Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  “This is insane,” protests Kalith.

  “Not at all. I’m giving you a precise account of what happened, which I would have been able to do much earlier had you not obstructed me at every turn. When Elith arrived at the Hesuni Tree, Gulas was already dead in the bushes. Lasas then did something very cunning. He put on a hooded cloak and pretended to be Gulas, which wasn’t too difficult, given that Elith was again full of dwa, and only barely in touch with reality. He tormented her till she couldn’t take it any more. She picked up the knife that Lasas had left for her and lashed out at him. I don’t know if her stroke would have been lethal or not, but it didn’t matter. Lasas had taken the precaution of stealing one of your excellent cloaks of protection from the Tree Palace. A cloak that will turn any blade. And, as proof of that, I’ve already checked with your wardrobe attendant. He confirms that one of the protection cloaks that Sofius-ar-Eth made for you is missing. Lasas then crawled off into the bushes, hid the cloak, and pretended to arrive at the scene of the crime along with everyone else. Including Elves who had seen Elith stab Gulas, or so they thought.

  “Which makes Elith innocent of all crimes. I admit she might be held to have attempted to murder someone, but that someone was dead long before she got there. Lasas, however, is about as guilty as an Elf can get. He damaged the Tree to discredit his brother and then he killed his brother through rage and jealousy and tried to pin the crime on the woman who had spurned him. I suggest you lock him up as soon as possible.”

  Lord Kalith is doubtful.

  “I believe it to be true,” says Gorith-ar-Del, stepping forward. “At the very least, we should subject Lasas-ar-Thetos to some stringent interrogation and have our Sorcerers investigate him in the greatest detail.”

  “Are you telling me that my new Tree Priest is the one behind all my recent troubles? Did he initiate the importing of dwa on to Avula?”

  “Interestingly enough, he didn’t,” I reply. “While he was busy trying to discredit his brother, the rival branch of the Tree Priest’s family was trying to discredit them both. They brought it in to start a scandal around the Hesuni Tree. I imagine they hoped that once it was known that Gulas couldn’t prevent the sacred Tree from being besmirched and abused, their claim to the Priesthood would be taken more seriously.”

  “Do you have any proof of this allegation?”

  “Not exactly. But ever since I started digging into the affair I’ve been under attack from various persons. Some of them were Human, probably sailors who’ve called here on the pretext of trade, but one of them was a very fine Elvish swordsman. Best swordsman on Avula in fact. Yulis-ar-Key. He was masked, but Makri recognises his style.”

  Makri, quiet up till this moment, confirms this. Kalith considers my words.

  “Yulis is head of the branch of the family who contest the Tree Priesthood,” I point out. “I think you’ll find it all adds up.”

  “Have them brought to me—” commands Kalith, but that’s as far as he gets. No one has noticed the appearance of Yulis-ar-Key on the balcony. We soon notice that, while we are all without weapons, Yulis has somehow managed to procure two fine swords, which he brandishes menacingly.

  “I will not be subjected to sorcerous examination like a common criminal,” he snarls.

  “Why not?” I retort. “It would be entirely fitting.”

  Yulis rushes at us. Things look bad till Makri steps into his path. Yulis brings each sword down at her. Almost quicker than the eye can see, Makri raises her arms, deflecting each blade with her metal wristbands. She then steps in and butts Yulis with her head. Yulis howls and drops his swords. As he goes down he grabs Makri by the leg and they crash through the thin fence at the edge of the balcony. They plunge over the edge into the pool, far below.

  We stare over the edge. Elves are already running from all directions towards the water.

  “She can’t swim,” I yell. There are some tense moments before Makri is hauled out by her rescuers. Moments later, Yulis struggles out of the pool and is immediately apprehended.

  Lord Kalith looks down at the scene below. He frowns, and utters an Elvish oath.

  “Did she have to fall right into the sacred pool?” he says. “I just had it ritually cleansed.”

  Two days later I’m lounging on the grass in the large clearing, feeling satisfied. The plays have commenced. As I expected, I’m finding them a little highbrow for my tastes but I’ve a plentiful supply of beer and a fine reputation as an Investigator. Number one chariot, and no one can deny it. Elith is out of jail. It couldn’t be said that her name is exactly cleared. After all, she did go wild under the influence of dwa, and she did make an attempt on the life of an Elf she believed to be Gulas. But there are plenty of mitigating circumstances. Besides, whatever she might have meant to do, she didn’t actually kill anyone, and is innocent in the eyes of the law. Vas-ar-Methet has taken her home and has high hopes of rehabilitating her with his healing powers and the love of his family.

  Yulis and Lasas are in prison. Both branches of the priestly family are now in disgrace. Lord Kalith will have some serious thinking to do before he makes a new appointment, but it can wait till after the festival, when the island is empty of visitors. Cicerius has expressed his satisfaction at the services I’ve performed on the island, and Kalith is too fair-minded not to be grateful.

