by Martin Scott
“An exciting day, Kemlath. I notice you’re wearing your favourite ring. The ring you stole from Senator Mursius when you killed him.”
Captain Rallee looks at me sharply. So do the Consul and the Deputy Consul.
“I suppose it meant something to you, Kemlath, but it was careless of you to take it.” I turn to the Captain. “That ring belonged to Senator Mursius. And I can prove it. You can see it clearly in the painting of him done after the Orc Wars. It was presented to him by the Consul for bravery.”
Sarija shakes her head, protesting. “It’s Kemlath’s ring. The Consul presented them to all the officers.”
I shake my head. “Afraid not. Kemlath told you that to keep you from suspecting. But I checked the records in the Library. That was the only ring presented by the Consul. Kemlath took it from Mursius because he was jealous of his war record and jealous of you. I’ve been looking at that painting for days, but it never struck me till now. You know, Kemlath, I wondered why you were paying such close attention to this case. I thought for a while it was just because of your interest in Sarija. But there was more to it than that. You removed the stolen art from the warehouse, but the Society of Friends got there first and took a few items. One of these items was the painting. And you knew you were in trouble if that turned up and someone put two and two together. Like I just did.
“And even if no one connected the ring, the rest of the stolen goods might still incriminate you, because you hadn’t had time to clean them all properly. It was smart, sticking close to me. Every time a piece of evidence appeared, like the bronze cup, you sorcerously cleaned all traces of the crime from it. No wonder I drew a blank everywhere I looked.”
Flocks of black stals flop around the track, picking up scraps from the crowd. I never liked these birds.
“The sorcerous messages were going a bit far though. Glixius sent the first and you followed on. You were probably just amusing yourself. Incidentally, you remember that time you told me you detected Glixius’s aura on one of them? You never met Glixius. You just made that up. It’s funny, really, the way I kept blaming everything on Glixius, when it was you all along.”
Kemlath remains calm. He neither blusters nor protests.
“Why would I wish to kill my good friend Mursius?” he says.
“Because you were as jealous as hell of your good friend Mursius for stealing Sarija out from under your nose, that’s why. I talked to the old landlady of the Mermaid. You both used to go there during the war when you were stationed on the walls at Twelve Seas. She remembers very well that you asked Sarija to marry you first, and she turned you down for Mursius. I think you’ve hated him ever since.”
Unruffled, Kemlath continues to deny my accusations.
Captain Rallee is unsure of how to proceed. It’s not as if I’ve produced a cast-iron case, and Kemlath is an important man, another war hero. He looks at Kalius for guidance. Kalius questions me.
“Is the ring all the evidence you have? It seems to me that the ring could have been transferred from Mursius to Kemlath at any time.”
I turn to Sarija. “Well? Was it?”
She shakes her head. “Mursius was wearing it the day he disappeared.”
Sarija is wide-eyed with horror. She believes me. There’s a woman who’ll be deep into her supply of dwa tonight, or maybe sooner. Kalius orders Kemlath’s arrest, pending further investigations.
Afterwards Captain Rallee is still troubled. “Why did he wait twenty years to kill him?”
“I don’t really know. Maybe he just brooded on it till it all became too much for him. It might never have happened if he hadn’t found himself face to face with Mursius at the warehouse. That was unplanned. Mursius was part of the plot with the Society of Friends to dope the horses. I think Kemlath found out about it and decided to expose him. Unfortunately Sarija chose this time to sell a load of Mursius’s art to Axilan, a minor Society of Friends figure, when he was up at the villa collecting the doping plants.
“Kemlath didn’t like that. He didn’t want anything at the warehouse that might lead to Sarija. If he exposed Mursius, he didn’t want Sarija to be arrested as well. So he tried to remove the goods. Unfortunately his visit coincided with Mursius’s. I figure Kemlath told Mursius he was going to inform the authorities about the doping and they got into a fight. Kemlath might not have meant to kill him, but that’s what happened. It suited him fine anyway. Left him free to woo Sarija.”
