Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  Kalius isn’t looking convinced.

  “Lisutaris hired you to find her diary? I find that hard to believe.”

  “Diaries are sensitive objects, Consul. I believe hers may contain several love poems. Naturally she’s anxious that no one should see them.”

  “Are you telling me that Turai’s most important Sorcerer has been wasting her time writing love poems?”

  I raise my palms towards the sky.

  “Are love poems a waste of time? Who can say? In the tavern where I live there are various persons deeply enmeshed in affairs of the—”

  “I am not interested in the squalid affairs that may go on in the Avenging Axe,” says Kalius, acidly.

  It’s gratifying to realise that the Consul actually remembers where I live. He did come there one time, to harangue me, but I thought he’d probably have forgotten. I struggle on with my story.

  “Lisutaris needed a man of discretion to work on her behalf. I’m sure you understand. Really I shouldn’t be telling you this and must ask you to make sure the information goes no further.”

  “I have been informed by our Civil Guard that you have been involved in a great many deaths in recent days. Are you aware that earlier today six men were found hacked to death near to the pleasure gardens?”

  “I wasn’t. Does it concern me?”

  “It concerns Lisutaris. I have information that an Investigator named Demanius was quickly on the scene and I have further information that Demanius is involved in some matter concerning Lisutaris.”

  “Demanius? The name is vaguely familiar. Who hired him?”

  Kalius won’t tell me who has hired Demanius, and nor will he tell me how he knows that Demanius is working on anything that concerns Lisutaris, but I take his information as reliable. The Consul’s office has its own efficient intelligence services. It is distressing to learn that another six men have died. More distressing that Demanius was on the scene and I knew nothing about it.

  “It seems unlikely that so many murders would have occurred during the pursuit of a diary, no matter how many poems it may contain,” says the Consul.

  “I haven’t been involved in these deaths, Consul. They just happened while I was there. Following up leads on the diary naturally led me into several insalubrious venues. Not the sort of place I’d normally wish to visit, but an Investigator has little choice. I believe there may have been some violence but it was nothing to do with me. Or Lisutaris.”

  Kalius wears a small gold ring on his right hand, an official seal, one of the emblems of his office as chief representative of the King. He fingers it and looks thoughtful.

  “If I learn that you are lying to me, Investigator, you will be punished.”

  I assure him I’m not lying. I’m eager to be on my way but Kalius hasn’t finished with me.

  “When Cicerius made you a Tribune, I understand he made it clear that the appointment was honorary.”

  “He did.”

  “And yet you are using the historical powers of the Tribunate against the express will of the government.”

  There’s no point lying on this one.

  “I felt it was justified,” I say.

  “Last time you foolishly used these powers was there not an attempt to assassinate you?”

  “There was.”

  “I would have thought that would have been sufficient discouragement,” says Kalius. “Politics in this city is not to be entered by the likes of you. Be warned. Your powers are purely notional. If you find yourself in trouble because of your actions, the government will not support you.”

  Kalius dismisses me from his carriage. His driver takes up the reins and canters off. I wonder what sort of punishment Kalius has in mind. I wonder if I should just pack a bag and leave the city. I wonder why they don’t build taverns in Thamlin. I really need a beer.

  I can’t find a landus for hire anywhere so I have to walk a long way back towards the centre of the city. Here the streets are unpaved and I’m soon choking on the dust and cursing the heat. Halfway along Moon and Stars Boulevard another carriage pulls up. It’s a big day for finding Thraxas in your carriage. Lisutaris opens the door and beckons me in. Her conveyance is luxuriously furnished but smells strongly of thazis.

  “Find me with a spell?”

  She nods.

  “I think I have located the pendant.”

  “Just as well. The Consul suspects you’ve lost it.”

  I describe my recent encounter. Lisutaris is greatly disturbed, not least by my informing the Consul that she’s been writing love poetry. Her elegant features take on a rather piqued air.

  “Couldn’t you think of anything more convincing?”

