Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

“Rash behaviour, Thraxas. Sunstorm Ramius is the man, I’m sure. Though I’d rather see Darius or Lisutaris in the post. Even Rokim, though I’m not keen on Samsarinans as a rule. Ramius is too much of an old soldier for me, he’ll have the Guild declaring war on the Orcs at the first excuse. Me, I like my life more peaceful. You think Lisutaris is keen on going to war?”

  “Only if the thazis plants are threatened.”

  “I might vote for her. I admire a woman with a respectable hobby.”

  Other Juvalian Sorcerers drift in, each in a similar state to Irith. I pick up some useful information. Mainly of the negative sort, however. Darius has no obvious enemies. Gets on with most people, apart from apprentices. As Sorcerers are always firing their apprentices, that’s not much to go on, but I file it away to check out later. I nose around for more but as it’s not yet known that Darius Cloud Walker is now firmly rooted to the ground, I can’t press too much for fear of giving myself away.

  Sunstorm Ramius strides through the room, greeting us as he passes.

  “Just off to teach some Samsarinans how to purify poisoned water with a simple spell,” he informs us. “Care to come along?”

  The Juvalians decline. They’re not quite in the mood for instruction today. Ramius smiles indulgently. I get the impression he doesn’t entirely approve of the manners of the Juvalians, but as a man who’s looking for votes he can’t go around being rude to the electorate.

  “What sort of candidate is he?” says Irith. “Didn’t even offer to buy us a drink. Anyone seen Darius? He ought to be good for a beer or two. Hey, Thraxas, is Lisutaris handing out any free thazis?”

  I grin at the large Sorcerer.

  “I take it you’re not planning on much studying at the Assemblage?”

  His companions guffaw at the notion.

  “I haven’t learned a new spell in fifteen years,” replies Irith. “I’ve got plenty already. Who needs more? Are you going to talk all morning or are you going to finish that beer?”

  A few hours later, slightly the worse for wear, I wander off in search of Lisutaris, finding her in a corner of the main hall, sitting beside Makri. Makri is again wearing her full armour but the effect is spoiled by her floppy green hat, which is the sort of thing sported only by small Elvish children.

  Makri tells me she bought a new stud for her nose.

  “It’s magic. Look, if you touch it it goes gold. Touch it again it goes silver. Then it goes gold … ”

  “…and then it goes silver. That’s great. Any information?”

  I’m looking at Lisutaris. She’s looking at the ceiling. Or possibly the sky. I frown.

  “I take it your recent troubles haven’t led you to lay off the thazis?”

  Lisutaris slumps forward on to the table.

  “She’s under a lot of stress,” says Makri.

  I glance around. Approaching fast is a delegation of Sorcerers from Mattesh.

  “For God’s sake, Makri, can’t you keep her under control? If these Sorcerers see her like this they’re never going to vote for her. Get her out of here.”

  Makri stands up. She sways, clutches at her head, and sits down again.

  “Sorry,” she says.

  I glare at her.

  “As a bodyguard you’re about as much use as a eunuch in a brothel.”

  “I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

  The Sorcerers draw near. I hoist Lisutaris to her feet and start walking her rapidly in the other direction.

  “Tell me about your new spell for protecting a whole city!” I boom, trying to give a good impression while I drag the number one Turanian Sorcerer to the safety of a side room. Makri struggles along behind us. I dump the Mistress of the Sky on a couch. Makri slumps beside her. I take out my flask of klee and pour a healthy dose down my throat.

  “Have you been encouraging Lisutaris to drink?” comes an angry voice behind me.

  It’s Cicerius. He saw us heading this way and followed us in.

  I protest my innocence. Cicerius looks at us like we’ve just crawled out from under a rock. He demands to know why I’ve been spending the day drinking when I should be trying to get Lisutaris out of the mess she’s in. I feel confused, angry, full of beer and bereft of a good reply. I slump down beside Makri.

  “I’ve got a new nose stud,” says Makri. “You touch it it goes gold. Then it goes silver.”