Captain Rallee is taking mental notes through all this. He has a powerful memory, the captain. I’ve never known him to forget anything.
“I think you’re probably right, Thraxas. But I’m not at all sure we have enough evidence to make it stick in court. Why didn’t you wait before denouncing him?”
“Because I was sick of it all, that’s why. I’ve been arrested, made to look foolish and generally given a hard time by everyone. I’m fed up with Kemlath and fed up with the weather and I’m especially fed up with the way the races have gone. I’ve done my job, I found the killer. If you need more evidence, I’m sure the Guard can dig it up. And now I’m going home.”
“One last thing, Thraxas—the Orcs you said you met down at Ferias, were they for real?”
“Of course! Do you think I’d make that up? They were part of Prince Kalazar’s assassination force. Makeza the Thunderer was hiding them there until the race meeting. Probably picked Ferias because the weather was better.”
I walk off. Makri follows me. As we pass Melus they studiously pretend not to know each other.
“Don’t bother faking it,” I mutter. “I know what was going on here today.”
In the landus back to Twelve Seas, Makri plays with her bags of money. I have nine hundred gurans of my own, but now the euphoria of winning has faded I’m in a very bad mood.
“A very fortunate day’s gambling,” I say.
“It sure was,” she says, brightly.
“Odd that all those unfancied chariots came in. Very odd. I won nine hundred on the last race. I backed Peaceful Dreams of Heaven even though it was the worst chariot in the race. You want to know why? Because I noticed Hanama betting on it, that’s why.”
Makri looks uncomfortable.
“How much of it do you get to keep?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you get to spend any of it? Or did you promise to pay it all over to the Association of Gentlewomen?”
“Stop talking rubbish, Thraxas.”
“I’m not talking rubbish. If you’re going to tell me that the number three in the Assassins Guild puts on a summer robe and goes to the chariot races for pleasure, I’m not going to believe it. The whole meeting was fixed, Makri, as you well know. And it was nothing to do with the Society of Friends or the Brotherhood. These favourites didn’t all break their axles and rear up in fright for no reason. There was sorcery at work there.”
“You can’t work sorcery at the Stadium Superbius,” says Makri stubbornly.
“You can if you’ve recruited the Stadium Sorcerer. You should mention to Melus the Fair that if she wants to pull that scam again she better be a bit more discreet. I know the A.G. needs money in a hurry, but Lilac Paradise a winner? And Peaceful Dreams of Heaven? I figure she picked up some new racing magic on her trip to Samsarina that no one here was familiar with, but if she keeps doing it there will be serious trouble. If the male population of Turai ever finds out that our resident Stadium Sorcerer is casting spells to help win money for the Association of Gentlewomen, they’ll tear you all to pieces. And I’ll help them.
“I’m disgusted, Makri. I must have seen twenty A.G. supporters in the Stadium, all raking in the money. I wouldn’t mind so much if you hadn’t tried to throw me off the scent. All that standing around outside my room, talking about betting with Hanama in stage whispers. As if I would think she’d suddenly become interested in the sporting life. She’ll end up with a dagger in her back if the Assassins Guild finds out she’s spending time working for the Association o
f Gentlewomen.”
“I guess she’s responsible enough to work for who she likes.”
“She’s a disgusting killer. So that should suit you well enough. Who do you think you are, messing around with the races?”
“We need the money,” protests Makri.
“So do all the poor wagon drivers, carpenters and sailors who thought that everything was honest. I tell you, Makri, I’m not pleased. The Stadium Sorcerer cheating the public. Melus the Fair, of all people! I only refrain from denouncing you all to The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle because you personally would be thrown off the city walls. The population’s had enough of Orcs in the past month. They’re not going to take kindly to another one cheating them.”
Makri reacts furiously to this.
“Are you implying that I’m an Orc?”