  “I didn’t have time to think. Anyway, it’s not that unbelievable. Sorcerers are occasionally poetic. And you’ve never married. Who knows if you might be pining for someone?”

  “I’m starting to believe that Harmon Half Elf was right about you.”

  “Harmon? What’s he been saying?”

  “That you’re an imbecile.”

  Lisutaris looks like she has a great deal more to say on the subject, but at this moment the call for afternoon prayers rings out over the city. It’s a legal requirement for all Turanian citizens to pray three times a day, and while the last thing I want to do right now is get down on my knees, I don’t have a choice. It’s illegal even to remain in a carriage, so, muffling our frustration, Lisutaris and I both clamber out into the street to join those others also unfortunate enough not to be indoors. Lisutaris frowns at the prospect of kneeling in the dust and getting her gown dirty.

  “But perhaps I could do with some divine help,” she mutters, shooting me a glance which may imply that she no longer has total confidence in me as an Investigator. We pray in silence. Or rather pretend to pray. I’m too busy seething with resentment over Harmon Half Elf calling me an imbecile. He might be a very powerful Sorcerer, but I’ve never considered him that intelligent. The call goes up for prayers to end.

  “I’m going to have something to say to Harmon Half Elf,” I say, hauling myself to my feet.

  “You would be unwise to offend Harmon,” replies Lisutaris.

  “Unwise? You think I’d worry about offending that pointy-eared charlatan? He wouldn’t be the first Sorcerer I’ve punched in the face before they had time to utter a spell.”

  Lisutaris starts hunting in her bag for some thazis.

  “If I’d realised you were so unstable I’d never have hired you.”

  “I’m not unstable. I just don’t like Sorcerers calling me a moron.”

  “The word was imbecile.”

  “Or imbecile.”

  We set off at a fast pace through the city. Lisutaris tells me that though she is still unable to locate the pendant directly, she has tracked Sarin to a warehouse at the docks.

  “And I’ve also traced a powerful user of magic heading there. I believe it must be connected to the pendant.”

  “Probably. Any idea who the powerful user of magic is?”

  Lisutaris shakes her head.

  “An aura I am not familiar with.”

  We’re making good progress down the boulevard, and cross the river at a brisk pace. Lisutaris’s driver is an experienced hand and wends his way through the crush of delivery wagons with a skill I can admire.

  “Does Kalius really think I’ve lost the pendant?”

  “I’m not certain. He suspects you’re in some deep trouble. He may know nothing more. But that would be enough to worry the government, with you being head of the Sorcerers Guild.”

  “He’s bound to ask to see the pendant at my ball,” moans the Sorcerer.

  “Perhaps if I was there I could divert him in some manner?”

  “I doubt it,” says Lisutaris, and lights another thazis stick.

  I sit in silence for the rest of the journey. Lisutaris idly wipes the dust from her gown. Like her rainbow cloak, it’s of the highest quality. The Mistress of the Sky is an extremely wealthy woman. She inheri
ted a vast fortune from her father, a prosperous landowner who greatly increased his fortune after he entered the Senate, as Senators tend to do. It’s unusual for Turai’s Sorcerers to come from the very highest stratum of society—sorcery, like trade, is generally thought to be beneath their dignity—but Lisutaris, as the youngest child in the family, was left free to choose her own path while her two older brothers were groomed for their roles in society. Her father may not have been overly pleased when she began to show an aptitude for sorcery, but with two male siblings already growing up respectably he didn’t forbid her to carry on with her studies.

  In normal circumstances, Lisutaris would have ended up as a working Sorcerer with a modest income, but both her brothers were unfortunately killed in the last Orc war, leaving her as sole heir to the huge family fortune. Since then she’s carried on her dual role as member of the aristocracy and powerful Sorcerer without causing too much scandal in a city which frowns on the unusual. Her fine record during the war still protects her from criticism, even though her enormous appetite for thazis must be widely known to her peers. The Renowned and Truthful Chronicle of All the World’s Events has occasionally made some snide references to her remaining unmarried, but even that is not regarded as too outlandish for a Sorcerer. Sorcerers are allowed a degree of eccentricity, particularly a Sorcerer who hurled back regiments of Orc warriors with her powerful spells. Furthermore, her recent election to head of the Sorcerers Guild, an organisation covering most of the Sorcerers in the west, has brought great honour to Turai, and a degree of security.

