly calmly, though she's every right to be furious at the disloyalty of the Samsarinan Sorcerers. As we're leaving, the King approaches. I'm expecting him to consult with Lisutaris over important war matters, but instead he asks Makri about his dragon.

"He's doing well," Makri tells him. "He's been flapping his wings. I think he might be flying soon."

"Excellent! You must keep me informed. Lasat is constructing a special barrier to contain the creature once it can fly."

"I hope the dragon eats Lasat," says Lisutaris, as we leave the Assembly Hall. "Damn him and these Samsarinans. And the Simnians."

"I can't really see the Niojans supporting you either," I say. "They don't like women in positions of power."

"Life would be a lot easier if the Elves were here."

"Could we hold off till they arrive?" asks Makri.

"No. It needs to be decided soon. Prince Amrag isn't going to waste any time."

I notice Makri rubbing her ribs, and ask her about her injuries. She says she's fine.

"Are you ready to fight tomorrow?"

"I suppose so."

"You don't sound keen."

Makri shrugs. She's still not enamoured of the tournament.

"You need to win," I tell her. "Now more than ever. If it comes down to a straight choice between Lisutaris and Lasat, your status as her fighter might count for a lot. Lasat is sponsoring Elupus, it'll sway peoples' opinion if he wins."

"That sounds stupid," says Makri. "And illogical."

"People are stupid and illogical."

"I'm afraid Thraxas is right," says Lisutaris. "Is is important that you do better than Elupus. Quick, hide me."

"What?"

"Kublinos is back there. I can't take any more of his romancing me at the moment."

Makri and I shield Lisutaris as we move away, trying to evade Kublinos.

"Don't make it obvious I'm avoiding him," says Lisutaris. "I might still need to borrow money."

"I thought you didn't mind Kublinos?" I say.

"I don't. But he's very persistent, and it's not really the best time for a romance, is it? Not when we're heading for war."

"I'm not sure about that," I say. "Don't romances flourish before a war? Last chance for some happiness before everyone gets slaughtered?"

"I don't think it's appropriate."

"I think you may just be using the war as an excuse to avoid emotional entanglement," says Makri.

This brings us to a halt. Lisutaris stares at Makri. "What?"

"People who are nervous about any sort of emotional involvement do tend to look for external excuses to avoid it."

"What nonsense," says the Sorcerer. "Whoever said such a thing?"

"Samanatius."

"What did that old philosopher know about emotional entanglements?"

"A lot," insists Makri. "He knew how people think." She suddenly looks completely deflated. "I miss Samanatius."

There's nothing much to say to that. The old philosopher is undoubtedly dead, buried in the wreckage of Turai. Makri, perhaps finally feeling the effects of her efforts over the past weeks, falls silent, and looks tired and depressed as we make our way home in silence. The sun has gone down but the streets are still vibrant, with merry revellers spilling out of taverns, laughing and singing. Elath is now packed full of visitors, and the local authority has set up more oil lamps in the streets, illuminating the scene. As neither Lisutaris, Makri nor I are feeling much like revelling, it's a relief to reach Arichdamis's house. My relief is short-lived. Merlione is waiting for me. She's wearing a rough, dark cloak and hood over her normal garments, having travelled here in disguise. That's understandable. It's a huge breach of etiquette for a Baron's daughter to be out visiting strangers late at night. Mabados would erupt if he knew. I lead her into one of Arichdamis's guest-rooms where we can talk in private.

"I only have a few minutes," she says. "I have to get back before anyone misses me. Someone tried to kill me today."

"Tell me what happened." We're interrupted by a loud crashing noise and Merlione jumps anxiously. "It's all right, it's just Makri and the dragon."

Merlione calms herself, with difficulty. The strain is getting to her. "I went out into our flower garden and someone shot an arrow at me."

"Who?"

"I don't know. I didn't see. They must have been in the bushes, or the trees. But I bent down to pick a flower and at that moment an arrow went past me and stuck in the fence." She reaches into the depths of her cloak, producing the arrow.

"What happened then?"

"I ran inside." She looks anguished. "I didn't tell anyone. They won't believe me. My father already thinks I'm making things up."

"You should tell your mother. She'll believe you."

"I don't want to worry her more. Everything's so difficult already."

"Tell her. She can cope. And stay indoors from now on."

"Have you found anything out?" she asks.

I admit I haven't made much progress, though I assure her I'm working on it. I escort her home, and keep watch till she's safely inside.

Chapter Twenty-One

Next morning I set off early. With no strong leads and not much to go on, it's time to start bothering people. I'm intending to talk to anyone who might know anything about Baron Mabados's family. I spend the next six hours doing precisely that. In the main I talk to servants, but also question the messenger who delivers letters to Mabados's mansion, an apprentice at the saddler where he has his horses outfitted, and a woman who's been hired to provide flower arrangements for his son's wedding. It costs me some bribe money but that can't be helped. Servants don't just gossip to strangers for free.

The saddler's apprentice introduces me to a another apprentice at the coach repair shop, where I manage to inspect the carriage that killed Alceten, which was damaged in the collision. It's a medium-sized phaeton, similar to the one Kublinos has lent to Lisutaris. These phaetons aren't very grand, and while there's a cover to provide shelter from the elements, they're quite open at the front. I'm not certain anyone could remain concealed while driving. There is a tall foot-guard. It might be possible to lie behind that, if you were small enough. Merlione did say that visibility was poor. I leave the repair shop unconvinced either way.

Thanks to Lisutaris, I've managed to secure an appointment with Daringos, the King's Chief Steward. He's too busy to spare me more than five minutes, but when I meet him by arrangement at the Assembly House, he's friendlier than I anticipated. He goes so far as to tell me he can understand why there might be suspicions about Alceten's death, as it was such a shocking and unexpected event.

"But I looked into it thoroughly, and it was an accident. Someone stole the carriage from Baron Girimos's grounds the night before. We haven't been able to find out the culprits, though it was probably some revellers from out of town. Elath can be boisterous during the tournament. Whoever took it abandoned it in the street. The horses were probably nervous, and they bolted. Probably startled by dogs, there are quite a few strays down there.

"Can you be sure it wasn't deliberate?" I ask.

"There was nothing to suggest it was. The senior record keeper, Zinlantol, saw it happen. She's a reliable witness."

"You don't think there could have been someone driving the carriage?"

"Of course not. Zinlantol would have seen him. Besides, why would anyone kill that poor young woman? I've investigated quite a few misdeeds in my time, and there's always a motive. No one had a motive for killing the Record Keeper's daughter. She didn't have an enemy in the world. I'm sure of that, I know the family."

"If the carriage was empty, could someone have startled the horses deliberately?"

The King's Chief steward is surprised at the suggestion, but retains his polite composure. "I suppose that would be possible, but again, someone would have seen it."

"Did you ask the local Sorcerers to look into it?"

"That's not really the sort of work our Sorcerers do," replies Daringos. "Especially with all the war preparations going on."

I can't find much fault with this. Back in Turai, the authorities probably wouldn't have investigated the matter any more thoroughly than Daringos has. Not for someone as unimportant as the Record Keeper's daughter. I've realised by now that I'm not going to learn anything here. I depart, feeling that I haven't made any progress. By the time I arrive back at Arichdamis's house I'm weary and looking forward to a rest before Makri's first fight in the late afternoon. I find her in the garden with Lisutaris, in the warm sun.

"I hope you're not giving any of that thazis to Makri. She has to fight today. Besides, I need it." I join them on the grass, with my back to the wall of the house.

"Busy day investigating?" asks Lisutaris.

"I asked questions all over town." I inhale from Lisutaris's thazis stick.

"What did you learn?"

"Mabados's saddler doesn't like him. He's late paying his bills."

"That's it?"

"Just about. I've never met such a bunch of poorly-informed servants and shopkeepers. Hardly a scrap of decent information. Although Mabados not paying his bills was a recurrent theme."

"Aristocrats are always like that," says Makri. "They're always late paying tradesmen."

"True. The saddler doesn't like Baron Vosanos either. He owes them a lot of money even though he's the richest man in town." I turn to Lisutaris. "I need your help." I describe the recent attack on Merlione.

"I wondered why Merlione was here last night," says Makri. "I thought it might be some sort of secret liaison."

"Very amusing Makri."

"Well, you fascinated her mother. If you sleep with the daughter as well, isn't that some sort of crime against the Gods?"

"You don't believe in our Gods. And could you abandon your attempts at humour? You've been sarcastic ever since you found out about me and Baroness Demelzos. I don't think it's that strange we had an affair."

"Everybody else does."

"Are you hoping I can look back in time," says Lisutaris. "To catch a glimpse of the crime?"

"Something like that."

"The kuriya has been unresponsive. I've already tried to find out who took Arichdamis's plans. I got nowhere. I knew the moons were going into a bad alignment but it's happened much quicker than I expected. I think my Guild's astronomical charts may be flawed."

"Could you find out who fired this?" I ask, showing Lisutaris the arrow. She studies it for a few moments, then shakes her head.

"Sorry, it's been touched by too many people. Iron-tipped arrows never retain much information about their past."

I shake my head in frustration. "Is there anything you could do?"

"Like what?"

"Something brilliant, worthy of the Head of the Sorcerers Guild. If I could just find out what Alceten was working on in the Royal Record House everything might fall into place."

Lisutaris rolls herself another thazis stick and thinks for a few moments. "When she was at the Record House, was she usually in one place?"

"She was working in one of the upstairs rooms. But it's a large room, and there are so many different documents in there I can't tell what she was doing."

"I might be able to narrow it down for you. Do you have anything that belonged to her?"

"Merlione gave me this." I take out a small, lace handkerchief. It looks incongruous in my large hand.

"Good," says Lisutaris. "This might be a help. Lace does retain a lot of information."

It's the first I've heard of it. Sometimes I think these Sorcerers just make it up as they go along. "If we leave soon we can visit the Record House before Makri's fight. We need to leave enough time for the bookmaker as well."

"How is our betting going?" asks the Sorcerer.

"Well. We had over 2,700 gurans. I had to use some for bribes today. And I'll keep back a little for our expenses. It still leaves us 2,500 for betting on Makri. Feel free to congratulate me on the brilliance of my gambling strategy."

"Congratulations on your brilliance," says Lisutaris. She doesn't really sound like she means it.

Outside a group of children are hanging around. They yell when we appear. "There she is!" The children stare at Makri, but when she takes a step forward they scream and run off.

"That was annoying," says Makri.

"At least they weren't throwing stones."

The children aren't the only ones interested in Makri. As we drive slowly through the town, pedestrians, catching sight of her, nudge their companions, and point.

"I'm starting to feel self-conscious."

I tell Makri not to worry. "They're not pointing you out as a weird Orcish freak any more. Now they're pointing you out as a successful fighter."

"Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better."

At the Royal Record house, Cetenos is just as downcast as before, though he brightens a little on learning that I've asked Lisutaris to help. He takes us to the room where his daughter worked, then leaves us alone. Lisutaris fumbles around inside her magic purse.

"I can't find the handkerchief. There it is… no, that's one of mine… I'm sure it's here somewhere…"

"Could you learn how to use your magic purse properly?"

Lisutaris looks pained. "It's really large inside, I haven't got the hang of it yet. Here it is." She produces the small piece of lace then throws it into the air. It hovers in front of her. She speaks a few words in one of the arcane languages she uses. The handkerchief languidly floats over to one corner of the room where it descends onto a chair.

"That's where Alceten was working the last time she was here," says Lisutaris. The lace handkerchief has landed at a table beside several cabinets full of documents, and there are shelves nearby, packed with books and scrolls.

"Mining records," says Makri, examining the papers in the cabinet. "And some family records on the shelves. Some tax records too. This doesn't really belong here, does it?" She picks up a very weighty tome from the table. "Samsarinan Commercial Law. This should be over with the other legal books."

I study the huge book. It is out of place.

"Do you think Alceten found some sort of illegal transaction?" asks Makri.

"Maybe. It would have to be serious if someone killed her because of it. And I don't see how it would involve Merlione." I glance at all the other records strewn around. Lisutaris has narrowed things down but there's still a lot to examine, and I'm not at my best with ancient legal scrolls and documents. I ask the Sorcerer if she could place our bet on Makri. "It'll let me make a start here. I'll meet you later at the fight."

"Lisutaris can't go into a bookmaker's shop," says Makri. "It will destroy her status."

"You could do it." I hand our money over to Makri. "Just make sure you get it right."

"You make sure you get to the fight on time," says Lisutaris. "You need to lead Makri out. I can't do that either."

Managing a sword-fighter is regarded as a low-class occupation. Though Barons and their ilk always show an interest in the fighters, none of them would sully their reputation by leading one on to the field.

Left on my own in the record room, I'm daunted by the prospect of wading through so many official records. Maybe I'll get lucky. Perhaps I'll find something quickly. The first scroll I pick up is entitled Assignment of copper-mining rights in the Southern provinces in the last fourteen years of the reign of King Garasolos. My heart sinks. King Garasolos lived two centuries ago. I put it down and turn to the book on commercial law instead. It's written in the dense hand of a copyist whose writing is clear, but small, and a strain to read. I manage half a page on the rights of Port Authorities to levy taxes on incoming goods before putting it down with a feeling of despair. Perhaps instead of trying to read all these books and scrolls, I should just hang around close to Merlione, and hope someone fires another arrow at her.

I sigh, shake my head, and get back to work, already feeling that it was a mistake not to bring some ale with me. Sitting on my own at the desk, surrounded by scrolls, makes me remember an uncomfortable occasion, many years ago, when, having failed to complete an assignment at Sorcerer's college, I was sent to study on my own while the rest of the class practiced spells in the grounds. I never did like that tutor.

After reading for two hours, I have a reasonable knowledge of Samsarinan commercial law relating to imports, some insights into the complexities of copper-mining rights, and no more idea about who might have killed Alceten than I had in the first place. There's a large candle on the main desk, marked off in hours, and it's a relief when I notice it's time to go. I leave the desk neatly arranged, so I'll know what books and scrolls I've looked at.

By the time I arrive at the tournament, Lisutaris is fretting. "Thraxas! You're late. Have you been in a tavern?"

"Of course. I had to wash the dust from these books out my mouth. When's Makri fighting?"

"In about thirty seconds."

"Did you get the bet on?"

"Yes, Makri went into Bixo's. But I'm worried. She's been drawn against Basinos."

I screw up my face. That is a tough draw. The Champion of the Southern Armies is going to be a difficult opponent. "Well, she can beat him anyway."

"I hope so," says Lisutaris. "Basinos is sponsored by Baron Mabados. Every Samsarinan Sorcerer will be on his side."

"Can't you sort these Sorcerers out?"

"I'd rather they didn't know I suspect them of using sorcery. It'll be easier for me to negate their efforts if they don't know I'm onto them."

"I think we should just confront them. Get their cheating out into the open."

"I can't take on the whole Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild, Thraxas."

"Yes you can."

"No, I don't think I can."

I clap Lisutaris heartily on the shoulder. "I have confidence in you."

"How may beers did you have?"

"Three or four. I forget exactly. Here's Makri. Right, it's time to show these villains what three Turanians can do."

"So I'm a Turanian now?" says Makri.

"Of course. We welcome anyone. Let's go."

The red-shirted Marshal is waiting for us in the centre of the field. Basinos approaches slowly from the opposite direction, and he gets the loudest cheer so far. As champion of the Southern Armies he's a well-known fighter, and if not exactly local, he is Samsarinan. It's immediately obvious that Basinos is a cut above most of the fighters we've seen in the preliminary rounds. His equipment is better; he has a nicely burnished helmet, fine chainmail over his chest and midriff, and the armour plating around his shoulders and arms is good quality work. Makri looks shabby in comparison, with her long hair tumbling out of her iron helmet. Her shield is made of plain brown leather, whereas Basinos's is bright blue, with a fancy metal boss in the centre, in the shape of a roaring lion. Basinos's sword is longer and heavier. He's ten inches taller than Makri, and looks about twice as broad. He approaches slowly, milking the applause. Makri stands motionless. The Marshal raises his flag. I retreat quickly to the side of the field, and by the time I look round, Basinos has already mounted a furious attack.

Makri defends gamely, but it's not the easiest thing to do, defending with a sword and shield if you're not used to it. If mishandled, the shield can easily pass in front of your eyes, restricting your vision. If you try to use it offensively, and get it wrong, you leave an opening for your opponent. If you're too defensive, you constrict your own movements and can't attack effectively. Conversely, it's hard to mount an effective attack against a man who knows how to defend properly with a shield, which Basinos does. Several of Makri's previous opponents left obvious gaps which she could exploit with her speed, but Basinos is of a different calibre. Makri is forced backwards, and her occasional strikes, with which she attempts to go over or under his shield, are all blocked quite easily.

