Martin Scott - Thraxas and the Ice Dragon

Book nine in the Thraxas series

Thraxas and the Ice Dragon Copyright Martin Scott 2013

This edition published 2013 by Martin Millar

The moral right of the author has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the copyright holder.

All characters in the publication are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For more about Thraxas visit

www.martinmillar.com

www.thraxas.com

Cover Model Madeline Rae Mason

Gambling Consultant Robin Gibson

My thanks to to Peter Judge for his help.

eISBN: 9781626752719

It's some years since the last Thraxas novel was published. He was last seen at the end of Thraxas Under Siege, leaving Turai in a small boat, in the company of Makri and Lisutaris. Neither of his companions were in the best of health, and it had taken a heroic effort by Thraxas to get them on board.

Since then, I've had many, many requests for another Thraxas book. For various reasons, not all involving laziness on my part, it's taken a while. But here, finally, is Thraxas and the Ice Dragon, in which Thraxas is in good form at the dining table, and Makri is very busy with her swords.

The nine Thraxas books so far are Thraxas, Thraxas and the Warrior Monks, Thraxas at the Races, Thraxas and the Elvish Isles, Thraxas and the Sorcerers, Thraxas and the Dance of Death, Thraxas at War, Thraxas under Siege, and Thraxas and the Ice Dragon. These will all be available soon as ebooks. I'm now planning a tenth novel.

We've been stuck on this tiny boat for eight days. We haven't seen land since we drifted away from the shores of Turai. It's rained almost continually and the waves keep threatening to overwhelm us. I'm cold, wet, and fed up with everything.

If you have to be stuck on a small boat in the middle of the ocean, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, is not a bad companion. Her sorcery has at least kept us supplied with food. When Lisutaris snaps her fingers, fish just surrender. It saves a lot of messing around with fishing lines. She can purify water with another minor spell, so we won't die of thirst. Unfortunately, Lisutaris has no mastery over the ocean currents, and not enough power over the wind to be able to guide us back to the shore. We're drifting along, not knowing where, if anywhere, we're going to land.

The City of Turai was under siege. We'd hoped to hold out till help arrived, but we failed. Turai fell to the Orcs. Their Sorcerers nullified our defences and Lord Rezaz the Butcher smashed through the north wall with his Orcish army. I escaped in the chaos, bringing Lisutaris and Makri with me. Lisutaris has been depressed from the moment she got on board. She's head of the Sorcerers Guild and one of the strongest users of magic in the West. It was her responsibility to protect the city from Orcish sorcery and she failed. In her defence, she was struck down by illness; even so, she blames herself.

Makri, ex-gladiator and part-time barmaid, is an even less equitable companion. She's furious that she left the city without a fight. I think she actually blames me for rescuing her. The fact that Makri was so ill with the winter malady she was unable to walk, let along fight, doesn't prevent her from cursing herself for leaving Turai without striking a blow in its defence.

The boat's tiny cabins give scant protection from the cold winter rain, and we've been lurching alarmingly in the heavy swell. These seas are notoriously bad during the winter months and it's something of a miracle that we haven't been swallowed up by a storm. Our single sail is torn and ragged, making steering almost impossible, something which Makri has found occasion to complain about.

Couldn't you have found a boat that was properly equipped?

You think I had time to hunt around for a better boat? If I hadn't got us out of there quickly we'd have been dead on the beach with a dragon picking our bones.

Your bones maybe, says Makri. I'd have gutted any dragon that came near me.

You couldn't even walk.

Well I can walk now, Makri retorts, and strides around the deck. Can't you take us back? she demands, turning to Lisutaris. Work a spell or something?

Lisutaris shrugs. She's already explained that while she can manipulate the weather to some degree, she doesn't have enough power over the wind to carry us back to land. None of us are much good as sailors. I've travelled the oceans in my time, but always as a soldier, never as a crewman. Makri has only ever made one voyage, to the Elvish Islands, and she was constantly sea-sick. As for Lisutaris, she's far more comfortable in the city. None of us have any bright ideas for escaping our predicament.

The next day arrives, dull, overcast, and windless. I wake up shivering. I brought my magic warm cloak with me, but we've been sharing it. Lisutaris slept in it last night. I stride out onto the deck.

I've had enough of this, I declare. I'm as cold as a frozen pixie, not to mention wet as a mermaid's blanket. I'm stuck on a small boat with no beer, a depressed Sorcerer and an angry barbarian woman. I'm sick of it.

I look up at the sky, and offer up a prayer to whichever Gods might be watching in these parts.

How about taking us back to land?

Nothing happens. We remain becalmed. I start to feel annoyed, and shake my fist at the sky. I demand you take this boat back to shore!

Lisutaris arrives on deck and looks at me questioningly. What are you doing?

I'm demanding that the Gods take us back to land.

That's going to work, grunts the Sorcerer, and sits down wearily at the side of the boat. I'll catch us some fish for breakfast.

I don't want fish. I'm fed up with fish. I want beer and I want to get back ashore.

I start shaking my fist at the sky again. Saint Quatinius? How about some help? We built statues of you all over Turai. Shouldn't you be doing something in return? I can't keep going on fish much longer. I need meat. And beer. A lot of beer.

We remain becalmed. I feel irritated at Saint Quatinius. As a patron saint he's really not much help. Makri appears from her cabin, shivering.

Who is Thraxas shouting at?

Saint Quatinius.

Has he gone mad?

Lisutaris nods. He seems to have. Too much fish.

We'd still have some venison left if he'd been able to control himself.

I glare at Makri. When we fled the city, I did have the foresight to bring along a large joint of venison. Properly rationed, it might have lasted for some time. Perhaps unwisely, I ate it all in one night, feeling in need of some proper sustenance.

So I ate all the venison. A man of my proportions can't keep going on fish. I need meat. And beer.

I shake my fist at the sky again, and complain to Saint Quatinius.

You couldn't expect Thraxas to go for a week without beer without cracking up, says Makri, sitting down next to Lisutaris to share the warm cloak.

I glare at her. At least I'm trying to do something.

Do what? None of us even believe in Saint Quatinius.

I gaze up to the sky. Please do not abandon me because of this Orcish infidel, great Saint Quatinius. It's not my fault she doesn't believe in you.

Hey! yells Makri. I'm not an Orc. And stop shouting to that imaginary saint.

Ignore her, Saint Quatinius. Do not punish an honest Turanian citizen because he has the misfortune to be cast adrift with an unbelieving Orc.