Makri doesn't sound convinced. Our neighbours to the west, Simnia, might decide they'd rather hold the line against the Orcs on their own borders, and so might Nioj to our north. Everyone says they'll march to our aid but whether they will or not remains to be seen.
Makri's talk of Lisutaris worsens my mood. For one thing I'm annoyed that I'm reduced to learning news of the war from Makri. I used to be a Senior Investigator at the Palace, abreast of all the city state's affairs. I was a man with contacts. A man who knew what was happening. Now I'm a man who's dependent on rumour and gossip. It's irritating. What's more irritating is that I have to speak a spell every morning on behalf of Lisutaris. Unbelievable as it may sound, this spell is to help conceal Herminis, a senator's wife whom Makri, Lisutaris and several other criminally minded women broke out of jail just before the Orcs attacked. Herminis had been sentenced to death for the murder of her husband, a senator. The Association of Gentlewomen decided to intervene. As a result of this, Herminis ended up at the Avenging Axe and Lisutaris prevailed on me to help hide her from the authorities. It's not a task I welcome, and had Lisutaris not bribed, cajoled and blackmailed me in the most shocking manner, I'd have refused to have anything to do with it.
"It's not right," I say, quite forcibly.
"What isn't right?"
"Me having to help hide Herminis. If the Abode of Justice finds out I'm involved, they'll be down on me like a bad spell. I blame you."
"Why me?" protests Makri.
"Because you messed up your rescue operation. Not that there should have been any rescue operation in the first place. And then Lisutaris has the nerve to rope me into covering for her. Talk about ingratitude. I picked that woman up and carried her off the battlefield. I saved her life. And did she exhibit the slightest sign of gratitude?"
"Yes. She gave you a new magic warm cloak."
I wave this away.
"A magic warm cloak? Lisutaris can make a magic cloak by snapping her fingers. Not the sort of gift that really says 'thank you for saving my life.' Especially from a woman as rich as Lisutaris. You think it would have harmed her to open up her coffers once in a while? I tell you, these aristocrats are all the same, not a shred of decency among the lot of them."
"Thraxas, is there any chance of you shutting up?"
"Absolutely none. I tell you, next time Lisutaris finds herself on the wrong end of an Orcish phalanx, she can look for someone else to rescue her. The woman's lack of gratitude is a scandal."
"She sent you a gift. It's downstairs."
"What?"
"I brought it down in a wagon. She said to tell you it was for saving her life."
I pause.
"Possibly I spoke harshly. What is it?"
Makri shrugs.
"I lost interest a while ago."
I'm deflated. I wasn't ready to stop complaining yet.
"This doesn't excuse her getting me involved with Herminis."
Makri curses me for a fool, yawns, and departs to her room. I hurry downstairs to take a look at my gift. I can't remember when anyone last sent me a present. Maybe my wife, on my wedding day. That was more years ago than I care to remember. My wife, wherever she is now, probably wouldn't want to remember it either.
The tavern is full of drinkers. There's a very large crate behind the bar. Gurd is curious as to the contents, as are Viriggax and his squadron of northern mercenaries. I ignore them all and drag the box upstairs. If Lisutaris has sent me anything good, I'm not going to share it with a bunch of drunken mercenaries.
I wrench the lid off, drag out some padding, then start emptying the contents on to the table. There's a layer of bottles, and the very first one I take out makes me stop and stare. It's a bottle of klee with three golden moons painted on the side. I know what that means. It's the Abbot's Special Distillation, a brand of klee so rare and fine as to never be seen in Turai outside the Imperial Palace and a few exclusive residences in Thamlin. Compared to the klee I normally drink it's like . . . like . . . well, there's no comparison. The only time in my life I drank this was at a banquet at the Palace, and even then I had to sneak it off the Consul's table. I place the bottle reverently on my table and find there are three more in the box. Four bottles of the Abbot's Special Distillation, made with love and care by the most talented monks in the mountains. Already I can feel my worries fading away.
I burrow further into the box and drag out another bottle, this one being thicker, of brown glass, with fancy calligraphy on the label. As I recognise what it is, my legs go slightly weak. The Grand Abbot's Dark Ale, a brew so precious, so fine in every way, as to be the only beer ever deemed fit for the King. Beer is not normally imbibed by the city's wine-quaffing elite, but an exception is made for the Grand Abbot's Dark Ale. I doubt if the monastery that produces it brews more than fifty barrels a year, and every one of them goes to the Palace. So famous is the Grand Abbot's Dark Ale that a barrel of it was once used as part of a treaty with the Simnians. This beer is the finest beverage in the known world, and I haven't had a drop for more than ten years. Lisutaris, a woman I have always held in the highest regard, has sent me eight bottles. I dab a little moisture from my eyes. Beer like this just doesn't come to a man more than once in a lifetime.
Underneath the beer is a small sack of thazis, but not the dried brown leaves we normally have to put up with in Twelve Seas. This is moist, green, and pungent. Thazis grown by Lisutaris herself. Again, I'm amazed. The sorceress is devoted to thazis. Not only does she have a house in her garden with walls made of glass, specially for growing the plants—an unheard-of extravagance—she has actually developed a spell for making the plants grow faster. There is no finer thazis anywhere, and she's sent me enough to get through the winter, and more.
Underneath the thazis are six bottles of Elvish wine. I'm not a connoisseur of wine but I know, from the standard of the other goods, that this will be from the finest vineyard on the finest grape-growing Elvish isle. At the bottom of the box is an enormous joint of venison, wrapped in an unusual fold of muslin. It doesn't seem to be dried, or salted, as venison usually is in winter. There's a note pinned to it.
From the King's own forest. Will stay fresh till you want to eat it.
My senses pick up the tiniest flicker of sorcery. The joint is magically protected against ageing. I place it with the other goods on my table then sit down to stare in wonder. Four bottles of klee, eight bottles of ale, six bottles of wine, a bag of thazis and a joint of venison. All of a quality never seen in this part of town. It's an outstanding gift. I'm man enough to admit that I was wrong about the Mistress of the Sky. She's a fine woman and a credit to the city. A powerful Sorcerer and sharp as an Elf's ear. I've always said so. Long may she lead the Sorcerers Guild to greater glory.
Before retiring for the night I carefully place locking spells on both my doors. No disreputable inhabitant of Twelve Seas is going to get his hands on my excellent present.
Chapter Three
Next morning I wake feeling more cheerful than I have for weeks. Even the prospect of food shortages can't dim the enthusiasm of a man who's got eight bottles of the Grand Abbot's Dark Ale waiting for his attention. I'm tempted to open one for breakfast but I restrain myself, with an effort. I should wait till I return from guard duty and savour the brew when I'm warm and comfortable. I decide to make do with a little of Lisutaris's thazis instead, and construct a stick of modest size. As I inhale, the world, already not looking so bad, improves considerably.
There are some strange noises outside my inner door, the one that leads down to the bar. Normally I'd be annoyed at such an early interruption to my day but I wander over genially and drag the door open. Out in the corridor I find Palax and Kaby, two young street musicians. There was a time when I'd have been displeased to see them because the young couple are not what you'd call your standard citizens of Turai. They affect the strangest clothes and hairstyles and have facial piercings never seen before in the city, and they live in a caravan which they park behind the tavern. Not the sort of behaviour to endear themselves to the average Turanian, including me. However, I've grown used to them these days, and I've enjoyed some good nights in the Avenging Axe when they've been playing their lute and fiddle.