Lisutaris has her arms by her side, but her palms are facing forwards. She's feeling for sorcery, ready to nullify it if necessary. There's a loud clang as Basinos's sword crashes into Makri's shield. The impact forces her back. By the time she regains her stance, Basinos, in the same offensive movement, has swung his sword beneath her shield where it slams into the chainmail protecting her thigh. The crowd roar and the Marshal raises his flag.

"Half-point to Basinos!" he cries.

By now I'm frowning. I don't think that half-point arrived as the result of hostile sorcery. It came because Basinos is a very skilled fighter. The contest recommences. Makri is again forced back. The crowd are screaming, roaring him on. He's strong and fast; one of the fastest tournament fighters I've ever seen. Somewhere nearby I can hear Baron Mabados, adding his voice to the crowd.

"Come on Makri!" I yell. Basinos attacks, again forcing Makri back. He attempts a cut across the top of Makri's shield which she blocks, but then, with the same movement he used before, he rotates his elbow, bringing his blade down towards Makri's thigh. But this time, instead of connecting with her thigh, it thuds into her shield, which Makri has immediately, and correctly, repositioned. At the same moment she slices her blade across the top of Basinos's shield which, as a result of his attack, is hanging an inch too low. Her blade snaps against his neck guard. That should be enough for a lethal stroke but Makri, not content, or not trusting the Marshal, instantly brings her sword down onto Basinos's wrist, knocking his blade from his hand, before bringing it back up in an arc to rest once more at his throat. That makes two lethal strikes, though technically you can only have one. The crowd falls silent. Basinos stands rigid, as if in shock. The Marshal looks disappointed.

"Lethal stroke," he says, eventually.

Lisutaris and I cheer, very conspicuously given the silence around us. I rush onto the field to congratulate Makri. Unusually, she's still facing her opponent.

"Good fight," she says to him. He acknowledges her, before trudging off.

"Excellent work, Makri," cries Lisutaris.

Makri takes off her helmet and shrugs. "It wasn't so great. I'd have a leg wound if this was real. He was a good fighter. " She stares at her shield. "I can't get used to this thing."

I'm jubilant as we make our way from the field. I ask Lisutaris and Makri what odds they got at the bookmakers.

"Seven to Four," Makri tells me. "Basinos was favourite, two to five."

"But we didn't bet everything," says Lisutaris."

We've used some of our money for expenses, and I've had bribes to pay, but we still had 2,500 gurans left before this fight. I'd expected Lisutaris and Makri to gamble it all.

"We decided it was too much of a risk," explains Makri. "If I'd lost we'd have had nothing left. I thought it was best to keep 1,000 back. We could have used that to bet on other fighters. Because if I lost then Lisutaris would have needed to come up with 10,000 for Lasat."

Lisutaris and Makri look at me. "Are you going to disapprove?" asks Lisutaris.

I shrug. "Not really. It was sensible enough. Although I didn't know we were being sensible. I'd have bet everything."

Big Bixo isn't exactly radiating happiness as he hands over our winnings, but he's not too downcast either. He's still made a solid profit from all the money that was placed on Basinos. Our 1,500 bet at seven to four wins us 2625. Plus the original stake makes 4125. Plus the 1,000 we held back now gives us 5125 gurans. Our pile of money includes some heavy hundred-guran coins and even a thousand-guran gold bar, which Lisutaris carries in her magic purse.

Before Makri's fight with Basinos, she was fourteen to one to win the tournament. That will come down now. Elupus remains the overall favourite, at three to one. As we leave Big Bixo's I'm mulling over our next bet.

"I think we should just bet it all."

Makri disagrees. "It's too much of a risk."

"Why? You'll win. If it was me suggesting it was too much of a risk to bet everything on you, you'd get upset. You'd say I lacked confidence in you."

"Maybe," says Makri. "But I just think we should be cautious. Something might go wrong."

"What can go wrong?"

"Hostile sorcery."

"Lisutaris can deal with that."

"So you keep saying," says Lisutaris. "Mainly because you don't know what it's like trying to fend off Lasat, Charius and a dozen others at the same time."

"I have complete confidence in you. And Makri."

Chapter Twenty-Two

On the way home we stop off at a tavern where Lisutaris eats a moderate lunch, I order three venison pies and a portion of stew with yams, and Makri nibbles at some bread. We arrive back at Arichdamis's house in probably our most genial mood since we washed up on these shores.

"Lasat Axe of Gold and Charius the Wise are in the garden," Arichdamis tells us. Our genial mood evaporates.

"This is it," mutters Lisutaris. "He's come to blackmail me about the missing plans. It was bound to happen. Makri, put your sword away, we can't just kill them."

"We could make it look like an accident."

"That might work," I say.

Lisutaris stares at us. "What's the matter with you? We're not murdering anyone. Have you lost your senses?"

Slightly abashed, we follow Lisutaris out into the garden.

"I think we could get away with it," whispers Makri.

It's not immediately apparent what Lasat and Charius are up to. They've arrived with a company of workmen who are busy some distance away, at the point where Arichdamis's grounds slope upwards towards the hills. As we watch, the workmen stretch rope between some of the larger trees.

"What's going on?" I ask Arichdamis.

"They're making a cage for the dragon before it can fly away."

"They're building a dragon cage out of a few ropes?"

"That's just the framework. Once they've cordoned off the area, Lasat and Charius are going to cast spells over it."

"I don't like this," says Makri. "It's not really very nice to keep a dragon in a cage."

"You hate the dragon."

"We've been getting on better."

Protocol demands that Lisutaris greet her fellow Sorcerers. Before approaching them, she instructs Makri and me to be tactful. "Don't start any arguments. I don't want them to suspect that we know they've been using sorcery against Makri. Be diplomatic."

"I'm always diplomatic," says Makri. "It's Thraxas you have to worry about."

"Makri is much less tactful than I am!"

"Also, try not to argue like a pair of schoolchildren," says Lisutaris, and sets off towards the edge of the garden. The encounter with the Samsarinan Sorcerers is tense, as always. The frozen politeness displayed on each side doesn't do anything to hide the mutual dislike. Lasat is as self-important as ever, talking grandly to Charius about the brilliance of his new magic which will, apparently, keep the dragon permanently in place, allowing them to learn the secrets of dragon control.

"That will be a great step forward for Samsarina," he says. "Imagine having our own dragons to combat the Orcs."

Makri looks highly sceptical, though she keeps her silence. I'm sceptical too, not really believing that any human will ever fly on a dragon. Lasat is so pleased with himself that he magnanimously thanks Makri for feeding the creature. "The King himself is grateful. You should be honoured."

"I am," says Makri, attempting to be diplomatic.

"Congratulations on defeating Basinos," continues Lasat. "Even Elupus praised your technique. Perhaps some people did under-estimate your prowess."

"Perhaps they did," says Lisutaris. "Perhaps they underestimate mine, too."

"I don't follow your meaning, Mistress of the Sky."

"I mean those people who are questioning my role as Head of the Sorcerers Guild, and position as War Leader."

Lasat Axe of Gold draws himself up and looks, for a moment at least, quite grand, with his rainbow cloak and his long grey hair fluttering in the breeze.

"No personal insult was intended," he declares. "But War Leader is too important a role to be given to someone who's claim to the position of Head of the Guild is dubious at best."

"Dubious?" cries Lisutaris. 'You dare to call my election dubious?"

"What else would I call it? The whole process was a charade. The authorities in Turai used every low, despicable trick imaginable to get you elected. I haven't forgotten your scandalous attempt to blackmail me, using quite untrue allegations."

"Untrue? You've been cheating your treasury for years!" shouts Lisutaris.

"I must ask you not to repeat these lies!" roars Lasat.

I don't like the way his hand is hovering around his waist. It looks like he's tempted to fire a spell. I find my own hand straying towards the spell-protection charm round my neck.

"If you do," Lasat continues. "There will be serious consequences!"

"Are you attempting to threaten me!" yells Lisutaris.

"And what if I am? You're not in Turai now, with your legion of spies, cheats and criminals to help you! Let's see how you fare without them by your side!"

"You'll see how I'll fare if you dare to challenge me!" shouts Lisutaris. "I'll send you out of Elath as a smoking pile of cinders. And while I'm on the subject of your despicable behaviour, stop trying to cheat in the tournament."

"Cheat? Me? How dare you!"

"You've been using sorcery against Makri!" Lisutaris strides right up to Lasat and stands with her face close to his. "It had better not happen again or I'll make you regret it."

Charius the Wise is surreptitiously raising his hand, unseen by Lisutaris. I swiftly unsheathe my sword and place the tip in his midriff. "Do you think you can utter that spell before I run you through?"

The garden is now sizzling with barely suppressed sorcery. Venomous looks are exchanged in all directions. Lasat Axe of Gold claps his hands, summoning his workers, then speaks to Charius. "Come, Charius. The King is not going to be pleased to learn our work has been interrupted by a foreign Sorcerer. We'll return under his protection."

"You'll need a lot of protection if you annoy me again!" yells Lisutaris, at his retreating figure.

I stare at Lisutaris. "What happened to tact and diplomacy?"

"That was never a very good plan. You should have given me better advice."

"I'd advise you to find out if smoking too much magically-enhanced thazis causes mood swings."

"Thazis," mutters Lisutaris. "Good idea." She starts rolling a thazis stick without bothering to check if anyone is watching. I shepherd her behind a large tree, just in case.

"I hate the Samsarinan Sorcerers," she says.

"Don't worry," says Makri. "I'll win the tournament. Then Lasat will have to pay you 10,000 gurans and he'll look like a fool for backing a loser."

Lisutaris sits down on the grass, quite heavily. "I suppose so. But these arguments aren't helping the war effort. What's the point of winning money if the Orcs march in and conquer everything?"

"We could still flee to the Far West," I suggest. "They say that right at the end of the world, you can find the Warrior's Rest."

"What's that? Some sort of monastery?"

"No, a tavern. Sells excellent beer, apparently. They could probably do with a Sorcerer to look after things. And Makri would fit right in. Just get the chainmail bikini on again and start serving drinks."

"I'm not ending my days as a tavern wench," declares Makri. "I'm going to kick the Orcs out of Turai then I'm going to university."

The young dragon appears out of the undergrowth. I tense up, ready to fight, but it seems to have become less aggressive. It waddles up to Makri, stretches its wings, then lies down beside her and goes to sleep. The dragon is now larger than a man, and must be very close to taking flight. Now that it's no longer a baby, its scales are starting to grow properly, and they're pure white. It's an unusual sight. Makri puts her arm over it protectively. She's due to fight again later in the evening, by which time the competitors will be down to sixteen. I'd like to remain here, doing nothing, but I can't. I still have investigating to do.

"Makri, would you help me at the Records Office? I just can't read through all that stuff on my own."

"All right. If Lisutaris doesn't need me for a while."

"It's fine, go with Thraxas," says the Sorcerer. "I've agreed to have dinner with Kublinos. He's persistent, I'll give him that. He even pretended to like my Turanian hairstyle, even though I know the Barons' wives have been criticising it behind my back."

Lisutaris looks round at Makri and me. There's a long pause. "Well?" she says, eventually.

"Well what?" I ask.

"You know what I mean."

Makri looks baffled. "I don't understand."

"How hopeless are you?" demands Lisutaris. "When I say the Barons' wives have been criticising my hairstyle, you're both meant to say my hair looks wonderful. Wasn't that obvious?"

"Sorry," says Makri. "I'm not very good at picking up on things like that."

"Neither am I," I admit.

Lisutaris sighs. "I dread to think what your life was like in that tavern. Obviously you never learned any proper manners." A maudlin expression settles over her features. "Tirini would be shocked if she saw me now. She'd say I looked a terrible mess."

"I was thinking of Tirini too, just the other day," I say.

"She was one of the last people we saw in Turai," says Makri.

Tirini Snake-Smiter is, or perhaps was, a Turanian Sorcerer. She had powerful magic, but she was much more famous for her glamorous outfits and her continual appearances in the city's scandal-sheets. She was in the Avenging Axe, just before the city fell, looking after Lisutaris when she was ill. Poor Tirini was horrified to find herself in the shabby environs of my rooms above the tavern. I wasn't too pleased to see her there myself, but thinking of her now, I feel nostalgic for my old city, and depressed about its destruction.

"I wonder how many of my Guild survived?" wonders Lisutaris.

"I think there's a good chance a lot of the Sorcerers made it out."

"If they have, none of them have managed to contact me yet."

Makri and I depart, leaving Lisutaris to make ready for her assignation with Kublinos.

"Do you think Kublinos and Lisutaris might get married?" asks Makri, as we walk through Elath.

I notice she's looking uncomfortable. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"A bit."

Makri, a recent arrival in the West, had very few friends in Turai, spending her time mostly working or studying. I suppose she's become friendly with Lisutaris, due to recent events, and worries about losing her. That would only leave me, and I'm always liable to get drunk and let her down.

"I can't see Lisutaris really falling for Kublinos," I tell her. "He wears that fancy cloak. Probably not Lisutaris's type."

"You have no idea what Lisutaris's type would be, do you?" says Makri.

"None at all. Here's the Record House. Prepare for some extended studying."

We have two hours before we're due at the tournament fields. Upstairs in the record house, I drag another chair over to the table in the corner, then carry on reading. Makri starts working her way through the contents of the shelves on the left and I take the cabinets on the right.

"This is hopeless," I say, after wading through a court report about some merchants who'd been swindled. "I can't take much more."

"We've only been here ten minutes."

"It feels like ten hours."

"I like it. It's interesting."

I sigh, and get back to work. I struggle through another court case concerning a merchant's complaint that he'd been cheated in a land deal, When he put up the funds for what was supposed to be a valuable Queenstone mine in the mountains, only for it to turn out worthless. I'm mildly surprised to notice that a co-signatory to the law suit is Baron Vosanos, who apparently lost a lot of money too. That will teach him to be greedy. I wonder if Baroness Demelzos knows about it. Perhaps her son isn't marrying into quite as rich a family as she thought. I turn to Makri and tell her that I really can't go on any longer. "My head's swimming with all these documents."

Makri shrugs. "If you want justice you need to do the work."

"Who said anything about justice? I'm earning a fee and helping Demelzos. Justice doesn't come into it."

"Well it should. Alceten deserves justice."

"Since when did you care about Alceten?"

"Since I discovered she was murdered and nobody cared," says Makri.

I shake my head. Makri does get these odd ideas occasionally. She has a tendency to start going on about rights and justice, particularly where women are concerned. I blame the philosopher Samanatius. He was a bad influence.

"This is Samsarina. Justice here is in even shorter supply than it was in Turai. If it turns out that Alceten was murdered, and someone influential was responsible, then forget about justice. It'll just be covered up."

"Then why are you even bothering to investigate?" asks Makri.

"I told you. To help the Baroness. If I can solve this, and find out who's responsible, Demelzos will be able to protect her daughter. But that's as far as it will go. I've got no great hopes of sending anyone to court for murder. Samsarina doesn't work like that. The Barons have too much power to be held to account."

"Do you think one of them was responsible?"

"Directly responsible? I doubt it. But it would need money and influence to organise the murder, and more to make sure people didn't talk afterwards. So someone well-connected was behind it. Anyone who's well-connected here ultimately has some Baron or other looking after him."

Makri isn't satisfied. "Are you saying that even if you find out who did it, nothing will happen?"

"Probably. If the killer is being protected by a Baron, only the King could do anything about it. You've seen what the King is like. He's so young and inexperienced, he won't want to alienate anyone powerful."

"So someone can just kill a young woman and get away with it?"

"Yes."

"Maybe I could make sure they don't."

I stare at Makri. "Abandon any thoughts of vigilante activity. It will reflect badly on Lisutaris."

"I'll bear that in mind," says Makri, and gets back to her scroll. We read in silence for a while. I glance over my shoulder a few times at the marked candle, wishing that time would pass more quickly.

"I haven't felt like this since I was at school," I mutter.

"You actually went to school?"

"St Alembiun's Institute for the Children of Disadvantaged Turanian Citizens. One of the worst educational hell-holes in the city. I still dislike St Alembiun, whoever he was."

"A minor saint from Mattesh, before the True Church revised their canon," Makri informs me.

