Thraxas - The Complete Series (87 page)

Finally, however, I hold the line, and start pushing Kalith back up the board. With his Hero gone, his Wizard nearly out of spells and his Trolls hemmed in by my Heavy Cavalry, he has no option but to retreat. As play crosses back into his side of the board I start to inflict heavy losses on his army and manage to isolate and kill his Wizard. I’ve got him beat. No one comes back from this position, not against me anyway.

Makri chooses this moment to burst into the cabin, followed firstly by a frightened-looking Isuas and secondly by two irate Elvish attendants. She strides over to us and plants herself right beside Lord Kalith’s chair.

“What’s this your daughter tells me about you issuing orders that I can’t leave the ship?” she demands.

I quickly glance at Makri’s hips and am relieved to see she has not actually brought a sword with her. Not that this is any real guarantee that she is unarmed. Makri is always liable to produce a dagger or a throwing star from some unexpected place. I never met anyone so keen on walking round with a knife in each boot.

“I did indeed issue such an order,” says Lord Kalith, regally. If he’s at all concerned about the sight of a furious Makri towering over him he’s not showing it, and when his attendants hurry forward he holds up his hand to show that everything is under control.

I rise to my feet. “Don’t worry about it, Makri, I’ve arranged things.”

I wave at the niarit board, then give Kalith a look.

“I presume you do not wish to carry on with the game.”

Again, I have to say that Lord Kalith takes it well. Good breeding. He can’t be at all happy that’s he’s just lost to me at niarit, and he has made it perfectly plain that he is utterly opposed to Makri landing on Avula, but from all the emotion he shows you might imagine he was having another excellent day at the Tree Palace.

“I concede. Well played, Investigator. I see that my variation needs further work.”

He turns his head toward Makri. “You may land on Avula. Do nothing that may disturb my Elves. And stay away from my daughter.”

“What’s going on?” asks Makri. I tell her I’ll explain later and usher her out before she causes any further offence.

Back on the deck we run into Cicerius.

“Have you—?” he says.

“Yes. Thoroughly offended Lord Kalith. Major diplomatic incident. Better go and sort it out. See you on Avula.”

B
y the afternoon of the next day we’re riding inland to the heart of the island. Avula is extremely lush, densely forested with tall trees that cover the shallow hills that rise towards the centre. I’m a little taken aback by the size of the trees. I’d forgotten how large they were. Even the great oaks in the King’s gardens in Turai are mere saplings in comparison. And without getting too mystical about it, the trees on an Elvish island give the impression that they’re more alive than your average tree.

Landing on the island involved less ceremony than I was expecting. A delegation of important Elves, including Kalith’s wife, Lady Yestar, was at the quay to greet their guests, but there was not the tedious formality that such an event would have occasioned in Turai. Brief introductions were made and we set off inland. Even Makri’s appearance failed to cause a commotion. Kalith presumably had sent word of her arrival, and his subjects, while not looking thrilled at the sight of her, at least didn’t make a fuss. Makri greeted Lady Yestar in her flawless Elvish, as genteelly as any lady of the court, if the Elves have a court that is, which I’m not certain about. I know Kalith has some sort of palace in the trees.

I ride beside Makri at the back of the column, far behind Lord Kalith and Prince Dees-Akan. Makri looks around her with interest but I’m too busy thinking about my work to fully appreciate the splendour of the island. I have the tiniest feeling, far away at the very edge of my Investigator’s intuition, that something is wrong all around me. Something intangible that I can’t put a name to. Whatever it is, it prevents me from gaping at the giant butterflies.

Avula is one of the largest of the Elvish Isles. During the last Orc War it provided many troops and ships for the defence of the west, but as we travel inland it’s not exactly obvious where all these Elves live. There are no extensive settlements at ground level. Here and there wooden houses stand secluded in clearings in the forest, but in the main the Elves prefer to construct their houses high up in the trees. These are cunningly crafted so that they appear to be more like natural growths than artificial objects. Even some of the larger collections of these houses, connected by walkways high above our heads, blend in with the environment in a manner that makes it easy to believe that the land is devoid of inhabitants. Only the regular, well-maintained path we travel on betrays the fact that many Elves live in these parts.

Somewhere or other there must be some sort of industry, workshops where the Elves make their own swords, harnesses and other such things, but we see nothing of this. Just trees, treehouses and the occasional Elf looking down with interest at the procession.

We’re riding on horses provided by the Elves. Vas tells me that on the far side of the island the land is more open, and their animals are pastured there. We pass several small rivers, each running with bright water that glints in the sunlight.

Lord Kalith’s Tree Palace is situated at the centre of the island, the highest point on Avula. The Hesuni Tree is next to the Palace. The important guests are to be quartered nearby. I wonder how Cicerius will manage living in a tree. I notice that the sombre mood of our Elvish hosts has lightened as they find themselves once more in their familiar surroundings, but I still have the feeling that all is not well.

Cicerius is riding beside me, upright in the saddle like a man who once fought in the army. Cicerius never managed to cover himself in glory at war, but he did at least do his duty against the Orcs, unlike most of our present-day Turanian politicians, many of whom bought their way out of military service. I lean over and whisper to him.

“Is it just me or do you feel something wrong here?”

“Wrong? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know exactly. I just get the feeling that something is wrong. Shouldn’t these Elves in the trees be waving to us or something?”

“They are waving.”

“Well maybe they’re waving a bit. I still figure they should be happier to see their Lord back. Singing maybe. Don’t Elves sing a lot? There’s some kind of gloom over this place.”

“I don’t feel it,” says Cicerius.

I always trust my intuition and it’s kept me alive for a long time.