  Our carriage pulls up alongside a tall warehouse not far from the harbour.

  “Sarin is inside,” says Lisutaris.

  I don’t ask her how she knows. Lisutaris has powers of seeing I could never aspire to even if I’d studied all my life.

  “Fine,” I say. “How do we get past the centaurs?”

  “Centaurs?”

  Three centaurs are currently walking round the corner, these being half man, half horse, and absolutely never seen in Turai. They’re even rarer than unicorns. I met some in the Fairy Glade, but apart from that I’m not sure they exist anywhere in the world. We stare at them, more or less open-mouthed in surprise.

  “They just cannot be here,” says Lisutaris. “A centaur would never visit this city.”

  “And if they did they wouldn’t come to Twelve Seas.”

  “The human environment is anathema to them.”

  As we watch the centaurs pause in front of the warehouse, I wonder if I should draw my sword. Centaurs can be tough creatures when they’re roused. I know, I’ve seen them fight. However, they pay us no attention but carry on round the warehouse, disappearing around the far corner, human heads held high, horse tails flapping behind them.

  We walk cautiously to the corner of the warehouse and peer round. No centaurs are in sight.

  “They can’t have disappeared,” mutters Lisutaris. “I should alert the authorities.”

  “No footprints.”

  “What?”

  “No footprints. Real centaurs would have left plenty of marks in the dust. It was some sort of apparition. Is there sorcery being used here?”

  “Yes,” replies Lisutaris. “But I’m not sure what type, or by who.”

  Three mysterious centaurs are interesting enough, but we have business to attend to. I suggest we check out the warehouse before Sarin also disappears. Inside it’s dark. Lisutaris draws a short staff from her cloak and mutters a word of power, and light floods to the furthest corner of the building. All around are crates and boxes.

  “Upstairs,” says Lisutaris.

  I follow her up the wooden stairs, all the time keeping a sharp look-out for Sarin the Merciless.

  “She’s deadly with a crossbow,” I whisper.

  “I’ll protect you,” says Lisutaris.

  I’d meant it more as a warning than a plea for protection but I don’t argue. I’m concerned about the powerful user of magic that Lisutaris detected heading our way. You never know who might just be carrying the one spell that will pierce your protection.

  We climb up a long way. Inside the warehouse it’s hot as Orcish hell, and by the third flight of stairs sweat is pouring down the inside of my tunic. My intuition, already buzzing after the centaurs, starts going into overdrive. Danger is close. Lisutaris dims her illuminated staff and steps carefully through the doorway that leads off on to the top floor. Suddenly there’s a humming sound in the air. I duck instinctively but Lisutaris remains upright, hand in the air. A crossbow bolt bounces off her magical energy field and clatters harmlessly on the floor.

  Lisutaris boosts her illuminated staff to full power again, and there in the far corner I see Sarin urgently loading another bolt into her weapon. I raise my sword and charge at her with the intention of removing her head from her shoulders before she can fire again. Which I’m confident of doing. I might not be able to magically deflect a crossbow bolt, but when it comes to street fighting Thraxas is number one chariot. I aim a blow at Sarin’s neck and I swear my sword is no more than two inches away from decapitating her when I’m suddenly picked up bodily as if by an invisible hand and flung across the warehouse, where I land in a breathless heap, bruised and confused. As I haul myself to my feet, two things catch my eye. One, Sarin has now reloaded her crossbow. Two, Glixius Dragon Killer has ascended the stairs behind us. Glixius is a really powerful Sorcerer, the most powerful criminal Sorcerer I’ve ever encountered, at least of the Human variety. He motions with his hand and Lisutaris goes flying through the air.

