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