Read Online Thraxas and the Ice Dragon by Martin Scott - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martin Scott
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tournament rules stipulate that each fighter must enter the arena carrying a sword and a shield.
"A blunted sword," mutters Makri. "What use is that?"
Weapons have to have the edge taken off before they can be used. Makri keeps grumbling about it. We walk eastwards through the town till we reach the outskirts, where tents have been set up selling all sorts of goods. Makri becomes more interested as we approach. She does like weapons, and can't help but be interested in the rows of swords, shields, helmets and so on. We're studying a display of daggers when someone claps me heartily on the back.
"Saxarth? Is that you? You old dog!"
I turn round to find myself confronted by a man a few inches shorter than me, grey haired, but wiry and vigorous.
"Combius?"
"Saxarth!" He claps me on the shoulder again. "Good to see you!"
"Saxarth?" says Makri.
"It's the name I used when I won the tournament. I was absent without leave from the army at the time. Had to disguise my identity. Makri, this is Combius of Juval. Champion the year before me, and as good a fighter as I've met."
"I'd have been champion next year too if I hadn't been injured," roars Combius, cheerfully. A quite untrue statement, but I let it pass.
" Saxarth is just Thraxas backwards," says Makri. "Couldn't you come up with something better?"
"What are you doing here, Combius?"
"Selling weapons. Set myself up as an armourer after I retired from fighting."
"Then you're just the man I've been looking for. This is Makri. She needs weapons for the tournament."
Combius looks at Makri in surprise. "You're entering the tournament?"
"Couldn't you think of anything better than Saxarth?" asks Makri.
I purse my lips. "Could you drop the inquisition about my name? Yes, Combius, Makri is entering the tournament. She's currently bodyguard to the Head of the Sorcerers Guild and I give her every chance of doing well."
Combius doesn't look especially convinced, but he's not going to turn away our business. "I've got the full range here. What do you need?"
"Everything. Sword, shield, mail shirt, gorget, mail gloves, helmet, boots, leggings. At a generous discount for an old companion, I trust."
Combius leads us behind his table and signals to a young assistant to help him find suitable armour for Makri.
"She's a good deal thinner than anyone else I'm outfitting," he muses. "Going to need some adjustments."
Makri has picked up a sword from the table and makes a few practice thrusts. As she walks down the row of merchandise, examining the various pieces of armour, Combius lowers his voice. "What's the idea, Saxarth? She's not really entering the tournament is she?"
"She is."
"Did you lose your mind when Turai fell to the Orcs? People die in this tournament. Why risk the girl's life?"
"She's not risking her life."
"Really? Orc blood isn't too popular around here. It's madness letting her enter."
By now Makri is trying on some of Combius's chainmail shirts, all of which are too large for her. She complains about the weight, comparing them unfavourably to the Orcish armour she left in Turai, something that doesn't go down well with Combius.
"The Orcs can't make armour."
"Yes they can. Good armour."
Neither Combius nor his assistants look pleased. No western armourer will acknowledge that Orcish smiths have any skill.
"How about that small shirt at the back?" I suggest, to move things along.
"Might do," says Combius. "It's a youth's size. Made if for a Baron's son. Killed in a horse riding accident before he could wear it, poor lad. I might be able to adjust it for her."
By the time we leave Combius's weapons tent Makri has purchased a sword, a shield, and chainmail gloves. We have to call back for the rest later, after alterations. Makri scowls at her sword.
"It's blunt."
"Of course it's blunt. Can't you get it through your head that you're not meant to kill anyone?'
"No. And I still think Saxarth was a poor choice of name. I'd have seen through it right
"A blunted sword," mutters Makri. "What use is that?"
Weapons have to have the edge taken off before they can be used. Makri keeps grumbling about it. We walk eastwards through the town till we reach the outskirts, where tents have been set up selling all sorts of goods. Makri becomes more interested as we approach. She does like weapons, and can't help but be interested in the rows of swords, shields, helmets and so on. We're studying a display of daggers when someone claps me heartily on the back.
"Saxarth? Is that you? You old dog!"
I turn round to find myself confronted by a man a few inches shorter than me, grey haired, but wiry and vigorous.
"Combius?"
"Saxarth!" He claps me on the shoulder again. "Good to see you!"
"Saxarth?" says Makri.
"It's the name I used when I won the tournament. I was absent without leave from the army at the time. Had to disguise my identity. Makri, this is Combius of Juval. Champion the year before me, and as good a fighter as I've met."
"I'd have been champion next year too if I hadn't been injured," roars Combius, cheerfully. A quite untrue statement, but I let it pass.
" Saxarth is just Thraxas backwards," says Makri. "Couldn't you come up with something better?"
"What are you doing here, Combius?"
"Selling weapons. Set myself up as an armourer after I retired from fighting."
"Then you're just the man I've been looking for. This is Makri. She needs weapons for the tournament."
Combius looks at Makri in surprise. "You're entering the tournament?"
"Couldn't you think of anything better than Saxarth?" asks Makri.
I purse my lips. "Could you drop the inquisition about my name? Yes, Combius, Makri is entering the tournament. She's currently bodyguard to the Head of the Sorcerers Guild and I give her every chance of doing well."
Combius doesn't look especially convinced, but he's not going to turn away our business. "I've got the full range here. What do you need?"
"Everything. Sword, shield, mail shirt, gorget, mail gloves, helmet, boots, leggings. At a generous discount for an old companion, I trust."
Combius leads us behind his table and signals to a young assistant to help him find suitable armour for Makri.
"She's a good deal thinner than anyone else I'm outfitting," he muses. "Going to need some adjustments."
Makri has picked up a sword from the table and makes a few practice thrusts. As she walks down the row of merchandise, examining the various pieces of armour, Combius lowers his voice. "What's the idea, Saxarth? She's not really entering the tournament is she?"
"She is."
"Did you lose your mind when Turai fell to the Orcs? People die in this tournament. Why risk the girl's life?"
"She's not risking her life."
"Really? Orc blood isn't too popular around here. It's madness letting her enter."
By now Makri is trying on some of Combius's chainmail shirts, all of which are too large for her. She complains about the weight, comparing them unfavourably to the Orcish armour she left in Turai, something that doesn't go down well with Combius.
"The Orcs can't make armour."
"Yes they can. Good armour."
Neither Combius nor his assistants look pleased. No western armourer will acknowledge that Orcish smiths have any skill.
"How about that small shirt at the back?" I suggest, to move things along.
"Might do," says Combius. "It's a youth's size. Made if for a Baron's son. Killed in a horse riding accident before he could wear it, poor lad. I might be able to adjust it for her."
By the time we leave Combius's weapons tent Makri has purchased a sword, a shield, and chainmail gloves. We have to call back for the rest later, after alterations. Makri scowls at her sword.
"It's blunt."
"Of course it's blunt. Can't you get it through your head that you're not meant to kill anyone?'
"No. And I still think Saxarth was a poor choice of name. I'd have seen through it right
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