"Have you ever thought you might have learned too many things?"

"I thought you said Baron Vosanos was rich," says Makri.

"He is."

"Then why's he being sued for non-payment of taxes?"

"Let me see that." Makri has been studying a large tome of court documents, lists of upcoming cases. Baron Vosanos is indeed named in one of these case, accused by the King's Exchequer of not paying the required taxes on his estates.

"That's odd. He's one of the most important men in the country. Why would he let that happen?"

"Maybe he's broke,' says Makri. "Didn't you mention he was involved in some merchant deals that went wrong?"

"Yes, but it didn't seem that serious. I can't believe he'd let things slide to the extent that he'd face being taken to court by the King."

I sit and think for a few moments. Vosanos's financial difficulties are interesting. Baron Mabados is reputed to have financial problems too. Mabados's son is marrying Vosanos's daughter. It's odd that both Barons are struggling. The marriage won't affect that one way or the other, as far as I know. I'll have to ask Baroness Demelzos for more information.

"Dos this have some bearing on your case?" asks Makri.

"I don't know. I can't see how it would involve Merlione. Whether she's alive or dead doesn't make any difference to how rich these Barons are. Still, I'd like to know more. Are there any other documents?"

There's nothing else in the book, but it does provide a case number. I find a young assistant on the floor below and ask her if Cetenos is anywhere in the building, but apparently he's busy conveying records to the King's officials. I ask the assistant if she can show me any more documents relating to Baron Vosanos's case, and quote her the number. She leads me over to a huge filing cabinet, about the size of a small tree, then opens the top drawer and rummages around for a while.

"Here you are,' she says, pulling out a brown leather folder with a number on it. "Everything will be in here."

I open the folder. It's empty. The assistant looks surprised.

"Normally there'd be more papers on anything that had a case number. I don't know why there isn't."

I return upstairs to Makri. "The rest of the documents are missing." I glance at the candle. "We have to go, you're fighting soon."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Heading back towards the arena, Makri is relaxed. I don't think she's given much thought to her next fight. It's quite a contrast to my own experience of the tournament. Then it was all I thought about for weeks. I'd practice during the day, and at night I'd go drinking with sword-fighting friends, swapping tales about fighters we'd seen, and lying about all the contests we'd won. It became my whole life. Makri does want to win, because she takes pride in her fighting technique, but she doesn't care about the competition. I find that annoying. She should respect it more.

Makri's next opponent is Gabril-ixx, from the far north. He won a tournament recently, so he must be skilful, and in good form. Big Bixo has him as slight favourite at four to six, while Makri is eleven to ten. I'd like to bet everything we have but, heeding Makri and Lisutaris's desire to be more cautious, I put 2,500 gurans on Makri to win. Makri has a lot more backers now. She's still not popular with the crowd, but serious gamblers don't care about that. They've seen what she can do.

Lisutaris meets us at the edge of the field. There's something strange about her manner.

"You look odd," I say.

"Thanks, Thraxas. That's always good to hear."

"Why are you holding your head like that?" Lisutaris has her chin pushed down, almost resting on her chest. "What's that you're wearing?"

"Nothing."

"Yes it is. I can see it sparkling."

"Oh this?" Lisutaris glances down at the heavy row of jewels currently dangling round her neck. It's a queenstone necklace, a very fine example.

"It's just a… little gift," she says, and blushes faintly. "From Kublinos."

"Did you agree to marry him?" asks Makri.

"Of course not! Why would you ask that?"

"Because he's just given you the most expensive necklace this side of the King's treasury?" I suggest.

"I had to accept it," says Lisutaris, huffily. "It would have been rude not to. That doesn't mean I'm about to get married. The subject was never discussed. Makri, are you ready to fight?"

"What are you going to say when he does ask?" says Makri.

"Could we not discuss it right this moment? Thraxas, listen carefully. I'm convinced Lasat is going to make a serious attempt to sabotage Makri in this fight. I can deal with him and Charius, but the rest of their guild is here too, so there might be spells flying in from all directions. I'll need your to help to deflect them."

"Me? How am I meant to do that?"

"You've had Sorcerous training, I believe?"

"I got thrown out of Sorcerer's College as an apprentice. I only ever knew a few minor spells."

"That's not true," says Lisutaris. "You used to know more than that, before you dedicated your life to drinking. You can help if you put your mind to it. I'll give you a spell for detecting incoming attacks."

"Thraxas is going to help you with your sorcery?" asks Makri.

"Yes."

"I'm doomed."

"She may be right," I say. "I really don't think I'm up to it."

"Fine," says Lisutaris. "If you'd like to see me humiliated, Turai disgraced, Makri defeated, and Lasat elected as War Leader, why don't you just go and drink beer instead?"

"All right I'll do it!" I glare at Makri. "Now I'm going to get killed from a heart attack spell, protecting your skinny hide."

"I'm sure no one will be firing heart attack spells," says Lisutaris, calmly. "More likely they'll simply be trying to jolt Makri, to make her lose her balance. Anyway, you have your spell-protection necklace."

I can't say I'm feeling happy about this development. A good spell-protection necklace does go a long way towards nullifying hostile sorcery, but it won't keep out everything. Thraxas of Turai fears no man in combat, but I'm not that keen on being used as target practice by the Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild. Lisutaris takes a scrap of parchment from her purse and speaks to it. A sentence appears, though not in any language I know.

"Read this," she says.

"I cant understand it."

"Just read it."

I do as instructed. Lisutaris then says the sentence out loud, and makes a peculiar motion with her hand in front of my eyes.

"Now you'll be able to detect, attract and repel incoming spells," she says.

"What do you mean attract? No one said anything about attract."

"It's part of the process," explains the Sorcerer, blithely. "Once you detect spells, they'll come towards you. You'll have plenty of time to deflect them. A good half-second or so."

"What if I don't?"

"You may suffer some minor damage. Are you ready Makri? It's time for you to put on your armour."

Makri goes off to change. I scan the dense crowd, looking for hostile Sorcerers. There seems to be a rainbow cloak everywhere I look. The Samsarinan Guild has turned up in force. I find myself touching my spell protection necklace again, and wondering what exactly Lisutaris means by minor damage. As I lead Makri out onto the field I catch a glimpse of Lasat Axe of Gold, right next to the tower occupied by the Tournament Sorcerer. No doubt they're plotting something together. This time, when the Marshal raises his flag, I sprint back to Lisutaris.

"Are you ready?' she asks.

"No."

The fight commences. Gabril-ixx adopts a cautious stance, well-protected by his shield. Too well protected perhaps, as he's slow to react to Makri's attack. She gets her sword underneath his defences, dealing him a blow on the leg which is only just short of being called a foul by the Marshal, for too much use of force. He stumbles slightly, by which time Makri is round to one side of him, with the blade of her sword at his neck, a stroke which in a real fight would take off his head. Makri wins, in one of the shortest fights so far. She comes off the field smiling.

"I didn't give these Sorcerers any time to start firing spells."

We congratulate Makri.

"Shall we pick up our winnings?" says Lisutaris.

We have to force our way through the crowd, many whom are pressing in to look at Makri. I can hear her name being mentioned all around, and the name of Elupus too, wondering what will happen if they're matched together. That's looking more and more likely. Makri is through to the last eight, and I don't see anyone else standing in her way. Apart from the Samsarinan Sorcerers, of course.

"Next time Makri steps onto the field they'll be at it from the start."

"Probably," agrees Lisutaris. "We'll have to make sure we're ready."

I shake my head in disgust. "It's a sorry state of affairs. The Samsarinan sword-fighting tournament was always known for its honesty. When I won, there was no magic involved. Just strong-hearted men battling it out. Lion-hearted might be a better description. A man had to be something special to win the tournament in those days."

"Like you?" says Makri.

"Exactly. We were proper warriors. Fighting all day and drinking all night. Of course, Samsarina had a proper King then. He wouldn't have allowed his Sorcerers to run out of control. Everything's gone downhill since then. There's no honour any more. Not like in my day."

"Weren't you absent without leave from the army?" asks Lisutaris.

"Yes. But honourably."

There's no sign of Big Bixo's previous good humour as I pick up our winnings. No sign of his business partner, either, though I have a strong feeling I'm not going to get out of Elath without encountering him again. Our 2,500 guran wager at 11-10 returned 5,250. Added to the 2,625 we held back, we now have 7,875 gurans.

"Splendid fight, Makri!"

It's General Hemistos. The General, a well-presented man on most occasions, is looking particularly smart. He's wearing his dress cloak and uniform, the sort of outfit he might wear on a formal parade.

"Thank you," says Makri.

"I have the sword I promised you."

Makri looks vague. The General reminds her that he promised to replace her sword with something better if she made it through the qualifying rounds. It's a good offer, I suppose. Makri's weapons and armour aren't the best.

"If you'd like to accompany me now, we can pick it up. There's a hostelry just past the armourers which serves a better class of food, if you'd like to try their fare?"

Makri looks momentarily confused. "I have to stay with Lisutaris. I'm her bodyguard."

"That's fine," says Lisutaris, immediately. "I'm quite safe for the evening. I have Thraxas to protect me."

Makri shoots an angry glance at Lisutaris.

"Pick up the sword," I say. "Lisutaris can cope without you for a while."

"Excellent," says the General, and sweeps her off.

"That'll take her mind off me and Kublinos for a while," says Lisutaris, as we walk on. It's a warm evening and the streets of Elath are noisier than ever. I feel a slight tingle as the spell Lisutaris taught me for repelling sorcerous attacks fades from my memory. She'll have to teach it to me again each time I use it. A person with as little magical skill as me can't hold a spell like that in their memory.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd be so pleased to see Makri go off with the General," says Lisutaris.

I refuse to respond, feeling it beneath my dignity to react to Lisutaris's ridiculous insinuation that I'd be jealous of anyone making a play for Makri. The pointy-eared barbarian can go off with anyone she likes, I'm not complaining.

The quickest way to Arichdamis's house takes us through the narrow alley that separates the Jolly Bandit tavern from a blacksmith's forge. I'd like to call in at the Jolly Bandit but it's not the sort of place a woman of Lisutaris's status would want to be seen in. It might be the pang of remorse I feel on missing out on a refreshing beer that makes me careless. Or it might be because I'm not expecting anyone to be foolish enough to attack me while I'm with the Head of the Sorcerers Guild. Nevertheless, I"m taken by surprise when, a few yards along the alleyway, a small wooden door opens up and three men step out. Two of them have scarves hiding their features and the third is wearing a full-face helmet. They'll all carrying swords.

"Hand over your money," says the man in the helmet.

By now my own sword is in my hand but I'm not expecting to fight. The alleyway is just wide enough for three people, which gives me room to step a little to the side, allowing Lisutaris to blast them with a spell. I half turn my head. Lisutaris is standing there, though she doesn't seem to producing any sorcery.

"Would you - " I begin, but I don't get any further. The helmeted man lunges at me with his sword. I parry with the dagger in my left hand and thrust towards him but my strike is a little slow and he avoids it. Immediately the man on his left pushes forward with his blade and I have to deflect it and take a step back with my guard raised.

"Now would be a good time for a spell!" I yell, but nothing happens. Instead the third man attempts to outflank me and and there's a loud clang of metal as I block his blade. Not far away the blacksmith is working at his forge and the clash of our weapons mingles with the sounds from his anvil. The thug with the helmet is now pressing me hard, I step inside his strike and allow our bodies almost to touch, then thrust my dagger into his arm. He gasps in pain and I push his body against the assailant on my left. Simultaneously I raise my sword, blocking the attacker on my right. As his blade is diverted towards the ground I raise mine and plant it firmly through his shoulder. He cries out, and drops his sword. I have time to kick him firmly in the legs for good measure, and he falls to the ground. The attacker on my left, undaunted, mounts a furious attack. I black his blade easily enough and when he draws it back to strike again, he leaves himself wide open. I plant my blade in his chest and it slices easily thought his leather jerkin and into his heart. He falls down dead at my feet. I turn, with my sword and dagger at the ready, but by now the man with the helmet has fled, still clutching the wound in his arm. The other thug picks himself up and runs after him along the alleyway.

I turn angrily to Lisutaris. "What was that?" I demand.

"What do you mean?" says Lisutaris.

"Why didn't you help me?"

"I wanted to see how well you fought these days," says Lisutaris.

"What?"

"You're always going on about sword-fighting, and Makri's technique, and how good you were. I just wanted to see if you still had it."

"I could have been killed!"

"I'd have stepped in if you needed me."

I'm not finding this entirely satisfactory. "You can't just leave someone to fight three people because you're curious about their fighting technique! That's not what comrades do!"

"Are we comrades?" says Lisutaris.

"I thought we were."

"Really Thraxas, I think you're making too much of a fuss. Particularly as you did fight so well. I was impressed. Should we move on? Probably it wouldn't be good for my reputation to be discovered in this alleyway with a dead man at my feet."

I glare at her, exasperated. Before leaving I removed the assailant's scarf. It's no one I recognise, and there's nothing in his pockets to identify him. Even so, I'm fairly sure he was working for Big Bixo's business partner. That might even have been the man in the helmet, he looked of similar build. We hurry along, emerging from the alley into a broad thoroughfare that leads up to Arichdamis house. I'm still angry at Lisutaris for not helping me. This woman can bring down war dragons from the sky. She could have dealt with three armed thugs easily enough.

"Are you still in a bad mood?" asks Lisutaris, airily.

"Yes."

"I really don't see why. I was there if you needed me."

"What's the idea of saying you wanted to see what my sword-fighting technique was like? It makes it sound like I might have been lying about it."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that. Exaggerating, maybe. You are prone to that. Anyway, weren't you pleased to get some practice?"

"Practice? I had to kill a man!"

"Does that bother you?"

"No," I admit. "Not when he was trying to kill me."

We walk on in silence. We're almost at Arichdamis's house when Lisutaris next speaks. "I like the idea of being a comrade."

"What?"

"Comrade. We don't use that word in the Sorcerers Guild. I rather like it. All in the struggle together. Would Makri count as a comrade as well?'

"I suppose so."

"Good. I must tell her what splendid technique you displayed. Really, none of your attackers came close to harming you." Lisutaris reaches inside her magic purse and, to my surprise, brings out a large bottle of ale.

"Where did you get that?"

"I used a spell to whisk it out of the Jolly Bandit."

I open the bottle immediately and take a drink. "I'm still not pleased with you."

"You will be when you've finished it," says Lisutaris.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Inside Arichdamis's house, I finish my beer, and I think. Mainly, I think I'd like another beer, but I give some consideration to Demelzos's daughter. Why is she in danger? She's been sitting around at home, being a dutiful daughter as far as anyone knows, without an enemy in the world. Suddenly her best friend is killed, and she's in danger. There's no reason for it. My enquiries have failed to come up with so much as a hint that she's involved in anything unusual. No disreputable lover. No secret business interest. No secrets at all, as far as I can learn.

My thoughts turn to her family. I've only briefly encountered her brother. From all accounts he's a decent young man. He's about to marry well. Though perhaps not as well as he imagines, I reflect, remembering the financial difficulties Baron Vosanos finds himself in. This makes me frown. I don't like it that Vosanos is in financial difficulties. Financial difficulties lead to crime. But again, why pick on Merlione? It doesn't make any sense.

I hunt in the cellar for more beer. There's none. Arichdamis is apparently refusing to restock his cellars while I'm still in residence. It's a poor way to treat a guest. I traipse back upstairs, suddenly afflicted by a great wave of melancholy. I should be sitting in the Avenging Axe, drinking beer and swapping war stories with Gurd. I miss Gurd, the old barbarian. I meet Lisutaris in the corridor.

"Thraxas. Why the gloomy face?"

"I miss Gurd. And the Avenging Axe. And drinking beer with my friends."

Lisutaris manages to look more sympathetic than I'd have expected. "Share some wine with me," she suggests.

So acute is the melancholy that I'm unable even to pretend to be enthusiastic.

"Am I that bad a substitute?" asks the Sorcerer.

"You're not a bad substitute, Lisutaris. But I need beer in a tavern. And men to swap war stories with."

The Sorceress laughs, not unkindly. "I miss my old friends too," she says. "You'd be surprised how many hours Tirini and I spent gossiping. But I've been in plenty of battles. So has Makri, come to that. Perhaps we could try swapping some reminiscences?"

A key sounds in the front door. It's Makri. "Lisutaris! General Hemistos tried to kiss me! And he invited me back to his mansion for the night!"