  Makri is now something of an Avulan hero, and not only for her amazing results with Isuas. The story of how she defeated the finest swordsman on the island without the aid of a weapon has been the talk of the festival. Isuas wishes to learn how to head-butt her opponents, and Droo has already composed several poems about the affair. She has also composed one about my investigating triumph, which she brought to my house.

  “Droo likes you,” says Makri. “Strange, I never saw you as a father figure to disaffected young Elves.”

  “Very funny. Is anything ever going to happen in this play?”

  I’m bored with the drama. The Avulan version of the tale of Queen Leeuven is not stirring. Makri tells me that I’m missing the finer artistic points, but I long for something exciting to happen. I’m starting to agree with the Elves who regarded Sofius-ar-Eth as a poor choice of director.

  “I’m puzzled about something,” says Makri, sipping beer. “Who were those masked Elves who kept chasing us round?”

  “I don’t know. I’m puzzled myself. Part of the gang, I suppose, though they don’t seem to fit in.”

  In front of us, Queen Leeuven is rallying her army. Suddenly, from nowhere, a huge crowd of spear-wielding villains appear on stage, march around for a few seconds, then disappear again. The crowd gasps. The masked Elves appear again and there is some frantic dramatic fighting as Queen Leeuven’s supporters battle with the spearmen, who magically vanish, only to reappear at the other side of the stage.

  The crowd go wild, clapping and cheering at this new dramatic innovation.

  “Right,” says Makri.

  “Indeed. They were part of the play.”

  “That must be why Kalith appointed a Sorcerer as his director.”

  “He was trying to beef up the production.”

  We stare at proceedings. I’m feeling a little foolish. All the time I thought they were after us they were just rehearsing for the festival.

  “It’s low culture,” objects Makri. “Cheap stage effects detract from the drama.”

  “I like it. But when I get back to Turai, I’m leaving this bit out of the story.”

  THRAXAS AND THE SORCERERS

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2001 by Martin Scott. Published by permission of Little, Brown, and Company (UK).

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Book

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riv
erdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN: 0-7434-9908-5

  Cover art by Tom Kidd

  First U.S. printing, June 2005

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Scott, Martin, 1956-

  Thraxas and the sorcerers / Martin Scott.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 0-7434-9908-5 (hc)

  1. Private investigators--Fiction. 2. Conventions--Fiction. 3. Magicians--Fiction. I. Title.

  PR6063.134T48 2005

  823:92--dc22 2005005211

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Production & design by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH (www.windhaven.com)

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Thraxas and the Sorcerers

  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 Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Thraxas may not look the part, being overweight and overbrained, and more interested in his next glass of beer than justice, but if you’re in trouble in Turai this portly private eye is your only hope.

  Winter has come to Turai, and Thraxas is discontented. He’d rather be indoors sipping beer by a roaring fire, but, having once again gambled away his last fat fee, financial necessity has him walking those mean (and snowbound) streets for a measly thirty gurans a day. Then Cicerius, the city’s Deputy Consul and possibly the only honest (though conceited) politician in Turai, wants Thraxas to be an undercover agent, working behind the scenery at the upcoming Assemblage of the Sorcerers Guild. The Guild is meeting to elect a new head sorcerer, and Cicerius and other prominent officials are determined that the new head of the Guild will be a Turanian.

  Thraxas would rather be anywhere than among that Assemblage of Sorcerers from all the civilized lands—he once failed the exams to become a sorcerer, and that embarrassment still rankles. And Turai is presently a bit short of world-class sorcerers, so the city’s candidate is Lisutaris. She is undeniably powerful but also is hopelessly addicted to smoking thazis weed. Finally, only members of the Sorcerers Guild and Turanian officials will be admitted to the gathering. So Cicerius proposes to revive the long-defunct post of Tribune of the People and the first Tribune in more than a century will be Thraxas, who long ago decided to have nothing to do with politics.

  But the perpetually indigent private eye needs the fee. And it is not wise to say “no” to Cicerius. Not that Thraxas won’t soon have reasons to regret taking the case: when he learns that the most deadly assassin in the Assassin Guild is coming to town, reportedly to eliminate Lisutaris; when the sorcerer most favored to win the election is murdered and Lisutaris is the prime suspect; and when it begins to seem very unlikely that Thraxas will live to collect his fee.

  And if Thraxas does survive, can Turai itself survive having a loose cannon like Thraxas as a government official?

  Chapter One

  Turai is in the grip of one of the fiercest winters in memory. Ice lies in thick sheets over the frozen streets. Snow falls incessantly from the grey sky. The vicious north wind whips it through the alleyways, where it comes to rest in huge banks deep enough to bury a man. The citizens groan in frozen misery and the church sends up prayers for relief. The poor huddle miserably in their slums while the wealthy hide behind the walls of their mansions. In the taverns, great log fires struggle to keep the cruel weather at bay. Deep inside the imperial palace, the King’s Sorcerers expend their powers in keeping the Royal family warm. Winter in Turai is hell.

