Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  The Fairy Glade is a good two hours’ ride from the city, east through the farmlands and the vineyards that skirt the hills. It’s some way inside the huge forest that serves as the boundary between Turai and Misan, our small eastern neighbour. Nothing much goes on in Misan, which is made up of small villages and clusters of nomadic tribesmen. After that it’s a few hundred miles of increasingly wild and lawless territory before you reach the lands of the Orcs.

  Glixius Dragon Killer is meant to collect the Choirs of Angels from the Glade tomorrow. It’s being deposited there by Horm the Dead.

  “Why is the pick-up point the Fairy Glade?” asks Makri.

  “Glixius insisted. He knows that as Horm is half Orc he won’t be able to get into the Glade. I imagine Glixius doesn’t trust him completely and wants the stuff delivered someplace he can examine it in peace without fear of Horm double-crossing him or just stealing the Prince’s credit note without delivering the goods. Somehow we’ve got to intercept that credit note.”

  Whether or not Makri can get into the Fairy Glade remains to be seen. Whichever guardian spirits protect it, they won’t be used to anyone with Orc, Elf and Human blood. I’ve told Makri to keep smiling and to think positive thoughts. That always pleases the Fairies.

  The countryside is parched and dry. Around the city the land is irrigated with a series of small channels fed by the river but further on the fields are barren. Much of this land has been overfarmed and is becoming infertile, which is one more thing for Turai to worry about. Some way on, as the land rises gradually and the trees become more numerous, the vegetation looks rather healthier. More rain falls on these hills than falls on the city. Astrath Triple Moon explained the reason to me once but I’ve forgotten what it was. The vast forest is now visible on the horizon. I glance at the sky. I don’t like it out here. I feel exposed in all this space. I’m too used to the city. I don’t ride much these days and I’m already sore in the saddle. Makri rides without a saddle, like the Barbarian she is. She seems untroubled by the heat, even in her leather and chainmail body armour. Her axe is strapped to her saddle and her two swords form a cross on her back. We’re both carrying light helmets with visors.

  A small copse is in front of us, then the forest proper begins.

  “I’ve never been in a forest before,” says Makri.

  Horm the Dead rides out from the copse followed by twenty Orcish warriors.

  “It might be a very short visit.”

  Another twenty Orcs ride out from the trees along with a few heavily armed Humans. They encircle us. I curse myself for my carelessness but I wasn’t expecting to meet Horm in person. Certainly not this side of the Glade. He must have deposited the dwa and come this way to wait for Glixius, or whoever is bringing the Prince’s credit note. Makri slips her helmet over her face, takes a sword in her left hand and her axe in her right, and prepares to make her death stand. I’m still hoping to talk my way out of it.

  Horm rides up. His face is deathly white and his features, not unhandsome, are immobile, set in stone. His malevolent black eyes stare at me. His thick black hair hangs round his shoulders, with dark eagle feathers woven into his plaits and black and gold beads tied into their ends. Even in this heat he’s wearing his black cloak. His aura is so powerful that it’s intimidating just to be near.

  I put on a brave face. “Greetings, Horm the Dead. All is well with you, I trust?”

  “I warned you to stay well away from me.” He demands to know what brings me here.

  “A letter of credit which the Prince very unwisely gave to Glixius Dragon Killer.”

  “That is for me, not you.”

  “I’m sorry, Horm. We just can’t let such a thing fall into your hands. Praetor Cicerius offers to redeem it for the full amount.”

  This is a lie but I’m hoping to buy some time. Horm the Dead shakes his head. He isn’t interested in selling us the Prince’s note.

  “I have other plans for it, Thraxas. Do you think I’d be such a fool as to sell it for its face value? Once I have it in my hands the Royal Family will find themselves paying me for the rest of their lives to keep the matter quiet.”

  “The King of Turai does not pay blackmailers,” I say, with dignity.

  Horm the Dead laughs. “He does if he doesn’t want to be swept out of power by the Populares.”

  The Orcs draw in tighter around us. They’re ugly. Ugly and well armed, with scimitars and hunting bows.

  “How can you dare to confront me, Thraxas? You have so little power.”

