Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  The carriage thunders through an ornamental hedge and over some beds of flowers before scything its way through the crowd. Whoever is in it seems to be deliberately heading our way.

  “Nice driving,” mutters Makri, as the carriage veers round some trees at a furious pace. The driver is hunched down low, trying to avoid the rocks hurled by the rabid mob. It almost makes it to the house but comes shuddering to a halt when the front wheels get stuck in an ornamental pond.

  “It’s the Princess!”

  “She’s picked a poor time for a jail break.”

  Du-Akai, showing more spirit than I would have given her credit for, leaps from the driver’s pillion, fends off an attacker and dashes towards us, crowd in pursuit. She makes it to the front door and we haul her in. She collapses on the floor, panting for breath. Unfortunately for her, her sanctuary is likely to be brief. Maddened by her appearance the crowd charge the house and start removing the door frame. Any second now they’ll be pouring through. I groan, and turn quickly to Lisutaris.

  “Finish your counterspell and make it quick!” I tell her, then wearily get back to the task of preserving my life against the mob. Hanama and Makri join me at the door and we hold them off the best we can. Even in their maniacal state, the sight of our three blades is enough to deter some of the rabble, but the soldiers seem to relish the opportunity for combat and fly at us like we are hostile Orcs. It’s a grim battle, and the fact that we’re being forced to slay innocent people makes it worse. Horm the Dead has certainly wreaked a terrible revenge. Makri should never have stuck him with that throwing star.

  I’ve just dispatched an opponent when Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, shouts at us from behind. “What’s the Orcish for ‘peace’?”

  I’m baffled by this interruption.

  “What are you talking about?” I scream.

  “I have to translate my counterspell into Orcish to make it work. My Orcish isn’t very good. What’s their word for ‘peace’?”

  “Vazey,” yells Makri, kicking an opponent away from her.

  We carry on fighting.

  “What’s the Orcish for ‘Harmonious Conjunction’?”

  This takes Makri a few minutes, which is not surprising as she’s locked in combat with a huge soldier carrying a twin-bladed axe.

  “Tenasata zadad, I think!” she screams back after dispatching him.

  Bodies are now everywhere but the attackers don’t let up. Their madness seems to be intensifying and smoke is starting to drift into the room from the houses burning in the street. I’ve got a serious cut on my face and another on my shoulder and I notice that Hanama isn’t moving too well and seems to be wounded in the leg.

  “What’s the Orcish for ‘All men shall be brothers’?”

  “For God’s sake, Makri, go back there and translate her damned spell. Me and Hanama will hold them off.”

  Makri sees the wisdom of this and hurries back, leaving myself and the Assassin to fight on. In my vainer moments I’ve been known to claim to be the best street fighter in the city. This is an exaggeration, but I am good at it. So is Hanama. I wonder about the incongruity of fighting shoulder to shoulder with a heartless Assassin, but I don’t wonder for long because a truly frightening opponent now leaps at me. He’s one of the largest men I’ve ever seen and he’s carrying an axe the size of a door. He attacks me with a ferocity that drives me backwards, and I find it almost impossible to block his axe. He’s extremely fierce and strong and I’m too weary to fight much longer. I lunge at him and stick my sword in his shoulder, but he’s madder than a mad Sorcerer and doesn’t even feel it. His axe crashes on to my hastily raised blade and I’m forced to my knees. He chops at me again and my arm goes numb. I drop my sword. He slashes at my throat.

  His blade stops right at my skin and he tumbles to the ground with Hanama’s knife sticking in his back. I gasp out a thank you and haul myself to my feet, ready to meet the next wave of attackers. Behind me I can hear Makri, Lisutaris and the other Sorcerers bandying around Orcish and Elvish terms as they try to complete the counterspell.

  Hanama’s wounded leg gives way and she sinks to one knee, heavily pressed. Again showing some spirit, the Princess runs forward and clubs an opponent to the ground. I’m gripped with sudden fury about being forced to make my death stand in such a useless manner. I never figured I’d go out fighting a crowd of demented Turanian shopkeepers. I turn my head and bellow at the top of my voice.

