"You must help me care for the dragon. You'll have him eating again in no time."
"Completely out of the question," says Makri, raising her voice. "I've got a sword-fighting competition to win, a Sorcerer to protect and a city to take back from the Orcs. I can't waste time looking after baby dragons." Maki glares down at the beast. "I don't even like baby dragons."
"But you have to help," pleads our host. "I've been at my wit's end. I'm sure the King will be most grateful."
At that moment a procession marches round the side of the house, made up of eighteen soldiers, three Sorcerers, three Barons, several officials and King Gardos. It's the first time I've seen the young King, but he's easily recognisable from the discreet gold circlet on his head. Arichdamis bows low. He doesn't seem surprised at their arrival, so I presume it's not the first time the King has marched into his grounds without knocking at the door. The King pays no attention to Arichdamis, choosing instead to glare at Makri.
"What is happening here?" he demands. "What are you doing with my dragon?"
"Your majesty," exclaims Arichdamis, surfacing from his bow. "A remarkable occurrence. This woman has the power to soothe and comfort the dragon."
The King's scowl slowly fades at the sight of the small dragon playing at Makri's feet. "Astonishing!" he says. "Who is this young woman?"
"Makri, your majesty. Bodyguard to Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky."
The King's brow furrows slightly as he further examines Makri. "Is she an Orc?"
"Partially, I believe," says Arichdamis. "But she is very good with the dragon."
"We shall see," says the King. "Bring forth the meat."
At the King's command a member of the royal household removes the lid of a silver platter to reveal a joint of raw meat.
"Feed the dragon," commands the King.
The attendant edges forward nervously. He holds out the meat, trying to keep as much distance as possible between himself and the creature. As soon as he comes near, the small white dragon starts snarling at him. He retreats rapidly. The King looks at Makri.
"Partially Orcish woman. Try feeding my dragon."
I'm concerned that Makri, being uncivilised, unused to monarchs, and never pleased to be described as an Orc, might refuse to co-operate. Fortunately she does seem to grasp that you can't go around being rude to a King when you're a refugee in his country. She shrugs, picks up the meat and thrusts it at the dragon.
"Eat this you beast."
The dragon leaps for the venison and gobbles it down immediately. There's a collective gasp from the procession at the sight of the dragon feasting happily. When it's finished the meat, it again snuggles down around Makri's ankles. King Gardos turns to one of his counsellors, the most important one, I'd guess, from the gilded insignia on his cloak.
"This woman must look after my dragon. Organise matters so that she has whatever she needs."
Chapter Nine
A few hours later, back in Kublinos's mansion to pack up our meagre belongings, Makri is complaining. "I don't want to look after a dragon."
"Look on the bright side," I say. "We all get to move into Arichdamis's house which is a lot better than this servant's attic. You've got plenty of space to practise your sword fighting and Lisutaris can smoke thazis till her heart's content."
"It's certainly fortuitous," agrees Lisutaris. "As long as you can keep that dragon happy I'll be in good standing with the King. And there's the tournament too. If you can win that it'll really boost my status."
Makri frowns. "How is that everything seems to be resting on my shoulders?"
"Just the way things work out," says Lisutaris, amiably.
Makri continues to grumble. I point out that it won't be that hard looking after the dragon. "Just tickle it behind the ear and throw some meat at it. It can't be that hard."
"He tried to bit your hand off."
It's true. The creature did not take kindly to being stroked by me. I was fortunate to escape with my fingers still attached. It doesn't seem to like anyone except Makri. It's a strange phenomenon, though one I have encountered before. When we visited the Fairy Glade together, the centaurs, fairies, and assorted other magical creatures all seemed keen on Makri.
"What if its mother comes back?" says Makri.
We fall silent, thinking about the huge white dragon that flew overhead while we were sailing up the river. While we don't have any proof that it was our dragon's mother, it seems likely. According to Arichdamis, the baby dragon was found, as an egg, by a scientific expedition to the furthest reaches of the mountains in north. They handed it over to the King, who then gave it to Arichdamis with the instructions to rear it. Possibly he has some scheme to be the first western monarch to control dragons. It seems like a foolish endeavour to me. The King of Turai once had a dragon in his zoo, and that ended very badly.
"What's the idea of telling the King you're my manager?" continues Makri.
"I had to say that. I wasn't going to be left behind in this attic. Anyway, it's true enough. If you're entering the tournament you'll need someone to look after your affairs. I can do that. Which brings us to our first problem; money. There's the entrance fee, and you'll need weapons and armour, which aren't cheap. Lisutaris, can you help?"
The Sorceress shakes her head. She's still living on charity from Kublinos. "I can't ask him for any more."
"Why not?"
"It would be demeaning."
"So?"
"It's hardly going to increase my status if people know I've been begging money to buy armour for my bodyguard, is it?"
"I suppose not. Well, I'll have to think of something. There's the gambling to consider as well."
Lisutaris nods sagely. "Of course, we must bet on Makri. If only I could earn something. Would it affect my status if I took on some private work?"
"Yes it would," declares Makri. "You're Head of the Guild. You can't be casting horoscopes to raise cash. Thraxas, if you're betting on me I want a fair share of the winnings. And none of your outlandish, risk-filled gambles either. I want a solid, practical betting strategy."
I smile. As I said, Makri is nowhere near as averse to gambling as she pretends. "Have I ever let you down?"
"Almost continually."
It strikes me that I could probably earn money in Elath. "There has to be some crime going on here, with Barons, sword-fighters and assorted gamblers in town. Perhaps I could find something that needs investigating."
Lisutaris stands up and cranes her neck to examine herself in the tiny mirror on the attic wall. "There's something wrong with this dress," she mutters. "The clasp at the neck isn't fastening properly."
Makri stands behind Lisutaris and attempts to rectify the situation, but quickly becomes frustrated. "I can't close it. How does it work?'"
I raise my eyes to heaven. If you're having problems in the female costuming department, Makri is never going to be any help.
"Step aside and let a civilised Turanian look at it," I say, and brush Makri aside. "The clasp is jammed."
"We know that already," says Lisutaris.
"Let me try again," says Makri.
"What with? Your axe? Not every problem can be solved by violence."
I take hold of the clasp and give it a tug. Nothing happens. I pull it harder. The clasp rips right out of the dress which then flops down around Lisutaris's waist. Makri bursts out laughing. At this moment Kublinos walks into the room. Seeing Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, with her dress around her waist, he looks surprised.
"What is… eh…?"
"Come Makri, let's go to my room and see if we can repair the damage," says Lisutaris. They disappear. Kublinos looks at me very suspiciously.
"What was that all about?"
"Just a little clothing problem."
"Was it you who ripped Lisutaris's dress?"
"Accidentally."
His eyes narrow. "I have to say, Thraxas, your attempts to win the favour of Lisutaris are quite inappropriate. Apart from your unsuitable character, there's the difference in class to be considered."