Thraxas and the Ice Dragon - By Martin Scott Page 0,50

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