Thraxas and the Ice Dragon - By Martin Scott Page 0,83

church. They tell her he's almost on the point of setting off.

"Wait here," the Baroness says, then hurries off. Makri and I are left alone in the reception room. I pour myself a glass of wine.

"What now?" says Makri.

"Either the Baron believes me and cancels the wedding, or he decides I'm a liar and throws me out. Either way, I've done all I can."

Makri reaches for the decanter, and winces with pain. She can still feel the effects of the fight, even if she's pretending she can't. We sip wine from silver goblets, waiting for the Baroness to return. After almost an hour, we're still waiting.

"Is she coming back?"

"Doesn't look like it." I rise from my chair. "Let's go home."

I ask a servant outside to tell Baroness Demelzos that we've departed. The house is still bustling with activity, but I can sense apprehension among the scurrying servants and tradesmen. They know something's wrong. Makri takes the reigns as we drive home. We pass a squadron of heavily armed troops who've just arrive in Elath. From Hadassa in the South, I think, judging by their armour. Many more troops should be arriving soon.

"Enormous human!"

"Did someone just shout enormous human?" asks Makri.

"I think so."

"They must be referring to you." Makri halts the carriage and we look around. Running towards us with a great grin on her face is a slender young Elf with spiky yellow hair and a broad grin. I recognise her. It's Sendroo, from the Elvish Isle of Avula.

"Hello Thraxas! Hello Makri!"

"Droo? What are you doing here?"

"I sailed up with the advance party. I'm a messenger in the Elvish Reconnoissance Regiment!"

"You are?" Last time I saw Droo, who's around eighteen I think, she was a poet, and quite an intoxicated one at that. I wasn't expecting her to pop up in Samsarina, dressed in the dull-green tunic and leggings of an Elvish Scout. You meet all sorts of unexpected people in wartime.

"Yes! Isn't it fun? What are you doing here?"

"We're refugees from Turai," I tell her.

"But we're going back," says Makri.

"It's so good to see you again! I can't really talk now, my platoon is marching up to see the King. Tell me where you live and I'll come and visit!"

Makri smiles at Droo. "It will be good to see you."

We give Droo our address. She runs off up the street after her platoon, still grinning. She's carrying a bow on her back, and a sheaf full of arrows. I shake my head. I'm not sure that having Droo in the Elvish advance party fills me with confidence. At least it means the Elvish troops are on their way.

When we arrive back at Arichdamis's house, Lisutaris is stepping out of an unfamiliar carriage. As soon as she sees us she scowls and yells at us. "What's the idea of stealing my carriage?"

"We needed it," I say. "I had to see Baroness Demelzos in a hurry."

"Does this have anything to do with the wedding being cancelled?"

"It was cancelled?"

"Yes. I and about four hundred of the Samsarinan aristocracy were left waiting in church like a bunch of idiots, till Baron Mabados finally arrived and announced the wedding couldn't go ahead due to family illness. A very sudden attack, apparently. I presume that's not the real reason?"

"No. I'll tell you about it inside."

A little later, while relating the string of brilliant deductions and unrelenting hard work that led to me solving the case, I can't help noticing that Lisutaris seems distracted. I ask her what's the matter.

"Kublinos. He's arriving soon to take me to dinner. I don't want to go."

"You're not relying on him for money any more," I point out. I take out Lisutaris's magic purse, ignore her protests about me borrowing it without asking, and pour 31,500 gurans onto the table. It's a hefty pile of cash, even though some of it is made up of 1,000 guran gold bars.

"We actually ended up with 34,582," I tell them. "But I paid back the Baroness the three hundred she staked us. I offered her a bigger cut, but she wouldn't take it. I'm giving Arichdamis 282 gurans to make up for the damage to his cellars. And I gave 2,500 gurans to the local Saint Quatinius's hospital for the poor. When we were on that boat, I did promise I'd donate something if we made it back to shore."

I'm expecting some complaints about this, particularly from the heathen Makri, but none are forthcoming. Makri and Lisutaris seem content that I've made the