“Well, you don’t have Human values, that’s for sure.”
Makri sticks her head out of the landus, yells for the driver to stop, and then leaps out into the street.
“Never speak to me again, you obese drunkard!” she shouts.
“Cheating Orc!” I shout back. She storms off.
“And don’t try robbing my room again, pointy ears!” I yell at her departing figure.
The sun is beating down. It’s hot as Orcish hell. Even though I’ve won nine hundred gurans I’m as mad as a mad dragon. I can’t stand it that the Association of Gentlewomen outsmarted everyone.
Chapter Twenty-One
The city, overstimulated in the past month of discontent, starts to return to normal when the Turas and Triple-Moon Conjunction festivals get under way. The temperature starts to drop as autumn slides into winter.
There was great unhappiness after the race meeting, but surprisingly little suspicion. Everyone trusts Melus the Fair, bless her name. I understand that the Association of Gentlewomen have succeeded in moving their application for Guild status further up the ladder.
Cicerius is pleased with me. The race was run, the Elves still like us and Lord Rezaz will provide protection for the mining territory. If things keep on like this, I may get back to the Palace one day.
The Civil Guards dig more deeply into Kemlath’s role in the death of Mursius and succeed in building a reasonable case against him. Even Captain Rallee admits that I was sharp as an Elf’s ear on this one.
Kemlath doesn’t come to trial however. Unless it’s a case of high treason any citizen as important as Kemlath, especially one who was a hero in the war, is usually given the opportunity to flee the city before going to court. A member of the aristocracy is most unlikely to face the scaffold, or a long spell in the prison galleys. Instead they retire into exile, which Kemlath does.
Sarija remains in the city, spending her inheritance on dwa. Glixius Dragon Killer sends me a message. He likes me even less than before and will kill me at the first opportunity. Given the way I mistakenly harried him over the Mursius case, I can’t exactly blame him.
At least I picked up nine hundred gurans at the races, and won’t have to work for a while. That’s the only bright spot on the horizon. With winter around the corner I’d like to spend a few months just sitting in the warmth of the Avenging Axe with my feet up, drinking beer. Unfortunately Makri makes it impossible for me to relax.
“I’ve never seen her this mad,” says Tanrose.
Gurd nods his agreement.
“Yesterday she damned near demolished the wall out the back with her axe. Said she was practising fighting, but I noticed she’d chalked a picture of you on it, Thraxas. Why did you call her an Orc?”
“We were arguing.”
As no one else in Turai seems to realise that the Association of Gentlewomen fixed the races I’ve decided that I’m not going to be the one to expose them. Partly I’m concerned for Makri’s safety. Also there might be attempts to take back the nine hundred gurans I won. But I’m still as mad as hell at Makri. She can chop down as many pictures of me as she likes, I refuse to apologise. Cheating at the Turas Memorial is despicable behaviour. Even Astrath Triple Moon confined his larceny to the minor meetings.
Makri appears from the street outside.
“Come for your evening shift?” says Gurd.
She shakes her head. “I’m leaving. I refuse to live in the same tavern as a fat useless drunk who called me an Orc.” She storms upstairs.
“What are you looking at me for?” I demand. “How come I’m the one that always has to apologise around here? You heard what she called me.”
“Come on, Thraxas. You know you should make up. You’d hate it if Makri really left. Who’ll protect your back when you go up against these villains?”
“I managed to protect my own back just fine before she came along. Let her leave. She annoys the hell out of me anyway. If it’s not that damned women’s group then it’s some stupidity she’s picked up from Samanatius the Philosopher. Who ever heard of a Barbarian from the east going to the Guild College anyway? The whole thing is ridiculous.”
Gurd and Tanrose continue to look at me accusingly. I start to feel persecuted.
“Well goddamn it, if it means that much to the pair of you, I’ll say I’m sorry. Not that it’ll do any good. Even Makri isn’t naive enough to fall for a bunch of flowers three times in a row.”