"What? Really? Tell me everything." The Sorceress looks at me apologetically. "It looks like the war stories will have to wait."

"That's all right. It probably wouldn't have been the same anyway."

Lisutaris and Makri go off to talk about the men in their lives. I retire to my room and lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I try to think about my investigation, but I keep losing concentration and thinking about Turai instead, and the Avenging Axe, and drinking with Gurd, and playing cards with Captain Rallee. It leads to me sleeping badly and waking early. I dress quickly and head out to the public baths for a long soak to set me up for the day. I have a busy schedule planned. First I intend to visit Baroness Demelzos for more information about her family's finances. After that I'll return to the King's Record House to carry on reading. I'll need to speak to Cetenos too, about the documents for Baron Vosanos's court case that seem to be missing. Later in the afternoon I have to be at the tournament field for Makri's next fight. Makri has been drawn against Parasas the Niojan, who beat her in the qualifying group. For once, she's eager to engage, determined to erase the memory of her humiliating defeat.

On my way to the baths I run into Baron Girimos. He greets me genially. "Thraxas of Turai! You're a man with a decent appetite. Join me for breakfast?"

I'm not going to refuse an offer of breakfast from a Baron, though I'm puzzled as to why the Baron would be wandering around Elath, apparently intending to eat in a tavern. Presumably, as a wealthy Baron, he has his own kitchens. The Baron soon lets me know his reasons. "You wouldn't believe the state of my house at this moment. Relatives everywhere. Wife's relations, mostly. Spongers to a man. Can't stand them myself, but you know what wives are like. Do you know what wives are like?"

I tell the Baron that mine left me a long time ago.

"Splendid news!" he exclaims. "Wish mine would take off, and take her relatives with her. I can't eat properly with these vultures at the table, it puts me off my food. Can't drink properly either, with my daughters tut-tutting every time I reach for a flagon." The Baron comes to a halt, eyeing the establishment ahead of us. "The Jolly Bandit? What's this place like?"

"Serves a good ale," I tell him. "And not a bad beef pie."

"Excellent!" cries the Baron, and heads straight in. The Jolly Bandit might not be frequented by the highest class of customer, but Baron Girimos isn't going to let that stand in his way. At this time in the morning, the tavern is empty save for a woman wiping tables, and a man rolling a barrel of beer into position behind the bar.

"We need food and drink immediately!" cries the Baron.

"I'm sorry, we haven't opened - "

The Baron takes out a purse and slams some gold coins onto the counter. "Two tankards of your famous ale, and as many beef pies as you can fit onto a plate," says the Baron. "And I mean a large plate. Just pile them on a tray if you don't have one big enough."

The man behind the bar, scoops up the gold. "Right away," he says, and begins shouting orders to some unseen figures in the kitchens beyond. I like this Baron a lot more than anyone else I've met in Samsarina. We take a table by a window, a solid piece of furniture designed to carry food and drink for the hungry man, and when the pies start arriving, we get to work. Baron Girimos downs his flagon of ale in one long gulp.

"I hope you're not one of these people who thinks you shouldn't drink in the morning?" he says.

"I've never seen any reason not to."

"That's what I told my daughter only yesterday!" cries the Baron. "But she wouldn't listen. Waiter, more ale. Have you any cold pheasant in the larder? No? Duck? That'll do fine. Send it along."

By this time, several waitresses are scurrying around, pressed into action by the unexpected arrival of a wealthy Baron. Bowls of steaming vegetables appear, along with bread, cheese and cold duck, Girimos having issued instructions to just bring everything as soon as it's ready.

"Haven't eaten properly for a week," he exclaims, tucking into a hefty portion. "Damned relatives all over the place."

I finish a second tankard of ale, take a temporary diversion through a bowl of buttered yams, and then get back to the beef pies.

"That's not a bad pie," says the Baron. "Plenty of beef. Satisfying. Not like these silly little things my wife gets from her fancy chef. Reminds me of the pies the quartermaster used to have when we were campaigning in Grykur. Man needs a good bit of food when there's dragons pouring out of the sky. Ever been in Grykur?"

"I was there in the war," I say. "Led my phalanx all the way over the Dragon-bone hills."

"I was in the Dragon-bone hills too!" says the Baron, enthusiastically. "I was a young officer. Not many Orcs could stand up to my cavalry battalion, I can tell you. But it was tough. I remember we were outnumbered four to one going up Blackwing Rise, and the order came in to retreat. 'What's that?' I said. 'Retreat? The Ninth Battalion of the Samsarinan Cavalry does not retreat!' I told the bugler to blow the advance - waitress, where's our ale? We're thirsty over here!"

A waitress rushes over with two more large tankards. She departs smiling, thanks to the Baron's generous tip. "Keep the ale coming," he calls after her. "Where was I? Ah yes, the bugler. I told him to sound the advance, and right that moment he took an arrow in the throat. Fell off his horse stone dead. So I picked up the bugle myself and sounded the charge. You should have seen us going up that hill! The Orcs fled when they saw us coming."

"I was on Blackwing Rise too!" I say. "On the south side, with the infantry." I pick up the salt and pepper pots, and start manoeuvring them round the table, to illustrate our troop positions. "As I was leading the phalanx up the slope, the Fourth Orcish Regiment suddenly came over the hill, with a dragon behind them!" I pick up a small tumbler, to represent the Orcish forces, and start advancing the pepper pot.

"I was here, with the cavalry," says the Baron, picking up a spoon and placing it beside a fork which represents a group of Western Sorcerers.

"Not that the Sorcerers were much help," says the Baron.

"They never are! All the hard work gets left to the soldiers." I notice my tankard is empty and there seems to be a lack of pies on the table. I open my mouth to roar for more but the kitchen is now fully operational and waitresses are already heading our way. As the morning progresses, the table submerges under a mass of condiments and cutlery, as the Baron and I re-create the campaign in the Dragon-Bone Hills in Grykur, of which the battle of Blackwing Rise was but one of many stirring events, albeit one in which the heroic performance of my phalanx was noted far and wide. At some point in the proceedings the Baron is on his feet with a long loaf of bread in his hands, illustrating the best way to cut down an opponent on horseback, while I pick up a tray and use it as a shield, demonstrating the way I led my men against the elite troops of the Fourth Orcish Regiment. By now it's approaching lunchtime and the tavern has a few more customers, though we're not paying much attention to them.

"What say we open a bottle of klee?" suggests the Baron. "Wash down some of this food before examining the desserts?"

That sounds like an excellent idea. It's a long time since I've had a glass of klee, the strong, fiery spirit distilled all over the West. Quality can vary widely, but the proprietor of the Jolly Bandit brings us a bottle brewed by monks in the hills, and it's not bad at all.

"Good klee!" says the Baron, banging his glass on the table. "Reminds me of a drop I had to drink right after we rode from Blackwing Rise to Sundread Valley. Were you in the valley?"

"Led my phalanx right through it."

"Splendid!" cries the Baron. "Of course, we had to do a lot of fighting to let the infantry through. "The Orcs were here - " The Baron picks up the salt cellar, " - and we were here. And just as we were about to charge, damned if the biggest dragon you ever saw didn't come right down the valley with fire coming out of its mouth and a Sorcerer on board, blasting spells in every direction!"

Chapter Twenty-Five

I waken up in surprisingly good health, given my recent excesses. No sign of a hangover at all. Plenty of food, that's the secret. Mop up the excess beer with a goodly selection of pies and there's no problem. I look around me. I'm in my guest room at Arichdamis's. I cant remember how I got here. Must have walked, I suppose, after leaving the Jolly Bandit. What time is it? It's bright and sunny outside. Early afternoon, I'd say. Still time to make it up to the tournament field for Makri's fight. I've missed out on the investigating I planned for this morning, but I can visit Baroness Demelzos later.

I haul myself upright and sit on the edge of the bed. I notice my clothes are damp. That's odd. Perhaps I spilled some water over myself while demonstrating my assault on the Orcish fort in Sundread valley. I do remember using a water pitcher for a mace at one point. Now feeling thirsty, I look around for my own water pitcher, but it's empty. I head for the kitchen. I'm filling up a large pewter beaker when Makri appears.

"Hi Makri."

"Never speak to me again in any circumstances," says Makri.

"What's the matter?"

"I said never speak to me again." Makri glares at me with loathing, and storms out of the kitchen. It's puzzling. But Makri's moods are often erratic. I can't see that I've done anything to upset her. Maybe she's still annoyed at Lasat's plans to cage the young dragon. I look down at my tunic, which is still quite damp. I notice it's also in need of repair. The neck is looking distinctly ragged. Probably I should do something about it, if only to not cause Lisutaris embarrassment. At that moment Lisutaris appears. I greet her amiably. She glares at me. I begin to wonder if I might have caused offence in some way.

"Is there anything wrong?"

"Anything wrong? Don't you know?"

"Nothing springs to mind…"

"You missed Makri's fight, for one thing!" says Lisutaris, loudly.

I can make no sense of this. "What do you mean? She's not fighting till late afternoon."

"That was yesterday!"

"No it wasn't, it's today."

"It was yesterday! You got drunk with Baron Girimos and went on a gigantic spree all through Elath, which ended up with the pair of you being thrown out of the King's Bathing House for creating a disturbance and frightening young bathers."

I stare at the Sorcerer. This all seems very unlikely. "I don't remember anything like that."

"I'm not surprised! You and the Baron called in at every tavern between the Jolly Bandit and the Bathing Houses, drinking klee and terrorising the barmaids. Eventually you ended up in the King's private hot pool, trying to re-enact some naval engagement. The whole episode is now the talk of Elath. The King is not pleased. And my status has now sunk to zero."

"Are you quite sure about all this?"

"I was the one who bailed you out of the guardhouse. It took four men to lift you into my carriage."

"Oh."

There's an uncomfortable silence.

"So I missed Makri's fight?"

"You did."

"What happened?"

"She won, no thanks to you. You weren't there to lead her into the arena. She had to ask General Hemistos, something she'd much rather not have done. What were you thinking about, spending the day getting roaringly drunk when you were meant to be attending to Makri? You knew how important that fight was to her. She was fighting Parasas, who beat her before."

I spread my hands wide. "I didn't plan it, it just happened. I left the house early to do some investigating and I ran into the Baron. Girimos has a very healthy thirst."

"So you couldn't even control yourself for a few hours?"

While it's uncomfortable having the Head of the Sorcerers Guild so angry at me, I'm not about to give in without a fight. "You can't blame me," I inform her, quite forcibly. "There are extenuating circumstances. Look at what I've had to put up with since we got here. Nothing but you and Makri talking about your romantic problems. If it's not Kublinos doing something you don't like, it's Makri complaining about General Hemistos. Just a constant barrage of things I don't want to hear about. It's no surprise I needed a day off with a good drinking companion."

Lisutaris shakes her head. "Thraxas, I can understand your need to make an utter pig of yourself occasionally, but could you not have waited? It was bad to miss Makri's fight. She's absolutely furious. So am I. Have you forgotten you were meant to be helping me repel hostile sorcery?"

"Was there any hostile sorcery?"

"I don't think so. I didn't detect any. Makri had a hard time though, it was a tough fight. Parasas dealt her some painful blows before she beat him."

"I'll make it up to her."

"I wouldn't bet on it. And talking of betting, I had to place our bet with Big Bixo. Yes, Thraxas, thanks to you, I have now suffered the unmatched humiliation of walking into a bookmaker's shop and placing a wager, something no Head of the Sorcerers Guild has ever done before, not even Julia the Bad, and she did most things. Word of this has also spread all round Elath, further destroying my reputation. I'm now the Sorcerer who's addicted to gambling and employs Turai's biggest drunkard as my Adviser."

"Was I really arrested?"

"Yes. But they didn't take you to jail, because you were with the Baron. They just threw the two of you in the guardhouse and sent a messenger to me to pick you up."

I'm sure Lisutaris is exaggerating the whole thing. "If I was really as drunk as you claim, why am I feeling so healthy now?"

"Because I used a Sleep and Regenerate spell on you. Partly because I was worried you'd actually die from klee-poisoning, and partly to stop you singing obscene drinking songs."

Lisutaris fishes in her magic purse, and finally brings out my spell protection necklace. "Here, this belongs to you. I removed it before I used the spell." Lisutaris digs around some more in her purse while I fasten the charm around my neck.

"So what happened when you went to put the bet on?" I ask.

Lisutaris shudders at the memory. "There was some adverse comment. Not to my face, of course, but I could hear people whispering. When I reached the front of the queue, I wasn't even sure how to place the bet properly. It was all very embarrassing."

"What odds did you get?"

Lisutaris tells me that both fighters were listed at five to six. "Was that reasonable? Or was Bixo cheating me?"

"It's all right, it's about what I'd have expected."

"Good. I wagered 5,000. I might have put on more, but Bixo said that was the most he would take. Is that fair?"

I nod. "Bookmakers are like that. When you start winning they're suddenly not so keen to take your bets. They put a limit on."

Lisutaris's 5000 guran bet has won us 4,167, making 9,167. With the 2,875 she kept back, we now have 12,042 gurans.

"I've never been so successful at gambling before," says Lisutaris.

"At least something's going well. So now Makri's in the semi-final. When is it?"

"This afternoon," Lisutaris tells me. "And it's going to be difficult."

"Of course. Anyone who's made it this far will be a tough opponent."

"I don't just mean that. I've been wondering why Lasat hasn't been using more sorcery against Makri. I put some pressure on one of the junior Sorcerers here and he told me Lasat's been holding off, hoping Makri would lose in a fair fight. But she hasn't, so now he's going to make sure she doesn't get past the semi-final. We can expect a full scale assault, while the Tournament Sorcerer looks the other way. You'd better be prepared to deflect incoming spells."

"Isn't there some other way of dealing with this?" I say. "The King wouldn't be pleased to know the tournament's being magically disrupted. It's meant to be fair."

"I don't see what I can do about that. I can't go telling tales to the King. It'll look like I'm scared of Lasat."

We leave the kitchen. Makri is waiting in the corridor, standing in front of a marble bust of Saint Quatinius. It's hard to say which one looks angriest.

"Makri, I'm sorry I - "

"Lisutaris, we'll have to leave for the fight a few minutes early. General Hemistos is meeting us at the bookmaker's. He'll put our bet on for us, and lead me into the arena. If you happen to see that fat, drunken oaf, Thraxas, and he's sober enough to talk - which is unlikely - tell him not to bother showing up. I don't want my reputation sullied."

Makri departs. Lisutaris looks at me. "Makri's as angry as a troll with a toothache. You'd better do something about it."

"Don't you think it's going a bit far, accusing me of sullying her reputation? Orcish gladiators don't have reputations to sully."

"I don't know about that," says Lisutaris. "Makri's gaining quite a following. She fights well. She behaves properly when there are Barons around, out of respect to me. She doesn't invade the King's Royal Bathing House, bellowing insults about the Samsarinan army."

"They never could fight. Don't worry about Makri, I know her weaknesses. I'll pacify her."

Later, on my way to visit Baroness Demelzos, I walk past the Jolly Bandit. I wouldn't mind a beer to set me up for the day, but decide I'd better not risk it. There's no knowing what might happen. At the Baroness's mansion, I have to wait quite a while before being led into her reception rooms. The Baroness greets me cooly.

"I thought you were coming to visit me yesterday. I waited for several hours."

"Other matters intervened," I explain. "Important new leads in the investigation."

"Really? I thought it might have had something to do with your all-day drinking session with Baron Girimos."

"You heard about that?"

"Everyone's heard about it," says the Baroness. "My Chief Steward was in the King's Bathing House when you stumbled in, brandishing a stick. His report was extremely graphic."

"Well, it was really Baron Girimos who was doing most of the - "

"And my kitchen maid encountered you outside the Jolly Bandit. Was it you or the Baron who offered her fifty gurans for a night's whoring?"

"It must have been the Baron. I don't have that sort of money."

"As for my pastry-cook, she saw you - "

"Is there any member of your household who didn't spend the entire day spying on me? Don't they have better things to do?"

Baroness Demelzos suddenly laughs, quite heartily. "I was hoping you hadn't lost your touch, Thraxas. You always were entertaining, back in the old days." The Baroness pours wine into a goblet from a silver decanter and passes it to me. I take a seat opposite her at the table. She asks me if I've made any progress.

"Some. Can you tell me more about your finances?"

"How do you mean?"

"I've heard you're not doing so well."

The Baroness frowns. "That's not exactly polite. And not relevant, as far as I can see."