  “People often say that to me. But I get by somehow.”

  I’ve taken a small ball out of my bag.

  “What is that?” sneers Horm the Dead.

  “A child’s toy,” I reply, and hurl it at the ground where it explodes with a flash of light and a series of powerful, reverberating crashes. The multiple firecracker causes Horm’s horse to rear in terror. The Orcs behind him likewise fight to control their mounts. Makri and I need no encouragement. We’re through their lines at a gallop and into the forest before anyone has time to loose an arrow at us.

  “Nice move,” yells Makri, yanking her visor back to see better in the gloom.

  It was a nice move. Only a smart guy like myself would know that Turanian horses are used to fire-crackers because they encounter them at our festivals. To an Orc’s horse from the Wastelands, it must have come as quite a surprise.

  We pound along the trail, slowing as the branches droop. Behind us we hear sounds of pursuit but this forest path is a difficult place to chase anyone, as the branches are too low and the undergrowth too thick.

  “How far to the Fairy Glade?”

  “About a hundred yards.”

  “What if I can’t get in?”

  “We’ll plead with the fairies.”

  Suddenly we burst into a clearing, a beautiful stretch of grass and flowers with a sparkling stream running down into a rocky pool. Standing beside the pool is a unicorn.

  “We’re here,” I say, and dismount.

  “Wow,” says Makri, as the unicorn looks at us, unconcerned, and carries on drinking. I join it, scooping up some water to splash over my face.

  “Is it safe?”

  “Everything’s safe in the Fairy Glade, Makri. Provided you don’t stay the night.”

  Four Fairies, each about six inches tall and wearing brightly coloured garments, flutter out of the trees and hover in front of Makri’s face, examining her. Four more appear, and then more, till eventually Makri is completely surrounded by small silver-winged Fairies. They start to land on her arms, and walk over her head and shoulders.

  “They like you. I thought they would.”

  Somewhere a flute is playing, very gently. The Orcs can’t reach us here. Strange though it seems, we forget all about them, and sit down to rest and watch the Fairies, and the unicorns and the Dryads that appear from the trees, and the Naiads that surface from the pool to play with the butterflies.

  “I like this place,” says Makri, removing her body armour.

  I like it too. I’m surprised. I thought I’d become too much of a cynic.

  “What’s that?” asks Makri as a half-man, half-horse trots into view.

  “A Centaur. Pretty intelligent, by all accounts. Lascivious too.”

  The Centaur approaches. Like all the magical creatures here he seems completely unconcerned by our presence. He halts in front of Makri, staring appreciatively at her curves. Makri shifts a little uncomfortably.

  “Seen enough?” she says querulously, as the Centaur keeps on staring.

  The Fairies giggle.

  “Pardon me,” says the Centaur, pleasantly. “Force of habit.”

  He makes to leave. I remember what I’m here for. “Excuse me,” I say. “We’re looking for some sacks of dwa.”

  The Centaur frowns, and looks at me accusingly. “Bringing such a thing into the Glade is a violation.”

  “I know. That’s why we’re going to remove it.”

  I give him a
brief rundown of events, stressing heavily that myself and Makri are on the side of law and order.

  “Your city’s law and order mean little to us.”

  “We believe in peace and love,” says Makri, which is curious coming from a woman currently carrying an axe, two swords and God knows how many knives and throwing stars. I can’t imagine where Makri picked up such an odd phrase but it seems to go down well. The Centaur likes the sound of peace and love. So do the Fairies. They’re clustering round Makri like bees round honey, flying round her, walking over her, playing with her hair. Obviously they love her. Makri basks in the sunshine and the attention, happy as an Elf in a tree. The Fairies don’t take much notice of me.

  “I’ll take you to the sacks,” says the Centaur, who introduces himself as Taur. “We will be pleased if you remove them. Although they were not prevented from entering the Glade, we did not like the people who brought them. They were Orc friends.”

  We walk past the pool where the Naiads are combing their long golden tresses. The water spirits are young, beautiful and naked. Twenty years ago I’d have dived right in the pool. Oh to be young.

