Thraxas - The Complete Series

by Martin Scott

  “How did Sarin learn of its existence?”

  “I have no idea,” says Horm, sounding bored. “When she offered it to me for sale, I did not trouble myself with the petty details.”

  “Careless of you, Horm. If you’d paid attention to details you might have the pendant.”

  “I might. But I was not to know that Glixius Dragon Killer would become involved. I watched that rather ridiculous melee at the warehouse. The pendant was taken swiftly from the scene by a man I did not recognise. However, I traced him by sorcery and would have intercepted him last night had Glixius not interfered. By the time I had driven off Glixius, the pendant was again gone. For some reason it cannot now be located by sorcery. I am sure you will know this already.”

  “I’d heard. So you expect me to find it for you?”

  “Why not? I will pay you a good deal more than Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky.”

  Horm sneers as he pronounces her name.

  “I laughed when I heard that she had been elected as head of the Sorcerers Guild. But I understand you had a hand in it. I misjudged you when we first met. You are a man of considerable competence, Thraxas.”

  I can’t explain it, but there’s something persuasive about Horm’s deathly compliments. I have to throw him out before he starts winning me over.

  “Perhaps,” continues Horm, “you could bring me the pendant?”

  “Bring it to you?”

  “I would pay you very well. And though your own city seems to place no value on your talents, my kingdom could offer you a very comfortable home…”

  I wonder what that would be like. Thraxas, Chief Investigator of the Wastelands. It doesn’t sound too bad.

  “Though many of my subjects are regrettably primitive, I have a splendid palace in the mountains. Quite unassailable, and considerably better appointed than this—”

  He struggles to find the right word.

  “—this place you call home.”

  I look round at my office. It’s very unpleasant. No place for a man to live really.

  “Is it not true that the upper classes in Turai have conspired to crush you, Thraxas? Frustrated you at every turn, used their malign influence to keep you down when in reality a man of your talents should be in a position of authority high above those fools?”

  “It’s true.”

  “Not content with that, they are now assaulting the very core of your being with this outrageous accusation of cowardice. Over the years you have served this city better than any man, but will your leaders now come to your aid?”

  “They won’t.”

  There’s a lot of sense in what Horm says, I slam my fist angrily on the table, raising dust.

  “The Turanian aristocracy are a foul, perfidious bunch of cowards who’ve been conniving at my downfall from the moment I was born. Well, I’ve had enough!”

  The inner door opens and Makri walks in. At the sight of Horm the Dead, she halts and takes out the knife she keeps concealed in her boot.

  “No need to arm yourself, Makri,” I say. “Horm has come to offer me a job.”

  “What?”

  “He’s on our side. We must help him to find the pendant.”

  “Are you crazy? Last time we met this guy he tried to kill us.”

  “A misunderstanding. The King is our real enemy.”

  Makri puts the knife back in her boot, marches straight up to me and slaps me in the face. “Slap” doesn’t entirely do the blow justice. It’s the sort of open-handed strike she used in the gladiatorial arena to knock the head off a troll. So fierce and unexpected is the assault that even with my considerable bulk I sag to my knees, my ears ringing and my head full of shooting stars. I look up, surprised, just in time to see Makri land another mighty blow on the other side of my face, leaving me sore, confused and generally dissatisfied with events.

  “Thraxas!” yells Makri, and starts shaking me. “Don’t you recognise a persuasion spell when you encounter it? You’re meant to know about sorcery, for God’s sake. Stop making up to this half-Orc madman and get back to being your usual oafish self.”

  Faced with Makri’s fury, my head starts to clear. I realise that Horm was indeed using a spell of persuasion on me, one powerful enough to slowly seep past my protection charm. It’s unbelievably stupid of me not to have noticed. I haul myself to my feet.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell Makri. “I’m fine. A lesser man may have succumbed.”

  I turn to Horm and order him out of my office. Horm is no longer paying any attention to me. Rather he is transfixed by Makri. So transfixed that he rises from his chair, treads softly across the room then kisses her hand, something you don’t often see in Twelve Seas.

  “You are magnificent,” he says, and stares at her.

  “Don’t try your persuasion spell on me,” retorts Makri.

  “I never imagined to meet such a woman in the west.”

  Makri abruptly strikes Horm in the face. So fast is her movement that Horm is lying in a heap on the floor before he knows what’s happening.

  I look down at him. I wish I’d done that.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Now I have a really powerful Sorcerer lying dazed on the floor of the office. In a few seconds he’ll wake up and start destroying everything in sight.

  “We have to kill him. Where’s your axe?”

  “I didn’t bring it,” says Makri.

  “Why not?”

  “What do you mean, why not? You’re always complaining about me bringing my axe places.”

  “That’s only when you bring it at inappropriate times. Like when I’m having a quiet beer. Right now we need it.”

  Makri is not satisfied with this.

  “That’s what you say now. But next time I walk in here with my axe I guarantee you’ll start complaining again. You can’t just pick and choose when a woman carries an axe, Thraxas. Either she does or she doesn’t.”