  Three hours before dawn, the snow is falling heavily and the wind is howling. No creature dares show its face. The beggars, whores, dogs, dwa addicts, thieves and drunks that normally infest the streets have vanished. Even the lunatics have better sense than to invite death in the appalling cold. No one is outside. No one would be so foolish. Except for me. I’m Thraxas the Investigator. In the course of my work, I often do foolish things.

  I’m down at the docks, looking for a man the Transport Guild suspects of stealing shipments of dragon scales. Dragon scales are valuable items but the rare cargoes that arrive in Turai have been going missing almost as soon as they arrive. The Guild has hired me because it believes that one of its officials has been stealing from their harbour-front warehouses. The idea is that I catch him in the act. It never seemed like that great an idea to me, but I needed the money.

  I’m hiding behind a low wall in the freezing darkness. I can feel the frost gathering on my face. I’m tired, hungry and I need a beer. My legs have gone numb. I’m as cold as the ice queen’s grave and that’s a lot colder than I want to be. I’m in a very bad mood. There’s no sign of the suspect, who goes by the name of Rezox. No sign of anyone. Why would there be? Only a crazy person would be out on a night like this. I’ve been shivering for two hours and I figure if he doesn’t show up in the next few minutes I’m giving up and going home. Dragon scales may be valuable, but they’re not worth freezing to death for. The only thing that’s keeping me alive is the spell that warms my cloak, but the warming spell is wearing thin.

  I think I hear something. I’m no more than ten yards from the warehouse but it’s difficult to make out anything through the driving snow. The door of the warehouse is opening. A large man wrapped in furs emerges, carrying a box. That’s good enough for me. I’ve no intention of hanging round any longer than I have to, so I struggle to my feet and clamber over the low wall. Unsheathing my sword, I walk up behind him. The howling wind prevents Rezox from hearing my approach, and when I bark out his name he spins round in alarm.

  “What—?”

  “Rezox. I’m arresting you for stealing dragon scales. Let’s go.”

  Rezox stares at me while the snow settles on the furs that shroud his face and body.

  “Thraxas the Investigator,” he mutters finally, low down so it’s difficult to catch.

  “Let’s go,” I repeat.

  “And why would I go with you?”

  “Because I’m freezing to death out here and if you don’t start walking I’m going to slug you and carry you off. Easy or difficult, I don’t mind, just so long as it’s quick.”

  Despite the interruption to his criminal activities, Rezox doesn’t seem perturbed. He lays down the box carefully then stares at me again.

  “So what do you want?”

  “A warm bed. Let’s go.”

  “You want money?”

  He’s trying to bribe me. Of course. The cold has made me slow-witted. I shake my head. I don’t want money.

  “Gold?”

  I shake my head again.

  “Women?”

  I stare at him blankly. I just want to get home.

  Wrapped in his furs, Rezox doesn’t look cold, but he’s puzzled.

  “Are you saying you can’t be bribed?”

  “Just get in the cart, Rezox. I’m cold and I want to go home.”

  The wind intensifies and Rezox has to raise his voice to make himself heard.

  “Everyone in Turai can be bribed. I’ve paid off Senators. I’m damned if I’m going to be arrested by a cheap Private Investigator from Twelve Seas. What is it you want?”

  I don’t seem to want anything.

  Rezox claps his hands. The snow muffles the sound, but it’s enough to bring two men out from the warehouse, each one carrying a sword and neither looking lik
e he’ll mind using it.

  “Let’s be reasonable, Thraxas. Just take a little money and walk away. Hell, it’s not like the Transport Guild can’t spare a few dragon scales.”

  I raise my sword a couple of inches. Rezox has one final attempt at talking me out of making the arrest.

  “You’ll die for nothing, Thraxas. Take the money. No one will ever know. What are the Guild paying you? Thirty gurans? I’ll give you three hundred.”

  I remain silent. The two thugs advance. Normally on a case I’d be carrying some spell for dealing with emergencies, but right now I’m using all of my very limited supply of sorcery just to keep warm. The snow flies into my eyes, making me blink.

  As the man on my left lunges in, I step nimbly to one side, bring my blade down on his wrist then kick his legs so he crashes to the ground. The second man leaps at me. I parry his blow, twisting my own blade in such a manner that his flies from his hand, spinning through the air to land in the snowdrift behind us. I punch him in the face. He loses his footing on the icy ground, and lands with a dull thud.

  I stare at Rezox.

  “Were these the best you could find?”

  Rezox screams at the men to get up and attack me again. I look down at them.