by Martin Scott
«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.
«Will Baron Vosanos be going to war?»
«Yes.»
«Will his steward Magranos be going with him?»
«I suppose so.»
«If I meet him, I'll make him pay,» says Makri, menacingly.
«Thraxas!» cries a loud, booming voice. «I hoped I'd find you here.» Baron Girimos claps me on the shoulder. He's looking portly, healthy, and in the mood for beer. «Damnedest thing just happened. Was all dressed up for a wedding and then it was cancelled. Wife and her relatives are all complaining about it now, my house is nightmare. I had to escape. Waitress — beer, klee and the contents of your kitchen over here, if you please!»
The Baron has already met Lisutaris, and greets her politely. When he recognises Makri, he congratulates her very warmly on her victory in the tournament. «Good technique,» he says. «Not surprised, with Thraxas teaching you. Good man, Thraxas. Fought with the Turanian Phalanxes at Blackwing Rise. Of course, he'd never have got out of there alive if my cavalry hadn't rescued him.»
«Nonsense!» I exclaim. «My phalanx arrived just in time to prevent your cavalry from being massacred.»
Girimos laughs heartily. «Your memory's shaky again. Look, we were here» — «The Baron starts arranging pepper pots and cutlery to represent troop placements.» — and you were there. The Orcish Fourth Infantry were over there and the Sixth were coming up the hill with a dragon behind them -
«That wasn't the Sixth Orcish Infantry,» says Makri. «It was the Ninth.»
«What?» We look at her in surprise. «How would you know anything about it?»
«My Orcish Lord was leading them,» says Makri. «I heard him talk about it, often. Look» — «Makri starts re-arranging the cutlery.» — «I'll show you what happened. The Ninth Orcish infantry were here, at the river bank» -
«They can't have been there,» says the Baron. «That's where the Turanian Sorcerers were trapped.»
«I beg your pardon?» says Lisutaris. «Trapped? What's this about the Turanian Sorcerers being trapped?»
«They were pinned down by heavy archery,» says the Baron. «I remember it well.»
«Nonsense,» cries Lisutaris. «Age must be affecting your memory. I was there that day as a young Sorcerer on my first campaign. The way I remember it, the phalanxes were hopelessly pinned down by dragons on the south of the slope, and the cavalry were trapped on the north by the Agban Orcish Sorcerers Guild. If I hadn't led the Turanian Sorcerers through the middle neither of you would ever have made it out alive.»
«Led the Sorcerers?» I say. «I thought you were a young Sorcerer on your first campaign?»
«Our commander, Agbereth Red-Flame, was killed by a dragon so I took charge. I stepped up and told the other Sorcerers We're going up that hill or we'll die in the attempt!'»
«Your Sorcerers were trapped on the river bank till my phalanx saved the day!»
«Preposterous,» says Lisutaris. «Give me that pepper pot, I'll show you what happened.» She turns her head to call to the waitress. «Bring me another goblet of wine while I show these memory-impaired old campaigners how I saved their lives at Blackwing Rise. Better still, send over the bottle. It may take a while.»
The End
Martin Millar was born in Scotland and now lives in London. He is the author of such novels as Lonely Werewolf Girl, The Good Fairies of New York, and Suzy, Led Zeppelin and Me. He wrote the Thraxas series under the name of Martin Scott. Thraxas won the World Fantasy Award in 2000. As Martin Millar and as Martin Scott, he has been widely translated.
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