"I've been down all the relevant paths. They didn't lead anywhere. I'm broadening my enquiries."

Demelzos purses her lips. "It's true we've had some reverses. My husband did lose money in bad shipping transactions. Some of it was bad luck. Some of it was bad business. Does that satisfy you?"

"Did you know Baron Vosanos is in difficulty too?"

"I find that hard to believe. Vosanos is one of Samsarina's wealthiest men."

"Not any more, he isn't. He owes tax to the King. He's trying to keep it quiet but it's true."

"That's interesting," says the Baroness. "But you said he was in difficulty too. That's inaccurate. My family might have lost money but we're not in difficulty. My husbands financial misfortunes haven't affected our queenstone mines. They still provide a good income. That's why we settled one of the mines on Orgodas for his wedding."

"What do you mean?"

"Our son gets the mine as his wedding gift from us. Vosanos will settle something equally valuable on his daughter. Or perhaps not, if what you say is true." The Baroness sips her wine, elegantly, like Lisutaris. "Why does this matter?"

"I don't know."

"None of it seems to affect my daughter."

"Can she interfere with the wedding gift?"

"Of course not. My husband owns all our property, under the law. He can transfer our mines to whoever he chooses. Orgodas will inherit it all eventually, anyway."

"Does it bother you that you brought all the money into the family and now your husband controls it?"

"That's the law in Samsarina," says the Baroness.

"I know. But does it bother you?"

"I'd rather not say,' replies the Baroness.

"Dos it bother Merlione that Orgodas will inherit everything?"

"She'll be provided for. We won't just abandon our daughter. I can't see that she'd mind that Orgodas will inherit. That's what always happens. I'm not enjoying answering these questions."

"Most of my clients feel that way at some point."

"You know that several Barons have complained to my husband about you questioning their servants?"

"Barons can complain all they like. You hired me to help Merlione. That's what I'm doing."

"My husband insists you abandon the investigation."

"And?"

"I insist that you don't."

I sip my wine. I like Demelzos. I wish I had some better ideas for helping.

"How are you going to make things up to Makri?" she asks, unexpectedly.

"What?"

"I understand she's insulted you weren't there to lead her into the arena."

I stare at Demelzos, surprised. "How could you possibly know that?"

"My kitchen maid is walking out with General Hemistos's stable boy. She brings home a lot of gossip."

I shouldn't be surprised. Servants usually know everything. "I thought I'd buy her flowers."

"Flowers?" Demelzos raised her eyebrows slightly. "That doesn't seem like enough."

"Makri is very susceptible to flowers. She grew up in a gladiator slave pit and never got any presents. A bunch of flowers can have a powerful effect."

The Baroness nods. "I can understand that. I take it you've done this before?"

"Several times."

"This time you might need something better. Here - " The Baroness takes a small object from a drawer and slides it over the table. It's a notebook, I suppose, though calling it that doesn't really do it justice. The pages are made from the highest-grade vellum and it's bound in black leather, with a small queenstone jewel set in the centre, and a silver clasp to hold it shut. I doubt if even Lisutaris has anything quite this fancy to write in.

"You said she likes to study. Does she have anything nice for taking notes?"

"No one has anything this nice for taking notes."

"Give it to her," says the Baroness. "She'll forgive your offensive behaviour."

I look at her suspiciously. "Why would you care about that?"

"I don't like to see things go badly between you and your young lady."

"Makri is not my young lady."

The Baroness laughs. "Really? Then why have you been buying her flowers?"

"Unfortunate circumstances which are difficult to describe."

"How many women have you ever bought flowers for?"

"None. But you've got entirely the wrong impression."

The Baroness looks amused. It's annoying. I thank her for the book, and tell her I'd like to talk to Merlione before I leave.

"She should be in her rooms. I'll have a servant take you. It would be best if you were quick. My husband will probably be home soon. Do I owe you any more money? The retainer only covered a few days."

"It doesn't matter. You lent me more money for gambling."

"How's that going?"

"Well."

I follow Demelzos's servant though the long, white-plastered walls of her summer mansion, wondering what's got into me that I'm refusing money from a client. I glance at the book I'm carrying. Makri will probably try and break it over my head.

Here in her her own rooms, safe from stray arrows and death threats, Merlione is again the confident young woman I first encountered. There's no hint of discomfort in her eyes as she greets me. I suddenly find that irritating. Everyone else is discomfited, why shouldn't she be?

"What aren't you telling me?" I ask her.

"Pardon?"

"There's something about this affair you're not telling me. I want to know what it is."

"Why would I be withholding anything?"

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

"It sounds like you think I'm lying," says Merlione.

"You could put it that way if you want. So what are you lying about?"

Merlione's dark eyes flash with anger. "This is ridiculous," she says. "What sort of investigator are you? I'm the one who's being threatened."

"I think you have an idea why."

"No I don't."

"I've been down all the usual channels, Merlione. Lovers, rivals, finances, family feuds, blackmail. No one's telling me anything. People don't get murdered for no reason. Well, not Baron's daughters anyway. Someone has a reason for trying to kill you and I'm starting to think you know what it is."

"I don't."

"You're lying."

Merlione's cheeks flush with anger. At least I've discomfited her. "Perhaps you're just not a very good investigator."

"I'm number one chariot at investigating. Everyone says so. Tell me what you know."

"I don't know anything."

""Do you mind that your brother inherits everything and you get nothing?"

Merlione looks at me in surprise. "What? Why would I?"

"Why wouldn't you? It's your mother's Queenstone mines that are keeping the family going. Now she's giving one to Orgodas for his wedding. And when your father dies Orgodas will inherit the rest. Does that make you angry?"

"What if it did?" Merlione's voice is raised. She's angry all right, though mostly at me. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's a clue. Tell me about it."

"It seems my father was right about you," says Merlione, regaining her composure. "You have no skills at all. You should leave."

I stare at her for a long moment, then turn round and walk out the reception room. In the hall outside there's a portrait of her father, in full military uniform. It's a poor painting. Samsarinans have never been any good at art. I'm starting to dislike them as much as Simnians.

Chapter Twenty-Six

As soon as I arrive back at Arichdamis's house, I sense sorcery. Perhaps Lisutaris is practicing. If she ever practices, that is; I'm not certain. Maybe it all comes easily and she doesn't have to. Arichdamis appears in the corridor, trudging mournfully towards the front door. It's a while since I've seen the old mathematician looking happy. Having house guests doesn't seem to agree with him.

"Sorcerers," he mutters, as he passes me. "Always arguing."

"Who's arguing?"

"Lisutaris and Lasat. And Charius. I don't like any of them."

"Is Makri around?"

"She's arguing too." The mathematician regards me wearily. "Have you found my plans for the crossbow?"

"No."

"I'm ruined," he groans.

"I wouldn't put it that strongly. You can draw up another set."

"The complex mathematics involved makes that a lengthy task," he tells me. "And for what? I'll still be disgraced when it's learned they were stolen from my house."

"Lisutaris will be disgraced too."

"As she deserves," says Arichdamis, and sounds cross. "If she'd only been able to control her unnatural appetite for thazis, they wouldn't have disappeared in the first place."

"Don't worry, we'll find your plans."

Arichdamis doesn't look convinced, and shakes his head sadly before leaving. As soon as he's gone, a tremendous commotion breaks out at the far end of the house. Voices are raised and doors slam. I recognise Makri's voice and I'm surprised to discover she's shouting at Lisutaris.

"Why did you drag me away?"

"Because it's not something we can argue with Lasat about."

"Why not?"

"The dragon has to be caged!" says Lisutaris. "What else is the King going do? Let it fly around?"

"He shouldn't have brought it here in the first place if he was going to put it in a cage," says Makri.

"I really don't see what your objection is. Lasat has to work these spells to contain it."

"It's not appropriate." Makri sounds very unhappy.

"Not appropriate? What is appropriate for a dragon? The only other times I've encountered them I've been trying to kill them. So have you."

"I don't care," says Makri. "I don't like it."

Lisutaris finally notices my presence. "Thraxas! Can you make any sense of this?"

"Of course."

"You can?"

"Makri doesn't like to see some noble wild beast thrown in a cage. It reminds her of her own upbringing."

Lisutaris pauses, and looks surprised at my insight. Makri glowers at me. "I told you never to talk to me again," she mutters.

I'm ready for this, and whip Demelzos's fancy notebook from the pocket of my tunic. The queenstone jewel in the cover glints in the sunlight that's streaming through the back door. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to lead you into the tournament field. I brought you this."

I hand the book to Makri, who stares at it, puzzled.

"Highest-quality vellum," I add. "Excellent for taking notes during your intellectual pursuits."

Makri looks at the jewel set in the cover, then undoes the silver clasp to examine the notebook. It really is a fine item. The wealthiest student at the best university in the West wouldn't have anything better. Makri abruptly bursts into tears and runs out the room, something which does not entirely surprise me. Lisutaris, on the other hand, is baffled.

"What just happened?" she asks.

"I just made things up with Makri. I told you it would be all right."

"How did you make things up?"

"With a well-chosen gift. Makri is very susceptible to gifts. Because of her background, you see." I'm pleased with myself, and let it show. "Of course, not any old gift will do. It has to be right. I spent a long time hunting round Elath, looking for something special. Must have been in twenty shops before I found that notebook."

Lisutaris shakes her head. "There's something not quite right about this."

"I don't know what you mean."

"I mean that you upsetting Makri with your appalling behaviour and then getting away with it just by handing her a present doesn't seem fair, somehow. I'm sure you don't deserve to be in the clear."

"Well," I say, reaching into the small bag I'm carrying. "I may make the occasional blunder. "But Thraxas of Turai is always willing to admit his mistakes, and rectify them. Back in Twelve Seas, I was well-known for my tact. Here, I brought you these." I hand a bunch of flowers to Lisutaris.

"Flowers?"

"To apologise for your inconvenience in having to visit Big Bixo's betting shop."

"I hope you're not expecting me to start crying."

"Of course not. The flowers are merely a small token of apology, and a sign of the tremendous esteem in which I hold you."

"Oh." Lisutaris seems quite taken aback. "Well thank you. I'll put them in water."

"You're welcome." I make a swift retreat, while I'm on top. All in all, it's been a successful morning. One moment the house is full of women who are angry at Thraxas. Next moment, everything is rosy. Who would have guessed, back in Turai, when Tanrose first told me that buying Makri flowers would have positive results, that the same tactic would prove so useful in the future? I'd never have stumbled on the idea myself.

After my busy morning, I could do with some rest. I retire to my room, remove my boots, lie down, drag the cover over me, and sink into a refreshing sleep.

Later in the day, as we make ready to leave, harmony has almost returned to the household. Lisutaris has her hand on Makri's shoulder, casting a minor healing spell on one of the many bruises she's picked up during the tournament. Lisutaris doesn't specialise in healing but she's quite capable of dealing with most injuries. Treating Makri's wounds with sorcery is allowed under tournament rules, providing any spell used has worn off by the time the fighters enter the ring.

"Not that anyone seems to be caring much about the rules any more," says Lisutaris. "I'm expecting Lasat and his cohorts to go all out to stop Makri today."

I agree. Lasat won't want to risk Makri reaching the final, and facing Elupus. Lisutaris again gives me the spell of deflection, to help her hold off enemy sorcery.

"If the Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild really makes a mass attack, it's going to be difficult to hold them off," I say.

"I know. But Makri's got a good spell protection necklace, it's not that easy to hit her. We might be able to protect her."

I'm still not looking forward to the Sorcerous barrage I'm letting myself in for. I have another plan of action already ticking over in my head, though I'm not going to mention it to Lisutaris. Makri's opponent in the semi-final is Bhuralin, a swordsman from Kamara, north west of Samsarina. I've seen him fight and I was impressed by his technique. Makri picks up her sword and shield.

"Thanks for the notebook."

"You're welcome."

"But I wasn't crying because of that," says Makri. "I was just upset about the dragon."

Lisutaris's carriage is outside. As always, there's a gang of children and a few older youths hanging around, gawking at Makri. I hang back for a few moments, talking to them. Then we ride towards the edge of town, where the crowd is already dense as the tournament nears its climax. Both semi-finals will be held in the late afternoon and the final will take place at midnight, by torchlight. After that there's drinking, dancing and feasting round bonfires. I'm looking forward to the drinking and feasting. I haven't felt the urge to dance for a while.

"Makri, do you know how queenstone got its name?"

"It's said it was named after Queen Eferinis."

"Wasn't she just a legend?"

"The stories about her are semi-legendary, but my old history professor thought she probably did exist. She was meant to have discovered queenstone in the Samsarinan mountains with her sorcery. She gave it to her daughters so they were splendidly arrayed when the Star-God's sons came to visit. That part's probably legendary."

There are so many people converging on the tournament that we're unable to drive the whole way, and have to get out of the carriage and walk. We pass an impressive bonfire, beside a line of spits for roasting beef.

"Best bit of the whole event," I say. "Free food."

Minstrels wander through the crowd. It's a cheerful scene, though once again I can sense the air of abandonment that takes hold when war is just around the corner. Young couples dance, holding onto each other as if it's the last chance they'll ever get. As well as the revellers, there are a lot of Sorcerers present. Lasat Axe of Gold has brought his Guild out in force. Lisutaris accompanies Makri to her changing room. Someone taps me on the shoulder. It's Kublinos.

"I hear you've been sneaking round Lisutaris again," he says.

"I don't need to sneak around her. I'm her adviser and we live in the same house."

"Her adviser? Does that normally include bringing her flowers?"

I sigh. I should have known he'd soon learn about that. Arichdamis's servants are no doubt as keen on gossiping as everyone else. "Kublinos, I'm fed up with this. I have no romantic interest in Lisutaris. Not that it makes the slightest difference, because she'd never go for a fop like you anyway, with your fancy cloak and that ridiculous necklace. Do you think Lisutaris would be interested in some overdressed puppy who's never even been to war?"

Kublinos glares at me with loathing. "How dare you speak to me like that! I am a senior Sorcerer!"

"Turai had a better Sorcerer than you in every tavern."

Kublinos expression becomes even grimmer. "You will regret this," he says. "You are now my enemy for life." With that, he disappears into the crowd. A bit over-dramatic, I'd say, but probably what you'd expect from a Samsarinan Sorcerer who prances round in a fancy cloak.

Lisutaris and Makri appear. Makri has a new breastplate, courtesy of General Hemistos, along with her new sword, both of superior quality. Good quality equipment or not, she still looks small in comparison to Bhuralin of Kamara, another very large swordsman. It's going to be a tough fight, particularly if the Samsarinan Sorcerers get involved. Even if she gets past Bhuralin, she still has to fight Elupus. I'm suddenly gripped by the feeling that this whole enterprise might not have been fair on Makri.

"Do you want to do this?" I ask her.

"What do you mean?"

"You've had too many fights already. Maybe you should just stop now."

"I can't stop," protests Makri. "Lisutaris needs me to win."

"Lasat needs you to lose. The semi-final's going to be tough. The Marshals aren't so picky about illegal blows. More or less anything goes. If some Samsarinan Sorcerer manages to get a good spell onto your opponents sword, he's liable to take your head off."

"No one's taking my head off," declares Makri. "Lisutaris, tell Thraxas he's talking nonsense."

"I think Thraxas may be right," says Lisutaris, surprising us. "You're had a lot of fights. When I encouraged you to enter the competition, I didn't realise it was so dangerous. Maybe we should just call it a day."

"But you'd lose 10,000 gurans to Lasat."

"We can afford it. We've got more than 12,000 already."

"But Lasat will be War Leader!"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. We can come up with another way of boosting my status."

Makri looks from Lisutaris to me, and back to Lisutaris. "I need to fight," she says. "I can't give in. I'd never feel right again."

"Very well," says Lisutaris. She looks around her. "Has anyone seen Kublinos? He was meant to meet me here."

"I may have scared him off," I admit. "Also, he's declared me his enemy for life."

"How did that happen? We were only gone five minutes."

"I have a talent for offending people."

"Couldn't you have waited?" says Lisutaris. "I was hoping he'd give me information on Lasat's plans."

"That probably won't happen now. I'm off to place our bet. Bixo's going to regret he ever met me."

"He already does," says Lisutaris. "Didn't he send these men to kill you?"

"Possibly. Though I don't have any proof he was behind it."