  A fine trio you make,” rages the Deputy Consul. “None of you can even stand. God knows what I was thinking when I entrusted the welfare of our great city into your hands.”

  Cicerius’s assistant Hansius rushes through the door.

  “Deputy Consul!” he gasps. “Word from Twelve Seas. The Civil Guards have just found the body of Darius Cloud Walker! He’s been murdered!”

  Outside, the Assemblage is already in uproar as the news spreads.

  “Need more thazis,” mumbles Lisutaris, then closes her eyes. I notice that her hair is particularly finely arranged. And her make-up is just perfect. The early morning beauty sessions are really paying off.

  Chapter Ten

  I pour some kuriya into a saucer. No one speaks. Makri looks uncomfortable. Cicerius is agitated. Tilupasis remains calm. We’re gathered in Cicerius’s private room at the Royal Hall and I’m preparing to show them what happened at the Avenging Axe.

  “What you are about to see is hidden from all other eyes by the spell cast by Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, and Princess Direeva. I’ve only got access because Lisutaris has given me a key.”

  I take out a scrap of parchment and intone a brief incantation, Lisutaris’s key. Cicerius and Tilupasis draw closer to the saucer. The air cools. A picture starts to form. My untidy office. I really should clean it up some time. Makri, Direeva and Darius are unconscious on the floor. Lisutaris enters, stabs Darius, then departs. The picture fades. Seeing it again, I don’t like it any better.

  Cicerius controls his agitation. Though sometimes excitable, he’s not a man to panic in a crisis any more than me.

  “How many people have seen that?”

  “Just us. And it’s well hidden from everyone else. The Sorcerers will get through eventually but it will take a while.”

  “It looked very real to me,” continues Cicerius. “Are you convinced by Lisutaris’s protestations of innocence?”

  I shrug.

  “I’ve taken her on as a client.”

  “You do not sound convinced.”

  Makri breaks into the conversation.

  “She’s innocent! I was there, I know she didn’t stab Darius.”

  “You were unconscious.”

  “I was the last to fall asleep. Lisutaris didn’t do it.”

  Tilupasis wonders about the magic required to falsify the past.

  “My knowledge of sorcery is limited. Is it possible that the pictures are, as Lisutaris claims, fakes?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Please be more specific,” says Cicerius.

  “Well, there are three different things involved here. Hiding, erasing, and making. Hiding means concealing the past. Plenty of Sorcerers can do that, at least for a while. The other two are not so easy. Lisutaris and Direeva searched for the real events before they made their hiding spell, but they couldn’t find them. They couldn’t find anything else apart from the pictures of Lisutaris killing Darius. So if there were other real events, someone has erased them. But that’s impossible. No one has ever perfected such an erasement spell. I guarantee you could ask every Sorcerer at the Assemblage and they’d tell you the same. The obvious conclusion is that there was no erasement, which would mean the events as depicted are true, Lisutaris is the killer.

  “The same goes for a making spell, something to create the illusion of events happening, a good enough illusion to fool a Sorcerer when he checks back in time. Again, no such spell has ever been perfected. It’s a difficult thing even to imagine, painting a convincing picture of real events and placing it in the past. What we saw there was my office, complete with junk. Could
someone fake that in every detail? I doubt it. Again, the obvious conclusion is that we’re looking at the real events.”

  “Whether Lisutaris murdered Darius or not, we can’t let it be known,” says Tilupasis.

  I point out that not everyone feels so comfortable with covering up a murder. Tilupasis gives the slightest of shrugs. She’s quite comfortable with it. We look towards Cicerius.

  “If the Sorcerers Guild will eventually discover the truth, it might be better for Turai to come straight out and admit that this has happened,” he says. “Lisutaris would hang, or be sent into exile, Turai would lose influence, but at least we would not be found guilty of complicity in the murder of the Chief Sorcerer of another country. If we try and cover this up and it goes wrong, the Abelasian confederacy and the other states in the south will turn against Turai. We already have numerous enemies.”

  We fall silent while Cicerius weighs up his options. The Deputy Consul is in charge here. It’s his decision, and for once I don’t feel like barging in with my own opinions.

