Thraxas - The Complete Series (91 page)

I’m already getting the impression that far too many things on Avula are calanith, which might turn out to be awkward, given the Deputy Consul’s strict admonition not to rub up against any Elvish taboos the wrong way. I let the subject drop.

Makri is eager to set off.

“I haven’t seen the Tree Palace yet. Look, I painted my toenails again.”

“Lady Yestar will be thrilled. Are you planning on wearing that tunic?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The same as with everything else you wear. It doesn’t cover enough of you. Haven’t you noticed that the Elf women cover their legs? Couldn’t you borrow some demure Elf clothes?”

“I think not,” says Makri, sagely. “As the philosopher Samanatius says, ‘Never try to pretend to be someone else.’ ”

“I don’t trust Samanatius.”

“Why not? You’ve never heard him speak.”

“He teaches for free, doesn’t he? If he was any good he’d charge admission.”

Makri shakes her head. “Thraxas, you take ignorance to new depths. Anyway, Yestar would probably be disappointed if I turned up looking like an Elf. Isuas will have told her what a Barbarian I am.”

As if to emphasise the point, Makri has her twin swords strapped to her back. I instruct her not to unsheathe the Orcish blade under any circumstances. The dark metal is instantly recognisable and waving an Orcish weapon around is liable to get us run off the island.

Camith sees us off. “You notice how he was yawning all through breakfast?” I ask Makri.

“Still bored by your war stories, no doubt.”

“Camith was not bored by my war stories. Rather, he was honoured to have such a distinguished soldier under his roof. If we hadn’t stood firm in Turai, there would have been no stopping the Orcs. They’d have been down here with the war ships, dragons at the ready. The Elvish Isles might well have fallen. Really, when you think about it, these Elves owe me for protecting them.”

“I thought the Elves came to your rescue?”

“They helped. I expect we’d have managed anyway. But the point I was trying to make before you started interrupting was that Camith was yawning having presumably had a bad night’s sleep. More nightmares, I imagine. So when we get in the vicinity of the Hesuni Tree, keep a look-out for anything that might be affecting it enough to make it start sending out bad feelings to the Elves.”

“Like what?”

“I’ve no idea. Just look. You’re well versed in Elvish lore, you might spot something I’d miss.”

We set off across the walkways towards the Palace. Even at this elevation the vegetation is dense, with vines tangled over the tops of the trees. There are few places where the ground is visible and such small clearings as we cross are covered with flowering bushes. There are plenty of butterflies and small birds that make a lot of noise, and occasionally a monkey swings over to examine us before disappearing back into the forest. Makri studies them with interest but I’ve never been fond of monkeys.

Above our heads the sky is blue. Although this is the winter season on Avula it’s still warm and pleasant, in contrast to the icy misery of Turai, far away to the north.

“Poor Gurd, he’ll be as cold as a frozen pixie right now. Of course as a northern Barbarian he doesn’t feel it as much as a civilised man like myself.”

We pass over the tournament field. Some young Elves are practising for the big event. Camith had laughed when we mentioned that Isuas had asked Makri for fighting lessons. Isuas is not unpopular among the Avulans, but her lack of physical prowess is something of a standing joke among them.

“But Kalith has four strong sons and three hearty daughters,” Camith pointed out. “No one minds that his eighth child is a weakling. I believe that Lady Yestar encourages him to take her on his voyages in an effort to harden her, but from what I saw of her yesterday it has had little effect.”

Along the way we pass small settlements. When an Elvish child runs indoors in a panic at the sight of Makri, she professes that’s she’s starting to feel depressed again.

“Now I think about it, it might not be so great at the Tree Palace. Full of high-class Elves making comments about my toenails, I expect.”

“Well, you would insist on painting them.”

“I need some fortifying,” she announces. “You bring any thazis out with you?”

“Thazis? This is the Elvish Isles. A paradise on earth and a drug-free environment.”

“I know. So did you bring any?”

“What do you need it for? Can’t you just enjoy the clean air?”

“It’s wonderful. So? You bring any thazis?”

“Of course. You expect me to wander about a strange island without any thazis? Hell, who knows when I might next get a beer.”

