“I am pleased to have met you. I sail on tonight’s tide and may not see you again. But the Elves of my island will be pleased to learn of the person in Turai who respects our tale of Queen Leeuven.”
It’s struck me before as peculiar the way Makri can make all sorts of people like her. Every time she comes across some well-bred or high-up member of society, the sort of person who would, not without reason, regard her as an ignorant Barbarian not worthy of notice, she always seems to end up creating a good impression. Cicerius, our Deputy Consul, was practically eating out of her hand the last time I worked for him. And now my friend Vas, an Elf of the highest repute, who quite possibly has never so much as spoken a word to any creature with a speck of Orc blood in them, is chatting away to her when really we should be discussing business. Any moment now they’ll be reciting poetry together.
Just because Makri and Vas have hit it off in a big way doesn’t mean I’m keen to spend time with the woman. I’m still mad as hell about the money she cost me.
“How long till we sail?” I say, muscling into the conversation.
“About eight hours.”
“Where are you going?” asks Makri, immediately interested.
“To Avula,” I reply. “Far away from you. Vas, I’ll need to make preparations. I’m going out to buy a few things. There will be plenty of time to fill me in on the details while we’re sailing.”
“I want to come,” says Makri.
I laugh. “No chance. As the well-known saying goes, you’d be as welcome as an Orc at an Elvish wedding.”
“It’s the Avulan festival, isn’t it?” says Makri. “I’ve read about it. Three staged versions of the tale of Queen Leeuven and competitions in choral singing, dance and poetry. I want to come.”
“Well you can’t,” I say. “The Avulan festival is not open to everyone. It’s strictly an Elf-only affair, plus a few honoured guests. Like me, for instance. I’ll see you on board, Vas. If you wish to stay here and discuss poetry with this barmaid, I must warn you that she is not fully trained in the ways of civilisation.”
And with that I depart. As I head down the stairs I can feel the air getting colder. The voyage may well be chilly till we reach the warmer waters of the south. I’ll need a warm, waterproof cloak for the journey and maybe a new pair of boots. And some beer. I’ll get Gurd to load a barrel on to a wagon for me when I get back. The Elves have fine wine but it wouldn’t surprise me if there was no beer at all on board their ship, and that’s a chance I’m not prepared to take.
[Contents]
Chapter Three
Around seven and a half hours later I’m ready to sail. I arrive at the harbour on a wagon and load my belongings on board. The Turanian soldiers on guard duty look at me suspiciously as I roll up with a small bag of provisions and a large barrel of beer, but as the Elves are expecting me they let me past. The Elvish crew assume that as I am a guest of Vas-ar-Methet I’m probably part of the official Turanian party heading south for the festival, and I don’t bother to correct them.
This festival is held every five years and, as far as I know, is mainly attended by Elves from the three neighbouring islands of Avula, Ven and Corinthal. There are several distinct great tribal groupings of Elves on the Southern Islands, and all the Elves from these three islands, while forming separate nations, belong to the great Ossuni tribe. Whether Elves from further afield will be in attendance I’m not sure, but there will certainly be few Humans there. It is regarded as a great honour in Turai that our representatives have been invited, a mark of the continuing friendship between our nations.
Turai needs this friendship. We have declined in importance in the last fifty years or so, mainly as a result of the internal strife within the League of City-States. It is now pretty much politically impotent. When the League was strong Turai could speak with a powerful voice. Now we’re weak. Despite this we are still high among the nations who are regarded as friends of the Elves. They saved us during the last great Orc War and if the Orc nations ever unite again and start heading west over the Wastelands, which is more than likely, we’ll be relying on the Elves again. Hence the importance of this invitation. Prince Dees-Akan won’t just be attending a festival, he’ll be cementing our diplomatic ties.
Turai is sending the young Prince, second in line to the throne, and Deputy Consul Cicerius, the city’s second highest official, along with a few other minor dignitaries, a couple of Sorcerers and various royal bodyguards and attendants, a party of twenty or so, which is why the Elves sent up such a large ship. It’s a bireme with twin banks of oars along each side, although it’s unlikely that these will be much in use. Elves don’t enjoy rowing any more than they have to and they’ll be planning on running with the wind for most of the journey.
It’s against the law for the city’s highest official, the Consul, to leave the state during his term of office, which is why our government will be represented by his Deputy, Cicerius. I’ve worked for Cicerius on several occasions, and he’s been satisfied with my achievements, but I couldn’t claim to be friends. I know he has neither forgiven nor forgotten the time I was carried drunk into the Palace, singing songs. I’m not under any illusions that he’ll be pleased to have me along.
I expect that the Elves have proffered other invitations to Humans. Turai was not the only city to fight alongside Lord Lisith-ar-Moh and Lord Kalith-ar-Yil. Important politicians from other sea-going nations will be gathered on Avula. Maybe I can pick up some business.
As I’m lugging my travelling bag up the gangplank I notice Lanius Suncatcher striding nimbly on board, followed by his apprentice struggling with the heavy baggage. Lanius is wrapped in his rainbow cloak, denoting him as a member of the Sorcerers Guild. I used to know him back in the days when I was a Senior Investigator at the Palace. A nice young guy, as I remember. He’s been recently promoted to a senior spot in Palace Security because of several unfortunate deaths among our more experienced Sorcerers.
He greets me as I reach the deck. “Thraxas. Wasn’t expecting to see you here. Are you back in favour with the Palace?”
“Afraid not. Still pounding the streets in a private capacity. I’m not part of the official party, just here as a guest of the Elves.”
I congratulate the young Sorcerer on his promotion. “You’ve come a long way. Last time I saw you, you were still running errands for Old Hasius the Brilliant.”
“The way our Sorcerers have been handing in their togas recently has been good for my career,” he admits. “I’m Chief Sorcerer at Palace Security these days, promoted after Mirius Eagle Rider got himself killed. It would be just fine if it wasn’t for Rittius.”
He makes a face. So do I. Rittius, head of Palace Security, is not a popular man with his staff. He was the man responsible for my sacking and any time our paths cross there is trouble.
“He’s not part of the delegation, is he?”
“Fortunately not. Cicerius refused to sanction his coming. You’re not going to Avula to work, are you?” asks Lanius Suncatcher, suddenly suspicious.
“Work? Of course not. No call for an Investigator in those parts. Purely a social visit.”
Lanius might be an old acquaintance, but I’m not in the habit of sharing my business secrets with Palace officials. I wonder how powerful his sorcery is these days. As often happens when I encounter a young Sorcerer on the way up, I grow suddenly depressed at the sad decline in my powers. I admit I was never the most powerful Sorcerer on the block, but I used to be able to perform a trick or two. These days I’m lucky if I can put an opponent to sleep, or temporarily blind him with flashing lights, and even these small spells wear me out. It’s a long time since I’ve been able to carry around more than two spells in my head. A powerful Sorcerer can carry four or five.