We pass through a clearing and view an unusual spectacle. Thirty or so Elves in white cloaks are moving around in unison under the direction of another Elf. He seems to be shouting at them in an exasperated manner.

“The chorus for one of the plays,” our Elvish companions inform us.

The irate screaming gets louder.

“The directors of the plays are often given to excesses of emotion.”

Passing through another clearing we distinctly hear choral singing, again from a group rehearsing for the festival, and in the distance we catch sight of some jugglers practising. The whole atmosphere becomes more festive. I wonder again if I might solve the case quickly and thereby have some time in which to enjoy myself. Along with Osath the cook, I’m quite looking forward to the juggling competition. Whatever happens, I don’t have that long in which to investigate. Elith is due to be tried immediately after the festival, which begins in seven days’ time and lasts for three.

Vas-ar-Methet is riding some way in front of us. Several hours into the journey he sends a message back to me that we are close to his brother’s abode. The messenger is to take Makri and me there while the procession rides on. The deputation is to receive the full hospitality of Lord Kalith. We aren’t.

“Would it be any use telling you not to make a nuisance of yourself?” asks Cicerius as we prepare to go our separate ways.

“You’ll hardly notice we’re here,” I promise.

“Whatever you do,” says Cicerius sternly, “don’t meddle with anything that is calanith.”

“Cheer up, Cicerius,” says Makri, appearing beside us. “I’m an expert in Elvish taboos. In fact, I am an Elvish taboo. I’ll keep Thraxas out of trouble.”

Makri sits well on her horse. When she arrived in Turai she was already a good rider. Makri is good at most things. It’s annoying. Since leaving the ship her spirits have improved.

“I’m as happy as an Elf in a tree,” she says, laughing, and then looks thoughtful. “Although I have noticed that the Elves up in the trees don’t actually look all that happy. Good choral singing though.”

Our guide leads us down a narrow path. For an Elf he seems remarkably dour. My efforts at conversation come to nothing. Apart from learning that his name is Coris-ar-Mithan and he’s a cousin of my friend Vas, I learn nothing at all from him.

We don’t have to endure each other’s company for long. Coris brings us swiftly to another small clearing where three other Elves, two of them elderly, are waiting for us. Coris greets them briefly, bows formally to us and rides off.

“Greeting, friends of Vas-ar-Methet. Welcome to our home.”

They introduce themselves to us as Vas’s brother, mother, and sister.

“You must be tired after the long journey. We have prepared food and your rooms are waiting. Please follow us.”

They head for a tree. Lying flush with the trunk is a ladder that goes upwards for a long way. I look at it doubtfully and turn to Makri.

“How do you like heights?”

“I’m not wild about them.”

“Me neither.”

We grit our teeth and start to climb. We climb a long way. I try not to look down. As a man who can have difficulty mounting the outside steps to my office, I don’t find it the most convenient place for a home. I’m relieved when we reach the top and step on to a platform. The Elvish house stretches over the highest branches of the tree, and over to the next tree. We’re on the very outskirts of the large central township of the Elves, and from here to the centre of the island houses are strung over most of the forest, increasing in density as they approach the centre. From here it should be possible to walk all the way to the centre of the island without once touching the ground.

Once we step inside we find a comfortable and welcoming dwelling place. The rooms, though simply constructed, are brightly lit, decorated in warm colours with tapestries and rugs. There are pitchers of water and we are invited to wash and make ourselves comfortable before our meal.

“Nice house,” says Makri after they’ve left us.

I agree. “Pity it isn’t on the ground. I’d have a hard time making it up that ladder every day.”

It is now late in the afternoon. After eating I’m planning on heading out quickly to investigate.

“I’m going to see Elith. Time to question the suspect and get things moving. I figure if I can clear her name quickly I might be able to get a bit of rest before heading back to Turai. I need a rest, I’ve been working way too hard recently.”

Vas has arranged that his brother will take me to the place where Elith is held and I’m keen to set off as soon as I can. Camith, slightly younger and less distinguished than the healer, is pleased to find I’m eager to get started.

“No one in our family believes that Elith is guilty of this terrible crime.”

Leaving Makri to look around, I accompany Camith on the long journey through the walkways over the trees towards the centre of Avula, where Elith is incarcerated. He tells me that she is held in a rarely used prison building at the rear of Lord Kalith’s Tree Palace.

“Have you considered a jail break?”

Camith seems shocked by the suggestion. “No. We are presuming that her name will be cleared.”

“Don’t presume. After all, she might be guilty. I’m planning on knocking a few heads together to find out the truth. But it never hurts to have a back-up plan.”

The wooden walkways lead us past more houses. Elves stare as I pass. I’d imagine it’s a long time since they’ve seen anyone with my impressive figure. They’re a thin race, the Elves. Even in old age they rarely seem to settle into comfortable obesity. I ask Camith if there are any taverns on Avula. He tells me that there is nothing that would actually qualify as a tavern, but they do brew their own beer and gather in glades to drink it, which doesn’t sound too bad. I tell him that I have now run out of beer, and instruct him that I must have some as soon as possible.

We pass over a large clearing, the largest open space I’ve seen since we reached the island.

“The tournament field,” explains my guide. “It is often in use—Lord Kalith likes to keep his Elves well prepared. It is here that the plays will be staged. There will also be a tournament, for the younger Elves. Will you be staying for the whole festival?”

“I’m not sure. Depends how the investigating goes.”

“A curious way to make a living,” ventures Camith.

“Not in Turai it isn’t. Where I live you can’t turn round without bumping into something that needs investigating.”

“Are you paid well for the service?”