  “If you don’t finish that spell, Lisutaris, I’ll come and kill you myself before they get me!”

  “Hold on,” she shouts in reply. “Another minute.”

  We hold on for another minute. As Lisutaris starts intoning the spell I go down under the weight of six attackers armed with clubs, and pass out of consciousness.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When I wake it’s dark and quiet. Either I’m dead or the riot’s stopped. A door opens, letting light into the room, and Makri enters. Her head is bandaged, but she seems healthy.

  “What happened?”

  “Lisutaris’ counterspell worked. The whole city started to return to sanity about three hours ago. Just in time for you and Hanama. Good fighting, incidentally.”

  “Thank you.”

  I notice that I’m not feeling too bad, considering what I’ve been through.

  “The Sorcerers patched you both up. After they’d seen to the Princess of course. All the rioters have departed to put out fires and lick their wounds. Half the city’s been burned but the Sorcerers that are left seem to have it under control now. And the Civil Guard is out in force.”

  “Where’s Hanama?”

  “Next door. It took the Sorcerers a long time to heal her wounds.”

  “Should have let her die.”

  Makri points out this is rather ungrateful of me. Without Hanama, the mad crowd would have overwhelmed us.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I figure I had things pretty well under control. Well, time to get back to work, I guess.”

  “Is it?”

  I nod.

  “I’ve got the Prince’s letter back and probably gathered up enough information about the dwa dealing to keep Cerius out of court. Not sure about the Princess though. We’ll have to hope that Bishop Gzekius comes through on that one and persuades the authorities that she didn’t kill the dragon. And then there’s the Cloth… I’ve been doing a fair bit of thinking about that … let’s go and see Hanama.”

  Makri declines. She’s keen to get back to the Avenging Axe and check on things there. She’s concerned that someone might have made off with the funds she’s been collecting for the Association of Gentlewomen during the riot.

  “What if my philosophy notes have been burned?”

  Makri departs in a hurry, leaving me to seek out Hanama. The diminutive Assassin is not in the room next door, but I find her in the wine cellar sitting on the floor with a bottle in her hand. Her black clothes are in tatters after the fight but like me she seems in good shape after her healing.

  “Well, well,” I say. “That makes two surprising discoveries about you in one day.”

  “What?”

  “Firstly, you can be sufficiently shaken by events to need a drink to calm you down.”

  “I do not need a drink to calm me down,” says Hanama, coldly.

  “Well, I do,” I say, selecting a bottle and opening it with the corkscrew I keep on my key ring, and sitting down beside her on the floor. “We just fought off more maniacs than two Humans could reasonably be expected to cope with. A magnificent effort, though I say so myself. Anyone deserves a bottle of wine after that, even an Assassin, trained to be emotionless. Which brings me to my second discovery about you, Hanama. You’re not emotionless.”

  “And why do you say that?”

  “You saved my life. I’m touched.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I merely saved you because I needed you at my side to fight off the mob.”

  I don’t pursue it. She’s probably telling the truth. “You kno
w, Hanama, I seem to run across you a lot these days. I haven’t worked out why that is yet. Still, I must say, for the number three in the Assassins Guild, you’re not such a bad sort. A little distant, perhaps, but hey, for a woman who once scaled the sheer walls of Menhasat Castle in a snowstorm to assassinate Consul Pavius, you’re not bad company. Is it true you once killed a Sorcerer, a Senator and an Orc Lord all in the same day?”

  “The Assassins Guild does not discuss its work,” replies Hanama.

  “Cheers,” I say, raising my bottle.

  She raises her own a fraction, and we drink together. All around are wine racks stuffed with excellent vintages, though I can’t see any beer. I finish one bottle and open another, selecting the finest I can find.

  I don’t bother asking Hanama why she has been after the Cloth as I know she will simply deny it. But I do express some surprise about finding her unconscious on the beach.