I pass Makri a thazis stick and she lights it with a satisfied sigh. I do the same. I don’t know if this mild narcotic is illegal on Avula but I doubt Lord Kalith would be pleased to learn we’d been using it on his island. We finish it off on a lonely stretch of walkway. The sound of choral singing floats past us pleasantly. Entrants to the festival are rehearsing anywhere they can find space.

“Now I’m relaxed,” says Makri.

Eight masked Elves carrying long vicious spears appear round the corner and advance towards us menacingly.

“Damn it,” says Makri. “Why did you make me smoke that thing?”

I can’t believe that we are about to be attacked right here in the middle of Avula.

“They must be practising for the tournament.”

“They don’t look like they’re under fifteen.”

The walkway is wide enough for four. The eight Elves are drawn up in two ranks, in battle formation. Eight spears point towards us, leaving no way through. They break into a run. You can’t fight eight Elves with spears in a confined space like this, certainly not without a hefty shield to cover yourself.

“Got any spells?” says Makri, unsheathing her twin blades.

“Didn’t think to load any in.”

“Can’t you just remember one?”

Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that. Once you use a spell it’s gone from your mind. To use it again you have to reread it from your grimoire. We’ve no time for further discussion. They’re almost upon us. Even against such odds Makri would normally refuse to retreat. Probably she’d try and outflank them. On the narrow walkway, there’s no way to do that. When the spears are only a few feet away Makri and I sheathe our swords simultaneously and leap into the trees. I offer up a prayer for a sturdy branch to hold on to, a prayer that unfortunately seems to go unanswered as I plunge down through the branches. I grab frantically at everything I can reach but nothing will support my weight and I fall a long way without making contact with anything firm enough to halt my descent. Eventually I thud heavily into a sturdy branch, only ten feet or so from the ground. I’m severely winded and badly scratched, but otherwise undamaged.

There are crashing noises above me, and some swearing. Makri found a firm handhold further up and is now swinging herself down to my level. We drop to the ground and draw our weapons, waiting for our assailants to come after us. There’s no sign of them.

“Let’s go,” I say, and we move off, but moving off in the dense undergrowth is difficult. Makri snarls as she cuts her way through the vegetation. Fleeing from an opponent always puts her in a bad mood.

“Don’t worry. I figure you’ll get a chance to meet them again.”

“Who were they?”

Neither of us has any idea. Eight masked Elves, all silent, with no identifying marks.

After a long period of hacking our way through the thick plant life, hunting unsuccessfully for a path, Makri rounds on me with a savage look in her eyes.

“Give me more thazis,” she demands.

“Not really what we need right now, is it, Makri?”

“Just give me the damned thazis,” she snarls.

“Hey, okay, don’t get crazy about it. I know you hate running from opponents, it’s not my fault they had us outweaponed in a narrow place.”

Makri’s anger suddenly leaves her and she sits down heavily.

“Now I’m depressed. In fact I’m as miserable as a Niojan whore. Damn these mood swings.”

I ask her what is going on.

“It’s a month since we left Turai,” she replies.

“So?”

“So it’s my period again. Any complaints?”

I sigh. “No. None. But try not to bleed over the Tree Palace. Kalith will be furious if that happens.”

“To hell with Kalith,” says Makri, lighting up her thazis stick. “Of course I don’t have anything with me, seeing as I didn’t get a chance to pack before I leaped into the ocean. Maybe Lady Yestar can lend me a towel or something.”

By this time I’m in need of a little relaxation myself. I smoke another thazis stick and consider the situation. There has to be a path around here somewhere. There’s nothing for it but to keep chopping our way through till we find one. I’m not certain if the Avulan forest contains any dangerous predators. It certainly contains a lot of insects, several of which seem to have decided that nothing tastes better than Thraxas the Investigator.

“If this blunts my blades someone is going to pay dearly,” states Makri. “I hate this. My legs are getting scratched. Why didn’t you tell me to wear something more suitable? You want to go in front for a while, I’m sure I’m doing all the work here. Put some effort into it, Thraxas, we’re going to be here all day at this rate.”