  Taur leads us through the clearing and under the shadow of some massive old oak trees. It’s so cool and pleasant that I have a strong urge to sleep. I shake it off. It’s only midday but we can’t waste time. We have to be out of here before nightfall.

  “We’re making progress,” I tell Makri. “All we have to do is get hold of the dwa and we can trade with Glixius for the note.”

  “What about Horm the Dead?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll think of something.”

  Taur takes us to the far end of the Glade and into the trees where the six sacks are partially hidden in the undergrowth. He then departs for an assignation with a Dryad. I’m almost moved to smile. Mission accomplished, as my old Commanding Officer used to say. Now I’m in a position to trade for the letter of credit. The Fairies stay with Makri while we load the sacks of dwa on to our horses.

  “How do we get out of here?” enquires Makri. “I don’t mind fighting forty Orcs but I can’t guarantee I’ll kill every one of them.”

  “You disappoint me. As they can’t get in here, maybe we could stay just inside the boundary and pick them off? If we killed enough of them we could make a run for it.”

  Makri pulls out her throwing stars. “We might get a few of them. But Orcs aren’t that stupid. Once they see what’s happening they’ll just withdraw far enough away that we can’t reach them.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  “No.”

  “So we might as well try it.”

  We hurry back to the clearing where our horses engage briefly in conversation with two Centaurs who greet us affably as we pass. It’s strange being surrounded by these peculiar creatures, all of them without a care in the world, while our lives are in such extreme danger. We creep through the trees to the edge of the Glade, then separate. I get down on my belly and crawl forward, trying to spot the line of sentries. There’s no sign of any. I can’t find an Orc anywhere. Makri returns with the same tale. The Orcs are not guarding the Glade.

  “Strange. They must be waiting outside the forest, watching the paths.”

  “I know this forest,” I say, gaining confidence. “I can lead us north and out of the forest far away from the path. We’ll be back in Turai before they know we’ve gone.”

  I’m surprised at such poor tactics from an experienced warrior like Horm the Dead. Dwa must be addling his mind. We hurry to make our escape. The Fairies still flutter along happily beside Makri. They seem to be enjoying it all. Centaurs call out appreciatively as we reach the clearing. Taur, back from his assignation, is just making some gracious comments about Makri’s figure when he stops short, tossing his head in alarm and sniffing the air. The hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle. I can sense something very bad about to happen.

  “What is it?” asks Makri.

  “Horm the Dead. He’s close.”

  “Horm can’t get in here!”

  I look up, shielding my eyes against the burning sun. High above, a monstrous shape is circling the Glade. As it descends its great wings beat the air like a vision of hell. The Centaurs wail. The Fairies shriek and fly into the trees and the Naiads disappear under the water. Horm the Dead and thirty Orcs are gliding towards us on the back of a dragon. A real war dragon. Not a small one like the one in the King’s zoo. Not a half-grown thing like the one Makri fought in the slave pits. A proper Orcish war dragon, black and gold, vast in size, with terrible fangs, fiery breath, scales like armour and talons that can tear a man in two. The most frightening creature ever to draw breath, and it’s coming our way, fast.

  “A war dragon,” I say to Makri. “God knows how Horm got hold of it but it looks like he’s decided to smash his way into the Glade.”

  Makri stands firm with her axe raised. “I fought one before…”

  The dragon circles closer.

  “It was an awful lot smaller than that though,” she admits. “Did you and Gurd really kill a dragon in the war?”

  “Yes. Not nearly as big as this though, and the sleep spell gave us a couple of seconds to get its eyes. But you can’t use magic here. My sleep spell won’t work in the Fairy Glade.”

  “It’s funny the way your spells tend not to work whenever we need them most.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed that as well.”

  As the dragon nears we see that it’s wearing a visor of steel mesh to protect its eyes. When the dragon is about fifty feet above the ground, and Horm and his troops are screaming at us and brandishing their swords, there’s a terrific flash of lightning as it hits the protective magical field that covers the Glade. The dragon screams and a blast of flame belches from its nostrils. One Orc plummets to the ground but the rest hang on grimly, as the dragon furiously throws itself against the barrier. It screams and writhes, beating at the air with its wings and talons. Bolts of blue lightning split the sky and thunderous explosions rock the Glade. A tremendous flash lights up the forest as the barrier finally gives way. The vast golden bulk of the beast crashes to the ground and lies stunned in a great cloud of smoke and dust. There’s a brief moment of silence, then with fierce war cries the Orcs emerge like demons from the smoke, and charge towards us, waving their swords and screaming.