On two previous occasions when Makri was apparently irreconcilably annoyed at me I had given her a bunch of flowers, at the suggestion of Tanrose. It seemed like a lousy way of apologising to me but it had a spectacular effect on Makri. She burst into tears and ran out of the room in fact. Both times. Tanrose put it down to her growing up in a gladiator slave pit and never really getting any presents before.
Makri appears downstairs with a bag over her shoulder.
“And tell that corpulent slug if he buys me flowers I’ll ram them down his throat,” she says, storming out of the door.
“She’s just saying that,” says Tanrose. “I’m sure it would work again.”
I stare at her in amazement. Tanrose seems to have an almost mystical belief in the power of a small bunch of flowers. It’s ridiculous.
“Buy her a new axe,” suggests Gurd. “I think she damaged her favourite one hacking down the wall.”
Which is why I find myself tramping through Quintessence Street and up to the market on my way to the armourer’s. The weather is pleasant, with the warm autumn air showing the first sign of cooling. Winter is not far away. Winter in Turai is hell. I’m really going to regret it if I can’t spend it comfortably in front of a roaring fire at the Avenging Axe.
I reach the armourer. There’s a sign on it saying: “Closed due to bereavement.” I forgot that the armourer’s third son was killed in a crossbow incident last week. The fourth son is due in court any day now.
It’s too late to reach another armourer. It’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I make my way back into Quintessence Street. I buy a pastry from the bakery. Minarixa is less friendly than usual. Probably Makri has been spreading bad stories about me.
I stop in the street to eat.
“Come for some flowers?” says Baxos the flower seller.
“Hey, Rox,” he calls over to the fish vendor. “Thraxas is buying flowers again.”
“Still got his lady friend, has he?” yells back Rox, loud enough for the entire street to hear.
“You treat her nicely, Thraxas!” screams Birix, one of Twelve Seas’ busiest prostitutes.
I glare at Baxos and toss him a coin just to get away. I arrive back in the Avenging Axe holding a large bunch of flowers.
“I thought you were buying an axe?”
“The axe shop was shut.”
It sounds a bit lame. I thrust the flowers into Makri’s hand. My hand strays to my sword, just in case she gets violent.
Makri raises the flowers to dash them to the ground. Suddenly a tear trickles from her eye. She refrains from dashing them to the ground and instead rushes forward, embraces me then runs out of the room in tears. I’m unsure of what this means.
“Did it work again?�
�
“Of course,” says Tanrose.
I can’t understand it. Neither can Gurd.
“This is a woman who once fought a dragon. She killed a nine-foot Troll when she was thirteen.”
Tanrose shrugs. “I imagine it was really grim growing up where she did. There’s obviously a lot of mileage left in small presents where Makri is concerned.”
Gurd snorts. “The women in my village were not like that. It took at least a new plough to impress them.”
“That must be why you never married,” says Tanrose. “You should have ignored the ploughs and tried flowers.”
She looks rather pointedly at Gurd. He seems embarrassed. He’s been attracted to Tanrose for a long time, but any mention of the subject makes him uneasy. These northern Barbarians. No romance. I leave them to it.
Upstairs I check on my supplies. I need plenty of klee and thazis to get me through the winter. And maybe some new blankets. I have nine hundred gurans. Enough for plenty of thick blankets. I might even buy one for Makri. She doesn’t have much money and she handed over all her winnings to the A.G. Foolish behaviour, it seemed to me, but that’s the problem with being idealistic. It makes you do foolish things. Personally, I’d have kept every guran.
Thraxas and the Elvish Isles
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter One
It’s well past midnight and the air in the tavern is thick with thazis smoke. In front of me the table is groaning from the weight of money in the pot. Every week the Avenging Axe plays host to a game of rak, but there’s rarely been this much money riding on a single hand. There are six of us left in and Captain Rallee is next to bet. He stares at his cards for a long time.