Thraxas and the Ice Dragon - By Martin Scott Page 0,23

itself to me and I eat my pies rather quietly, thinking all the while about Gurd, Captain Rallee, Tanrose, and the other people I knew in Turai.

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

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

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

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

"True."

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

"Probably not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Makri looks troubled. "Preparing a spell."

"For what?"

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

Makri hurries off, carrying her new armour. I shake my head, and carry on towards Big Bixo's tent. I need to acquaint myself with the odds on offer, and prepare my betting strategy. With limited resources, I have to plan carefully. When the tournament gets going properly, there are thirty-two fighters involved. However, to reach this stage, Makri will have to qualify. Of the thirty-two places, sixteen are available only by invitation. Some of these invitations go out to internationally renowned swordsmen. Others go to local champions, mainly sponsored by the Samsarinan Barons, and a few more to fighters backed by aristocrats from neighbouring countries. The remaining sixteen places are up for grabs, but it takes a good swordsman to win