Thraxas and the Ice Dragon - By Martin Scott Page 0,57

return under his protection."

"You'll need a lot of protection if you annoy me again!" yells Lisutaris, at his retreating figure.

I stare at Lisutaris. "What happened to tact and diplomacy?"

"That was never a very good plan. You should have given me better advice."

"I'd advise you to find out if smoking too much magically-enhanced thazis causes mood swings."

"Thazis," mutters Lisutaris. "Good idea." She starts rolling a thazis stick without bothering to check if anyone is watching. I shepherd her behind a large tree, just in case.

"I hate the Samsarinan Sorcerers," she says.

"Don't worry," says Makri. "I'll win the tournament. Then Lasat will have to pay you 10,000 gurans and he'll look like a fool for backing a loser."

Lisutaris sits down on the grass, quite heavily. "I suppose so. But these arguments aren't helping the war effort. What's the point of winning money if the Orcs march in and conquer everything?"

"We could still flee to the Far West," I suggest. "They say that right at the end of the world, you can find the Warrior's Rest."

"What's that? Some sort of monastery?"

"No, a tavern. Sells excellent beer, apparently. They could probably do with a Sorcerer to look after things. And Makri would fit right in. Just get the chainmail bikini on again and start serving drinks."

"I'm not ending my days as a tavern wench," declares Makri. "I'm going to kick the Orcs out of Turai then I'm going to university."

The young dragon appears out of the undergrowth. I tense up, ready to fight, but it seems to have become less aggressive. It waddles up to Makri, stretches its wings, then lies down beside her and goes to sleep. The dragon is now larger than a man, and must be very close to taking flight. Now that it's no longer a baby, its scales are starting to grow properly, and they're pure white. It's an unusual sight. Makri puts her arm over it protectively. She's due to fight again later in the evening, by which time the competitors will be down to sixteen. I'd like to remain here, doing nothing, but I can't. I still have investigating to do.

"Makri, would you help me at the Records Office? I just can't read through all that stuff on my own."

"All right. If Lisutaris doesn't need me for a while."

"It's fine, go with Thraxas," says the Sorcerer. "I've agreed to have dinner with Kublinos. He's persistent, I'll give him that. He even pretended to like my Turanian hairstyle, even though I know the Barons' wives have been criticising it behind my back."

Lisutaris looks round at Makri and me. There's a long pause. "Well?" she says, eventually.

"Well what?" I ask.

"You know what I mean."

Makri looks baffled. "I don't understand."

"How hopeless are you?" demands Lisutaris. "When I say the Barons' wives have been criticising my hairstyle, you're both meant to say my hair looks wonderful. Wasn't that obvious?"

"Sorry," says Makri. "I'm not very good at picking up on things like that."

"Neither am I," I admit.

Lisutaris sighs. "I dread to think what your life was like in that tavern. Obviously you never learned any proper manners." A maudlin expression settles over her features. "Tirini would be shocked if she saw me now. She'd say I looked a terrible mess."

"I was thinking of Tirini too, just the other day," I say.

"She was one of the last people we saw in Turai," says Makri.

Tirini Snake-Smiter is, or perhaps was, a Turanian Sorcerer. She had powerful magic, but she was much more famous for her glamorous outfits and her continual appearances in the city's scandal-sheets. She was in the Avenging Axe, just before the city fell, looking after Lisutaris when she was ill. Poor Tirini was horrified to find herself in the shabby environs of my rooms above the tavern. I wasn't too pleased to see her there myself, but thinking of her now, I feel nostalgic for my old city, and depressed about its destruction.

"I wonder how many of my Guild survived?" wonders Lisutaris.

"I think there's a good chance a lot of the Sorcerers made it out."

"If they have, none of them have managed to contact me yet."

Makri and I depart, leaving Lisutaris to make ready for her assignation with Kublinos.

"Do you think Kublinos and Lisutaris might get married?" asks Makri, as we walk through Elath.

I notice she's looking uncomfortable. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"A bit."

Makri, a recent arrival in the West, had very few friends in Turai, spending her time mostly working or studying. I suppose she's become friendly with Lisutaris, due