  I turn to flee. Makri stands her ground. I curse at her, and grab her arm. She brushes me off.

  “I’m not running from Orcs twice in one day,” she declares, gripping her axe and slipping on her helmet. Neither of us has had time to don our armour so Makri faces the charge wearing only her chainmail bikini and helmet whilst I’m standing in an undershirt hoping no one shoots an arrow into my belly.

  An amazing thing happens. A great phalanx of fabulous creatures emerges from the trees, ready to fight to defend the Fairy Glade from the hated Orcs. Centaurs, unicorns and Dryads, with clubs and spears, rush forward to meet the Orcs’ charge. The air is thick with furious, spitting Fairies, and odd Pixie-like creatures that ride on the backs of the Centaurs, brandishing knives.

  Battle is joined. The Glade dwellers plus myself and Makri against thirty huge Orc warriors and the malevolently powerful Horm the Dead. Thank God the dragon is stunned. The air still crackles as Horm attempts to force his sorcery to work in the magic-dampening space around him. Bolts of lightning flicker from his fingers, powerful enough to drive back the Centaurs but not yet strong enough to spread destruction. The Orcs attempt to slash their way through us and their huge curved blades inflict some damage but they’re driven back by stabbing unicorns and clubbing Centaurs, and Fairies who fly round them spitting in their eyes and pricking them with tiny, needle-like weapons.

  Makri starts hacking her way through towards the Orc Commander, a huge creature with two massive swords who rallies his forces with an evil, screeching battle cry. I’m confronted by two Orcs and forced sideways against a tree. I manage to strike one of them down and before the other can attack he’s transfixed
from behind by a unicorn’s horn.

  Horm the Dead is not one of those Sorcerers who shuns battle. Seeing his Orcs hard pressed, he abandons his effort to work his magic and lays about him with a black sword to murderous effect. He sends a Naiad flying backwards screaming and almost decapitates a Centaur with a great curving blow. In the midst of the mayhem, I glimpse some naked Naiads emerging from the water and swiftly dragging the bleeding Dryad away from the scene and into the pool.

  The forces of the Fairy Glade have the Orcs outnumbered. We start to outflank them, forcing the Orcs to retreat towards the still unconscious dragon. The Orcs form up in front of the gigantic, smoking beast, using its bulk to guard their backs. Fighting is extremely fierce. The Glade beings lose some momentum in the face of determined Orcish resistance, and the outcome hangs in the balance. Then Makri slays an Orcish warrior and bursts through their ranks to mount a furious attack on their Commander. He roars an Orcish curse at her and assails her with his two huge swords. Makri parries with her axe and sword, screams a curse of her own, and buries her axe deep in his helmet. The Centaurs cheer and charge forward with their clubs and the Fairies renew their efforts at confusing their enemies, buzzing and stabbing like a horde of tormenting insects.

  The Orcs crumble under our final assault and are hacked down in front of the dragon. Horm the Dead, streaming with blood, screams in rage as he holds off Makri and a Centaur. Summoning one last great burst of energy, he shouts out a demonic spell and the air around him crackles with fire as the spell struggles against the magic dampening aura of the Fairy Glade. Finally it bursts through, sending Makri and the others spinning backwards. Horm screams a desperate command to the dragon, causing it to rouse itself with a terrifying roar. Makri picks herself up and sprints back towards the Sorcerer, but before she can reach him he scales the side of the dragon and orders it into the air. With a great beating of its wings the huge war dragon lifts off the ground. Makri, frustrated by the escape, whips a throwing star from her bag and hurls it at Horm. He screams as it embeds itself in his leg, but he hangs on. There’s another terrific flash of blue lightning as the dragon crashes up out of the magical field leaving thirty dead Orcs below, and not a few casualties on our side.