The first man is no more than three feet away when a voice comes from behind me.
“I’m cold.”
It’s Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. She’s cold.
“What’s happening?”
“We’re being attacked.”
I raise my sword to parry the first blow. Suddenly the thirty men are tossed backwards like feathers in a storm. Seconds after preparing to meet my death I’m looking at a bundle of unconscious thugs. I glance round. Lisutaris, still unable to make it on to her feet, has raised herself to her knees with the aid of the railings.
“Good spell,” I call.
“You’re welcome,” replies Lisutaris. “I can’t get up. Help me inside.”
I toss Makri over my shoulder and march upstairs.
“At least you can still do sorcery,” I say as I take Lisutaris inside.
“Of course I can still do sorcery. I’m number one chariot. Put some logs on the fire. It’s freezing in here.” I throw some logs on the fire. Lisutaris waves her hand and they burst into a roaring blaze. I wish I could do that. I should have studied more.
[Contents]
Chapter Fifteen
Next morning I’m sitting over a beer and a plate of stew at the bar with Gurd and Tanrose. Tanrose makes excellent stew, flavouring it with herbs she grows in the back yard. Gurd and I have cooked a lot of stew on our campaigns round the world but we never had any particular talent for it. For all that I detest Twelve Seas, it’s a comfort to be able to eat good meals made by Tanrose.
The Avenging Axe is not yet open and would be quiet were it not for the furious sounds of combat emanating from the back yard.
“Makri is madder than a mad dragon,” says Gurd.
Fortunately Makri is not angry with me. Not even with the filthy city of Turai. She’s angry with herself. She is appalled to have fallen over in front of an opponent. Early in the morning Tanrose was surprised to discover a bleary-eyed but fully armed Makri preparing to do battle with the wooden targets in the yard. Since then she’s been practising her weaponry, oblivious to the biting cold.
The noise of battle halts as Makri rushes in to pick up one of the long knives she keeps secreted behind the bar.
“You haven’t eaten,” says Tanrose. “Have some stew.”
“No time,” says Makri. “I fell over. I’m a disgrace.”
Makri hurries out, clutching her knife. I carry on with my stew, and take another ale.
“She pushes herself too hard,” says Gurd. “Even the best warrior can’t fight all the time. Look at Thraxas. He was a fine companion in war and he spent half his time too drunk to walk.”
There’s some truth in this. But I was a better horseman in those days.
“Makri is getting stranger,” I muse.
“Stranger?”
“In the past week she’s been miserable about See-ath the Avulan Elf. Then she was the determined bodyguard. Right after that she was getting stoned with Lisutaris and right after that she was back to being organised, rescuing Samanatius. Then she was being intellectual at the library and right afterwards getting stoned again. Now she’s back to being mad axewoman. I don’t understand it. She should just pick a personality and stick with it. It’s not normal, changing all the time.”
“Perhaps it’s the mixed blood,” suggests Gurd.
I’m inclined to agree.
“I expect it will drive her mad in the end.”
“Pointed ears.”
“Always leads to trouble.”
“Nonsense,” scoffs Tanrose. “She’s just young and enthusiastic.”
“Enthusiastic? About everything?”
“Of course. Makri is full of passion. Don’t you remember what that was like?”
“No, I don’t remember. Another beer if you please, Gurd.”
I wonder if I was ever passionate about my wife. My memory seems hazy on the subject. Lisutaris appears in the bar. She spent the night on Makri’s floor and her fine robe is crumpled. Her make-up is smeared and her hair is badly in need of attention.
“I’d better get back to Thamlin and clean up before the Assemblage. Big banquet today. And then the vote.”
She shows no enthusiasm for the banquet or the election.
Lisutaris sits with us at the bar. She refuses the breakfast offered by Tanrose. Though Tanrose is becoming used to the odd collection of characters who pass through the Avenging Axe these days, she’s still surprised by the sight of Turai’s leading Sorcerer, as purebred an aristocrat as Turai can offer, slumped unhappily at the bar, looking like a tavern dancer after a rough night.
“How is the Assemblage?” asks Tanrose, politely.
“Awful,” replies Lisutaris. “They’re trying to kill me.”
I’m perturbed. The Mistress of the Sky’s nerves don’t seem to be what they once were. An excess of thazis can lead to feelings of persecution, I believe.
“We’re not certain anyone is trying to kill you,” I say, in an attempt to be reassuring.
“We are. Yesterday a Simnian Sorcerer whispered something in my ear. I did her a favour a long time ago and she came to repay it. She told me that Sunstorm Ramius definitely did hire an Assassin before he left Simnia.”
“Can you trust that information?”
“Yes.”
So now we have it confirmed. Ramius has engaged the services of Covinius to kill Lisutaris.
“We’ll protect you,” I say. “No client of mine is falling to an Assassin.”
Lisutaris turns her head to stare at me.
“Any idea what Covinius looks like yet?”
“No.”
She shakes her head sadly. Lisutaris is suffering. She was okay in battle but the thought of an Assassin on her tail and the pressure of the Sorcerers Guild trying to break the hiding spell is really getting to her. It’s getting to me too.
I call Makri in from the back yard. She’s caked with sweat and the falling snow has dampened her hair so the points of her ears show through.
“Time to be a bodyguard. Ramius did hire an Assassin.”
“Good,” says Makri. “I’ll kill him.”
She’s back in fighting mode. I hope it lasts.
All over Turai there’s great interest in the outcome of today’s election, though few people in the city are aware of what has really gone on at the Assemblage. Even The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle, normally privy to most of the city’s dirty secrets, has remained strangely silent about the scandalous happenings, which is odd. The Chronicle loves scandal, and they’re sharp as an Elf’s ear at dredging it up. Even the Royal family has trouble keeping its affairs out of the news-sheet. Possibly Tilupasis is responsible. She’s well informed and not overburdened with scruples. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s blackmailing the editor.
I’m fretting about my appearance at the Royal Hall. For one thing I’m not going to be admitted to the feast, which is galling for a man who likes his food. For another there’s the ever-present risk that Old Hasius and his friends are suddenly going to pierce the hiding spell. I haven’t made any progress on finding the real murderer of Darius, unless the real murderer is Lisutaris, in which case I don’t want to make any progress.
And then there’s the matter of Sareepa Lightning-Strikes-the-Mountain. I’m meant to be winning her over. A hopeless endeavour. That woman is never going to vote for Lisutaris. Not after yesterday’s display of inebriation. Damn Sareepa. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s a person who gives up drinking. It shows a great weakness of character.
Makri’s having problems of her own in the vote-winning department. As she leaves with Lisutaris she’s muttering that a certain blond-haired Simnian Sorcerer is going to find himself on the wrong end of a sharp sword if he keeps on being charming to Princess Direeva.
“How about if I just kill him? We could pretend he was the Assassin. Could you fake some evidence?”