Вилорп

→Makri shakes her head.

→"Don't worry, we'll hold off the Orcs for a while yet. Hell, we don't even know if Prince Amrag's got any sort of force out there."

→Poor Makri. If it were anyone else complaining about their education at a time like this I'd ridicule them, but I've realised over the past two years what it all means to her. Makri has moved heaven, earth and the three moons to complete her studies at the Guild College. This college, a place for the sons of the lower classes to further their studies, didn't want to admit her. Makri had to struggle all the way, and she's still struggling, scraping together enough money to pay for her classes, and dealing with a lot of hostility because of her Orcish blood. It's quite an achievement for her to have accomplished as much as she has. Makri's dream is to enter the Imperial University of Turai. It's a hopeless dream, but I've given up mocking her over it.

→"That's just the point," says Makri, now agitated. "Supposing the college goes up in flames and all the records are destroyed? I'm number one student, two years at the top. I'm going to finish with distinction this year and who's going to know if they don't give me my certified scroll?"

→"Makri, you must be the only person in the city who's thinking about learning anything right now. Chances are there won't even be a city after the spring."

→"But they could have stayed open and we'd have been able to take our exams before the spring. Might have got the whole year finished before the Orcs attacked."

→"It always shuts in winter. Anyway, you said they'd suspended classes for the duration of the war."

→Makri has a strange passion for education. It's another of her faults.

→"Wouldn't you say it's warm enough for the Guild College to open?"

→I nod. It's cold, but nothing like last year.

→"You notice how it's not such a bad winter?" she says.

→There are some people on the streets, but between the cold weather and the war there's not a lot of merriment about. Makri isn't helping. She's unusually gloomy. Even the sight of a new batch of swords being laid out in the armourer's window doesn't bring a smile to her face, and Makri is a great weapons enthusiast.

→"Who wants to be sober when the Orcs are outside the walls? Last time they were here I was drunk for three months. And still fought heroically."

→"Since the Orcs arrived you've hardly been sober."

→"I need a beer."

→"What's the hurry, Thraxas?"

→It's an interesting occurrence. As a curious sort of person, I might be inclined to take a walk over if I hadn't promised to see Tanrose after my shift. I run into Makri as I'm walking back to the Avenging Axe. She's wearing a man's tunic and leggings, and her floppy green pointed hat. Its a foolish item she picked up on the Elvish isle of Avula. Only Elvish children wear them and it looks ridiculous. Along with her new golden nose ring, it makes for a particularly offensive sight. The assorted lowlifes who frequent the Avenging Axe are always going on about how great it is the way Makri bulges out of her tiny chainmail bikini in all the right places, but as far as I can see they're missing the point. For one thing she's far too skinny round the waist, and for another, even if you like the skinny type, a pretty face and figure don't make up for her numerous faults. She paints her toenails gold like a Simnian whore, she has her nose pierced like some refugee from an Orcish brothel, she's got the longest and most unruly hair in the city, and beneath that are a pair of pointed ears. Together with her short temper, her foolish intellectual pursuits and her weird puritanical streak it makes for a very unattractive package. Anyone ending up with Makri as a partner would soon come to regret it.

→As we watch, the stricken ship crawls up to the entrance to the harbour then halts, its bow pressed against the thick chains that block the entrance. Sounds of shouting float over the water. Probably whoever's on board is yelling at the defenders to let them in before they go under, which won't be long. The vessel hovers perilously at the entrance, sinking ever further in the water. Just when it seems it's about to slide beneath the sea, the great chains are pulled back. The Sorcerer on duty at the harbour removes the defensive spells and the ship begins to crawl into the harbour. They've made it to safety.

→The ship's masts are broken and it's crawling along under one ripped sail. It's low in the water, and though we can't see it clearly at this distance, I'm guessing that all spare hands on board are currently pumping out water for all they're worth, trying to keep the vessel afloat. I can see soldiers hurrying along the harbour walls, ready to deal with any emergency. In time of war, no ship can enter the harbour unbidden. It's protected by both chains and spells, and the harbour master won't admit anyone till he's very sure that it's not an enemy.

→"Trader," mutters Ozax. "Looks like it's barely afloat."