Despite Makri's impressive performances, she isn't favourite for the fight. She's quoted at evens. Her opponent, Bhuralin of Kamara, is eight to eleven. That might be because Bhuralin has already won a few smaller tournaments, and people have been talking about him as a potential challenger to Elupus. But I wonder if word has leaked out to the public that the Samsarinan Sorcerers are going to sabotage Makri. That would certainly make her a less attractive proposition to bet on.

As before, Bixo won't take a bet of more than 5000 gurans. I place this on Makri, then travel the short distance to Generous Ges's shop, and do the same again. I hurry back to the tournament, just in time to lead Makri out onto the field. Her reception is noisy, but still mostly hostile. Bhuralin gets a far better ovation. He's tall and broad, with some very noticeable scarring down one side of his face. He strides out confidently, looking like a young fighter on the way up, which he is.

As the Marshal prepares to start the fight I leave the field quickly. Already my senses are tingling. Now that I'm carrying Lisutaris's spell, I can feel sorcery everywhere. I take up position next to her. Lasat is not too far away, standing with Charius and two more of their Guild. Other rainbow cloaks can be seen all round the arena. The Marshal drops his flag. Bhuralin and Makri advance slowly toward each other. A great roar goes up from the crowd. Immediately I sense a spell heading towards Makri and try to deflect it. This causes the spell to hit me in the face and knock me over. I get to my feet, yelling angrily, to find Bhuralin retreating, having lost his footing. Lisutaris seems to have got a spell of her own in, perhaps as a result of me having taken the brunt of the attack. Makri closes with Bhuralin but as her blade flickers over the top of his shield she herself loses her footing, and stumbles backwards.

"Damn," mutters Lisutaris. Her fingers are twitching, as she tries to locate and deflect the huge amount of Samsarinan sorcery now flying around the arena. I sense another attack and manage to bring Lisutaris's spell into action, deflecting the bolt of sorcery away from Makri, but the effort sends me reeling backwards into the man behind me, who curses me for my clumsiness. So far I've taken two mighty blows, which is more than either of the combatants have, as they struggle to come grips with the other. People in the crowd are starting to wonder out loud just what is happening. Makri thrusts her sword at Bhuralin but the blade stops in mid-air, impossibly, and Makri is jarred backwards.

Suddenly a tomato flies over the crowd and hits Lasat in the face. To my great satisfaction, the tomato is immediately followed by several heavy yams. Charius the Wise finds himself assailed by a barrage of apples. The scene is repeated all around the arena, as every Samsarinan Sorcerer comes under attack from a hail of fruit and vegetables. There's some laughter from the crowd, even as Makri and Bhuralin continue their struggle

"What's going on?" says Lisutaris.

"My back-up plan," I explain. "I bribed the children."

It cost me forty gurans, which was more than I expected, but the youth in charge drove quite a hard bargain. Having said that, there's no denying he's organised things well. Children dart in and out of the huge crowd, armed with an assortment of yams, apples, cabbages and tomatoes, continually pelting the Samsarinan Sorcerers. The Sorcerers find themselves in an awkward position. They can't blast Samsarinan children with lethal spells. Even warding them off is difficult, given that there are people everywhere, and any spell directed at the children is bound to hit members of the crowd too.

"Now the fight will be fair," I say.

"To hell with that," mutters Lisutaris. She opens her palm, whispers a word, and discretely sends a spell into the arena. Bhuralin's shield drops out of position. Makri is on him in a flash. As her sword connects with his neck he crashes to the ground and his helmet flies off. Makri stands over him with her sword point at his throat.

"Lethal Stroke," says the Marshal.

"Never tell Makri I did that," says Lisutaris.

By now there is a scene of incredible chaos all around. Children are screaming and laughing as they run through the crowd, still throwing fruit. Sorcerers are yelling and running after them. Stewards pursue them all, with little success, as the children dart through tiny gaps where they can't be followed. Seeing their ragged little bodies go, and examining the mayhem they've wrought, I'm satisfied that my forty guran bribe was money well-spent. Lisutaris and I stroll into the arena to escort Makri from the field.

"What's going on?" demands Makri.

"Thraxas set a gang on children on the Sorcerers."

"I kept getting knocked around," says Makri.

"There was a lot of sorcery coming in your direction," explains Lisutaris. "I couldn't deflect it all."

"I took several mighty blows in your defence," I say. "But you're welcome. You don't have to thank me."

"Did I win the fight fairly?" asks Makri.

"Of course," replies Lisutaris, who, I have noticed, is a very smooth liar, when not addled by thazis. "Once the Sorcerers were out the picture I let things take their course."

"I will report this outrage to the King!" screams a voice in my ear. It's Lasat Axe of Gold. With his face sporting several bruises, and the remains of four or five rotten tomatoes still clinging to his rainbow cloak, he's not looking very impressive.

"What outrage?" I ask.

"These infernal children!"

I laugh, good-naturedly. "I did notice the little scamps running around. Children will have their fun."

"They pelted me with fruit and vegetables!"

"And me!" cries Charius, arriving in an even worse state than Lasat. "It's an intolerable affront!"

"They never came near me," says Lisutaris.

"Of course not," I say. "You're Head of the Guild. They respect you."

"I know you were behind this!" yells Lasat.

"I know nothing about it," says Lisutaris, calmly.

"I intend to give a full report to the King."

"Report what?" I ask. "That the children interfered with your illegal attempt to sabotage Makri?"

Several more fruit-splattered Samsarina Sorcerers arrive, none of them looking happy. Things are threatening to get out of hand when Baron Mabados strides into our midst.

"Silence!" he roars. "As Baron responsible for this tournament, I'm not happy about these events. And neither is the King." The Baron looks at both Lisutaris and Lasat. "The King has called a meeting, to be held before the final."

"I shall be happy to attend," says Lasat. "There is much the King needs to know about our Turanian visitors."

Lasat turns on his heel and walks off with as much dignity as he can muster, given the amount of fruit and vegetables still clinging to his apparel. I leave the field with Makri and Lisutaris.

"Well, this is it," says Lisutaris. "Lasat is going to tell the King we've lost Arichdamis's plans. He's just been waiting for a good opportunity to announce it."

"If he does, just deny it," suggests Makri.

"How can I, if he produces them? I'm going to be completely discredited."

"Cheer up," I say. "We've coped with worse. And we've just won another 10,000 gurans. Didn't I tell you I was the finest gambler in Turai?"

Makri laughs. "It was funny seeing Lasat covered in fruit." Lisutaris laughs too, and so do I. It was funny, and it's generally agreed that as plans go, mine was particularly effective.

"But we won't get away with that again," says Lisutaris. "The final is going to be tough."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Makri and I head towards Big Bixo's. All around, festivities are gathering pace, in readiness for the midnight finale.

"Makri, you see that man walking past the beer tent?"

"The one with the bandage on his arm?"

"That's one of the men who attacked me in the alley. He had a helmet on but I recognise his red hair. And his wound. Are you up for some action?"

"Of course. Are we going to kill him?"

"Not right away. I want to know who sent him after me."

We follow the man at a distance as he walks past a row of tents, slowly making his way from the festival towards the town.

"So you're going to ask him questions?" says Makri.

"Yes."

Makri comes to a halt. "I'm not doing it."

"What do you mean you're not doing it?"

"I know what you have in mind. You want me to play Orc Demon Woman so he'll be frightened."

"Does that bother you?"

"You know it bothers me! It's demeaning."

"Come on Makri, you've done it before. Just make sure your pointy ears are showing, and you have that crazy look in your eyes. Yes, like that, that's good. Now hurry up of we'll lose him."

We catch up with our prey on the dark path between the last tents and the first building of Elath, managing to take him completely by surprise. I grab him and bundle him behind a tree, then draw my sword.

"You tried to kill me," I say. "I want to know why."

"Go to hell."

The man takes a step, as if to flee, but I put my sword at his chest. "Were you working for Big Bixo?"

He looks at me defiantly. "I'm not telling you anything, fat man."

"Maybe you'd like my sword in your heart?"

"You're not going to do that, Turanian dog. Not while you're working for Lisutaris. You can't get her into trouble, can you?"

He has a point. I wasn't expecting him to be so well-informed.

"I might not do it," I tell him. "But she certainly will."

On cue, Makri appears from behind the tree. Her long, thick hair is dishevelled, matted over her face and shoulders, and she has a crazed look in her eyes. She draws her black Orcish sword. It's a dark, ugly weapon. Rather than reflecting light, it seems to suck it in. With one swift movement she grabs the man's hair and places the edge of her sword at his throat. "This sword was forged by demons in an Orcish furnace beneath the cursed mountain of Zarax," she snarls. "It'll drink your soul and send you down to Orcish hell. The legion of the Orcish-damned will torture you forever."

Makri uses her other hand to sweep her hair back. "You see these ears? They grow sharper with each human soul I drink! Die, Human, and meet the Orcish Dead!"

Makri raise her sword. The man cries out in fear. "Don't let her kill me! Magranos sent me after you!"

"Who's Magranos?"

"Chief Steward to Baron Vosanos."

"Why did he send you?"

"I don't know? He just wanted you dead! Get me away from this demon!"

I nod to Makri. She sheathes her sword. The man takes off at a run and disappears without looking back.

"Good job scaring him," I tell Makri. "Messing up your hair was a nice touch."

"It's so humiliating," she says. "I don't even believe in Orcish Hell." We walk on. "So what did you learn?"

"I'm not sure. Magranos, Chief Steward to Baron Vosanos? Why would the Baron want me out the way?"

"His daughter is marrying Demelzos's son, isn't he?"

"He is. And it sounds like he doesn't like me poking around." I notice Makri hasn't sheathed her sword, which is unusual. She normally keeps it covered. The mere sight of the foul Orcish blade can cause anger and revulsion in the West. "Why are you looking at your sword?"

"I'm wondering about its powers. It can't really send anyone to Orcish Hell, but it is strong. It was forged under Mount Zarax. The Orcs say blades from that furnace can cut through anything, even objects protected by sorcery." Makri unsheathes her second sword, a bright silver blade from the Elvish Isles. "Don't Elvish swords have some powers over sorcery too?"

"Where is this conversation going?"

"Nowhere," says Makri, sheathing her swords. "I was just wondering."

I look at her suspiciously. "Are you planning on destroying something sorcerous?"

"No."

"Well make sure you don't. We're already in enough trouble."

Makri sheathes her swords. The Elvish blade was a gift from the Elves on Avula, and as for the Orcish sword, she either won it as a gladiator, or looted it when she slaughtered everyone while making her escape from the East. I'm not sure which. She'll have another fine blade if she wins the tournament, as part of her prize.

Arichdamis's house is empty. All the servants have gone to the festival. I round up some food from the cellars. It's now early evening.

"Look," says Makri. "I found you a beer in the kitchen."

I accept it gratefully.

"You should sleep," she says.

"I don't think we have time. Lisutaris is meeting the King. We should be there. And we've still got to visit Big Bixo before the final."

"There's enough time," says Makri. "I'll wake you."

I look at Makri, then shrug, and lie down on the couch where I doze peacefully for a while. When Makri shakes me awake it's dark outside. I yawn, stretch, and buckle on my sword before we make the return journey. Though Elath is now dark, there's a glow coming from the tournament fields in the distance, from torches and bonfires. Makri asks me if I've had any more thoughts on the case I'm working on.

"Some. I think I know what's been going on. I'll need to visit the King's Record House again."

"I'll come with you tomorrow," says Makri.

"If you win the tournament you'll still be celebrating."

"I won't be."

"You should celebrate."

We walk on, past the tree where Makri frightened my assailant. "I know you freed the dragon," I say.

"What?"

"I know you freed the dragon."

"No I didn't! And how could you possibly know anyway?"

"When you bring me beer and encourage me to sleep, I'd say it's a good sign you want me out the way for a while. And when you're wondering if your swords can cut through sorcery…" I halt, and turn to my companion. "So, what happened?"

"It took a while. But I managed to cut the ropes and branches. I made a big enough gap for the dragon to get through."

"What happened then?"

"He licked my face, and flew off."

I nod.

"Don't tell Lisutaris," says Makri. "She might not like it."

"That you've gone directly against the King's orders, and freed the creature that was his pride and joy? Yes, I'd say she might not like it."

"Do you think it would affect her status?"

"I think it would get her thrown out of the country. And you executed, if the King finds out you're responsible. If we're lucky, he'll think that Lasat's sorcery wasn't strong enough to hold it."

I regard Makri's actions as extremely foolish, and almost bound to have dire consequences, but I can't raise that much emotion about it. So much has happened over the past few weeks that one small dragon flying around freely doesn't seem to matter that much. With war approaching, it won't be that long till I'm standing in the middle of a phalanx with a spear in my hand, holding my shield over my head, as a much larger and deadlier dragon swoops down to attack. Probably with an Orcish Sorcerer on its back, firing spells.

"The Orcs will march soon," I say. "If we don't get our War Leader sorted out we'll be in trouble."

"Maybe it will be decided at the meeting," suggests Makri.

It takes us a while to force our way through the crowds at the edge of the tournament, on our way to the King's Meeting House. There are soldiers guarding the approach but they let us through with only a brief search. A few of the soldiers even congratulate Makri on her performances in the tournament, and wish her well. Maybe she'll have a few supporters. Elupus is a Simnian, after all, and Samsarina has never got along all that well with Simnia.

"You're late," hisses Lisutaris as we enter the building through the marble gateway.

"My fault," I say. "I was drinking beer and sleeping. What's happening?"

"Baron Mabados is complaining to the King that the integrity of his tournament has been compromised by sorcery."

"There's no arguing with that. Have you told him it was Lasat who started it?"

"The Samsarinan Sorcerers are blaming me."

At that moment the raised voices of the Barons are quietened as Daringos, the King's Steward, rises to speak. "This is all very unsatisfactory. The sword-fighting tournament is known far and wide. Samsarina's reputation will be damaged if people believe it's no longer honest. The King is deeply shocked that sorcery has been allowed to intrude." Behind him, on his throne, the King nods, letting us know he is indeed shocked.

"What happened to the Tournament Sorcerer?" asks the Simnian Ambassador. "Isn't he responsible for preventing this sort of thing?"

"I've done my best," says Markinos Moonstone. "But remarkably powerful sorcery has been employed." He glares at Lisutaris, as if it's all her fault.

"What do you have to say to this, Mistress of the Sky?" demands Daringos.

Rather than denying everything, Lisutaris decides to go on the offensive. "I had no choice. The Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild have been trying to interfere with my fighter. I was obliged to defend her."

"Nonsense!" cries Charius. "We are completely innocent. It's my belief that Lisutaris's malign spells have been entirely responsible for carrying her protégé this far."

"Makri wouldn't have needed my help if you hadn't attacked her."

"So you admit you've been helping her?" says Charius.

"There should be no sorcery used at all," says Baron Mabados. "I insist it stops."

"I shall certainly not become involved,' says Lasat, grandly.

"Oh, nonsense," I say, addressing the King's Steward. "As Lisutaris's Chief Adviser, I can confirm that Lasat started this whole business. And he's going to keep on doing it. He'll be firing spells all the way through the final, no matter what he says."

"This is outrageous!" says Lasat. "How dare these Turanian refugees cast aspersions on me. I demand satisfaction!"

"I demand you stop using sorcery."

"There must me no more interference!" insists Daringos. "The contest must be fair."

To the discomfiture of the Samsarinans, the Simnians and Niojans take the opportunity to voice some criticisms of Samsarinan incompetence, which annoys everyone, and threatens to derail the meeting. Charius the Wise - who, I should mention, I have never heard utter anything particularly wise - bangs his staff on the ground to get people's attention.

"I have a suggestion," he says.

"Speak, Charius," says the Chief Steward. "Your council is always worth hearing."

"Perhaps the best course of action would be simply to allow Lasat and Lisutaris to do as they please."

"I don't follow you."

"Give them permission to support their fighters in any way they can. Use whatever sorcery they want. Lisutaris can support Makri and Lasat can support Elupus. Let the best sorcerer and fighter win. After all, we've been wondering how to choose a War Leader. Why not let them fight it out?"

Baron Mabados starts to object, but the young King chooses this moment to speak. "I like this! That's what we should do. Lasat and Lisutaris can use their sorcery to support their fighters, and whoever wins I'll support as War Leader."

The King is smiling, obviously taken with the idea. That's enough to convince his Barons. Even the Ambassadors don't seem to object. But from the way Lasat and Charius are looking pleased with themselves, I can tell we're being outmanoeuvred.

"One moment," I say. "Lisutaris will have no problem facing Lasat, but what about the rest of the Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild? It's hardly fair if they all join in against her."