  “If Lisutaris is innocent, as she claims, what chance do you have of uncovering the real murderer?”

  “A reasonable chance. Maybe less. I’ve no leads and I’ll be up against sorcery no one has encountered before. Which is not to say I won’t find anything. Criminals generally leave some traces behind, even sorcerous criminals. The problem is time. We don’t know how long it will take for the Guild to break through the hiding spell.”

  Cicerius drums his fingers lightly on the table. Finally he makes a decision.

  “Carry on with your investigation. We shall continue with our efforts to have Lisutaris elected as head of the Guild.”

  Hansius appears at the door, Cicerius is needed for a conference with Lasat, Axe of Gold. He departs swiftly.

  “I must return to my work,” says Tilupasis. “Now that Darius is no longer in the running, I should be able to win over some of these southern votes. Keep watching Lisutaris. And Makri, be nice to Princess Direeva. This is now more important than ever. With Darius out of the running we have an excellent chance of winning her over.”

  “Not if she decides to believe that Lisutaris killed Darius.”

  “You must persuade her otherwise,” instructs Tilupasis.

  She hurries off.

  “What exactly do I have to do to get Princess Direeva’s votes?” asks Makri.

  “I don’t know. I was never any good at politics.”

  I stare at the now blank pool of kuriya. After the spell the temperature in the room has again risen. The authorities have made it warm for the Sorcerers. Anything to keep them happy.

  “It’s unfortunate the body was discovered so quickly.”

  “You should’ve dumped it in a deeper snowdrift,” says Makri. “Do you have any suspects?”

  “Lisutaris. Maybe Sunstorm Ramius. He had something to gain from Darius’s death. Got rid of a rival.”

  I’m not fooling myself. Darius wasn’t really a rival to Ramius. There was no sign of him picking up enough support to overhaul the Simnian. Nonetheless, I find myself suspicious of Ramius. He’s arrogant, powerful and successful, and that’s three things I dislike in a Sorcerer.

  “It’s time to go to work. Have you shaken off the thazis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does the Imperial Library have much about sorcery?”

  “The largest collection in the west,” says Makri. “How can you possibly not know that?”

  “I’ve been cultivating ignorance for a long time. Take Lisutaris home then meet me there as soon as you can. I need to do some research into spell-casting and I’m terrible at using a catalogue.”

  There is great agitation in the main hall as the Sorcerers congregate to discuss the murder. They come pouring from all corners of the building, workshops abandoned. Even the Juvalians emerge from the Room of Saints, drinks in hand. Illuminated staffs are fired up all over the hall, as if to cast light on the affair. Sunstorm Ramius is already deep in discussion with other important Sorcerers. It won’t be long before they start looking for the killer. Again I get the urge to ride out of town. When they conjure up a picture of me dumping that body, the whole Guild will be down on me like a bad spell. If the Sorcerers don’t just blast me on the spot, the Civil Guards will prosecute. Either way, my prospects are poor.

  Astrath Triple Moon is standing alone on the fringes of the crowd.

  “Any news on the knife?”

  The Sorcerer is very worried.

  “No. It’s been wiped. Is it the knife which…”

  His voice tails off. I tell him I’d rather not give him any more details. Astrath accepts this. He’d rather not know. He promises to keep on working but he’s deeply troubled to find himself involved in such an affair.

  “I owe you a lot, Thraxas, but if the Guild really gets on my back it’s going to be difficult to lie to them.”

  I take the opportunity to ask Astrath if he knows of any spell, or any Sorcerer, who could create a sequence of fake events lasting almost a full minute, and send it back into the past. He doesn’t.

  “I don’t think it could be done. Not by us, or the Elves, or the Orcs. Every detail of a long scene? There would just be too many things to control. And what about the real events? It’s one thing to hide them for a while, but unless you completely erased them somehow they’d keep bursting through any illusion.”

  The news spreads that Darius was found in a snowdrift, stabbed to death. Those Sorcerers who are familiar with Turai explain to those who are not that Twelve Seas is the bad part of the city near the harbour, where crime is rampant. There’s a lot of nodding of heads. The immediate impression is that the Abelasian must have gone there seeking either dwa or a prostitute, neither of which would be particularly strange for a Sorcerer on holiday.