It’s exhausting work and I am soon dripping with sweat. Eventually we break through into a small clearing. I slump heavily to the ground.

“To hell with this.”

“Give me another thazis stick,” says Makri.

I was planning to ration my thazis carefully, but the situation seems to call for it so we light up some more, smoke it, then set off again. We’re heading in the general direction of the Palace. At least I hope we are. I’m trying to navigate by the sun but the sun is rarely visible through the trees. Makri’s mood continues to alternate between anger and depression. I’m fairly furious myself.

“Damned spearmen. If I’d known this was going to happen I’d never have jumped.”

“We should have stayed and fought them. I’ll kill them when I get my hands on them. Hell, I just got stung.”

After what feels like several hours of hacking, chopping, cursing and complaining, we finally find a clearing in which a ladder ascends to a walkway above.

“Thank God for that.”

We climb. When we finally make the top I sit down exhausted. Makri has drawn her swords, eager for another sight of the spear carriers, but the walkway is empty. She sheathes her weapons angrily.

“I’m in a really bad mood,” she says.

I pass her a thazis stick. We smoke them and walk on.

“Where are we?”

“No idea. Look, there’s an Elf sitting in that tree.”

We shout to the Elf, asking which way the Palace is. He points, and we head in that direction.

“I’m in no mood to talk to Lady Yestar,” Makri says. “Better give me another thazis stick, mellow me a little.”

I figure this is a good idea. No point in being flustered when we arrive. We light two more thazis sticks and smoke them as we walk. Wherever we are, it seems to be a sparsely populated part of the island, and we pass no further Elves.

“I hate this stupid forest,” says Makri.

I pass her another thazis stick. We walk on.

“Look. Elf houses. Don’t you think they look sort of funny?”

Makri giggles. “Houses in trees.”

It does seem quite funny, now she mentions it.

“We better have some more thazis before we hit the Palace. Don’t want to arrive there in a bad mood, what with me menstruating and everything.”

“Absolutely,” I agree, and light us up a stick each. I remember my flask.

“Some klee?”

“Thank you,” says Makri.

The walkway brings us into the centre of the island, ending in a long ladder down to the central clearing. The Tree Palace is visible on the other side. Elves stare at us as we pass. We greet them warmly.

Once we reach the clearing Makri halts, looking thoughtful.

“You say thazis isn’t used among the Elves? You think they might not like it? We’d better smoke some behind this tree, before we get to the Palace.”

This sounds like a good idea.

“You are good at having good ideas,” I tell Makri.

“I know. I think about things a lot,” replies Makri, inhaling the thazis smoke. “Important things.”

“I think about important things too.”

“It’s good to think about important things.”

After all the thazis my mouth tastes funny. I take some klee to clear away the taste and pass the flask to Makri. She coughs as it burns her throat. We sit under the tree and gaze at the beautiful blue sky for a while. Butterflies flutter around our heads.

“I never realised how beautiful butterflies are,” says Makri.

“Neither did I. Aren’t they pretty?”

We watch them for a long time. A few clouds drift across the sky.

“Where were we going?” asks Makri, eventually.

I think about this.

“The Palace.”

“Right. What for?”

“You know. Just to see it. Talk to the Elves.”

Makri blinks. “Right.”

We sit under the sun.

“Should we go?” says Makri, after a while.

“Go where?”

“The Palace.”

“If you like.”

Our discussion is interrupted by a furious debate. A large group of white-robed Elves appears out of the forest, all talking heatedly at once.

“We cannot omit the scene where King Vendris butchers his children,” says one of the actors, angrily. “It traditionally appears after the Tree-burning scene…”

“Then it is time for a change,” counters a grey-haired Elf, whom, from the way he seems to be taking the brunt of the anger, I take to be the director.

“And who are you to change the telling of the ancient tale of Queen Leeuven?” demands an actress, possibly Queen Leeuven herself, from the gold tiara in her hair.

“I am the man appointed by Lord Kalith to put on the play,” retorts the grey-haired Elf.

“A terrible mistake!” cry several of the actors, with feeling.

“Just do as I tell you if you want that prize…”

The group carries on across the clearing, finally disappearing back into the forest, still arguing.