Thraxas and the Ice Dragon - By Martin Scott Page 0,46

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