  “Even though you’d just been half drowned in that sewer I’d have thought it was impossible for anyone to sneak up behind you.”

  She looks faintly troubled. “So would I. I swear I’d have sensed an attacker, half drowned or not.”

  “Sorcery perhaps?”

  She shakes her head. She didn’t sense any sorcery and a woman of her skills and training would have. I didn’t pick up anything at the scene either. It remains a puzzling mystery. And a puzzling coincidence as well, now I think about it, because it seems very unlikely that anyone could sneak up behind Sarin the Merciless after the warrior monk training, yet they did. Obviously someone very good at sneaking is going around Turai clubbing people on the back of the head. Does that mean, I wonder, that the same person who took the Red Elvish Cloth from Hanama also took the dwa from Sarin? An interesting thought.

  “There was something, but…”

  I look at her inquisitively.

  “I can’t put my finger on it. But at the instant I was hit I thought I sensed … well I don’t know … something not quite Human.”

  “Like an Orc?”

  She can’t say. It was too fast and she was half drowned at the time. A dim memory rises inside me but disappears before I can identify it.

  Hanama takes another drink then rises gracefully. It’s time for her to get back to see how things are at Assassins Guild headquarters. As number three in the organisation, Hanama is important enough to wear a special protection charm, but that doesn’t apply to all Assassins by any means. Must have made it interesting when they all went mad with the Eight-Mile Terror.

  She leaves. I open another bottle of wine. The cellar is cool and it’s the first time I’ve been comfortable in weeks. I find myself drifting off to sleep and it’s an effort to rouse myself and get back to work.

  “I guess it’s better than rowing a slave galley,” I mutter, and haul myself to my feet.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Princess is wearing a new robe borrowed from Lisutaris and has brushed and plaited her golden hair. Her fancy arm bracelets are dented where she was struck by a rock, and she’s lost an earring along the way, but all in all she looks not bad for a woman who had to fight her way through a riot. As I emerge from the cellar—to the well-deserved thanks and congratulations of the Sorcerers—she grabs an opportunity for a word. While not exactly apologising for her previous rudeness, she lets me know she thinks better of me now. I reply graciously. I can just about remember how from my days at the Palace.

  The Sorcerers are recovering from the riot with a table full of delicacies and a generous selection of Lisutaris’ wines, although I think Lisutaris herself is still a little on edge, probably because she feels that she is long overdue for a blast on her water pipe but doesn’t actually want to smoke thazis while the Princess is still there. I don’t expect the Princess would mind, what with the riot and everything, but a Sorcerer has to respect the forms of polite society if she wants to get on. Princess Du-Akai rises to leave. Lisutaris offers her a carriage and an escort back to the Palace, but it seems like the Princess has been waiting for my arrival because she declines the offer and elects to go with me. I grab a pastry off the Sorcerers’ table and follow. Some servants haul the carriage out of the pond, fit a fresh horse on the front and I squeeze in behind her.

  The sun is beating down even more strongly than yesterday. The ever present stals are wilting in the trees, what’s left of them. After the coolness of Lisutaris’ wine cellar it’s hard to take.

  “Hot as Orcish hell out here. Where exactly are you going, Princess? Back to captivity?”

  She supposes so. When the riot broke out and she found herself trapped in a burning wing of the Palace she naturally decided that it would be a good idea to get out of there fast, but now it’s all over it seems best to go back. She wouldn’t get far if she fled for real. Too easily recognisable.

  “I’ll be locked up in my chambers again. Better than a prison cell, I suppose.”

  We make our way slowly up the debris-strewn road. The elegant pavement tiles are cracked and soot-blackened. The trees, specially bred to stay green through the fierce summer, are broken and burned. Suddenly I spot two familiar figures emerging warily from the shattered front of another villa. It’s Callis and Jaris, my Elvish clients. They’re followed out by a couple of young and rather shaken-looking Sorcerers.

