I sigh. Too much drinking and high living. But I’ve had bad luck as well. I never did get the breaks I deserved. As a man who fought loyally for his city, I shouldn’t be having to scratch a living in Twelve Seas, declining powers or not.
Harmon Half-Elf, another of our important Sorcerers, arrives on deck. He greets me with a nod before going off with Lanius Suncatcher, discussing the probability of their needing to calm the ocean on the way. The harbour at Twelve Seas is well protected and the ship is lying calmly on the water, but already the open seas are rough. It’s not unusual for the winter storms to descend early, though on an Elvish ship, with extra Sorcerers in attendance, I figure I’m safe enough.
I hunt for Vas-ar-Methet, taking care not to run into any Turanian official who might not be delighted to find me aboard. Vas has reserved for me a tiny cabin where I dump my stuff, haul my boots off, drink some beer and wait for us to sail. Vas arrives and I tell him that an unexpected voyage to the Elvish Isles is just what a man needs after his idiot companion has cost him a thousand gurans at cards.
Vas still seems impressed by my idiot companion. “After you departed she told me of her studies at the Guild College. I just cannot believe that any woman with Orc blood should be so civilised and intelligent.”
“What do you mean, civilised? The first time you saw her she was trying to plant an axe in my head.”
“Well, Thraxas, you had grossly insulted her. She also told me about the card game.”
“Oh yes? Did she tell you about the outrage she caused by wilfully offending public decency?”
Vas laughs. “She did. And I can understand why it caused such a disturbance. The subject is calanith among Elves also.”
“Calanith” roughly translates as “taboo.” The Ossuni Elves have a lot of them.
“Often during my healing it has caused awkwardness. But the young woman was surely unaware of the offence it would cause. I feel you must make allowances for her. Had you not abused her so virulently at the time, she would quite probably have apologised for the loss she caused you.”
I snort in derision. Makri would probably leap from the highest part of the city walls rather than apologise. Stubborn, that’s what she is. It’s a very bad trait and one she would do well to overcome. But Elves are always keen to see the positive side.
“Try living in a tavern with her. Then you’d see how likely she is to apologise. And anyway, what good is an apology to a man who’s just been cheated out of a thousand gurans? I tell you, Vas, I’m desperate to get out of Twelve Seas. If I don’t raise enough money soon for a villa in Thamlin, you’re going to find me swimming south looking for a permanent residence in your tree. Any chance of a game of rak down on your island?”
This makes Vas smile, troubled though he is. He shakes his head. “Elves are not fond of cards as a rule. We play niarit though. I remember you used to be keen on that.”
“Still am,” I inform him. “Local champion in fact. I’m hell at the niarit board.”
Niarit is a complicated board game involving two armies of Hoplites, Trolls and Cavalry along with assorted other pieces—Harpers, Sorcerers, Plague Carriers and such like. The aim is to defeat your opponent’s army and storm his castle. I brought my board with me, thinking that it might while away a few idle hours on the long voyage. When it comes to niarit I’m sharp as an Elf’s ear and undefeated champion of Twelve Seas. Since I taught Makri how to play she’s never come close to beating me, for all her much vaunted intellect. Drives her crazy. Whether or not I find a game of rak or niarit anywhere along the way, at least Makri will not be along to ruin it, and that’s a bonus.
“Well, if you find yourself on the wrong side of Lord Kalith,” says Vas-ar-Methet, “try challenging him to a game of niarit. He’s the finest player on Avula, and can’t resist a game.”
“That’s good to know. I could do with a little practice.”
I break open another beer. I’ve brought as many bottles as I could carry and a barrel for when they run out. I’m still sketchy on the details of the case I’m being asked to investigate. All I really know is that Vas’s daughter Elith is currently imprisoned on a charge of attempting to kill the Hesuni Tree. I’m about to ask Vas-ar-Methet to fill me in, but before I can he is called away. Vas is not only Lord Kalith’s chief healer, he is close enough to him to be his trusted adviser as well, and this makes him a busy man. Well, there will be plenty of opportunity to learn the full facts of the case before I arrive on Avula. And once I’m in command of the facts, I’m confident I’ll be able to sort it out. When it comes to investigating, I’m number one chariot, and no one can deny it.
Lord Kalith is insisting that we must sail with the next tide and urgent last-minute preparations are underway. I settle back on my bunk. My mood mellows. No winter in Turai for me. No pounding my way to Minarixa’s bakery through the frozen streets for a few pastries to keep me going. No hunting through snow-bound streets for debtors, robbers, murderers and assorted other degenerates. No murderous gangs carving out their dwa territory. No filth, squalor and general misery. Just a pleasant visit to the Elvish Isles where I shall no doubt clear Vas’s daughter without breaking sweat and spend the rest of the time lying under a tree in the warm sunshine drinking beer, listening to Elvish choirs and swapping war stories with some of the more experienced Elves. I can’t wait.
We cast off and start to manoeuvre our way out of the harbour. I’ve decided to keep my head down till we are well at sea for fear that Deputy Consul Cicerius or some other official might start beefing about my presence here and try sending me back, but all of a sudden a commotion breaks out on deck. I never can ignore a commotion—I’m just too nosy. It’s a problem I’ve always had. I hurry out of my cabin and up the stairs to the deck. All along one side of the ship the Elvish crew are gathered, talking and pointing with excitement at something that’s going on back on the pier.
I use my body weight to force my way through. What I see leaves me gaping. Makri is pounding down the dock with a sword in one hand, a bag in the other and around thirty armed men in close pursuit. Makri’s well in front but she’s running out of room. They’ve chased her to the end of the pier and there’s nothing in front of her but the sea. Even at this distance I can identify her pursuers. The mob comprises a large part of the local chapter of the Brotherhood. I’m astonished. I’ve only been gone five minutes and already Makri is waging war with the deadliest gang in the neighbourhood.
Makri reaches the end of the quay and whirls to face her attackers, drawing her second sword as she does so. The first two assailants to come near her fall beneath her blades but the others fan out and surround her, then close in with their weapons at the ready. I look on helplessly as we sail slowly away. There are cries of concern from the Elves alongside me at the sight of a lone woman up against such murderous odds, but we are powerless to help. Even if Lord Kalith turned the ship, by the time we made it back it would be far too late.
“Jump,” I scream at Makri.
I can’t understand why she doesn’t leap into the sea. At least there she would have some chance of escape. Instead Makri stands fighting against hopeless odds. Supreme swordswoman or not, she can’t fight off that number of well-armed men attacking from all sides. A pile of bodies lies prostrate at her feet but any second now one of the multiple blades facing her will find its target.
“Jump into the sea!” I scream again, but we are now more than eighty yards distant and my voice probably doesn’t carry over the noise of the battle, and the waves, and the seabirds that soar over the harbour.