"I'm sure that won't happen," says the King. "Lasat, will that happen?"

"Certainly not, Sire. You have my word that none but I shall use my power."

"Are we meant to believe that?" I look round for support. None is forthcoming. Apparently the King and his Barons actually believe the Samsarinan Sorcerers will play fair. Or they're pretending to believe it, more likely.

"How do you feel about this, Mistress of the Sky?" asks the King.

Lisutaris knows as well as I do that there's no chance of a fair contest, but she's in a difficult position. The King trusts his sorcerers, so it will look bad for her to accuse them of being a bunch of cheats. It will look worse if she refuses the challenge. "That is acceptable to me," she says.

"Splendid," says King Gardos. "It should be an entertaining contest."

The meeting breaks up into a great gaggle of excited talk.

"So it's us against the whole Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild," says Lisutaris, as we head for the exit.

"This isn't fair," I say. "We shouldn't have accepted."

"We didn't seem to have a choice. Charius backed us into a corner. Maybe he's not as stupid as I've always thought."

"Makri," I say. "Try and win the fight before too many spells hit me. They're really painful."

"The Samsarinans will target all of us," says Lisutaris. "It's going to be difficult."

We leave the King's Meeting House, following a stream of Barons, Sorcerers, Ambassadors, Generals, servants and officials, all heading for the tournament fields. The cloudy sky above is dark red, reflecting the glowing bonfires. The air is thick with the aroma of roasting oxen, and noisy with minstrel music and drinking songs. When we reach the edge of the tournament field Lisutaris once again supplies me with the deflecting spell.

"Try actually deflecting some this time," she suggests. "Instead of just letting them bounce off you." She checks my spell-protection charm, and Makri's too. At this moment Lasat will be doing the same for Elupus.

"I wish I could just fight him fairly," says Makri. "I'd beat him."

She would. Makri's recent performances in the arena have been superb. I'd tell her that if she wasn't already big-headed enough about her fighting technique.

"Thraxas, can I have a word?"

I look round. It's Baroness Demelzos, accompanied by a servant, who hangs back, out of earshot.

"Baroness. I don't have much time."

"I know. But the wedding is meant to be tomorrow and Merlione is still refusing to leave the house."

"I think that's quite sensible."

"You can't imagine the trouble it's causing. My husband says he's lost patience. And my son just can't understand why she won't come to the wedding. Are you any nearer to finding out what's been going on?"

"Yes."

"You are?" The Baroness looks surprised.

"I have a good idea of what's behind it all. I don't have any proof yet. If I can, I'll visit you tomorrow, in the morning. Maybe I'll have something for you then."

Demelzos looks momentarily hopeful. "Well at least that's something." She frowns. "Thraxas, from the way your female companions are staring at me, I'm guessing they know about our past."

"I mentioned it to them."

"That was hardly gallant."

"I've never been accused of gallantry."

"How did they react?"

"They laughed."

The Baroness looks offended. "They laughed? That's quite insulting."

"They weren't laughing at you, they were laughing at me. They don't think I'm the sort of man who has affairs with women who go on to be Baronesses."

Demelzos looks over at Lisutaris and Makri, who are indeed staring at us, without bothering to disguise their interest. "Thraxas was quite a catch," says the Baroness. "Quite the dashing young swordsman. Plenty of women in Elath were chasing him." She leans over and places her hand on my arm. "He still has that robust charm, don't you think?"

With that, the Baroness walks swiftly away, disappearing with her servant into the crowd. Lisutaris and Makri look at me with amazement. I don't remember ever seeing Makri's mouth hanging open before. It takes them a few moments before they can speak.

"Robust charm?" says Lisutaris. "Dashing young swordsman?"

"When these women were chasing you," asks Makri. "Was it for unpaid debts?"

I smile at them, as condescendingly as I can. "Laugh all you like. We now have it on good authority that Thraxas, champion sword-fighter, was quite a catch. Shall we proceed to the arena?"

"How am I meant to concentrate after this?" mutters Makri. "It's affected my whole world-view."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I still haven't picked up our winnings on Makri's last fight. While Makri goes off to put on her armour, I hurry down to Big Bixo's betting tent. I have to barge my way through the crowd. It seems like the whole of Elath is now scrambling to gamble on the final. Combius the armourer is among the throng.

"Come to bet on Makri?" I ask.

Combius looks uncomfortable. "I'm not sure."

"She can beat Elupus."

"Maybe. But now there's sorcery involved."

"Lisutaris is more powerful than Lasat," I tell him.

"I'm not sure about that. Anyway - " Combius lowers his voice. " - people are saying the whole Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild is going to support Elupus. Lisutaris isn't more powerful than twenty Samsarinan sorcerers."

"Yes she is. Bet on Makri, she'll win."

Combius goes away, still looking doubtful. I force my way into the tent. I'd expected both Makri and Elupus to be around the same odds, but the strong rumour that Elupus will be assisted by the whole Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild has sent a lot of money in his direction. He's listed at two to five, while Makri is seven to four.

Our 10,000 winnings on the semi-final has taken our funds up to 22,042. I'd be tempted to wager it all, but once more, Bixo will only accept a bet of 5000 gurans. I place the bet, then hurry over to Generous Ges, where I do the same. As I leave, I'm silently cursing all bookmakers for their parsimony. If you're losing they'll take every guran off you. Once you start winning, they put a limit on your bets. Still, 10,000 gurans at seven to four isn't bad.

The final is due to start any minute. I rush back to the tournament field. Once there, my spirit sags as I observe the number of Samsarinan sorcerers ranged against us. They seem to be everywhere. I try not to let my anxiety show.

"Just concentrate on giving Elupus a good beating," I tell Makri. "We'll take care of the rest."

Elupus isn't a particularly tall man, but he has a strong frame and a very powerful sword-arm. He's a colourful character, as evinced by the bright silver design on his shield, and the purple ribbon he wears on his helmet, a favour for some lady or other. He's let his hair grow so it hangs down his back in a thick pony tail. That's normal for a lower-class Turanian like me, but unusual for a Simnian. Like most veterans of the arena, he carries some facial scars. When he arrives in the centre of the arena he has the audacity to bow politely to Makri, as if it were a social occasion. Makri doesn't return his bow.

My senses are again humming from the pent-up sorcery all around. I'll be lucky to make it back to he perimeter before someone fires a spell. The Marshal raises his flag and I retreat hastily towards Lisutaris. The Head of the Sorcerers Guild is ready for action. Her hair is thrust back untidily behind her ears, tied with a scrap of rainbow cloth. Her hands are already glowing with a faint purple light. Now, with no need to conceal her actions, her whole body begins to radiate magic, The entire surface of her eyes, whites and pupils, turn the same shade of purple. It's an eerie sight, something that only occurs among the most powerful Sorcerers.

The Marshal drops his flag, and then quite a lot of things happen at once. Makri raises her sword, light flashes from Lisutaris's hands, and I'm hit on the chest by something that feels like a blacksmith's hammer. I crash to the ground but rise quickly, shaking my fist at the Samsarinan Sorcerers. Perhaps because of my anger, the deflection spell I'm carrying suddenly seems a lot stronger, and I get a vivid sense of an energy bolt flying towards Makri. I raise my hand and manage to alter its course so it plunges harmlessly into the ground.

"Take that!" I cry. Immediately I'm hit by another crushing bolt of magic and once more crash to the ground. I struggle to my feet, roaring with rage. Lisutaris is deflecting spells from all directions, keeping them away from Makri while simultaneously trying to hinder Elupus. He and Makri are fighting fiercely in the centre of the arena. Their combat is furious, though unusual. Every few seconds one of them is jerked violently like a puppet, and has to struggle to remain upright while blocking desperately with their shield to keep their opponent at bay. Makri seems certain to score against Elupus as his shield flies out of position, but as she moves in to strike, she herself is jolted off her feet. Before she can regain her balance, Elupus recovers to deal her a crashing blow on her shield arm.

"Half point to Elupus!" yells the Marshal. The crowd scream their approval.

"Cheats!" I cry. "Lasat is cheating! His whole Guild's helping him!" My voice is drowned out in the mayhem. I deflect another spell, but there are so many Samsarinan Sorcerers working against us that it feels hopeless. From the way Lasat and Charius are hopping around in frustration, I'd guess that Lisutaris has their sorcery nullified, but that still leaves plenty of others. I do my best but I'm no match for them. Makri is again forced backwards under furious assault from Elupus and he scores another half point with a thrust which slides in under her shield, striking her on the hip. It's another painful blow, harder than would have been allowed in earlier rounds. I'm worried about the damage Makri is taking. Even without the buffeting from the sorcerers, she's suffering a severe barrage from Elupus, whose own actions are being enhanced by the Samsarinan Guild. I deflect another bolt but only succeed in bringing it down on myself. I crash to the ground for the third time. This time I struggle to rise, and I can taste blood in my mouth.

"Damn you," shouts Lisutaris, hauling me to my feet. "Concentrate!"

"I'm doing my best!"

I'm starting to think that the best plan might be to draw my sword and charge across the field, slaying as many Samsarinan Sorcerers as I can. Fortunately, before I can act, Lisutaris releases a spell so powerful that every Samsarinan sorcerer is frozen on the spot. For a few moments Makri and Elupus are unaffected by magic, and Makri seizes the opportunity to launch an attack, blocking Elupus's blade and then sliding her own sword down to slice into the armour on his shin.

"Half point to Makri!" cries the Marshal.

By the time the fight restarts, the Samsarinan Sorcerers have thrown off the effects of Lisutaris's spell. They've given up any pretence of not being involved, and are openly waving their arms, firing bolts, and intoning spells. It must be obvious to everyone what's going on. Not that I expect anyone to do anything about it. As I thud to the ground for the fourth time I regret that I never paid proper attention to my sorcerous studies. If I had, I might be able to help more. As it is, all I can do is try to lessen the load on Lisutaris, mainly by allowing myself to be a target. My body shakes as I attempt to deflect an energy spell from Makri which would probably have killed me were it not for my spell-protection necklace.

Makri is being hit by spells regularly and only her incredible fighting technique is keeping her in the match. Several times, after she's been knocked off balance, it seems as if Elupus must strike, but she somehow manages to get her sword or shield in the way. Eventually, inevitably, he does make another break-through, and Makri falls behind by three half-points to one. The crowd is chanting and roaring. I have blood coming out of my nose. Lisutaris gasps as she's hit by a spell. The situation is fast becoming hopeless. Elupus advances and knocks Makri backwards with his shield. She goes over again, tripped by sorcery, and sprawls on the ground. Then, with a move which astonishes both the crowd and Elupus, she manages to score a half point by thrusting her sword up into Elupus's ribs, even as he stands over her to deliver a lethal stroke.

I scream in appreciation. "You can do it Makri!" Something hits me on the head and everything goes blank for a few seconds. I come back to my senses to hear Lisutaris cursing as the Marshal awards Elupus another half point. The score is now four to two, and Elupus needs just one more strike. I try to summon up energy but I have nothing left. I can barely move. Lisutaris is breathing heavily as she attempts to repel the relentless onslaught of the entire Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild. Elupus attacks again and the sound of his sword, crashing against Makri's shield, can be heard even above the roar of the crowd. Elupus presses his attack, propelled forward by the weight of sorcery behind him. Makri is forced back, and as she turns to avoid a thrust I can see blood seeping out from under her helmet. The sight enrages me.

"That's it," I cry, drawing my sword. "I'm going to kill someone." I step onto the field. A steward tries to haul me back. I push him away and march forward but I'm brought to a sudden halt when, very unexpectedly, a small white dragon plummets out of the sky and lands on Elupus. The Simnian swordsman takes a heavy blow and is knocked to the ground. The crowd screams. The Marshal gapes stupidly and seems unable to move. To her great credit, Makri still has her wits about her. She leaps over to the prone figure of Elupus and slashes with her sword, halting the blade as it touches his throat.

"Lethal Stroke!" I scream, and charge forward. By the time I reach the centre of the field, the young dragon has shuffled over to Makri and is licking her face. The Marshal hasn't yet made a call.

"What's the delay?" I demand. "Call Makri as the winner. That was a lethal stroke!"

The Marshal, his flag hanging limply in mid-air, seems to be having trouble comprehending what just happened. "I… eh… it was… "

"Makri made a lethal stroke to the throat. Call it or I'll kill you!"

"Lethal stroke," mutters the Marshal.

Lasat Axe of Gold is swiftly into the field. "This is a complete travesty!" he rages. "That dragon attacked my fighter. It's foul play! What's it doing here anyway?"

"Your spells obviously weren't good enough to hold it," I reply. "Anyway, Makri's the winner."

"She is not the winner! There was outside interference!"

"This whole fight has been about outside interference!"

There's movement around the edge of the field as some of the Samsarinan sorcerers approach, but the stewards and officials hang back, not liking the look of the dragon, which is now considerably bigger than a man. Soldiers have rushed to protect the King, and stand in a semi-circle with arrows notched in their bows. Lisutaris arrives, moving slowly and painfully.

"What's happening?" she gasps. "Has Makri won?"

"Yes," I say.

"No she hasn't!" cries Lasat. "I will not stand for this outrage." He swings round to face Makri, raising his hand. The dragon interprets this as a threat to its friend, and roars threateningly. Lasat furiously casts a spell at it. The young dragon howls in pain, then cringes like a young child.

"Don't do that!" says Makri. "You shouldn't - "

Makri doesn't manage to complete the sentence because at that moment a gigantic white dragon lands beside us with an earth-shaking crash. The huge beast is roaring with anger, and breathing flame. I grab Makri's arm with one hand and Lisutaris's sleeve with the other.

"Run," I say, and we run. We flee towards the edge of the field where the assembled crowd are cowering in fear. The sudden, shocking arrival of such a monstrous dragon spreads panic. Such a beast has never been seen in Elath before.

"I knew its mother would come back," I gasp, as the three of us stumble to safety. When I look round to see if we're being pursued, I'm confronted by an awful sight. The Ice Dragon, infuriated by Lasat's attack on her child, has grabbed him in its jaws and is shaking him around like a toy. Several Sorcerers approach as close as they dare but their spells don't have any effect. The dragon finally spits out Lasat. As his mangled body lands on the grass, it's obvious that the Samsarinan Sorcerers Guild will now be needing a new leader.

There's a call to arms from close to the King. General Hemistos has rallied some troops. Among the soldiers I notice Baron Girimos, gamely advancing despite his age and bulk. The ice dragon ignores them. It looks down at its child, then, quite tenderly, takes the young dragon by the scruff of the neck like a cat picking up a kitten. It spreads its huge wings and rises majestically into the air. A few arrows fly wide of the mark as the dragon circles, gaining height, then heads off to the North. The shouting stops, and a hush descends on the tournament field.

"That was quite an experience," gasps Lisutaris.

"It was," I reply. "Makri, are you seriously injured?"

Makri removes her helmet. Blood drips from her mouth and her nose, and she has two black eyes.

"I'm all right," she says. "Did I win?"

"Yes. The Marshal called lethal stroke before he fled the field."

A young messenger in royal livery appears at a run. "Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky," he says. "The King would like to see you immediately."

"I must attend to my bodyguard first," replies Lisutaris.

"The King said immediately."

"Tell the King I'll be along immediately after I've attended to Makri."

The messenger shrugs, and departs briskly. Lisutaris produces a lace handkerchief from inside her cloak and dabs some of the blood from Makri's face."

"I'm all right," says Makri. "Don't worry about it."

"I'll just transfer some minor healing into you. I don't have much power left." Lisutaris places her hand on Makri's forehead. Nothing happens. The Sorceress frowns. "I don't have any power left. Do you want to go home? I can send you in my carriage."

Makri refuses. She wants to accompany Lisutaris. I pick up Makri's personal belongings and the three of us trudge wearily across the field. A distraught collection of Samsarinan Sorcerers are standing round the body of their dead leader.

"I could do with some healing too, when you get your power back," I tell Lisutaris. "I took a lot of painful blows during that contest."

"Thraxas, I'm sure you've got enough pies inside you to make a swift recovery."

"Is that all the thanks I get for putting my life on the line to protect you and Makri?"

Lisutaris comes to a halt. "One moment," she says. "How did the young dragon get free?"

Makri immediately looks guilty.

"Perhaps Lasat's spells weren't any good," I suggest.

"Lasat's spells were fine," says Lisutaris. "I checked them."

"Well, in that case it's a mystery."

Lisutaris reaches over to place her hand on the scabbard of Makri's black Orcish sword. "This weapon has been used against sorcery. Recently."