  Princess Direeva and her apprentice remain aloof from the masses. There’s no telling how the Princess will react if she finds herself being questioned by the Guards. Will she maintain silence, to help Makri and Lisutaris? Or tell what she knows, claim diplomatic immunity and depart swiftly? Already with Direeva and Astrath it seems like there are too many people who might be indiscreet. Even if Lisutaris’s spell miraculously hides the events of the murder for weeks, I can’t see the Civil Guard being baffled for long. They know how to follow a trail. Nor can I see the addled Mistress of the Sky standing up to questioning. I curse the day I ever became involved with the woman. It would have been better all round if the dragons she brought down had fallen on top of her.

  It’s time to visit Hanama. There’s a Messengers Guild post in the entrance hall, placed there for the convenience of the Sorcerers. The young messenger who takes my scroll looks surprised when he sees that it’s addressed to the headquarters of the Assassins Guild, but he hurries off, keen as always to do his duty. These young messengers are always keen. I’ve no idea why.

  I hurry from the Assemblage and pick up a landus outside. Shortly afterwards I’m sitting in a tavern on the outskirts of the notorious Kushni quarter. Kushni is a hive of drinking dens, gambling dens, dwa houses, whorehouses and anything else disreputable you might wish for. In the summer it’s a seething, sweltering mass of decadent humanity. Even in the depths of winter, trade goes on at an unhealthy pace. The Assassins have their headquarters nearby. I’ve informed Hanama that if she ignores this message I’m going to march in and call for her in a loud voice. I figure that ought to bring her out. No Assassin likes hearing their name shouted out loud, they’re a private sort of people.

  A young whore with red ribbons in her hair sidles up to the table. I ignore her. Her young male companion then approaches. He’s also got red ribbons in his hair. I don’t think the Whores Guild admits men. I could be wrong. I ignore him as well. A dwa dealer offers me some Choirs of Angels, cheap. I tell him to get lost. The dealer’s friend gets insistent. I take a dagger from my pocket and lay it on the table. They sneer at me and mouth a few insults but they leave me alone. There are plenty of willing customers to ca
ter for. No need to argue with a big angry man with a knife.

  Hanama arrives in the dark garb of a common market worker. Each time I’ve encountered her I’ve been surprised by how young she looks. From her many reported exploits she can’t be much under thirty, but she’s a small, slender woman, dark-haired but very pale-skinned. With the aid of a little disguise she could pass as a child. The thought of Hanama dressing up as a child before disposing of another victim makes me shudder. I loathe the Assassins. Hanama is as cold as an Orc’s heart. The fact that I fought beside her last year doesn’t make me like her any better.

  Hanama refuses my offer of beer.

  “Staying sober? Got an assassination coming up?”

  Not the best introduction perhaps, but it’s hard to find the right tone when you’re talking to a woman who has famously killed all sorts of important people. It’s said she once killed an Elf Lord, an Orc Lord and a Senator all in one day. Hanama stares at me, pale and expressionless. She’s not pleased at my method of bringing her to a meeting. I wonder whether I could knock her out with a sleep spell before she got her knife in my throat. I’m not carrying any spells. I’d better not offend her too much.

  “Why did you insist on seeing me?”

  “I’m looking for some information about Covinius.”

  “An Assassin from Simnia, as is public knowledge, I believe.”

  “But public knowledge doesn’t go any further. Like whether it’s a man or a woman. Or what Covinius looks like. Or whether he actually comes from Simnia.”

  “I know no more about him.”

  “What brings him to Turai?”

  “I did not know that he was in Turai.”

  “Then why did you send a message to Lisutaris warning her?”

  This has to take Hanama by surprise but you couldn’t tell from her expression. She denies it coolly. I tell her to stop wasting time.

  “I know you sent the message. You might be number one chariot at murder but when it comes to covering your tracks you’re a washout. I worked out it was you in a couple of minutes, and I’ve got sorcerous proof to back me up.”