  Trusting that Lisutaris can look after herself, I throw myself sword first at Sarin just as she’s pulling the trigger of her crossbow. My blade connects with the tip of her weapon, sending the bolt upwards into the ceiling but in the process wrenching my blade from my hands. Sarin immediately drops the crossbow and kicks me in the face and I get a painful reminder that the last time I encountered her she proved to be a formidable opponent in hand-to-hand combat. I can feel blood spurting from my nose. I ignore it and step forward with my fists raised. I’ve nothing fancy in mind, just use my bulk to overwhelm her. Sarin kicks me again and leaps backwards but I keep on going till she’s up against the wall, and then I connect with a punch which drops her like a drunken Elf falling from a tree.

  I pick up my sword, and gaze down at her prostrate form with some satisfaction. I owed her that. I’m just wondering if it would be appropriate to give her a few hefty kicks when the invisible hand again picks me up, and hurls me backwards through a window, leaving me, some boxes and a great deal of broken glass plummeting to earth from a height of more than a hundred feet.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fifty feet from the ground, I’m not feeling confident. There’s a paved road outside the warehouse and I’m plummeting towards it at an ungodly rate. I curse Glixius, Sarin, Lisutaris and the hostile fates who’ve had it in for me since the day I was born. This takes me down to about ten feet. I close my eyes. I come to a gentle halt. Benevolent sorcery, presumably from Lisutaris, has rescued me. I land lightly on my feet, sword still in hand, and immediately charge back into the warehouse, ready to show Glixius Dragon Killer that I’m not a man you can toss out of a high window without suffering the consequences.

  Inside the situation is confused. More people have entered the building. There’s a full-scale battle going on all up the wooden staircase. I recognise several local Brotherhood men struggling with opponents whom I guess to be from the Society of Friends. Approaching fast are five or six uniformed men from Palace Security, the King’s own intelligence service.

  “Quite a commotion, Thraxas?” says a voice from behind me.

  It’s Demanius, from the Venarius Investigation Agency.

  “What are you doing here?” I demand.

  “Same as you,” replies Demanius.

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Then neither am I.”

  Above our heads the fight intensifies. Some of the struggling figures are fo
rced off the staircase on to the floors that lead off to either side, and I make an effort to fight my way through. My client is upstairs, currently in combat with Glixius Dragon Killer and Sarin the Merciless. I should be at her side.

  When four men from the Society of Friends appear before me, swords raised, I get the fleeting feeling that I wish Makri was here to lend her strength to mine. Though if she was, she’d probably end up killing the men from Palace Security as well as my opponents and things would only get worse. Makri has no self-control once she gets her axe out.

  As it turns out, I’m not alone. Demanius arrives at my side and we confront our foes together. The Society of Friends men are far from their home territory. It’s dangerous for them to venture south of the river where the Brotherhood hold sway, and I’d guess these thugs, seeing their mission go wrong, are keen to depart as swiftly as possible. I’m about to offer them the opportunity to do just that, thereby avoiding a messy conflict, when from behind me comes the sound of a Civil Guard’s whistle. I risk a swift glance backwards. Twenty or so Guards, led by Captain Rallee, are now streaming into the warehouse.

  Intent on not being captured by the Guards, the Society of Friends men lose interest in me. They turn and flee up the stairs. I follow them with Demanius at my heels.

  With the warehouse now full of the Brotherhood, the Society of Friends, Palace Security, Civil Guards, plus assorted Investigators, Sorcerers and murderous adventurers, I’d say that I’ve finally blown it as far as keeping Lisutaris’s problem a secret goes. When I reach the second floor and find Harmon Half Elf floating in through an open window, rainbow cloak billowing in the breeze, it strikes me that Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky, might be in for some tough questioning from the Sorcerers Guild if she ever finishes her session with Palace Security. All this being dependent on Lisutaris remaining alive, of course. I ignore the struggling masses and keep heading up the stairs.