"I freed the dragon," admits Makri. "Sorry."

"It did work out well in the end," I say.

Lisutaris shakes her head. "Let's hope the King doesn't find out."

We have to pass through thick lines of soldiers, still guarding their monarch in case the dragon returns. The King is surrounded by his officials and a collection of Barons. Unusually, he seems ready to speak for himself. "That did not go as expected, Mistress of the Sky. Some of my advisers wonder if the interference from the dragons should nullify the contest." The King pauses, then raises his voice. "I have over-ruled them. The appearance of such a beast should focus our minds on the dangers we'll be facing soon. The West needs an experienced War Leader and I will now support Lisutaris for that position."

Lisutaris thanks the King, in the gracious, courtly manner she's capable of, even when severely fatigued.

"Do you know how the young dragon came to escape from its sorcerous cage?"

Makri blushes, though with her black eyes and blood-stained mouth it's not that easy to spot. Lisutaris doesn't know how to answer. It's time for me to step up. "Lasat's spells were quite deficient," I say. "I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't listen. It's unfortunate it ended up costing him his life, but the whole thing could have been much worse had Lisutaris not driven the dragons away so quickly."

Lisutaris looks startled. "I didn't - "

"It was good work from the Mistress of the Sky," I continue. "Saved many lives. She'll be a great War Leader. Incidentally, your Highness, if I may be permitted to ask a question - some graceless elements have been casting doubts on Makri's victory. I was wondering if there might be an official announcement about the winner?"

The King nods his head. "Makri was clearly the winner. It will be officially declared."

The meeting comes to an end. We walk back across the field, heading for Lisutaris's carriage.

"I didn't chase off the dragons," says Lisutaris.

"There's no harm in giving your reputation a boost." I yawn. "When I get home I'm going to send a servant out for food then I'm going to sleep for a week."

"You said you'd visit Baroness Demelzos in the morning," says Makri.

"Oh dammit. And I meant to visit the Record House before that."

We clamber into the carriage. "I could really do with some of that healing energy," I tell Lisutaris. But the Sorcerer is already rolling herself a thazis stick, which won't help her recover her powers any faster. I'll have to rely on sleep and a few beers to get by.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I wake early the next morning. My body aches. I feel old and battered. I'm debating whether or not to go back to sleep when Makri pokes her head into my room.

"Are we going investigating?"

"Why are you up so early?"

Makri shrugs. "I'm feeling better."

"I'm not." I haul myself out of bed, and glare at Makri. She ask me what I'm looking annoyed about.

"You. When I won the tournament I celebrated for a week. It would have been longer if me and Demmy the barmaid hadn't been arrested for indecency in the fountain. But here you are, sober and healthy. You even went to bed early. It's not right."

"I didn't feel much like celebrating."

I scramble around collecting my boots and sword. I ask Makri if she'll grab some food from the kitchen or cellar while I get ready. I suppose it's as well that Makri is sober. I need her help today. But it goes against the grain that she didn't celebrate. Anyone else would have.

"I have something for you before we go," says Makri.

"What?"

She hands me a bright new Elvish sword. "This was part of my prize for winning the tournament. I have two good swords already, so you can have it."

I take the sword. It's a valuable item, and a much better weapon than my current blade. It's a very fine gift. I look at Makri. I have no idea how to thank her properly. I feel awkward, and lost for words. Perhaps her strategy of bursting into tears and running out the room isn't such a bad idea.

"Let's go," says Makri.

Outside I commandeer Lisutaris's carriage. "We need to hurry. Demelzos's son is due to get married later today. I'd like to solve this before that happens."

"Is there any chance of that?" asks Makri. "I didn't know you were close."

"I've got a good idea what's going on. Demelzos's daughter Merlione is interfering with her son's inheritance in some way. I don't know how, but she is."

Makri looks puzzled. "How do you know that?"

"Nothing else fits. Merlione's brother's getting married into Baron Vosanos's family, and he's taking a chunk of money with him. Vosanos needs that money badly. Somehow Merlione's spoiling things. That's what her friend Alceten discovered. That's why she was killed, and that's why someone's been trying to kill Merlione."

"I suppose it would make sense," says Makri. "But aren't you just guessing?"

"No. I'm sure. More so since I learned that Zinlantol at the Royal Record House is a cousin of Magranos, Baron Vosanos's Chief Steward."

We share some bread on the way. Makri hands me a bottle she brought from the kitchen. I take a drink.

"Water?"

"What did you expect for breakfast?"

I shake my head in disgust. When we arrive at the Record House I leave the carriage outside and march past the guards without looking at them. Inside the Record House, Zinlantol is sitting behind her desk, as always. When I approach, she regards me with loathing. A lot of people have done that recently.

"Did you pass information about Alceten's work to your cousin Magranos?"

"I have nothing to say to you!" says Zinlantol. She stands up quickly and disappears through the door behind her, into some private staff area.

"I'd say she was," I mutter to Makri, as we make our way upstairs. "She was already getting rid of evidence about the Baron's debts, destroying the papers. When she learned that Alceten had discovered something that was going to cost Baron Vosanos a lot of money, she passed that on to her cousin too."

Upstairs, the corner where Alceten was working is still surrounded by books and scrolls, many of which I haven't even opened yet. I pick up the large book of Samsarinan Commercial Law and hand it to Makri.

"This is the book that was out of place. Alceten might have been reading it before she was killed. Go through it and see if there's anything relevant. I'll make a start on the scrolls."

"How long do we have?"

"About three hours."

"I can't get through this in three hours."

"Do your best."

We sit down and read. As soon as I pick up a scroll I start to remember how much I ache. These Samsarinan Sorcerers really gave me a battering. I glance through the scroll, find nothing relevant, throw it to one side and pick up another. The Law of Tort regarding Interference to Property Rights with Regard to Trespass by Hostile Orcs. I shake my head. Already my eyes are starting to swim. Can't these legal clerks make their writing a little bigger? I put the scroll to one side, being fairly sure that no Orcs have been interfering with local property. I notice Makri has gone off to the far end of the room, where she's hunting through cabinets. I pick up another scroll. It deals with property disputes between Barons and their subjects in times of famine. Again, it's so densely written I can barely read it. I struggle on for as long as I can, then shake my head in despair. I'm beaten. If there's some legal secret here, we're not going to find it.

"Found it," says Makri.

"What?"

"Alceten made a note in the third appendix of the law book. It referred to another book from three centuries ago. I've just read the relevant part."

"And?"

"It referred me to another legal tract. I found that too."

"Are you ever going to come to the point?"

"Listen." Makri reads from a very old scroll. "In memory of Queen Eferinis, who first discovered queenstone, and arrayed her daughters splendidly in jewels, all queenstone will pass from mother to daughter, and be inherited in the female line."

I take the scroll from Makri. "This was drafted by King Moslos. He reigned about six hundred years ago. Could it still be current?"

"I suppose so, if it was never repealed. Everyone must have forgotten about it till Alceten came across it."

"Alceten discovered that Merlione should inherit her mother's Queenstone mines." I produce a magic purse from my tunic pocket.

"Where did you get that?" asks Makri.

"I borrowed it from Lisutaris while she was still sleeping. Let's go. We have to stop a wedding."

We smuggle the relevant documents out of the Record House using the magic pocket, then ride swiftly towards Baroness Demelzos's mansion. Outside the mansion are numerous carriages, ready to carry the family to the wedding.

"Have you ever destroyed a wedding before?" asks Makri.

"Once or twice. It never goes down well."

A servant at the gate tries to get in our way. I brush him aside. "Thraxas of Turai, Chief Adviser to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. Here as guest of Baroness Demelzos."

Inside, the house is in the sort of uproar you'd expect when the eldest son of an important family is about to get married. Though neither I nor Makri look like wedding guests, everyone is too busy with their own problems to pay us much attention. I lead Makri upstairs to the Baroness's reception rooms. I burst in to find the Baroness having her hair done by two servants.

"Thraxas! How dare you burst in when - "

"Sorry Baroness. I have important news." I look pointedly at the servants. The Baroness dismisses them with a nod of her head.

"Well?"

"Someone from Baron Vosanos's household has been trying to kill Merlione. Whether it's the Baron himself, or his steward, I don't know. But they're responsible." I take the scroll from the magic purse. "By ancient law, Merlione inherits your queenstone mines, not your son. Baron Vosanos is bankrupt. He's depending on your son bringing wealth into his family. But your son will only be wealthy if Merlione is dead." I hand the scroll to the Baroness.

"But this is so old," she says.

"I think it's still legal. Alceten was killed because she discovered it. The Baron knew all about her work because his Chief Steward has a cousin in the Record House. She was keeping him up to date with Alceten's research."

"I really can't believe Baron Vosanos would try to kill my daughter."

"I don't know if he's directly responsible. More likely he just asked his Steward Magranos to deal with the problem. Magranos is capable of arranging a murder. He tried to arrange mine. If your son marries into that family, I don't think your daughter will ever be safe."

Baroness Demelzos calls for her servants and asks them if her husband has left the house yet. Part of his role in the wedding is to escort his son to the church. They tell her he's almost on the point of setting off.

"Wait here," the Baroness says, then hurries off. Makri and I are left alone in the reception room. I pour myself a glass of wine.

"What now?" says Makri.

"Either the Baron believes me and cancels the wedding, or he decides I'm a liar and throws me out. Either way, I've done all I can."

Makri reaches for the decanter, and winces with pain. She can still feel the effects of the fight, even if she's pretending she can't. We sip wine from silver goblets, waiting for the Baroness to return. After almost an hour, we're still waiting.

"Is she coming back?"

"Doesn't look like it." I rise from my chair. "Let's go home."

I ask a servant outside to tell Baroness Demelzos that we've departed. The house is still bustling with activity, but I can sense apprehension among the scurrying servants and tradesmen. They know something's wrong. Makri takes the reigns as we drive home. We pass a squadron of heavily armed troops who've just arrive in Elath. From Hadassa in the South, I think, judging by their armour. Many more troops should be arriving soon.

"Enormous human!"

"Did someone just shout enormous human?" asks Makri.

"I think so."

"They must be referring to you." Makri halts the carriage and we look around. Running towards us with a great grin on her face is a slender young Elf with spiky yellow hair and a broad grin. I recognise her. It's Sendroo, from the Elvish Isle of Avula.

"Hello Thraxas! Hello Makri!"

"Droo? What are you doing here?"

"I sailed up with the advance party. I'm a messenger in the Elvish Reconnoissance Regiment!"

"You are?" Last time I saw Droo, who's around eighteen I think, she was a poet, and quite an intoxicated one at that. I wasn't expecting her to pop up in Samsarina, dressed in the dull-green tunic and leggings of an Elvish Scout. You meet all sorts of unexpected people in wartime.

"Yes! Isn't it fun? What are you doing here?"

"We're refugees from Turai," I tell her.

"But we're going back," says Makri.

"It's so good to see you again! I can't really talk now, my platoon is marching up to see the King. Tell me where you live and I'll come and visit!"

Makri smiles at Droo. "It will be good to see you."

We give Droo our address. She runs off up the street after her platoon, still grinning. She's carrying a bow on her back, and a sheaf full of arrows. I shake my head. I'm not sure that having Droo in the Elvish advance party fills me with confidence. At least it means the Elvish troops are on their way.

When we arrive back at Arichdamis's house, Lisutaris is stepping out of an unfamiliar carriage. As soon as she sees us she scowls and yells at us. "What's the idea of stealing my carriage?"

"We needed it," I say. "I had to see Baroness Demelzos in a hurry."

"Does this have anything to do with the wedding being cancelled?"

"It was cancelled?"

"Yes. I and about four hundred of the Samsarinan aristocracy were left waiting in church like a bunch of idiots, till Baron Mabados finally arrived and announced the wedding couldn't go ahead due to family illness. A very sudden attack, apparently. I presume that's not the real reason?"

"No. I'll tell you about it inside."

A little later, while relating the string of brilliant deductions and unrelenting hard work that led to me solving the case, I can't help noticing that Lisutaris seems distracted. I ask her what's the matter.

"Kublinos. He's arriving soon to take me to dinner. I don't want to go."

"You're not relying on him for money any more," I point out. I take out Lisutaris's magic purse, ignore her protests about me borrowing it without asking, and pour 31,500 gurans onto the table. It's a hefty pile of cash, even though some of it is made up of 1,000 guran gold bars.

"We actually ended up with 34,582," I tell them. "But I paid back the Baroness the three hundred she staked us. I offered her a bigger cut, but she wouldn't take it. I'm giving Arichdamis 282 gurans to make up for the damage to his cellars. And I gave 2,500 gurans to the local Saint Quatinius's hospital for the poor. When we were on that boat, I did promise I'd donate something if we made it back to shore."

I'm expecting some complaints about this, particularly from the heathen Makri, but none are forthcoming. Makri and Lisutaris seem content that I've made the donation. We have had a lot of luck recently; perhaps some saint has been looking after us.

"So that gives us 10,500 gurans each. No need to thank me for my brilliant betting campaign. Though it does strike me you won't be collecting your winnings from Lasat, which is unfortunate."

"That's the only unfortunate thing about his death," says Lisutaris. "Anyway, thanks for the brilliant betting campaign. It's good to have money and not be relying on Kublinos. But I can hardly just tell him to go away, can I? Not after he's been so generous."

"Of course you can," says Makri. "Just tell him you're not interested."

"That's easy for you to say," says Lisutaris. "I don't see you telling General Hemistos to go away, even though you want to."

"I'm not very good at these things. Is he coming here with Kublinos?"

Lisutaris nods. Makri looks worried. "Thraxas, could you tell Kublinos and Hemistos we're not really interested?"

"Absolutely no chance," I say. "If you can't deal with unwanted attention that's your problem. And if Kublinos and Hemistos are headed here, I'm off to the Jolly Bandit for a civilised drop of ale."

I leave the house but haven't travelled very far when I hear the clatter of Lisutaris's fancy shoes on the cobblestones. Both she and Makri have apparently decided to flee the scene rather than face their prospective suitors.

"This is really pathetic," I tell them, as they catch up. "Two grown women who can't cope with a little personal problem."

"Shut up and get inside the tavern before they get here," says Lisutaris, hurrying into the Jolly Bandit. Not a place which will do much for her status, I'd say, though perhaps it doesn't matter so much any more, now she's been chosen as War Leader. As soon as we're inside, a waitress hurries over, recognising me as a valuable customer. I order beer for myself, and wine for Lisutaris and Makri.

"Incidentally, Lisutaris. Are you still wondering about Arichdamis's plans?'

"The ones that were stolen? Of course."

"Well check in you magic purse. In the seventh compartment."

The Sorceress frowns, and fishes around inside her purse. Finally she emerged with the plans in her hand.

"How did these get here?"

"They've been there all the time," I tell her. "No one stole them. You just put them in there when you'd been smoking thazis and forgot all about it."

Makri laughs. Lisutaris looks embarrassed.

"You really should cut down on your intake," I tell her. "You're War Leader now. You can hardly expect the combined armies of the West to march off to war behind a woman who doesn't know what she's got in her purse. It's hardly re-assuring."

"Be quiet," says Lisutaris. "Sorceresses never know what they have in their purses. We're famous for it."

"What will happen with the Baroness and her daughter now?" asks Makri.

"Nothing, I imagine. Baron Mabados will keep pretending his son is sick till eventually everyone forgets about the wedding. It's a tactful way of getting out of it. Vosanos and his family won't be pleased, but they won't say anything in public."

"So it will just be hushed up?"

"Yes. Barons aren't going to start accusing each other of trying to murder family members. It would make them all look bad in front of the peasants. The King wouldn't like it."

Makri thinks about this for a few moments. "But what about Alceten?"

"What about her?"

"She was murdered. Is no one going to be put on trial for that?"

"No. It will never even be acknowledged as a murder."

"Who was responsible?"

"That's hard to say. Zinlantol was keeping Magranos informed about Alceten. So I suppose she started it all off."

"But who actually killed her?"

I shrug. "Someone small enough to hide themselves in the front of the carriage that ran her over. I doubt I'd ever be able to find out who that was. They're probably not in Elath any more. Magranos will have hired some thug and then made sure he disappeared quickly."

"So this Magranos," says Makri. "He's the person who gave the order to kill her?"

"Most probably. But there's no way of getting evidence. Even if there was, the King would suppress it."

Makri isn't satisfied. She doesn't like it that a young woman was murdered and no one will be brought to justice.