  “I’d have thought that anyone who studied philosophy would be able to work out when was and when was not an appropriate time to be carrying heavy weapons.”

  Makri looks pained.

  “You really shouldn’t try to argue from philosophy, Thraxas. You’re no good at it at all. You haven’t even got a grasp of the basics. I’d say the problem lies more in the realms of your inconsistency, which, I’ve noticed, does tend to go up and down with your drinking.”

  “How did my drinking get dragged into this?”

  Horm the Dead rises to his feet.

  “Please stop this argument,” he says. “It’s making my head ache.”

  I point my sword at him and Makri raises her knife. Horm motions with his hand and the room cools slightly as a spell takes effect.

  “Very careless of me to neglect my personal protection spell,” he says, almost apologetically. “But I was not expecting to meet such a fierce warrior in this tavern. You really are magnificent.”

  “Stop saying that,” says Makri, and shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. Makri is clad in her chainmail bikini, one of the smallest garments ever seen in the civilised world. It seems to be having an effect on Horm.

  “And stop staring,” says Makri.

  “Forgive me.”

  Horm regards her for a few moments more. As a skilled practitioner of sorcery, he can learn much from the study of a person’s aura.

  “Orc, Elf and Human? A very rare mixture indeed. Impossible, according to some authorities. It accounts, I suppose, for your unusual rapidity of action. Though not necessarily your beauty. How can it be I have never heard of you before?”

  “We did meet,” answers Makri. “In the Fairy Glade. You were on a dragon and I killed the commander of your troops. I’d have killed you too but you flew away.”

  “That was you? In the heat of battle, I’m afraid I failed to register you properly. I believed you to be one of the magical characters who inhabit the glade.”

  He bows formally.

  “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Horm the Dead, Lord o
f the Kingdom of Yall. And you are—?”

  “Makri.”

  Horm raises his eyebrows.

  “Makri? The champion gladiator?”

  “Yes.”

  Horm laughs, quite heartily by his standards.

  “But this is splendid. The tale of the carnage you wreaked when you escaped the slave pits is known all over the east. You killed an Orc Lord and his entire entourage in a savage fury that has become legendary. Only last month I heard a minstrel sing of it. And of course your exploits in the arena were already legendary. I am honoured to meet you.”

  Makri looks confused. Horm himself looks puzzled.

  “How can it be that such a woman as yourself is reduced to working in a tavern?”

  Not having a good answer to hand Makri remains silent, regarding Horm with suspicion, wondering if he’s still trying to baffle her with a persuasion spell. As far as I can tell Horm is no longer using magic and has switched to standard flattery, something I wouldn’t have guessed him to be so proficient at.

  “A strange city indeed,” continues Horm. “That makes the greatest swordsman it has ever seen work in a tavern.”

  “It’s my choice.”

  “Come with me to my kingdom. I’ll make you a general.”

  Makri shakes her head.

  “Captain of all my armies.”

  I’d better interrupt before he offers her the position of Queen.

  “We’re not helping you find the pendant, Horm. You’d best be on your way. Sarin the Merciless is probably missing you.”

  “Sarin. Another interesting woman. Were I in the mood for bragging I could tell you much of value that she has brought to me from Turai and other cities, all unsuspected by your authorities.

  “But,” he continues, drawing his cloak around him, “I am not in the mood for bragging. I am in the mood for finding the pendant which Lisutaris, Mistress of the Sky—”

  He breaks off.

  “Not that she deserves such a title. Lisutaris has no great mastery over the sky. Personally I count myself as a far greater practitioner of the flying arts.”

  Sorcerers are always jealous of each other. I once heard Harmon Half Elf going on at length about the injustice of Tirini Snake Smiter claiming such a title when she’d never smited a snake in her life, or at the most one snake, and only a small harmless specimen at that. But Tirini is very beautiful and she’d just rejected Harmon’s advances, so that probably accounts for it.

  “I have a low opinion of Lisutaris,” continues Horm. “Her dependence on thazis sickens me. A very poor drug for a Sorcerer.”

  Horm the Dead presumably regards dwa as an acceptable drug for a Sorcerer. He wouldn’t be the only one.

  “I have no doubt that her masked ball will be a dreary affair.”

  “I’m sure she hasn’t invited you.”

  “True,” admits Horm. “She has neglected to send me an invitation. But as I am already in Turai, and so adept at disguises, I am intending to attend the function. In the Wastelands, one rarely finds the opportunity to dance. I regret that you, Thraxas, are not among those deemed worthy to attend.”

  I don’t catch any flicker of emotion on Makri’s face but Horm does.

  “You are going? Excellent. Perhaps we may converse more regarding my offer of employment.”

  He turns to me.

  “I see that you have nothing to tell me regarding the pendant, so I will now depart. I had intended to kill you, because I’ve always resented the role you played in the failure of my spell to destroy this city. I worked long and hard on that incantation. But I have now changed my mind. I do not wish to do anything that may upset your companion Makri, who I judge to be the finest flower in all of Turai.”