  We stop and greet them. The Elves tell me that they were fortunate to be in Truth is Beauty Lane when the riot broke out, and they took shelter with the nearest Sorcerers. As Elves the Eight-Mile Terror did not affect them directly, but being trapped in the middle of thousands of mad Humans has shaken them badly. They’ve had enough of city life. They’re heading home and plan to take the next ship south out of the harbour at Twelve Seas. I’m displeased to have failed my clients but there’s not a lot I can say. I came close to the Cloth but I didn’t recover it. Clients are never impressed when you just come close, and neither am I. We bid each other farewell.

  As we ride on the Princess expresses her disappointment at my failure.

  I try to reassure her. “I didn’t get the Cloth back but I found out who gutted the dragon and removed it.”

  I explain to her about Bishop Gzekius and the True Church. “I can’t exactly prove it in court but I have a fair amount of leverage over the Bishop and I reckon he’ll do what’s necessary to show you’re innocent. If he does then it all stays quiet. Otherwise I’ll have no choice but to give a full report on his recent activities for The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle. It loves a Church scandal.”

  The Princess is grateful. She should be. Till I stepped in she was facing a lifetime in a mountain-top nunnery.

  “Please also convey my gratitude to Makri for her efforts on my behalf.”

  “I will.”

  “This Cloth has proved to be very troublesome for Turai, Thraxas.”

  “Anything floating round that’s worth thirty thousand gurans is bound to be trouble.”

  “Who ended up with it?”

  The Palace is now in view. Smoke drifts above, but it’s still in one piece, just about.

  I admit I don’t know who ended up with the Cloth.

  “It was last seen in the hands of an Assassin but she was clubbed by something not Human.”

  “Not Human?”

  “That’s right. Which narrows it down I guess. Orcs, probably, or a half-Orc agent. Or…”

  I feel some inspiration coming on. Right back at the start of the case, when I was being hauled away from Attilan’s garden by the Guards. I sensed something there but couldn’t identify it.

  “Or someone very good at sneaking up on people. Someone renowned for stealth.”

  “Like?”

  “Like an Elf. God damn it! The Elves. It was them all along! No wonder they keep popping up all over the place! Hiring me to help them indeed! Princess, can I borrow your landus?”

  She nods. We’re at the Palace grounds and soldiers and guards rush up to surround the Princess. I take a swift leave, dragging on the reins and sending the horse racing back the
way I came.

  I had been meaning to call on Cicerius and pick up some payment, but it’ll have to wait. Is it today or tomorrow I have to pay my debt to the Brotherhood? I can’t remember. Too much excitement. Too much all-night rioting.

  The Elves have gone from Truth is Beauty Lane. I run through the ornamental gardens and hammer on Lisutaris’ door. When a servant answers I run right over him and find Lisutaris consoling herself with her water pipe. Fortunately she doesn’t yet seem to be too stoned.

  “Lisutaris, I need a favour, and quick.”

  “Very well.”

  “Can you tell me where a couple of Elves are now?”

  I describe them to her. Lisutaris closes her eyes for a few minutes. An expression of tranquillity settles on her face. My nose wrinkles at the powerful smell of thazis in the room.

  Her eyes open. “They’re at Twelve Seas docks. Boarding a ship.”

  She’s a powerful Sorcerer, Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky. Pity she smokes so much. I impinge on her for another favour, which she again is willing to grant, aware that I saved them all in the riot. So minutes later I am thundering through Turai on a fine horse from her stables, on my way to intercept two treacherous Elves.

  The streets are chaotic. Rubble lies everywhere. Municipal horse carts are starting to collect the bodies but there are still plenty left to choose from. The streets to the south are flooded from a burst aqueduct. Steam rises in the burning sun. It takes me a long time to get down to Twelve Seas and I’m sweating and cursing by the time I’m in sight of the docks.

  A giant figure strides in front of me, grabbing the reins and bringing me to a shuddering halt. It’s Karlox, of all people.

  “So you survived the riot,” he growls. “Good. You got another three hours to pay up.”

  “Karlox. You are dumb as an Orc and you have no idea how much you annoy me.”