  He studies her for a while more.

  “Your hair. So extremely luxurious yet not sorcerously enhanced. I have never seen its like. Who, may I ask, were your parents?”

  Makri’s face sets into an expression of malign hostility and she raises her knife a fraction.

  “Forgive me,” says Horm. “I did not mean to intrude. Thraxas, we shall no doubt meet again. Till then, farewell.”

  Horm steps lightly towards the outside door, but he hasn’t finished yet. He pauses and turns his head, causing his long dark hair to sway quite dramatically. He may have worked on the effect.

  “Your trouble at the College. Have you looked into the role of Barius?”

  “Barius. Professor Toarius’s son. I was about to look for him before I was interrupted by Consul Kalius. What about him?”

  “A dwa addict. So I understand from my business contacts.”

  Horm makes a formal little bow, then slips quietly out of the door.

  “That was unexpected,” says Makri.

  “It was. At least he didn’t destroy my room this time.”

  “Shouldn’t we follow him?” asks Makri, eager for action.

  “I can’t believe he’s going to Lisutaris’s ball. Everyone is going except me.”

  “Stop complaining about the ball, Thraxas. We have to get busy.”

  I hunt around for a beer.

  “It’s just so annoying. Horm’s going. Cicerius is going. You’re going.”

  I stare at Makri balefully.

  “I mean, what did you really do for Lisutaris? All right, you were her bodyguard, but who did all the work? Me. She would never have been elected head of the Sorcerers Guild without me.”

  I take a heavy slug of beer. Makri is regarding me with a curious expression.

  “Thraxas. Every time I think I’ve discovered the true shallowness of your character, you manage to surprise me with some further outrageous lack of depth. Have you forgotten what’s going on around you? Lisutaris is missing one important pendant and most of the bad guys in the world are after it at this moment, including several powerful Sorcerers and a killer who once put a crossbow bolt through my chest. Not only is this bad for Turai, it’s also bad for your client, because Kalius will be down on her like a bad spell when he gets proof of the loss, if he doesn’t have that already. Apart from this, I’ve been expelled from college and you’ve sworn to put that right, and apart from that, you’ve been accused of cowardice at a battle that took place seventeen years ago and are consequently no longer allowed to investigate pending a Senate inquiry. Also, it’s raining frogs.”

  “I am aware of these matters.”

  “Then stop whining on about Lisutaris’s masked ball like a spoiled young princess and do some investigating.”

  I sit down at my desk and drag a new bottle of beer from the drawer.

  “I thought I’d just drink some beer instead. You investigate. Finest flower in Turai indeed. After you’ve investigated you can go and be Captain of Horm’s armies. Have a good time.”

  “It couldn’t be worse than listening to you.”

  “Maybe not. But if he tries to make you his bride, watch out. You might have to be dead first.”

  “What do you mean?” says Makri, curiously.

  “Horm the Dead is rumoured to actually have been dead. Died by his own hand then returned from the grave in some evil ritual known only to himself.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” wonders Makri.

  “Presumably the death-ritual gave him unearthly powers. I don’t know if any of it’s really true. He might just be pretending to have been dead to impress people.”

  “He does look very pale,” says Makri.

  “Not too pale to clutter up my office and go around kissing people’s hands.”

  “Thraxas, that barely makes sense.”

  “Not too pale to go to Lisutaris’s ball and spend the night dancing with a bunch of senators who’ve never done an honest day’s work in their lives.”

  Makri wonders out loud at my intransigence and stupidity. I continue to drink beer. After a while she departs.

  It’s hot as Orcish hell in here. I detest this city and everyone in it. It’s intensely annoying the way everyone is always playing up to Makri. The finest flower in T
urai! It’s ridiculous. An Orcish savage in a ludicrous bikini more like. Unable to find any more beer in my desk, I go through to my only other room and hunt under the bed for my emergency supply.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The city is full of mythical creatures and dead Humans. Reports from all sides indicate an unexplained outbreak of unicorns, centaurs, naiads, dryads and mermaids. No harm is caused by these creatures—they tend to vanish when pursued—but it makes the population edgy. The thought of Orcish invasion is never far below the conscious thoughts of the citizenry, and anything strange or unexplained tends to be thought of as an evil portent.

  I’ve been chasing round the city looking for a powerful sorcerous item. Strange sorcerous events are now happening. It doesn’t take a genius to think they might be connected, but if they are, no one knows why, not even Lisutaris. Furthermore, there seem to be too many of these occurrences for them all to be linked to one missing green jewel, even if the green jewel could produce these events, which it can’t.

  As for the dead Humans, it’s another epidemic. Everywhere the authorities look, they find another group of corpses. Some with wounds, some just dead for no apparent reason. Again, it’s hard to link this exactly to the missing pendant. At the exact same time as three market workers are found dead in the centre of town, four aqueduct maintenance men are found slaughtered in Pashish. Lisutaris’s pendant can’t be causing it all, and in a city where death is a common occurrence, it’s impossible to work out which of the fatalities might be linked to the pendant.